La Farándula Habanera

That suave guy with seven leagues
who used to host at the "Sans Souci"
today is just a retired old man
exiled in his hideout.

The hero of Cabrera Infante
with the martyrs of the cabaret
who were nationalized
by inertia and just to screw around,

they tell me today
that there’s a Havana that’s been lost
and in their gatherings, they invoke.
They tell me today.

The Havana that’s now so uptight
was once said to be a cyclone
that in the morning was the fuse
and at night the explosion.

And they say they got carried away
between the drinks and the madness
that one day they shut us down
with speeches and sermons.

And it dawned
with a taped-up sign on the door
of the "Alibari," of the "Rumba Palace."
And it dawned.

But I met with my ancestors
who told me the story
with a letter turned upside down
and the one who acted as the prosecutor
they say was
Benny Moré.

Singer of Iberian repertoire,
the veteran mannequin,
the dancer with a pacemaker
and the showman with a toupee.

Always talking about Montmartre
of Las Vegas or the Nacional,
his eyes get all squinty
if I start to suspect

that it’s not a lie
that those old-timers from showbiz
are firecrackers
when they gather in Jallaldía.

The ghosts of the night,
the kings of joy,
the Havana showbiz
gathered in Jallaldía.

The cake of makeup
and the dyes in bulk
and that monomania
that’s about to take Fidel down.

Reciting with a laugh
helped by crutches,
with the pale of the day,
with a relaxed belly.

And the money doesn’t stretch
for parties all day long.
The Havana showbiz
gathered in Jallaldía.

Remembering old times
gives back the energy.
The Havana showbiz
gathered in Jallaldía.