Juan Y José

Juan and José sat against the wall of the fronton making plans while regaining strength. They hesitated between going to school or to the river to fish, four crabs for the snack. No one ever saw more united friends than those two who at the same time discovered the fire of liquor, the shine of money, the car, the cinema, and the woman. The Sun was warm, the sea wide, and the world still to be unveiled. Juan and José quickly ran out of childhood, cut by the harvest, trampled by the oxen. And while José took the paths of the sea, the other bid him farewell from the dock. Letters arrived from the one who left, smelling of rum, full of promises that Juan read while setting the table, and reread leisurely in the café. Sweet cane, ripe mamey, green palm, white heron, with one eye open, in the pond, the caiman watches. How can you settle, Juan, for just one sky when there's a whole America on the other side of the sea? José traveled from the Antilles to the Southern Cross, a prospector in Fundación, a peddler in the Puna, a pimp in a floating brothel on the Paraná, and over the years he made a fortune. Juan stayed working the land and married his longtime girlfriend. Then the years passed gently... Cold in winter and hot in summer. The Sun was warm on the days when letters from José arrived. Juan and José met again at the fronton half a century later, and as if nothing had happened, Juan asked, 'Which one are you betting on... blue or red...?' and the Indian replied, 'The one that goes for that girl... What things, Juan, so much wandering and we're back where we left off...' 'But for you, Pepe, no one can take away what you've danced... And thank you, Pepe, for taking me to dance.' Sweet cane, ripe mamey. You rode and I rode behind you in the long afternoons by the stove of the old café. With the wings of your letters, José, I crossed all the skies of America with you, FRIEND!