Un Poco de Humo no Más

I have to leave you friend,
After so many distances we have traveled,
I with my soul and you with your soul.
I can't believe this matter one day came to us;
Forty-odd Octobers passed as if nothing had happened.

I met you when I barely washed my face,
ten years...twelve at most. Little reason, lots of desire.
I remember a gray horse was on horseback, long lines,
that Don Segundo Larralde had bought from a Basque woman;
After some time passed, he took down the Chinese woman on his haunches
and they had a boy, a man, of few words,
cousin and brother at the same time of the person who tells you this letter.

I carried you in the pocket of a ratty blouse
made from a well-washed 5-zero flour bag
that the old one was sewn by hand and well reinforced;
I took you out like someone taking a bird out of a cage.
Slowly and carefully... and the heart galloped...
I knew it was wrong and that I was cheating,
but I wanted to feel you... and my heart was galloping.

I remember in that nap that under a branch
without getting off the horse I gave you the first whistle...
I don't know if I'll make it to two. Tata would have been strong,
He sent four bundles and he didn't cough or anything.
Brasil, the daughter of the bull José León, was called
that little brother of yours who burned my insides.
Afterwards I stayed for some time, just with the desire
because I didn't have money and heat scared me.
Sometimes I saw the old "strong staple and puff",
He spent his life whistling and was gone in a flash.
"Poor Basque," someone said, while the old woman prayed.
Things that life has... totally if not almost anything,
Just a little smoke! I told myself... while beeping.
I can't believe this matter one day came to us:
having to leave you brother, after so many distances.

I became a water carrier and it was my first day's work;
Although he had a hard time putting up with being bossed around,
I bought my first bundle of the "Cardenal" brand.
More chucaro than a bagual I was putting together years after years
and although I never made the tin because I was not a taker,
I became a blonde, black or brown smoker.
On nights where the size of loneliness is fierce,
when everything is over and you think it's over,
You were always by my side just like mate and kettle.
And when I went to the bowling alley and didn't have enough money,
instead of lifting espadrilles, grass or some other luxury;
I submitted to the spell of a canned black tobacco.
With "El Sol" rice paper, I used to assemble the caporal;
My gargüero used to be as tight as a pegual;
It was strong and smooth and made of tar... without equal.
No one will take offense if I talk to that poor and simple cigarette,
companion in every situation, even if I feel that he is advancing on my back with his knife.
Sometimes I feel like a cricket tends to come out of my breath.
I turn it on and after a while I throw it away or its closure exhausts me
and there is something that bounces at the bottom of a sigh.
But with him, when I inhale the pain of a sorrow,
I feel like it's getting better, I feel like it hurts less.
He tells me it's poison, heh! I know well what poisons...
but despite loving you, as deeply as I love you,
There are rumors that the pampero brings bad news because it is old,
The doctor says that the bars have fewer prisoners...

Showers pile up in the puddles of life,
the wounds pile up inside the heart,
but reason says that there is smoke from lost hours.
As you see, I don't resign myself so easily to abandoning you,
I who have been anywhere, winning and losing everything,
As you see, I can't find a way to open myself without betraying you.
I know that I will not be able to forget you and I know that there will be many people,
who will say that it is not prudent, what a mistake in the apology,
Heh! If I were God, I could make the indecent decent,
but I am a man and related to the rest of the pack.

I have to leave you, friend, after so many distances,
Forty-odd Octobers passed as if nothing had happened.