Two Young Men, 23 to 24 Years Old

He’d been sitting in the café since ten-thirty expecting him to turn up any minute. Midnight went by, and he was still waiting for him. It was now after one-thirty, and the café was almost deserted. He’d grown tired of reading newspapers mechanically. Of his three lonely shillings only one was left: waiting that long, he’d spent the others on coffees and brandy. He’d smoked all his cigarettes. So much waiting had worn him out. Because alone like that for so many hours, he’d also begun to have disturbing thoughts about the immoral life he was living. But when he saw his friend come in— weariness, boredom, thoughts vanished at once. His friend brought unexpected news. He’d won sixty pounds playing cards. Their good looks, their exquisite youthfulness, the sensitive love they shared were refreshed, livened, invigorated by the sixty pounds from the card table. Now all joy and vitality, feeling and charm, they went—not to the homes of their respectable families (where they were no longer wanted anyway)— they went to a familiar and very special house of debauchery, and they asked for a bedroom and expensive drinks, and they drank again. And when the expensive drinks were finished and it was close to four in the morning, happy, they gave themselves to love.

Reprinted from C.P. CAVAFY: Collected Poems Revised Edition, translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, edited by George Savidis. Translation copyright © 1975, 1992 by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Princeton University Press. For reuse of these translations, please contact Princeton University Press.

Translations in other languages

Desde las diez y media estaba en el café esperando que pronto apareciera. Llegó la medianoche —y aún seguía esperándolo—. Dio la una y media; casi del todo vacío había quedado el café. Se cansó de leer maquinalmente los periódicos. De sus tres chelines solitarios le quedaba sólo uno: con tanta espera, en cafés y coñac los otros dos había gastado. Había fumado todos sus cigarrillos. Tan larga espera lo agotó. Pues además, solo como estuvo tantas horas, presa en él hicieron importunos pensamientos de su vida desviada. Pero cuando vio entrar a su amigo, al instante el cansancio, la tristeza y los pensamientos se esfumaron. Su amigo traía una noticia inesperada. Sesenta libras había ganado en la timba. Sus rostros hermosos, su juventud maravillosa, el amor sensual que entre ellos existía, revivieron tonificados por las refrescantes sesenta libras de la timba. Llenos de gozo y energía, sensualidad y belleza, se marcharon —no a las casas de sus familias honorables (donde, por cierto, ya nadie los quería)—: a una que ellos conocían y muy especial, a una casa de vicio se marcharon, donde pidieron habitación para dormir, bebidas caras y de nuevo empezaron a beber. Y cuando las bebidas caras terminaron, cuando eran cerca de las cuatro, al amor, felices, se entregaron.

Cavafis, C. (2023). Ciento cincuenta y cuatro poemas (P. Bádenas de la Peña, traducción e introducción). UMA Editorial.

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