As I was saying -- off they went to arrange for the burial.
It gives me the horrors to think of it ... I started to scream and cry
when I found myself all alone in that place with the dead man, and the dogs.
I took out my holy scapular and hung it round. the sinner's neck,
and as there's infinite mercy to be had from the Lord,
I prayed for the blessed soul of him who had been my guardian.
There was no calming the anguish I felt at being there all alone -
I gabbled through a rosary as if it had been my father there,
kissing the scapulary my mother had given me to wear.
Mother, mother, I was crying out, wherever fate may have brought you now
these tears I'm pouring down, you'd surely shed them for me
if you could see your son in this place and all he's suffering.
And while I was shouting out like this and finding no comfort in it,
just so as to add to my terror and torment me even worse
at that very same moment the dogs began to howl.
God preserve any one of you here from suffering anything like it.
What with the corpse and that howling, there wasn't much more needed, I swear,
for me to be driven crazy with that terrible scene all round..
Old women used to say then the ones who had second sight ‑-
that when dogs are howling, it's because it's the Devil they see.
I believed in this explanation, like ignorant folk always do.
There I left that collection of rubbish to be eaten by the mice.
And as someone who's left an orphan lives according to his own free will,
I picked up my belongings and I deserted that nest.
I heard afterwards that a man came that afternoon, and buried him.
Nobody went there with him, they didn't even give him a wake -
and when the next day dawned, there he was with one of his hands sticking out.*
And the gaucho who did the burying has told me as well –
it terrifies me to think of it, it's a thing that gives me the horrors -
he told me that the dead man's hand had been eaten by a dog.
Maybe I was to blame for it because I was scared and ran off.
When I came back afterwards, I heard -- and I can tell you this for sure
that for fear of it, the neighbours wouldn't go near that place.
All the filthiest vermin made the cabin their lair,
and this will make your hair stand on end, it's enough to stagger your mind –
an owl stayed there hooting, the whole of that night long.
For a long time I couldn't tell was going to become of me.
The few clothes I was wearing were nothing more than rags,
and every night I was dreaming about old men, and rubbish heaps, and dogs.
NOTE to II.18
II.18.9] one of his hands sticking out] a superstition about unshriven corpses. As at I.7.32, there was no coffin.
I went around living as I pleased like a horse no one owns.
That was the best time, maybe, that ever I've been through –
I wouldn't even go near the Judge's place for fear of a new guardian.
He'd told me, "I'll take care of the question of your property.
It will all be kept safely for you, the cattle and the flocks as well,
until your thirtieth birthday when you'll reach your Majority." *
And while I was waiting for the time that's fixed by the law, to come,
as poor as a young lizard and caring for nobody,
I wandered around beneath the skies like a bolas with no rope to swing it.*
Like this, in all kinds of hardships, I grew up to be a man.
By suffering so many miseries I learnt a lot of things --
till finally I was the victim of an unfortunate love affair.
Out of so many to choose from this is the toughest part.
Unhappy, with no one to turn to, I grew completely delirious,
and the cause of all my torments was a widow, who'd have none of me.
A man may weep for ungratefulness without any foundation for it:
he'll blindly accuse the woman who's causing him the pain,
and in the woman herself, maybe, there's nothing to warrant it.
When I was suffering the worst from the cruelty of my fate,
begging the powers of heaven to take the pain away from me,
they told me of a fortune‑teller who cured complaints of that kind.
I went through fears and longings, but in the end I made up my mind.
I plucked up courage and off I went to where the fortune-teller lived –
and to see if he could cure me I gave him all the money I had.
As I started to tell him my troubles I went red as a tomato,
and I felt as if I was choking when the hermit said to me, "Brother -
someone has given you a love-potion, and it was done in a drink of mate.
"They must have been trying to cast a spell to get you out of the way."
After this, he started waving an ostrich-feather over me,
and he told me "The gift of healing was given me from the Cross."
He told me, "You must put a curse on everyone that you know.
Like that, the one who's harmed you will very soon be revealed --
but you must curse the whole lot of them, dead as well as alive."
And he instructed me to kneel down on something the widow had worn,
and to go saying my prayers in front of a plant of Rue --*
"Make no mistake about it, that's a cure for passions," he said.
As soon as I could, I went and stole a scrap from the widow's clothes.
I found the rue-plant, and at its foot I did my praying, laid out like a cross
but even after this, I tell you, friends, I wasn't cured of my pains.
Another time he instructed me to eat a certain kind of thistle.
I don't see the point of this remedy, but hoping to relieve the pain
off I went to the thistle patch to scratch my face all for nothing.
And I thought I was getting better with all these medicines.
There were moments when my sufferings died down just a bit --
but then if I met the widow I was all on fire again.
Once more, when I consulted the great wisdom of this man,
he got well paid, the swindler and the prescription he gave me was
to hang three grasshoppers round my neck on a thread, like a rosary.
Finally, the last time I went to see him, for my sins,
he told me, "No it's not the case that my wisdom has lost its power.
I'll get you back in, good health again we won't let that woman win.
"And just you have faith in the remedy, because this Science is no joke.
You don't understand one jot of it... Without letting anyone see
cut three curls from the head of a black man, and have them boiled in milk."
By now, I was getting mistrustful about this devilish cure.
and I said, None of this is relieving the passion that's got hold of me --
better let the chicken stay alive even if it's got the pip.*
So I let myself go on as I was, till on a later occasion
I got a sermon from the priest -- to help with my cure, no doubt -
telling me that the widow was in the care of the Church.
This is what he said to me, and I've never forgotten it.
"You must know that her late husband gave order in his Will
that nobody ever afterwards should propose to marry her -
and she gave her word to it while he was still alive.
"And she has to keep her promise because that's the will of God.
It's forbidden for you to keep trying to see her any more,
because if you disobey this the two of you will go to Hell."
After a warning like that one it was all up with me.
I could see a bad card coming up,* and kept away from the widow then –
it cured me better than the grasshoppers, and the rue plant, and the black man's curls.
Afterwards a friend informed me that the priest had told the Judge
that I was an obstinate hard case and a delinquent youth,
and they should throw me out of the district because there was no saving me.
Maybe it was through this piece of advice and with no more reason required,
nor giving any other excuse -- they grabbed me suddenly
and sent me out to the frontier in the next contingent of troops.
I've cured myself of wanting to go chasing after widows.
I'm as poor as I could ever be but I think I'll go back, sometime,
to see if that Judge can tell me what's become of my sheep and my cows.
NOTES to II.19
II.19.2] your Majority] legal majority was in fact 25.
II.19.12] Rue] a plant known for its disgusting smell, thought to be aphrodisiac or the reverse.
II.19.19] let the chicken...] a well known Spanish proverb, a favourite of Sancho Panza (viva la gallina, aunque sea con la pepita).
II.19.23] a bad card coming up] literally "see its foot".
Martin Fierro and his two sons, among the crowd of people there,
continued joyfully celebrating that happy day.
For ten years, cruel ones, they had been separated,
and now they’d found each other again they were filled with joy.
Just at that moment, someone from outside
who had come to join the party, asked to be let in.
It was a stranger, a fine-looking young man --
he'd only recently been going round the neighbourhood.
Some people said he'd come from the frontier,
or won a heap at the last races from the owner of a store.
But he went around in rags, with no decent clothes at all –
his worn-out saddle-blanket was a proof of how poor he was.
He asked a blessing from the guest of honour –
and without telling his name, announced frankly that
the only name he went by was that of Picardia.*
He asked leave of the company to tell his story,
and told them that very soon they'd find out who he was.
Right away he picked up the guitar -- people settled themselves to listen –
and, soon as he'd tuned the strings, "Picardia" began to sing.
NOTE to II.20
Picardia] (picarDIa):"trickery".
Picardia:
I'm going to tell you my story, so please excuse a lot of talking from me:
and I'll say by way of beginning -- though it's sad to do it this way –
I lost my mother before I knew enough to weep for her.
I was left abandoned, and I could never find out
Who the man was who gave me life - so since very small
I flew around like a little bird searching for things to eat.
Maybe it's on account of the Service* which takes so many men from their homes,
or else on account of the war* -- which is a pretty weighty reason --
but a great many children in this land have just poverty for their mother.
And so, with her driving me on, who knows what I might have done,
and even though it's to my shame there's something I must warn you of –
as my mother's name was Inocencia, they called me Picardia.*
A man took me to live with him to look after his sheep,
but he complained of me all day and beat me like a madman -
and he never gave me even an old blanket or two.
He used to keep me out on the land from daybreak until night,
and hundreds of times it happened that one of the lambs would die –
they were eaten by caranchos, but it was me who paid for it.
Very soon I'd had enough of being treated so cruelly.
I made a quick getaway in search of a better life,
and I went off towards Santa Fe with a troupe of acrobats.
The chief tightrope-walker took me on to teach me the trade.
and I was soon learning to do a dance on the wire --
but then they made a fool of me and I didn't care for that.
One day when I was doing my dance, there was a hole in my pants.
They kicked up such a row, laughing at me, that it made my foot slip –
I fell off the tightrope and nearly broke my neck.
And so I found myself once again not knowing where to go.
I was thinking of going back, when luckily for me
some aunts of mine turned up who wanted to take me in.
I settled down in no time with these relatives
who'd been quite unknown to me before -- they were very kind ladies, too,
but the worst ones for praying I've seen in all my life.
By the first bell of the angelus they'd started the rosary.
Night after night, they had a whole calendar of saints to say,
and a lot of women from the neighbourhood used to comethere too to pray.
As long as I live I'll remember the things that happened to me there.
because I used to start getting it wrong, and at every word I'd slip –
as if whenever I knelt down the Evil One got into me.
It was just like a Temptation what I experienced,
and I never will forget all the sufferings I went through
because I wasn't able to say "Articles of the Faith".
Next to me I had a mulatto girl who was a native of those parts.*
She knelt down close beside me just like a guardian angel --
but she was a devil, that darky girl, and it was her who was tempting me.
"Repeat" my aunt would say to me “the Articles of the Faith.”
I tried to speak, and I choked on it -- it was all too hard for me –
I looked at the black girl, and what I said was "Articles... of Santa Fe."
My aunt let me have the box onthe ears that I'd seen coming my way.
I tried to get it right this time -- I caught the black girl's eye –
and once again what came out was "Articles of ... Santa Fe".
I could pray the whole day through without any trouble at all,
but at night‑time I couldn't do it no matter how hard I tried –
that's why I think it must have been that someone was tempting me.
One stormy night I saw the black girl and started to shake with fright.
Her eyes -- it gave me a terrible scare -- they were like a lightning-flash ...
And when I had to say "Saint Camilo" I said "Saint Camomile".*
One of the aunts went for me with her feet and the other one with her elbow ...
After treating me that way, even though I've a tender heart
I sent both those old women down to hell along with their prayers and all.
And another time, when as always the dark girl was haunting me,
the first thing I knew was that my aunts pulled out a great tuft of my hair,
while we were praying for the Extirpation of all the heresies.
That devil of a black girl had got me all on edge,
and what had happened to me was, when I got to "extirpation"
I put in "ex-tripe-ation" instead -- and they fell on me without a word..
That memory, and the bruises, lasted me for days.
I used to dream about heresies they were going to extirpate,
and what I prayed for was always the extirpation of my aunts.
And on they went with their rosaries never stopping, night after night,
and on they went with their muttering, Blesseds and Credos and Trinities ...
I got tired of all these tongue-twisters, and in the end I made a move.
NOTES to II.21
II.21.3] service] military sevice at the frontier.
war] with Paraguay (1865-69) or the campaign against the indians.
II.21.4] Inocencia (Ino-CENcia), "innocence"
Picardia (Picar-DIa), "wickedness", or rather "roguery" – "Trickster" might be nearest.
II.21.6] caranchos] large carrion birds.
II.21.7] Santa Fe] province, and its capital, west of Buenos Aires.
II.21.15] of those parts] i.e. from Santa Fe ("Holy Faith"), hence the confusion with "Articulos de la Fe" (Articles of Faith).
II.21.19] Saint Camomile] the original pun is with Camilo / camilucho (a ranch worker, slang for coward).
I went around like a rolling stone*, and poorer than a rat.
As soon as I earned any money some kind of trouble started up,
so I said, Time to head homewards, crane -- even though you've just one leg.*
It was quite a few years, and they were hard ones, that I'd spent in those parts:
the things I'd learnt from them made up my stock in trade ...
As soon as I got back, they enrolled me into the National Guard.
The training I'd done was at playing cards, and gambling was my career.
I made a regular treaty and I fixed up a crooked game*
with the owner of an eating-house who took his part in the plot.
I'd set myself carefully to the marking of a pack.
He'd keep it in the cash-box wrapped up as if it was new –
and you're carrying half the handicap if you know where the best cards are.
It's making a very big mistake for anyone to rely on luck:
someone smarter than he is will get him, who'll pluck him bare straight off,