Where the Bird Sings Best

by Alejandro Jodorowsky

  “Jaime stopped opposite Benjamín and with cruel innocence offered him the snake. Benjamín was covered in sweat from head to toe, but since his brother had brought it so close that he’d actually put the serpent’s snout next to his mouth, he held back his tears and his nausea and took hold of the cold animal. ‘Dance! Dance!’ cried Jaime. Benjamín, awkward, his legs stiff, his mouth wide open, his breath short, tried a few steps. The lady dwarf made more and more signals to us not to move. Our desperate silence spread to the entire neighborhood—you couldn’t hear a cart, the birds stopped singing, the wind left the leaves still. The whine of the flute filled everything. Benjamín made slow circles, staggering like a fatally wounded bear, with the deep gaze of the cobra fixed in his eyes. A yellow liquid ran down his legs and a coffee-colored stain marked the seat of his short pants.

  “Jaime pinched his nose shut and burst into laughter. The snake went mad. It began to smack its snout against Benjamín’s forehead. Transfixed by terror, he didn’t let go. Luckily, as we found out later, the cobra had no venom and no teeth. But the blows it gave as it tried to bite were as hard as a hammer. With his face lowered to avoid the pounding, Benjamín took the punishment on his skull.

  “The Hindu tossed aside the flute, ran to the boy, and tried to tear the snake out of his frozen hands. The cobra, feeling strangled, tried to get free by striking harder and harder, not only with its snout but also with its tail, dangerous lashings that kept us from getting too close. The rubber man took out a knife and prepared, at great personal risk to himself and the child, to cut off the snake’s head. I didn’t know what to do. Once again, God was stealing one of my children. I began to curse Him. Lola, with a calm like Jaime’s, picked up the flute and started to play.

  “Even though the cobra, as we found out later, was deaf, it instantly calmed down. Benjamín finally opened his fingers. From his hairy scalp, marked by a lattice of cuts, poured a red cascade. The Hindu brought out some powdered clay, added water, and covered Benjamín’s head with the greenish paste. The blood stopped flowing, and we all calmed down.

  “Fanny was clinging to one of the black man’s legs and began to cry, saying ‘Papa!’ He took her in his arms and rocked her. She immediately fell asleep, smiling.

  “The black man said to us, ‘In a former life, far off in time, I really was her father, a good king. She was a wise prince named Rahula. One day, I decided to test his filial love. I summoned two thousand soldiers, whom with a mantra I transformed into kings identical to myself. The vizier gave my son a ring and, pointing to the multitude of identical monarchs, among whom I was standing, ordered him, “Majesty, go and put this ring on the ring finger of your father’s right hand.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Rahula entered the group and came directly toward me. His true love could not be beaten by two thousand illusions.’

  “The black man had a coughing fit. When he recovered, he returned Fanny to me and went on talking: ‘Now we must leave. Soon, sick as I am, I will give up the ghost. When this little girl turns seventeen, she will be my mother. But I, worn out after so many reincarnations, will only live nine months in her womb. I shall be stillborn.’

  “During many mornings, Fanny would run off, go to the plaza, sit down in the center of the kiosk and start to cry, whispering ‘Papa.’ Her hair began to curl and to take on a reddish color similar to the Hindu’s costume. I had to buy Lola a wooden flute. She discovered that the only thing that interested her in life was music. When we finally removed the clay shell from Benjamín’s head, we were dismayed to see that he was completely bald. We thought he would be sad, but to the contrary, he was happy.

  “‘Mama, when I grow up, I don’t want to have a single hair. I want my eyebrows and lashes to fall out, I want nothing to grow in my armpits or on my pubis, and I don’t want teeth or nails. I’ll be happy when I have no animal traces on my body.’

  “The only comment Jaime made was the promise that when he grew up, he’d be a tamer of lions, tigers, panthers, and elephants in a circus.”

  Teresa, with great difficulty, finished her last sentence with a long and soft “ciiircuuus” and fell asleep next to the twins. The Rabbi took that as an opportunity to show Alejandro a grandfather, father, and young son praying, wearing the black horn of the tefillin on their foreheads. Next to them a ravaged woman gave her breast to an anxious baby. Just beyond, to the right, to the left, throughout the car, men were imploring God. From each one of those genuine families, all sharing in the suffering, arose a peace bestowed by permanent contact with the Truth.

  Alejandro, deeply moved, and following the Rabbi’s insistent counsel, very carefully removed the coffer from between Teresa’s breasts and replaced it with one of his shoes. Then, limping along, he went over to one of the religious Jews, opened the box, showed the contents, and whispered, “I will exchange gold coins for any kind of money.” He went about from group to group distributing his treasure and getting in return copper or nickel coins and banknotes of little value.

  Weeping with gratitude, they tried to kiss the foot wearing the shoe, but he silenced the poor wretches out of fear my grandmother would awaken. He distributed the greater part of the gold, leaving only what was strictly necessary for the voyage, that is, the price of passage to the United States and the cost of living in France while waiting for the ship to sail. He checked the weight of the coffer. It was lighter now, so he put in a Bible he’d hidden away. When he pulled out his shoe, it almost burned his hands—that’s how hot Teresa’s huge breasts had made it. Then he put the jewel box back in its place.

  His wife woke up a few seconds later, insulted God as was her custom, and went back to dreaming. It started to snow. It stopped snowing. It rained. The sun came out. They changed trains again and again until they lost count of the changes. Jaime and Fanny traded punches. Benjamín and Lola insulted each other. In Germany, a large number of Jews left the train. The remaining refuges were met in Paris by the Universal Israelite Alliance.

  Alejandro, with deep nostalgia, watched his fellow Jews embrace and kiss, weeping with emotion, as if they’d known one another since childhood. He felt a pang in his heart when he realized he was no longer part of that family. Alone in that immense train station rocked by violent gusts of cold air, disoriented, he, his wife, their four children, the Rabbi: branches without a tree, swallows without a flock, severed hands floating in the void.

  Alejandro regretted using the Holy Book to compensate for the weight the leather coffer had lost. He wanted never to move again, to become as immaterial as his friend, to sink his nose into the text and remain there, a deaf mute, reading forever. Teresa and the children, impressed by that monumental and horribly alien train station, clung to him. Where could they go without an address, without speaking a word of French? The Rabbi began to recite Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the cries of my anguish?” And suddenly an answer came.

  An elegant man—with a monocle and walking stick, a fur coat, gaiters, and a top hat—mopping the perspiration from his face with a silk handkerchief, trotted up to them and said in refined Russian, “Pardon my tardiness, dear compatriots. I am the envoy of the Russian Committee, whose mission it is to guide the subjects of our noble land through the Parisian labyrinth. A free service provided by the government. Here is a list of hotels, restaurants, museums, stores, theaters, money exchanges (with all prices clearly marked).” And, kissing Teresa’s hand, he introduced himself, “Count Stanislav Spengler at your service. What is the name of the family with whom I have the honor of speaking?”

  Alejandro began to cough, pursed his lips, and stared at his wife with eyes that begged for help. If he pronounced a single word, his Jewish accent would betray him. Teresa made her mouth small to imitate the aristocracy, assumed a pardoning air, and, imagining herself as a countess—that is, wearing clothes dripping diamonds, emeralds, rubies, gold medals, and spangles— burst out in a high, nasal voice:

  “We
are the Jodorowsky family—Alejandro, Teresa, Benjamín, Jaime, Lola, and Fanny. We’re from Odessa, honey merchants, but with noble Polish ancestors, people with lots of money!”

  And moved by some obscure impulse, she extracted the coffer from her cleavage; tossed it around, making a huge sign of the cross; and then restored it to its refuge. The Count’s monocle dropped from his right eye. An embarrassed silence ensued. Jaime broke it by walking over to the train to squirt out a yellow arc that splashed among the steel wheels. In a dry voice, the envoy of the Reception Committee asked to see their official papers. He examined them carefully, smiled, and said, “Well, I’ll be frank with you. No matter how many Polish last names you may have, madam, by your manner of speaking it’s obvious you’re Israelites. I’d appreciate your not wasting my time by denying it. All we need to prove it is the penis of the boy we saw urinating.”

  Teresa shot a furious glance at Jaime. Fanny and Benjamín laughed. Lola looked at them all with disdain. Alejandro could only think about the Count’s boots. He’d never seen footwear that fine, and that cruel perfection terrified him.

  “You are all very lucky, because even though I’m of noble birth, I don’t harbor anti-Semitic feelings. Quite the contrary, I think of Jews as old friends. My father amused himself in the desolate winters of White Russia studying dead languages, which is why he took an interest in Hebrew. One day, he discovered that Jews kept that ancient tongue alive. From then on, a steady stream of rabbis, bankers, and Jewish doctors passed through our mansion. We received them with the respect the bearers of such a marvelous culture deserve. So don’t worry. While this makes my task more difficult—you cannot be received by our committee, which is only for Russians—I’ll put myself at your service. We will speak more comfortably in a private room in the restaurant next to the station. Come with me.”

  Relieved, smiling, they followed the Count, who for his part imitated a tourist guide and gave them a thousand and one explanations of insignificant details of the great city. Then, seated opposite bowls of onion soup and a platter of fried potatoes in a discreet corner, they talked calmly. When Stanislav Spengler found out they wanted to live in the United States, he shook his hair cream–coated head from side to side, sighing in discouragement. “Because of the legend now spread all over Europe that three hundred Jewish magnates secretly dominate the world, hundreds of thousands of Israelites have been forced to flee to America. It’s almost impossible to get visas. Nevertheless, I have a good friend in that consulate, the secretary general, who can do us that favor. But it will cost a lot of money, perhaps more than you have!”

  Teresa, a smile on her face, answered, “Your price is our price.” And she placed the leather coffer on the table. The Rabbi fled out the window. Alejandro’s face took on a greenish tinge. With great pride, my grandmother raised the lid.

  The Count peered into the interior and said, “A Bible? Perhaps, madam, you’re confusing earthly goods with cultural treasure?” Teresa, completely wild, clutched the book in her tremulous hands, threw it to the floor, observed the filthy banknotes and copper coins, and emptied the contents of the box onto the table.

  She separated the few gold coins from the miserable rest. She bellowed, staring at my grandfather, “Who did it? You or the ghost? Or was it the two of you together? What did you do with the bulk of the gold? Don’t tell me! I can guess for myself. You gave it away to that pack of mangy beggars! Oh dear, oh dear! Why did I ever marry a righteous man? A lunatic, an idiot! He protects strangers before his own family! But he’s innocent. It’s the fault of that damn book!” She picked up the Bible, ripped its pages, spit on it, threw it toward the street, and began to cry in her husband’s arms. Unable to say a word, he covered her face with kisses.

  The Count, pushing around the gold coins with the corner of his monocle, counted them. “Well, we have enough for your passage and something more for the hotel. And if we pick one of the lowest quality, we might even have a little bit left over for a gift to my friend. The secretary general owes me a few favors. I’ll try to convince him to be charitable this time and to help a family with a father of such saintly generosity.” The Count dried his eyes with his silk handkerchief. “Let’s not waste time. It’s still early. We’ll go straight to the American Consulate.”

  A streetcar dropped them opposite a luxurious building, where the venerable flag waved its stars and stripes. The aristocrat asked them to sit in the waiting room while he went to the offices on the second floor to speak with his friend. He went toward the stairway and stopped. He came back. “Madame Teresa, a good idea just occurred to me. I’ll tell my friend the marvelous story of your husband’s saintly generosity. Let me borrow the coffer for a minute, so I can show the secretary general the gold coins and the worthless money of the emigrants. That more than anything else will convince him. I’m sure he’ll reward Alejandro’s open-handedness with his poor racial brothers and give us the visas for nothing.” Teresa ceremoniously put the jewel box in the Count’s hands. He clicked his heels as a soldier would and, with all dignity, entered the elevator.

  They waited and waited. The Count never returned. When the buzzer sounded announcing the imminent closing of the consulate, they ran up the stairs to the second floor. There were no offices, only a huge, empty salon for cocktail parties. They did see an emergency exit. They understood.

  There they were, on the street, desperate, without a penny. My grandmother’s world collapsed. She kicked the luggage, sat down on the ground, closed her eyes, and said, “Take care of yourselves the best you can. I’m no longer here.”

  “In that case,” observed Alejandro, “if you’re no longer present, then I’ve recovered my right to summon the Rabbi. He’ll get us out of this fix.”

  “Bah! More stupidity. I’ve already told you the Rabbi doesn’t exist. It’s only your imagination.”

  “Imagination or whatever it is, the Rabbi is the Rabbi. If he doesn’t come, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “All right then, call that thing. I’d be surprised if he could do anything for us.”

  She must have been shocked, because the Rabbi gave them the only reasonable solution: “Look for a commercial street. Examine the stores. If any one of them belongs to a Jew, you’ll certainly find some sign of our religion. Speak to them in Yiddish.” And that is exactly what they did.

  Walking aimlessly along, they found a street lined with shops. On a shelf in a jewelry store, they saw a seven-armed candelabra. They walked in. Moishe Rosenthal clearly spoke Yiddish. Since Teresa hated being Jewish again, she pretended to be mute. Alejandro only told part of his miseries and, ashamed, finished the tale with lies. Disguised as goyim, they’d fled a pogrom, and now they were lost in Paris, with no money, with no idea what to do, and hungry, especially the children.

  The first thing Moishe did was feed them in the kitchen behind the shop. Then he left his wife in charge of the jewelry store and accompanied them to the Jewish neighborhood. After offering them a little money, which Alejandro accepted, kissing Moishe’s hands, he presented them in the offices of the Comité de Bienfaisance Israélite, founded in 1809. There they were treated with maternal care. They were housed for two days in a modest but clean and Kosher boarding house. From there they were sent on to Marseille, where they were put, along with other refugees, on a ship sailing for South America. They were given the only visas anyone could get—Chilean. Teresa knew nothing about Chile, but she was sure that in such a country, located at the end of the world, the citizens did not live in palaces and did not have gold-plated teeth.

  My Mother’s Roots

  If Teresa got mad at God, it was God who got angry with Jashe, my mother’s mother. And along with God, all the Jews in Lodetz, in Lithuania. Her periods began—with mathematical precision—on the same day as those of Sara Luz, her mother, and of Shoske, her sister, revealing immediately the power to hold back such a sacred phenomenon, the pride of Hasidic women because it confirmed that their bodies were regulated by the same l
aws as the stars. Far away from the men, they would dance without underwear under the moon to allow the plasma to run down their legs and fertilize the land. Jashe confessed, amid tears and wails of joy, her love for the goy.

  While her mother, breaking the law, sold plum brandy to the Jewish bankers, Jashe would stroll the streets of Vilna. For her, the smell of the city was like the most exciting of perfumes. Purely by chance, she ended up in front of the Municipal Theater, where Swan Lake was about to be put on by the Imperial Russian Ballet. She’d never seen any theater. Something irresistible made her buy a ticket, the cheapest. Feeling the lecherous stares of beardless Lithuanians with curled side-whiskers, she took her numbered seat in the last row without daring to raise her eyes from the floor. The music exploded, she heard the curtain go up, and then the pattering of steel taps like a confused rain. Little by little, among those uniform tapping feet, she distinguished different ones, coarse and at the same time delicate, in some strange way familiar to her.

  A heatwave overwhelmed her belly and forced her to look toward the stage. She did not see the sets, the lights, the dance troupe, or the audience in their seats. All she saw was a gigantic male dancer with skin whiter than marble, with long golden curls, and blue eyes so potent that she could feel them near her face even though he was so far away—thousands of miles from the last row in the balcony, but nearer, much nearer than her own father.

  Her sex palpitated with such intensity that, obeying its demands, she got up from her seat and, somewhere between a sleep-walking angel and a burning tree, whipped by an invisible tempest, she looked for the dressing rooms, entered the one that had a crippled Christ nailed to the door, caught the giant naked, and fixed on his member the miraculous gaze that comes only with total surrender. The Russian, himself enraptured, undressed her slowly. That small (Jashe was under five foot four), perfect body, that sex without labia—a docile line crowned by a triangle of savage shadow—engulfed him in such vertigo that for a few seconds the room turned upside-down, and he found himself hung like a chandelier on a floor transformed into a ceiling.