Alejandro Jodorowsky - Where the Bird Sings Best

All around the Jodorowskys, who passed as goyim under the Administrative Code thanks to the Certified Document, formed a perimeter of respectability. The fugitives, fearful of abuse, did not dare look at them. The soldiers, seeing that magic document, clicked their heels noisily, saluted energetically, and grimaced sympathetically, apologizing for the abject neighbors such honorable passengers were obliged to put up with. Throughout the third-class cars echoed dialects from all parts of Europe: the Yiddish of Lithuania, Poland, the Ukraine, Crimea, Bulgaria, Austria, and Hungary. Poor people with no homeland, fleeing to who knew where.

Teresa made a point not to acknowledge any of this. Speaking Russian slowly and carefully so she wouldn’t reveal her Jewish accent, she made her words into a shield that separated her family from a reality that had become, for her, an old nightmare.

Tugging on Alejandro’s left earlobe, she whispered:

“If you want to survive, you’ll have to change. Forget the others and watch out for us. They are to blame for whatever happens to them because they’re going around disguised as the righteous, believing in superstitions. God gives them bad luck. Death feeds on good fools. Follow the example of the goyim: everyone works for himself, and the one with the wettest mouth swallows the most beans. Stop daydreaming and listen to the story of how Benjamín lost all his hair.

“One spring morning, a circus wagon painted like a carriage from the funeral parlor pulled by two skeletal horses decorated with black plumes passed along our street, heading for the town square. A man wearing a skeleton costume held the reins. Next to him sat a female dwarf dressed as the Angel of the Last Judgment, playing a sad melody on an old trumpet. Attracted by their sinister looks, we ran to see the performance.

“Those trapeze artists really knew how to seduce the audience. A show that was merely jolly could never compete with Nature, which was emerging exuberantly from its winter lethargy. Between the invasion of multicolored butterflies and the blossoming of lascivious flowers, the abject levity of a few acrobats couldn’t have interested anyone. But decked out this way, gloomy and toothless, miserable remains of the glacial cold, they gave us the chance to feel healthy, well fed, and safe.

“The starving clown fighting with a rag-doll dog over a piece of kielbasa made us shriek with laughter, as did the rubber man disguised as a worm, who was making all sorts of contortions inside a coffin and threatening us in a ferocious voice that one day he’d eat us. The female dwarf unrolled a carpet in the center of the square and put a basket down on it. A thin black man, probably the one we’d seen dressed as a skeleton, decked out in a turban, a robe, puffy trousers, and slippers whose toes curled upward, all in a golden-red color, kneeled before the basket and began to play a flute that was long and had a ball at one end.

“We’d never seen human skin like that, as black and shiny as the boots the Cossacks wore. Nor had we ever heard a sound like that. It seemed like the hooting of an owl combined with the wail of a woman giving birth, plus the screech of a metal door. He spoke an incomprehensible tongue, which the dwarf lady said was Sanskrit, the magic language of Hindustan. For the first time in Russia, the illustrious public would witness the taming of a cobra, queen of venomous beasts. To encourage the Hindu prince, she asked that we generously fill her trumpet with coins.

“As we dug into our pockets and shed, with difficulty, a bit of money, the melody resounded continuously, without silences, drawing us closer to the land of dreams. When the collecting was over, the dwarf lady, causing her paper wings to chatter, opened the basket. Out came a huge serpent hissing like an angry cat. It flared its hood and struck at the black man, who expertly dodged it and intensified the undulating rhythm of the flute. The snake, like us, fell under his spell and just stood there, stiff, erect in a terrified beatitude.

“I have no idea what happened to Jaime. I still don’t understand. We were all frozen with terror, hypnotized by the Hindu and his serpent. We practically didn’t even dare to breathe. Then Jaime stepped forward into the empty circle, and with a big grin he stretched his hand out toward the cobra and began to pet its head.

“The lady dwarf tensed up, and signaled to us not to move. The animal, hearing the slightest whisper, could reassert its aggressive nature. The flautist, terror on his dark face, went on playing the same phrase again and again. Jaime kissed the serpent’s snout. Then he picked it up and, staring at it with tenderness in his eyes, delicately danced, while hugging the snake to his bosom. Since the serpent was much longer than he was, its tail dragged along the tiles of the kiosk’s floor, making a metallic sound. What it sounded like to me was the chattering of Death’s silver teeth.

“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.’