Alejandro Jodorowsky - Where the Bird Sings Best

“Want to work with me?”

“Of course!”

“My obligations as a member of Congress oblige me to live in Santiago. Here on this card is my address. I have a pile of Russian books, all disorganized. You will be very useful to me. Not only to me but also to the entire working class. Your translations can be published in our newspapers. Come to see me as soon as you can. But remember: the trains leave on time and if you’re a second late, you’ll miss a long trip.”

In the cotton stuffing of the shoulder pads, Jaime found a lot of money. He gave half to his partner and with the other half bought a navy blue suit and a ticket to Santiago. The hunchback got drunk, burned the gorilla suit, and began to pelt him with hardboiled eggs dyed black. My father had to run to the train to escape his fury. He reached the capital one Sunday at 6:00 a.m. When he entered Benjamín’s apartment, he found him fully dressed, eating breakfast:

“What are you doing here? I’ve got no need for you. You spent almost two years without writing or worrying about my mother’s health. You should be ashamed. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve gone back to divine Poetry, I’d be a goner by now. Thanks to poetry, in these immobile rivers, the crutches of long journeys have become baroque chargers. I gallop mounted on a violet blast between the ancient eyes of men who reflect the geometric formulas of this unbalanced world.”

“Stop, Benjamín. Stop reciting with that diva’s voice and tell me where Teresa is, since she’s also my mother.”

“She’s made notable progress. Even though she has serious cardiac problems, the wandering truths have returned to take refuge in the divine architecture of their demolition.”

“You’re busting my balls with your babble! Explain clearly to me!”

“She’s become a nice lady. On Sundays, they let her out of the madhouse in my custody. We have a puppet theater, and we put on shows in the hospital for children with tuberculosis. Will you come? Today we’re debuting ‘The Soldier Who Overcame Death.’ A traditional theme, but I’ve rewritten the dialogue. Art keeps cemeteries alive thanks to the play of its cadavers!”

The puppet theater stood in the somber patio filled with yellowish children, wearing old army jackets with gray blankets covering their shoulders. It was a blue screen emblazoned with the name of the company: The Booloolu. A cloth with a medieval castle painted on it was the only scenery. The small patients shouted, demanding the performance begin. Severe nurses handed out crepe paper balls filled with sawdust. A bullying doctor waved a Chilean flag, asking everybody to sing the national anthem. Jaime couldn’t see Teresa. Benjamín sat him with the mob, and said, “Now you’ll have to concentrate. You’ll see my mother when the show is over. I made the heads of the puppets and she the costumes. The one who acts is me, Teresa is my helper. We make a great couple.” Then he ran to hide himself behind the screen. A cardboard trumpet hooted. Death appeared carrying a young blonde woman with red cheeks, wearing a bridal gown. The girl, fighting to escape the skeleton’s embrace, bowed toward the children, asking for help:

“Don’t let him take me away. Before I die, I want to see my fiancé, a soldier. He promised me he would return from the war.”

The sick children bombarded Death with their sawdust balls. But Death, emitting lugubrious guffaws, held the girl even more tightly. With great stealth, the puppet master removed his hand from the sleeve. The bride hung empty in the embrace of Death. Inside the little theater, Benjamín extended his left hand toward Teresa so she could slip on the soldier. His uniform was filthy and torn. Meanwhile, my uncle began to act in three different voices.

He made a cavernous laugh as Death: “You are mine, forever!”

He exclaimed as a damsel in distress, “No! Help! Oh my love, come help me!”

He shouted in a romantic soldier’s voice, “Oh my bride, hang on! I’m on my way!”

Teresa began to stagger, about to fall in a faint. Benjamín whispered, “Quickly now, slip the soldier on tight. What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s nothing. A passing malaise. Go on. Don’t worry.”

Death opened the gates of the castle and locked the sagging bride inside. The soldier appeared.

“Old lady Death, open your eight invisible legs and give me back my bride!”

“Too late! Her soul will dissolve into white butterflies.”

“Never! If she disappears, you would erase me from all mirrors. Instead, I’ll kill you!”

“Kill me? Do you want to cut a sword with a thread? Ha, ha, ha!”

The ragged soldier engaged in a fierce fight with Death. Saber against scythe. Teresa, biting her lips, fell with an unbearable pain in her heart. Benjamín, never leaving off acting with his two puppets, who battled in silence, looked down to where his mother had fallen.

“I’m telling you not to worry, son. The show must go on.”

“But?”

“Whatever begins must end. Go on.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s this worn-out heart. My time has come.”

“No!”

“Go on, I’m ordering you!”

Amid the shouting with which the consumptive children cheered on their hero, the soldier, who dodged Death’s scythe by sinking down into the invisible floor only to pop up like a spring to surprise his adversary from the back. He pierced Death through and through with his saber, proudly exclaiming, “I’ve killed Death! Here I am, my bride! I got here in time!”

The hero, furiously applauded by the audience but worn out by the fight, made a supreme effort, opened the gate, and entered the castle. The stage was empty. The children asked their frowning nurses whether the soldier was going to find the girl dead or alive. Benjamín, with the soldier on one hand and the bride on the other, kneeled next to his mother.

“Don’t quit on me. I still need you.”

“Now you see you can’t finish the show on your own.”

The impatient children began to call to the hand puppets, “The bride and groom! We want the bride and groom!”

Benjamín made Teresa comfortable on the floor, shouted with the bride’s voice, “We’re on our way!” Then, with the voice of the soldier, “We’re enjoying a kiss!” He imitated the noise of a huge smack and sighed: “OOOOH!” General laughter broke out.

Teresa pressed her chest with her open hands. “I’ll hang on until the end. All you have left is the dance. Get up. Do it!”

Benjamín, his eyes filled with tears, raised the puppets. The soldier and his bride left the castle. The children received them with a warm ovation. He hugged her in his arms and said, passionately, “Tattoo my chest! Cover it with flames!”

And she answered, “Tiny needles grow on my lips, which for you spurt ink like little squids!”

And he: “Let me introduce the Universe between your lips!”

And she: “I have pieces of gods at the back of my tongue!”

The two papier mâché heads made a tremendous kiss. The children howled hysterically. The bride and groom separated and fell at the edge of the stage, worn out, panting. Then they jumped up and kissed again. The kiss made them spin around. More howls. Laughter. They began to dance a waltz: “We have conquered Death! Children, say it with us!”

The consumptive audience, like a single actor, exclaimed, “We have conquered Death!”

“Now together forever!”

The curtain fell. Jaime waited for the sick children to leave, not knowing that behind the screen, his mother, in his brother’s arms, was dying.

“Do not suffer, Benjamín. We aren’t born, and we don’t die. Life is eternal.”

“I know it. I’ll have to be the soldier who conquers Death.”