Where the Bird Sings Best (7 page)

The old man opened a pouch of violet leather, then looked right and left. He took out a small package wrapped in a silk handkerchief that was the same color as the pouch, unfolded it devoutly, and revealed a deck of cards:

“This humble game, which we’ve named Tarot, summarizes, without naming them, the three branches of wisdom—Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. We conceived it in the shadow of your lions. Thanks to their example, we were able to pass through the thicket of traditions to reach the single fountain. Staring at the beasts, who were neither asleep nor awake, we received the first twenty-two arcana. Each of their lines, their colors, was sent to us by God. Then we combined them in a game of fifty-six Arabic cards that we modified according to what was dictated to us. These cards are like your lions: you have to observe them in silence, memorizing trait after trait, tone after tone, to allow them to work from within, from the shadowy region of the spirit. The knowledge they will bestow on you will not be sought but received.
Hunting is forbidden; only fishing is allowed.

“Salvador and Estrella Arcavi: look at the first card, the card with no number. It shows a fool followed by a kitten. This sacred madman walks with the kitten, is sought by it, but he pays it no attention because he’s chasing an ideal located outside himself. Up ahead, on card number eleven, Strength, a woman with a huge head joins a luminous yellow lion. With her mouth closed, she listens, and he, with his jaws open, speaks, transmitting the message that pours into her the Infinite Profundity. The beast—that is, the body—and the woman (that is the soul) become a single being. Knowledge, the vision of God, cannot be found except within oneself. And finally on the last card, The World: just look at the lion crowned with an aureole, which indicates the sanctification of instinct. Which brings us back to the words of Jacob: ‘Judah is a young lion: from the prey, my son, you have gone up.’ This, the man who understands sacrifices his material interests and ascends, lion transformed into eagle, into pure spirit to give himself to the divine hunter and be devoured by Him.”

The Arcavis did not understand Abramiel’s symbolic language, but as they studied the drawings on the cards they felt themselves invaded by an ineffable feeling that was a mixture of awe and terror.

“My children, your name is Arcavi, which means ‘I saw the ark.’
Take away with you this last vessel, this temple that will pass through the flood, transporting sacred knowledge through the centuries. Copy the deck. Give it to common people. Scatter it throughout the world. Disguise it as a vice, so that people will take it for a mere game and not punish it. By way of thanks, the deck will supply you with food and keep you away from catastrophe. Always remember you are carrying a Being who, little by little, overcoming ignorance, will allow the union of all human spirits.”

While Salvador kept the animals under control, Estella hid the Tarot in her bodice. The wise old man climbed up on the back of the lioness who had given him milk and asked that he be taken to the bonfire of books. The beast, docile and followed by the others, carried him to they pyre. Abramiel, his face radiant, walked into the fire and recited a poem in Hebrew as the flames devoured him.

Every time Sara Luz Arcavi told her daughter Jashe about this sacrifice, tears would pour interminably down her neck. Leaving a dark trail on her starched apron, they would finally fall among the cats, who would gather to lap them up with delight. There was no suffering in her. She would smile sweetly, knowing she was a conduit for sorrow that came from the past, sorrow that would pass through the eyes of countless generations to end up who knew where.

Perhaps she didn’t weep out of sorrow but out of reverence. When the wise man entered the bonfire, memory broke into fragments and reality mixed with legend. Within the family circulated different versions of the event: Abramiel climbs up the burning books as if he were climbing a ladder, he gets to the top of the pyre, spreads his arms out like a cross and burns, blessing the world, cursing the world, giggling, until he turns to ash, ash that spits flames in the form of eagles that fly in a flock toward Jerusalem. Or, he opens a door in the smoke, walks through it into another world, and disappears. No, he was an alchemist who created an elixir that allows anyone who drinks a few drops to live a thousand years. Abramiel, in his protest, sacrificed several centuries of existence. Before his immolation, he gave his precious drink to the lioness who carried him, which is why the animal went on working for a different Salvador Arcavis without dying. No, Abramiel in reality was the philosopher Isaac Abravanel, who tried to commit suicide. The flames, out of respect for his holy wisdom, refused to consume him. He emerged untouched from the bonfire and sailed with Estrella, Salvador, and the lions on a ship whose crew was made up of Moors who promised to carry them to Morocco. This last version was the one Jashe preferred.

After paying the price demanded—which, despite the urgent situation, was fair—they stored the cages on the deck, near the poop, with the amiable help of the crew. How many lions were there? My grandmother did not have exact figures. There may have been twelve, like the twelve tribes; or seven because of the sacred candelabra; or four, like the letters of the unsayable name of God. The family never managed to agree on any of this. They all agreed that the lions over time, because of continuous incestuous couplings, began to be born albino. Their red eyes and white fur infused a hypnotic terror in even the most hardened warriors.

Isaac Abravanel, invigorated by the lion’s milk and his passage through fire, accompanied the Arcavis. Enough families followed him to fill the hold and the rest of the deck. The Moors offered each passenger a glass of tea with mint. The ship set sail, leaving the coast of Spain in its wake. The women sobbed, the men squeezed their lips together, someone took out a guitar and, in a cracked voice, sang a farewell to the lost homeland.

Soon the passengers calmed down. Some yawned, and a general drowsiness caused everyone to stretch out and sleep while the ship cut through the water, pushed by a pious wind. “Adonai seems cruel,” said Isaac the Wise, “but in the moment of our greatest pain, He preserves us by making us fall asleep in broad daylight as if it were night. His love is as great as his severity!” Salvador, despite these words, was very nervous. Between him and the lions there never were differences. If they were hungry, he would eat; if they fornicated, he would mount Estrella; when, for no reason, the beasts, possessed by an irrepressible joy, started to roar, he could not keep from shouting at the top of his lungs, made drunk by a similar feeling. So, how was it possible that God sent him sleep but did not make the lions fall asleep? To the contrary, enlivened by the sea breeze, they wouldn’t stop playing. He fought as much as he could until he fell as if struck by lightning next to his wife who, riding on a gigantic scarab, was looking for him in a virgin forest while she snored with her mouth wide open.

The passengers, thanks to the drug the Moors dissolved in the tea, slept for two days. They woke up in chains. Without their friendly smiles, the sailors showed what they really were: slave traders. The prisoners would disembark in Constantinople, and from there their freedom would be negotiated with some Jewish congregation in Europe. If the ransom was paid, they ran no risk, but if not... A threatening silence ended the sentence.

Salvador, Estrella, and their lions roared with rage and refused to leave the cage. The Moors got out their harquebuses and swore to kill the beasts if they didn’t. The Arcavis followed orders. The pirates tied up Salvador with his arms and legs open and then put a dagger blade into a brazier filled with hot coals. Laughing and drinking dark liquors, they began to pound drums and dance, pushing one another to Estrella, who defended herself scratching and biting.

Suddenly, they pulled off her dress, knocked her down, spread her legs, and before the very eyes of the horrified Jews prepared to rape her. Salvador began to howl. The pirates, out of their minds, stripped off his lion skin tunic, revealing his genitals. A sweaty fat man, muttering curses, seized the red-hot dagger and burned Salvador’s testicles. Seeing her husband castrated, Estella sighed like a dying woman and stopped twisting around.

One after another, the drunken men tried to possess her, but she squeezed her vagina with such force that none of them could penetrate her, no matter how hard they smashed their torsos against her. They would kneel before her, try, and then get up humiliated amid the sarcastic laughter of the others, their penises still erect. Salvador had fainted. They tossed Estrella like a bag of garbage next to Isaac. The pirates moved on to rape other women, and the party continued.

Abravanel, in a calm, deep voice, as if he were speaking to a little girl, said to her, “God will make you understand, my daughter. From the pack in your bosom, take out a single Tarot card and tell me what you see.”

Estrella, numb with pain, dug into the package and extracted The Sun.

“Two children… happy.”

“Well seen, Estrella. Those two children are the ones you will have with Salvador.”

Hearing that, Estrella was overcome with such unbearable suffering that it became an attack of laughter. She laughed and laughed so much that her laughter spread to the Moors who, not knowing why, cackled out laughs like barking dogs. Estrella’s convulsions stopped, and in a tone of despair she whispered, “He’s no longer a man. My womb is dead. You’re mocking me.”

“No my daughter. The Tarot never lies. Believe in the impossible, have faith. Pulling her toward his chest, he put out his tongue, drew a Kabbalistic sign with saliva on her forehead, and began to recite strange words. “Hamag! Abala! Maham! Alaba! Gamah!” He pronounced them with such intensity that the squeals, prayers, drumming, cruel laughter, and songs all ceased.

The sea suddenly became choppy. The ship began to waltz up and down. The waves got bigger and bigger. Black clouds came down from the center of heaven, and a powerful wind whistled words that, even though no one understood them, cut off people’s breath and crushed their hearts. A pirate leaped toward Abravanel, waving his scimitar. An invisible hand threw him against the mast with such rude force that his split skull spit out his brains.

“Release my brothers or the ship sinks!” bellowed the old man, surrounded by a greenish mist and looking like a demon.

This part of the story, even though she heard it directly from her mother when she was small, always seemed incredible to Jashe. She wanted to know about the real life of her ancestors, not a fairy tale or a biblical story. But Sara Luz, smiling, explained that the past was a continuous invention, that every character in her family tree was like a stone that with the passage of years, from telling to telling, rose until it reached the sky and shone like a star to give a light sweeter than sugar.

“All the people in your family, my child, will, by the end of time, be converted into champions, heroes, geniuses, and saints. Treat them as if they were savings boxes and day after day deposit in them the treasure of your fervent imagination. Which would you like better, a miserable old man burnt to a crisp in a bonfire or a magician? Let him board the ship so that when the storm breaks, the Moors become terrified and beg for mercy on their knees! Accept the fact that the prisoners will disembark in Nice. Isaac the Wise, disenchanted with philosophy, will dress up as a clown and accept the wandering life of the lion tamers. Estrella will become pregnant and give birth to two boys. This time it’s no miracle: Salvador acquired the wisdom of the lions. When the red-hot blade touches him, he withdraws his testicles into his belly, so only the scrotum is burned.”

Doing their lion acts, card readings, with comic interludes by Abravanel, they traveled the Mediterranean coast from France to Italy. When they reached Padua, the plague robbed them of one of the twins. The little boy, who did not know how to read or write, whispered in perfect Hebrew before yielding his spirit, “Wisdom above all; acquire wisdom. Make it great, and it will make you great. It will confer an adornment of grace to your head, a crown of beauty will it yield you.”

Isaac closed his eyes and his mouth as he murmured with restrained euphoria, “He recited the last verses of the fourth chapter of the Book of Proverbs! This illiterate child died a saint! Hallelujah!” And with patient work, in short sentences and growls, he translated their son’s message to his desolate parents. “Do you understand, my friends? The child asked you to learn to read our sacred books. It’s time to leave off speaking like beasts. Recover your human intelligence.” After the lions ate the small body, Salvador and Estrella took their first Hebrew lesson. They stayed on for seven years, putting on shows in Verona, Bassano, Rovereto, etcetera. By the time they reached Venice, they knew how to read and write. Like them, the lions also spoke Hebrew correctly.

“Yes, Jashe,” said her mother with severity. “The lions learned to speak Hebrew. If you want to draw some advantage from your history, you must accept not only this miracle but also many others. In memory, everything can become miraculous. All you have to do is wish it, and freezing winter turns into spring, miserable rooms fill up with golden tapestries, murderers turn good, and children who cry out of loneliness receive caring teachers who are really the children themselves moved back from adulthood to their early years. Yes, my daughter, the past is not fixed and unalterable. With faith and will we can change it, not erasing its darkness but adding light to it to make it more and more beautiful, the way a diamond is cut.

The Venice ghetto, which could only be entered by way of a bridge with guarded doors at both ends, looked from the outside like a great fortress with all its exits blocked and its windows sealed. The Arcavis and Abravanel entered that tenebrous neighborhood. They found clean streets populated by tranquil Jews, their heads covered with the obligatory yellow yarmulkes. The luminous color emerging from their tallises made them look like a field of sunflowers.