“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?”