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.