Where the Bird Sings Best by Alejandro Jodorowsky Page A

but overcome by boredom. Breathe again! Awaken and come dance with us! Joy! Joy! Joy!”
    The coffin fell from the ceiling onto the floor and shattered. The Vilna Gaon opened his eyes, looked at his audience, suffered an attack of laughter, stood up, and ran to give his daughter a long embrace, gave Salvador another, blessed them both, danced with the old man and his Hasidim, dragged the rabbis by the beard and made them join in the round. Violins and tambourines were played. Vodka moistened throats. The women brought a white veil and the men a tent and a velvet hat. They covered Salvador’s head with the hat and Luna’s with the veil. The Gaon, seconded by the drunken old man, paused in front of the couple and offered the Bible to the future groom.
    “I cannot deny the feelings consuming my daughter. Show us you’re worthy of the bonfire. Tell us what you see in the seven words of the first sentence of Genesis.”
    Arcavi, bathed in sweat, trembling from head to toe, opened the Holy Book. He did not know how to read Hebrew and had no knowledge. In his soul, full of love for Luna, there was no room for God.
    The old Hasid whispered with the voice of Baal Shem Tov, “The first and last letters of the Torah form the word heart. There is no greater knowledge than Love. You can do it. Be daring. You are a lion tamer, and each letter is a lion.”
    Salvador stopped doubting. With the same concentration his ancestors employed staring at the lions, he fixed his eyes on the letters without trying to guess what they said. They were beings, not signs. The first word began with a descending arc, a horizontal base, and a period: B. He observed the form emptying itself of itself, allowing his eyes to see without the interference of his person. Slowly, the arc and the line transformed into an open jaw and then, within it, the period vibrated like the roar of a beast, a total, generative scream.
    He focused his attention with such force that the small stain grew and acquired depth to become an endless tunnel, an insatiable throat that began to swallow all the other letters. Finally, all that remained on the page was that enormous, deep period. Salvador felt that its voracious center was absorbing him, extracting him from his body. He let himself be swallowed with no fear, and his soul entered that dark passageway. He felt he was dissolving, but with faith he went further and further.
    At the far end, an immense sphere of light awaited him, a sun that did not burn. Entering into it, he began to lose his memory, but the beats of his heart continued repeating: Luna. His chest was a golden temple with an altar of living flesh at its center. Above him was a cup of fire filled with holy water. He knew he would never be thirsty again, that his mouth was the arc, the line, and the period, a divine fountain, and he allowed love to overflow and experienced a pleasure that was the explosion of his cup. And the water flooded the world, and he awoke preaching in Spanish or Yiddish or Hebrew (he never found out) among the rabbis who wept, the Hasids, who danced ecstatically listening to him, and the women, who kissed his hands and placed them on the heads of their children so that they might be blessed.
    The great Vilna Gaon kneeled before him, and with a voice like a deep river sang to marry him to his daughter. When he finished the ceremony, he handed over the keys to the school, asked forgiveness for his errors, bade farewell to everyone, and set out on a trip to Palestine. Luna never learned another thing about him. Sadness was forbidden. Solemn meetings became festivals, where thanks to God was shown by offering Him continuous joy. Salvador and Luna had the same trances and visions, which they shared with the poor. Together they cured a multitude of sicknesses.
    For the first time in the history of the Arcavis, a girl was born. Since she was the fruit of a year of matrimonial happiness, they named her Felicidad. They did try to have a boy so he