Where the Bird Sings Best Read Online Free Page A

during the many combat maneuvers, the infantry had to have its lower extremities very well protected.
    Alejandro imagined life as a spiritual war and felt an almost unbearable sorrow for the poor men who advanced barefoot or suffered from shoddily made boots. Being a shoemaker was a profession that fit his modesty. If he were meant to serve, he would transform his labors into works of art. Those who previously only walked would dance in his shoes. This he decided the day that a captain, loudly guffawing through aromatic waves of kielbasa and vodka, gave him a pair of boots stained with Jewish blood. For an hour he polished them, not to make them shine but to erase from them that painful image. He swore he would only make fine shoes that would be as soft and durable as faithful animals, to give health to the body. A man who dances can sing, and all songs, human and animal, exalt God.
    As soon as they were liberated from military service, the Rabbi smiled again. After five years of silence among uniformed goyim, he went merrily along with Alejandro toward the Jewish neighborhood. His joy quickly made him fly like a grand crow above the rooftops. When he saw the sparrows flee, my grandfather realized that they could see the phantom. That removed a weight from his mind because, for him, it proved he wasn’t insane.
    He shouted to the Rabbi, “Hey, my friend, come down here! Now I know that you are not a hallucination! Let’s resume our conversation.”
    The man from the Caucasus left the company of a dead leaf that was being wafted about, landed, and spoke to his companion: “Mr. Levi—pardon me, I mean Mr. Jodorowsky. During these past years, not being able to speak with you, I dedicated myself to reviewing, within myself, the sacred books I know by heart. I had the idea I should summarize them in a single volume. Then, in a single chapter, then in a single page, and finally in a single sentence. This sentence is the greatest thing I can teach you. It seems simple, but if you understand it, you will never have to study again.” The Rabbi recited it. And life, from that moment on, changed for Alejandro. “If God is not here, He is nowhere; this instant itself is perfection.”
    Teresa received my grandfather shyly, hugging the twins to her body. Shorn of moustache, beard, without curly payot hanging next to his ears, without long hair, wearing goyish clothes, Alejandro was unrecognizable. His smile had become a meaningless contraction. His wife had put on weight, and his children had grown. The boys were almost seven, the girls around six. Benjamín was completely bald. Fanny had curled her hair and dyed it an aggressive red. Jaime and Lola, he muscular and she spectrally thin, were as alike as two drops of water. My grandmother, aside from being three times her original size (the result of eating only honey in order to save money, she said later), boasted a skull covered by a thicket of gray hair. Her round, young face with ruddy cheeks contrasted violently with those white hairs.
    Alejandro burst into tears, sobbing loudly. He fell to his knees. My grandmother recognized him. She pushed the boys into his arms and ran from the room. The children wriggled out of their father’s embrace, flailing their arms every which way, and ran to a dark corner, cringing like frightened chickens. Under no circumstances would they ever accept this intruder.
    The Rabbi spoke to him: “Hold back your tenderness. Wait. It’s one thing to give it, but quite another to force someone to accept it. Little by little, they’ll come to you.”
    Teresa came back wearing a clean dress and a black, well-combed wig, carrying some pieces of honeycomb in a clay bowl. With a single shout, both fierce and kind, she sent the twins to the barn. While Alejandro ate voraciously, spitting out bits of wax, Teresa got into bed.
    With her brow deeply furrowed, she said, “Tell you-know-who he should also leave.”
    Alejandro, with great dignity, retorted,