Lucena (3 page)

“A written complaint?” responded Isaac. “I know all about those from Mexico. I want to speak with your head of state. Perhaps that will shorten the process. I am an important person in Mexico, a well-known attorney.”

“I advise you to cooperate with us,” said the Cardinal. “So that we may return you to the place from which you came, wherever that may be.”

“I come from a rational world,” asserted Isaac. “And this is a crazy house.”

“Do you know this man?” The Cardinal showed a photo to Isaac.

“Of course. That is Mois Benzimra, the most distant relative of whom I have a photo. I have another at home.”

“He is a thousand years old and was born in Lucena. He calls himself Lucena and spreads all kinds of lies about us. Do you know anything about that?”

“The photo is from the nineteenth century, from 1880 more or less, apparently. I'm referring to the photo I have at home. He arrived in Brazil from Tetuán, which is not far from here, and one fine day he disappeared. He supposedly died. People don't live one hundred and eighty years and in the photo he looks to be forty or fifty.”

“You're not much help,” commented the Cardinal. “It is said he seeks out former Jews “Marranos” to convert to Judaism.”

“Are there still former Jews, Your Eminence?” asked Isaac.

“Yes, so many,” sighed the Cardinal. “There is one who calls himself the Messiah of the Jews. He is the one we are seeking.”

“And do you know this young man?” added the Cardinal.

“That is Samuel, my sister's son,” said Isaac. “Samuel Felipes, a charming young man. He lives in Mexico.”

“In Mexico?" said the Cardinal. “It seems he is in two places at once. Here, too, he calls himself Samuel. Samuel Murciano. He writes accounts that he publishes in all kinds of magazines, stories against The Church. Surely he is a “Marrano” or a covert Jew or perhaps just a contemptible liar.”

“It could be that he just looks a lot like my nephew,” surmised Isaac. “There are people in the world who look alike. I don't think my nephew writes stories. He is studying medicine at the University of Mexico City.”

“That is all,” said the Cardinal after a few moments of reflection. “You may go. You may do as you wish.”

“The question is: How to get back to my world.” asked Isaac.

“I advise you to ask the least amount of questions possible,” warned the Cardinal. “And that you leave before I regret setting you free and send you back to the Málaga Inquisition Tribunal.”

Isaac went out toward the street as quickly as he could. He had to walk up many steps. He counted one hundred fifty as he attempted to reconstruct what had happened to him and whether anyone would believe him.

When he was on the last steps he remembered some derisive comments his son had told him when he was four years old which had made him laugh ‘till he cried but that now had no meaning at all: a man goes into the water and there is a large animal in the water that strikes his head and when he gets out of the water he goes to the grandmother's house and she tells him:

“Hi” and “Bye” and then he drinks chocolate milk and buys an avocado at the market and so on.

At the end of the stairs he came upon a huge room where there were people praying. His first thought was to run but he noticed that the prayer was being sung in Hebrew. The people were pronouncing a phrase he had always heard his mother say. It was something like
Shemá Israel
. He remembered that phrase which had been a kind of family code. He thought only he knew it. He approached those who were praying, who didn't even notice him, being so engrossed in their prayers.

When he got to them, they prostrated themselves several times and the prayer was ended. Someone came up to him and greeted him in Spanish.

“Who are you?” said the man.

“Who am I?" said Isaac. And who are you?”

“I am Samuel Danino,” said the man. “Samuel Danino. I'm from here but you aren't. Are you a Jew?”

“It depends,” said Isaac.

“What is your name?”

“Isaac Benzimra,” said Isaac.

“Benzimra... ¿Benzimra from Tetuán or from Brazil? My mother's name was Benzimra.”

“Benzimra from Brazil, but I'm from México,” said Isaac.

“Mexico,” mused Samuel. “Are there any Jews there?”

“I'm not a Jew,” said Isaac. “I'm a Christian. My grandfather was a Jew.”

“That can't be,” said Samuel. “Not in Spain it can't. Benzimra is a Jewish name and Jews cannot convert to Christianity. That is, yes they can, but there aren't any such cases. One would have to get permission from the rabbi, and from the priest. And then the king has to authorize it. And then it is obligatory to change names. There are Jewish names and Christian names and Benzimra is a Jewish name.”

“Well, I didn't know that,” said Isaac. “Maybe I am Jewish. If the Inquisition investigated me yesterday, today I may be Jewish.”

“The Inquisition?” said Samuel. “I have heard something about it but it was for the Christians. It was something that existed back in about the twelfth century. It was a good institution. It allowed people to go confess their sins and receive absolution. But they never investigated the Jews. Never!”

“Well,” said Isaac, “Anything can happen. But what I know is that the Christians and the Inquisition made life impossible for the Jews and kicked them out of Spain.”

“What I learned was different,” said Samuel. “The Muslims kicked us out of Lucena but thanks to the Reconquista we returned and Lucena was always a Jewish city. Perhaps in Sevilla there may be Christians from the Inquisition but they never harmed the Jews. Here the Christians are good; not like those in Poland.”

“Mr. Danino, what can I say?” said Isaac. “Anything can happen. Lately history has suffered a terrible mix-up and everything is scrambled. One thing is certain, though. I prefer to be here in this synagogue rather than in the dungeons of the Inquisition where I was yesterday. Who would believe I would be overjoyed to find myself in a synagogue?”

“Come,” said Danino, “Let's go have something at the cafe.”

Outside the synagogue it was a sunny wintery day and there was an enormous terrace where birds fluttered in and out. Isaac remembered the legend of the birds which at dawn fill the terrace of the Wailing Wall and Samuel immediately began to tell it: “It is said that at the Wailing Wall, where our temple stood, each day, at dawn, the terrace fills with birds that sing praises to the creator and then the sun may arrive in Jerusalem. The birds call the sun out. The wise men among us say that without the birds, dawn would not break. The Sufi also believe that the birds bring on daybreak.”

The two arrived at the ‘Route 66', where a lot of people were drinking
café con leche
and eating tostadas or croissants.

“Hello, Samuel.”

“Hello, David.”

“Everybody is really Jewish here,” said Isaac.

“You have a guest?” said one. “What is better than to have a guest on a sunny day? One can spend time with him and comply with the rule of offering hospitality to guests,” said another.

“I am Yitzhak Bentolila,” said one fellow at the bar to Isaac.

“And I am Isaac Benzimra.”

“Benzimra from Brazil or Tetuán?”

“From Brazil, although I live in México.”

“There are Jews in Mexico?” asked Yitzhak.

“I don't know,” answered Isaac. “At any rate, the Benzimra from Brazil surely got there from Tetuán.”

“They say that people from Tetuán are stricter than anyone in the world,” commented Yitzhak. “And it is also said that if one doesn't taste the sweets they make, one hasn't lived.”

“It is said as well that the people of Tetuán are descended from the tribe of Yehudá,”added David. “Which by night watched over the temple of the animals and for this reason they were called “the lions.” People from Tetuán are totally honorable. They don't make good businessmen but they are great doctors.”

“How can you say that?” burst out Samuel Danino. “My family is from Tetuán and they are very good businessmen.”

“Perhaps businessmen,” said David, “but they are an obstinate people. If they tell you a tumbler is made of iron you'd better not argue, and even if it breaks, they will try to convince you it is made of iron and cannot break.”

“I'll agree with that,” said Samuel.

“Good coffee,” interrupted Isaac.

“It's the best in the area,” said David.

“How do I get from here to Málaga? Isaac asked Samuel. “My wife will be waiting for me there.”

“What did you say you are?” said Samuel.

“A lawyer,” repeated Isaac. “When someone has a trial, I represent them before the Tribunal.”

“Be not like the lawyers,' said Samuel. “It is written in the
Pirké Avot
. Such a thing does not exist among us. Everyone presents his issues before the rabbi, without lawyers.”

“Whenever someone needs to sign a contract, he comes to me,” explained Isaac. “And also whenever they have a legal or social question.”

“Now I understand,” said Samuel. “You are like a rabbi.”

“No, nothing like that,” answered Isaac. “I studied five years to be a lawyer.”

“Among us, a rabbi has to study fifteen years to get his license.”

“Is that so?” commented Isaac. “Fifteen years! I wouldn't have lasted.”

“Not many do last,” lamented Samuel. “And don't think they earn much either.”

“Are you sure I can't go to Málaga today?” persevered Isaac.

Someone interrupted the conversation. “You can go to Córdoba, from there to Sevilla and from Sevilla to Antequera by the old road but it will take a long time, more than an hour. Maybe an hour and a half.”

“An hour and a half is a long time?” smiled Isaac. “But that isn't much! An hour and a half is pretty fast.”

“How long does it take by the new highway?” said Isaac, laughing.

“Nine minutes and twenty four seconds.”

“How precise,” commented Isaac.

“That's the new highways for you,” said Samuel. “You get your car to the hydraulic zone and the car works by guiding magnets and water currents.”

“If you say so...but an hour and a half isn't much to me.” said Isaac.

“The highway is fine, Mr. Isaac, but people in Lucena don't believe its right to have someone come from a long way off and not invite them to eat. That is why we say they are changing the water. It is a saying,” explained Samuel. “You certainly don't know the customs of Spain so that is why you don't understand.”

“But if you are in a hurry,” said Samuel, “come to my house.” You will recuperate with the lamb we slaughter in your honor and then we will travel with you to your place.”

Isaac was at the point of laughing at the solemnity of the words of his host but he understood he could not do such a thing. He had no choice but to accept the invitation.

“It will be best,” said Samuel, “if you spend the night at our home and tomorrow when you are refreshed, you can be on the road.”

“I can't.” replied Isaac. “My wife is waiting for me.”

The meal was really succulent and abundant. During the agape they laughed and told jokes.

After eating, Isaac asked his host if he would be so kind as to tell him how to return to Málaga but Samuel insisted on driving him in his car.

Isaac got in the vehicle, hard to describe as a car, was asked to buckle his seatbelt, to put on the helmet, and to put into his pocket an apparatus which served to verify if his pulse was stable during the trip.

During the journey they spoke very little but after six minutes Isaac found himself inside a tunnel. The cosmic vehicle had entered... but then he exited with the Opel Corsa that he had rented. He drove on a little disoriented, and then saw behind him two motorcyclists making signals for him to pull over to the shoulder.

He stopped, exited the car and approached the police officers.

“I do hope you are not from the Inquisition.”

“Documentation please,” said one of the officers.

“And that you aren't one of those crazy Jews either,” he said as he took his documentation out of his wallet.

“Benzimra,” said one of the officers. “Benzimra from Tetuán or Madrid?”

“What?” said Isaac. “Oh, yes, from México.”

“That is far away,” said the other officer.

“Benzimra or not Benzimra,” said the officer. “You have committed a serious infraction. Our instrument indicates you were traveling at a high rate of speed.”

Suddenly Isaac broke into tears and hugged both officers saying to them again and again: “It is so good to be back to normal. How wonderful! Speeding!”

“Speeding at the rate of five hundred twelve kilometers per hour.”

“Ha... Ha...” Isaac laughed uproariously, “Five hundred kilometers per hour!”

“Five hundred twelve,” interrupted the officer precisely.

“Five hundred twelve?” said Isaac laughing again. “This car won't go over one hundred twenty. Look at it. Do you think it can get up to five hundred twelve kilometers per? You can take me to trial. What judge is going to believe that?”

The officers looked at each other and figured out they had nabbed someone who was a bit insane, perhaps drunk, whatever, but this car under no circumstances could reach a velocity of five hundred twelve kilometers per hour.

“OK. Here are your documents, but next time drive slower.”