The flowering tree E-Book

Marjorie Agosín

• Herausgeber: Ediciones Mis Raíces
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 65

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

"The flowering tree" is a text based on real events which narrates the life of a Jewish family that, after escaping the conflicts in Europe, comes to live in the Valparaíso Region (Chile), specifically in Quillota. The narrator of the book is Celeste, the granddaughter of the inmigrants Abraham and Raquel.

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The Flowering Tree

© Marjorie Agosín, 2018

© of this edition: Ediciones Mis Raíces, 2018

5770 Presidente Kennedy Avenue, off. 318,Santiago, Chile

www.misraices.cl

[email protected]

Text: Marjorie Agosín

General Editor: Francisca Jiménez

Illustrations: © Francisca Yáñez

Production and edition: Yasna Cabrera and Nicole Yuretic

Design and Layout: Francisca Yáñez

Main translator: Alison Ridley

Aditional texts translator and text reviewer: Javiera Puentes

Assistant text reviewer: Graciela Gamboa

Assistant designer: Oscar Braz Hernández

First Edition, August 2018

Reg. N: 287748

ISBN printed edition: 978-956-9002-26-7

ISBN digital edition: 978-956-9002-42-7

Digital edition: ebooks Patagonia

www.ebookspatagonia.com | [email protected]

Ediciones Mis Raíces

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My grandfather Abraham had green eyes... like a forest... like a cat’s eyes that, in the darkness, illuminate the forgotten faces of the night... like the eyes of the owls that came to our balcony when all our doors were open and perched there as though waiting for us. We were always so happy when we arrived in the city of Quillota on Sundays to visit my grandfather. During those visits I would ask him many things, and so that I wouldn’t forget his answers, I wrote them down in a notebook that I took with me. The owls would always perch nearby and listen to the story I’m about to tell.

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I also have a blue eraser that I call “magic eraser,” so that if I make a mistake, I can change the story... not too much, but maybe just a little.

My grandfather lived for many years hidden in the forests of Poland and Crimea. He spoke very little about that time in his life, but he did tell me that after living there for so long among the branches and leaves turned dark from so much loneliness, he learned to howl like the wolves, to blend in with the branches, and to make like a tree. He learned that the color green is the color of hope and of portents in the darkness. He said it was not important to understand the shifting geographies of countries that either stopped being countries or morphed into new countries. The most important thing was to celebrate the lives of the people who dwelled there, as well as their languages and their jobs; like the milkman, the fiddler on the roof, or the soldier who returned to his village mute. My grandfather believed it was important to learn the languages of others, because it’s the only way to understand their souls. With a little luck, he would say, you might even be able to sing with them.

AbueloAbraham spoke Russian, his most cherished language, but he also spoke Yiddish, Turkish, French, Ladino, and Spanish, which was the last language he learned in the city of Quillota, his final home. I loved to hear my grandfather singing in Turkish, reciting verses in Russian and sometimes, when he was a little upset with us for interrupting his naps, he would speak to me in Yiddish. How lovely it is to speak lots of languages or play different musical instruments. Languages are the most beautiful instruments because they are the human voice, and to be truly happy you should always have a song in your heart...

When my grandfather would wake up and drink his cup of sweetened tea I would ask him many things. For instance, I wanted to know about the forests in Crimea. He would say, “There are

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questions that are better left unanswered, Celeste. It’s best to let them rest like the moon rests over the night sky that looks after us.” But I would insist because I loved questions.

“Why do you eat a sugar cube before you drink your jasmine tea?”

“Why did SeñoraEulalia always like to dress in yellow?”

“Do the stars have names?”

“And who ever thought of naming Venus, Venus?”

“And why do the Jews play the violin?”

“And why doesn’t AbuelaRaquel write in Spanish?”

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“Ah, my dear girl, for now I can only answer your question about the violin. When we had to flee our homes, we couldn’t even take a goat or a horse with us, but we could hide a violin inside our threadbare jackets or in a small knapsack.

Violins have been with us forever. They have velvet voices and deep blue souls.

Sometimes I think that the wail of violins is like a voice that always accompanies us. One