Colombia

The Nehushtan

And here I am standing in line. Warning: it is not an ordinary line.
Those of us standing here are going to the promised land. Today the line seems longer than ever. With every step it sways, creating a chain of contortions that pulls us from one side to the other in serpentine movements. The progress of the creature is slow and cumbersome; every inch seems a victory.

It should not surprise you that the line that takes us to the promised land is shaped like a giant serpent. After all Moses had a bronze staff in the shape of a serpent which the Israelites call Nehushtan. The search for the promised land has a lot to do with serpents. And, like all reptiles, this path will always be scaly, slippery and plagued with ambivalence.

Few animals generate such polarized feelings as serpents. They hypnotize us, and at the same time scare, enchant, or repulse us. They are either loved or hated, but there does not seem to be a neutral attitude towards them. Moses? brother Aaron was not a friend of serpents, he preferred calves. Moses, on the other hand, loved serpents and led the exodus. The path in search of the promised land is, without a doubt, a snaky one.

I joined this reptile at seven thirty in the morning, which is what I had been told to do. I am not usually that punctual, but this time I did my best to be on time. I was stunned to see that there were already three hundred people ahead of me, but I quickly settled into the spot assigned to me. The sight of so many people made me think that I had made a mistake. I checked my passport. The slip of paper stated clearly: seven thirty in the morning. The man in front of me similarly checked his documents. I got a glimpse of his paper; it also said seven thirty a.m. All of us were here for the same humiliating appointment.

A strange rumor started going down the backbone of the beast jamming our ears. It sounded like an out-of-tune flute voicing off key hypotheses and conjectures.

Once inside the Nehushtan, there is nobody to turn to with queries or complaints. The reptile demands a cheerful face and patience. It obliges us all to look meek, an indispensable costume for those going to the promised land. This is the mask which identifies us as members, parts of this animal with the forked tongue.

Those in front started this tiring, undulating movement at four thirty in the morning, under the light of the moon. Reptiles love moonlight. To tell you the truth, I was upset to have arrived three hours late. I had got up enthusiastically, and I hate early starts. Once again, I heard a hissing murmur going down the Nehushtan. Inside the creature we learn, step by step, that we are no longer individuals and that we have to behave as one unit, part of the same body. As the minutes go by, the rumors spread like ripples picking up all kinds of stories on their way. The snake digests different versions of the same event, embracing contradictions.

I am tempted to leave, but when one becomes a part of this body, it is not easy to get away. Every time I considered the possibility of breaking loose, the murmur stopped me, filling me with uncertainties, and overcoming my resistance. The Nehushtan always discovers the version one wants to hear, and this becomes an uncertainty which requires solace.

The wave of the Nehushtan advances more forcefully. It crashes over us and submerges us in it.

? If you go now, you run the risk of never coming back ... You never get used to it over there, but you end up staying? It is very hard to speak a language when they don?t understand a word you?re saying?No matter how hard you try, they act as if they don?t understand ... Many come back, after having spent the savings of a lifetime? Our fate is to get there, and stand in the same lines with exactly the same people. Look brother, everybody has a reason to leave....Even the toughest get a knot in their stomach when they get that phone call that puts a price on their child?s life...

The nature of the beast is fear. Moses liked serpents, despite the fear they could generate. He understood their nature because he had learned to play with them as a child. In fact, the Pharaoh knew about Moses? pastime because they grew up together. So when they appeared before him with the Nehushtan, Ramses did not bat an eyelid.

Moses asked Aaron to throw the stick onto the ground so that it would turn into a serpent. But the Pharaoh was not impressed by that old trick.

Once again a rumour spreads under the scales of the creature, and I find myself listening to the stories, simulating disinterest.

?In this country you do not necessarily have to be rich or famous to become the victim of some crime ? Being a victim of blackmail knocks you out and your sole desire is to escape as fast as you can? Many in this line only want a good job, but they end up doing somebody else?s cleaning? They get up at the crack of dawn to wait for the truck which will take them to some odd job? Who has not dreamt of changing their name, country, somehow starting up again? until they do so?

In spite of the complaints and uncertainties we are still part of the Nehushtan, with its murmurs and tittle-tattle. The stories within the reptile are the manna on which it fattens.

The Nehushtan knows that people are here more as a reaction to a feeling of impotence and despair, than because of any illusions about their destination. The reptile nourishes itself on the soup of uncertainties brewed in the kitchen of interminable rumours.

? Nowadays, it takes between nine and twelve months before getting an appointment to stand in this line? All of this for one minute, and sometimes not even sixty seconds.

Moses knew that the antidote to snake poison can be found in the poison itself. And the Israelites thought the Nehushtan had healing powers and burned incense to it, until King Hezekiah burned the effigy of the bronze serpent crushing it and rubbing our its trail.
And now this long, tiring wait; all these twists and turns take you to a little window at the counter. The future, admittance to the promised land, depends on a few seconds at those rectangular openings.

? We can not do anything?you need another document?ask for another appointment??

Everybody needs another document. Those who are a part of the Nehushtan always need another document. Those who want to run away, escape, leave behind the reality that weighs us down, need another document. The documents of the Nehushtan are cutting and double-edged. One needs all kinds of certificates, copies, statements, deeds, but they do not guarantee the right to leave either.

I have always wondered how serpents mesmerise. Maybe because they seem like an enormous stomach, an endless mouth that opens to devour everything, consumes everything to avoid differences. Certainly, those of us on our way to the promised land hate differences. We want to be equal, to consume the same things. We want to be a part of the same reality, taste the same flavours, without changes, uncertainties or dangers. We want to dress in the same way, have the same hopes, wear the same sneakers, move to the same rhythm, eat the same French fries, walk the same way, so that we too, can creep along as stealthily.

Is this why we so passionately desire to be a part of the Nehushtan, with its slithering, rhythmic movements? Ultimately, we dream about this reptile which consumes us and renews itself by leaving its skin behind. The Nehushtan unashamedly leaves one generation by the wayside, in order to begin another.

Snakes are cold-blooded animals. And those of us who are a part of this reptile, which by now is ten blocks long, have to abandon the past, leave behind our old skins and enter, refreshed with the hope invoked by the glowing dream of the promised land. We leave behind the shadows of our own history, to emerge again under the skies of another land. We are convinced that our future is to be found in other latitudes.

? But, will there be a future in the other land? Will there be a light at the end of the tunnel for the new arrivals? Will this exile be a punishment or a reward?

Moses founded cities for asylum and refuge. But, those cities were not completely safe, nor were they genuine places of refuge, much as Moses wanted them to be. Asylum gives you the illusion of safety, but all migrants know that one can not hope for a completely peaceful life. Cities were shelters for those who had to flee, for the exiled, the unwanted. Those of us who want to turn our backs on our past and are here in the Nehushtan want to get to the promised land, even though the quota for visas has been used up.

The Nehushtan is not a place for reflection but a place of action, actions stemming from desires.

We all share the same anxieties. The waves of rumor going up and down the creature nourish and soothe our phobias and apprehensions.

?Are you sure they sell the stickers for the passport?? Here there is a price for everything, it depends on the client?.a few months ago they spoiled the business?You can?t get hold of them any more , the market is tough now? But, you?ll be able to get them again in a couple of weeks?They really clamp down at vacation time?I managed to get one cheaply, of course that was a while ago?It was the first time I applied?

It was also a reptile that pitched us out of paradise and made us earn our living through the sweat of our brow. But the Bible does not exactly talk about sweat on our brow. The Holy Scripture talk about the nose. It tells us that we will sweat through the nose. And the nose is essential if one wants to reach the promised land.
The counter itself is distressing. One always ends turning red with shame, they are experts on the many variations of making blood come. Rumors within the Nehushtan assure one that the documents are no problem, the intermediaries will take care of that. There are intermediaries to suit all budgets and tastes.

The wave, with its circular movement at the cusp, approaches again.

?Do you need bank statements or certificates of employment??You can get them at that tire repair place, across the street?Yes, the tire repair place ? And if that is no good, next to it there is another office, the place where they take your picture for the visa? The place with the Visa Service Welcome sign ? visa photo in three minutes? We prepare forms, check documents, translate certificates, do photocopies, give assistance in all the paperwork.

The Nehushtan, with its dragging steps, keeps moving towards the counters. We all advance without any distinctions of class, race or profession. The reptile amalgamates us: doctors, plumbers, business executives, electricians, lawyers, taxi drivers, mechanics, engineers, gardeners, students, prostitutes, traders, psychologists, hired killers, street vendors. There is no job which is not included in the Nehushtan. We are all going to the promised land and are part of the same creature.

The wave advances, pitilessly soaking us with its spray.
? If you have a doctor's degree then they will send you to hospitals or centers for high risk of contagion or infection, and you get the visa at once?Sometimes if they need engineers for a road in the mountains? Or if they need professionals to pick up some gruntwork, that their workers, who have been in the country for years, refuse to take?.

Imagine reality over there as a totem pole with the latest arrivals at the bottom of it. But, if you do not ask too many questions, and get on with things, sooner or later you get to the promised land. END HERE???????Those full of doubts and apprehensions (like Moses) only get to see it in the distance.

In the Nehushtan, you must, above all, be lucky. One day it rained, it rained so much that the reptile looked like an eel. The tension and electricity which saturated the atmosphere were shocking. Energy circulated everywhere. Everybody went in, soaked, and dripping wet. The tension spread to the counters, and to get rid of it, they gave everyone a visa that day. There is nothing like a lucky star. But, the rain does not always mean it is your lucky day. Generally it just gives you a terrible flu. And your wet face does not arouse compassion or pity, just contempt and rage. The odors become more pronounced, and odour is a crucial factor when you get to the counters.

Those behind the counters are sensitive to odours. They accept or reject depending on the smells emitted. In fact, the Nehushtan has a special odor. A mixture of smells, which added to the sleepless night and fear, stick to you, and nobody can get rid of it. And, in the end, all of us smell the same: we share the scent of rejection that
characterises us all.

Clothing and colors within the Nehushtan are unpredictable. Some people are very elegant, even dripping in gold. Others dress more modestly. But the neckties give the game away. Those behind the counter know how to distinguish them. The ones with a triangular knot belong to one category, the tubular knot to another, and no necktie is yet another group. They are classified at the counter. The Nehushtan has developed its own language full of gesticulation. There are some who turn up in a leather jacket and jeans, and there are those who come in a poncho. The ones in ponchos are immediately regurgitated by the snake.

Rumour takes off and travels down the creature.
?Who will give you financial support?... What about the airplane tickets?... How much do you earn?... What will be your address?... What is the purpose of your visit?... Are you married?... If you are planning a vacation, why aren?t you taking your children?... Have you got a car?... Real estate? ?You do not have a five year employment record??

We all hope we get to counter number 13. The ones who get the ? the crazy guy? have a fighting chance. We all hope to get a turn with him. With him anything can happen. It is a gamble. But, it is also true that ?crazy guy? has a terrible temper. One day his treacherous voice announced over the loudspeakers: ?Those of you who speak Chinese and know who the twentieth president of the U.S. was, step over this way. Anybody who knows the answer, gets a visa.
The Nehushtan has no past, nor memory; it only spreads the murmurs that fuel the buzz of voices. And ?crazy guy? knows this. Nobody was able to answer, and from that day onwards everybody came prepared with the list of U.S. presidents and had learnt the national anthem.

Behind the counter they play games like serpents with their prey. The Nehushtan is full of rodents. One day, ?crazy guy? burst forth on the loudspeakers: ?Those of you with false documents please place them at the back of your files, they will be accepted in the Embassies of Egypt, Iran or Iraq.?

?Egypt?Egypt will always be the enemy of the promised land.
Today it is cold, it is not raining? Could this be the right moment?
The timing is crucial. They do not need villains, in this theatre, but bad timing and a bad entrance, as usual, can be fatal.

? Will this be the right moment? Will the guy at number 13 harden his heart?

One false move and everything is lost.
Time becomes infinite in any period of waiting.
? Potato chips, candy, lollipops?

In the Nehushtan we eat all the time.
Will they deport me? Am I the right age for the promised land?
Getting into the promised land without being the right age is not easy. Too young is no good. They reject young people. This may seem strange, but at the counter they do not like young people. This is one of the few circumstances in which it is not an advantage to be young. The serpent does not like the young. Young people will stay and they go into hiding easily.

??How old are you?...Are you going to study?.. Show me the letter from the university?You can study English here you know? There are plenty of language schools here; I can recommend you some.?

The counters are rat holes, they set the traps and we all get caught in the end. Those of us who are in the Nehushtan at this turning point in life, spend our time studying and practising the answers to the questions formulated by loose tongues.
? A relative of mine had all his documents prepared for him, he paid the money and got his visa, no problem? Those people are experts, they know the name of the game and they are in collusion with the right people? You need the documents from the Chamber of Commerce?... Over there they will tell you where to get them, but that will have to be for the next occasion? You don?t think that you?ll be the only one to get a visa the first time round, do you?... That would hardly be good business, would it?

The counter is just at the right distance for the farce to be coldly calculated and acted out without a show of emotions. They do not differentiate between men and women, for them we are all aliens, just bodies, simply bodies, inert bodies, disposable bodies, invisible bodies which are ultimately transformed into hands, working hands, ready hands, left hands, strong hands, which will fall into the most unexpected hands.

? Help me brother, how do I fill in this form? Don?t be a bad sport?.What do I put on this line? Whatever you do, don?t put that you have relatives there?If you put that you give them away, and you give yourself away? Last time you said you had a brother there, why didn?t you mention it this time? ... I?ve got to go to the toilet? But I can?t leave the queue... I?ve been here for hours, I can?t hang on any more? Will they keep my place?... Don?t worry I?ll keep your place? It?s OK, I can hold out? Will I have to wait long?

There are sixteen counters but they only use seven. There are four hundred people out on the street and two hundred in the inside patio. The loudspeaker warns us: ?It is illegal to present false documents, violators will be prosecuted!?

?They?ve turned down my application three times?they stamp your passport, so I had to get a new one last week?
Coffee, potato chips, lemonade, ice cream, hot dogs?
The Nehushtan eats and eats.

?You?ve always got to get a return ticket, even though you lose the return part?The main thing is to get in, once you?re there, you can work something out?

The intermediaries have arrived. The intermediaries have their privileges, and always get there late. The rumours grow, the wave gains strength and begins to turn. The intermediaries know the beast, they stroke it every day, they keep an eye on its movements and feed it birds and innuendos. The intermediaries have their own dress code, their neckties have triangular knots and they carry a briefcase. The guards appear; the Nehushtan shudders. The guards start with their questions: Your papers?

They choose their victims by looking at their clothes. The sting of intimidation grow. Those considered dispensable are purged to prevent wasting time at the counters. They recognize the smell of poverty. The hissing, full of conjectures, nurtures and strengthens the doubts. It was not for nothing that Moses was the leader in the search for the promised land and not Aaron. He stuttered. Here stuttering is a natural thing. But the ones who stutter do not gain entry into the promised land.

?A cousin of mine was incredibly lucky, he told me to rent a room somewhere in the neighbourhood?.Its like living in a tent?So he managed to be among the first? The rooms are not too bad?You have the basics .. The intermediaries will tell you where to go.. You have to leave early, and they give you an American breakfast which consists of a doughnut and a coffee.

The rumours unite us, bring us closer and closer together, always tighter, exchanging information and untruths, snaking along together in a movement seeking to shed the past and be born again.
Potato chips, coke, pepsi, coffee, chewing gum? If only I had known that you could buy your place in the queue; I could have got up later?It is not that expensive?

We eat all kinds of things, everything is for sale. We devour living beings. With each step, I feel part of the great mouth. The Nehushtan flows like water, formless, but its stinking tongue lashes out. I am getting to the counter. But, neither Aaron nor Moses made it to the promised land, and Aaron died on Mount Hor just because he was doubted. What am I going to do? Have I made a mistake? It?s my lucky day, I think I am going to get counter 13. There are five people ahead of me. Keep my fingers crossed. I will lift up my hands. If I hold my hands up, like Moses, maybe I will win the battle?Hands up high. I feel better. I am close now, must not let my fear show. Calm down, calm down. I am almost at the head of the Nehushtan. Just one more to go. Number 13 is slow today. Will I get him ? Hurry up?. It?s my lucky day!
- Good morning?
- Documents ? purpose of your visit?
- Tourist
- Are you travelling alone?
- Yes.
- You want to cross the Rio Grande? You know? Maybe I will let you in. I am going to do one test - said the crazy guy- .Its easy, this time you do not need to know anything, you do not need to know the correct answer.
I could smell the excitement coming from the counter. I wanted to run away, escape. He was setting a trap.
- Say: Shibboleth
- But, what does it mean in English ?
- Don?t worry, just say it: Shibboleth.
I started to stammer, as if my tongue had been burned by hot coal.
- Chibolet?
As I got it out, he shut the window. The ?crazy guy? closed my file and, with an energetic stamp, sullied my passport.
Those of us who could not pronounce Shibboleth congregate at the exit. We know we would meet again inside the Nehushtan. It is our destiny to become a part of the snake every now and then, despite the rejection and humiliation. We hope that, one day, the creature with the forked tongue will separate the waters and would allow us to wander in the desert for forty years, despite the unpronounceable word.

Azriel Bibliowicz is an Associate Professor of Literature at the School of Film and Arts, Universidad Nacional de Colombia. This story was translated by Catharine de Jong, with assistance from Bibliowicz and Susan Lloyd McGarry.