La Gitana

by Carol Ann

  People don’t die from love: they die from lack of love. She would bankrupt his soul and drain out his essence like tea through a sieve. And he wouldn’t know it until it 74

  was too late. But Rupa…Rupa would always survive. She knew how to seem what she was not.

  It was early and I imagined my father’s rough hands patting my mother on the backside doing the act of man and wife. Yet I knew Rupa was the only one he really loved. Mama said it herself and she also said it was a woman’s job to love and a man’s job to conquer. She knew he was too hard to love a woman’s soul. My father measured the value of the world with hard eyes and did not trouble himself with the softer emotions. She would smell the hard taint of last night’s wine on his breath and accept his rough cock with grace and beauty. I wanted much more from a man. Suffice it to say I wanted a man not a beast.

  Mama got up first and busied herself with making the breakfast of fried ham, eggs, potatoes and chili. There was also hot black coffee with goat’s milk and honey.

  She had not told papa of our family situation and she crept to my wagon first with her tray. “Mi hija (my daughter) I fear it will not go well but I will stand by you. Ay, I must tell him of Rupa and that will be worse.” She handed me a great wad of money, her life’s savings. Her eyes were hard as obsidian and her jaw was set in a hard line. Mama had about her the air of a female cougar endeavoring to protect her young.

  “Moishe, may I have a word with you. There have been some changes since you were gone. I must tell you first that Rupa is gone. She ran away with a gadge and lives in a big house in town now. She never married Julio and he asks the bride price back rightfully so. And Tekla was raped by bandidos and is with child.” 75

  “Maria Sonrisa, you have not protected this family in my absence. Tekla, show yourself and tell me what happened.”

  I told my father my sad tale and asked for a Kris. He advanced towards me swiftly and slapped me across the face saying, “Puta, (whore) you have brought disgrace on this family. You enticed those men by bathing nude in the creek. A man cannot resist the sight of a nude women. Sonrisa, why have you not turned her out?” Mother got between us and stood as straight as I have ever seen her stand. She put her outstretched hand on his chest and it was not a gentle gesture.

  “Moishe , if ever you slept in the same bed with me, or held my babies in your arms, or ate the bounty from my table, you will now listen to me. Those men were criminals and a danger to all women. She did nothing wrong. They wronged her and now you wrong her with your pride and stupidity.”

  She then recounted the story in painstaking detail with a strength I never knew she had. She was every bit a match for his spirit. It was then that I knew a woman could be every bit as hard as a man, the iron hand encased in a velvet glove. Strength that is hidden is the most dangerous kind. But he was not swayed.

  Then he said. “Of course, she must leave right away. She is mahrime and will pollute us, and the child will be impure also.”

  “Moishe, where will she go? She can’t dance for the gadge in her condition and she can’t do the boojoo and trick them and live amongst them. They might jail her or worse. Kill her.”

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  “It’s not my concern. She has disgraced my house. You know the penalty,” he said.

  “Papa, be reasonable. It was not my fault. They raped me. Why not a Kris to absolve me.”

  “A Kris,” he laughed. “After you bathed nude in an open field. A man, any man, is driven insane by the sight of a ripe, nude young woman. You deserved it. What were you thinking? And you probably helped Rupa escape. You had your heart set on Julio.

  Did you think I never saw how you looked at him. It’s all your fault. You are a scavenger. Get out of my sight.”

  “Moishe, eres animal estupido. (you are a stupid animal),” my mother said. “I should have killed you on our wedding bed. I would have if I knew you’d do this!”

  “Sonrisa, say one more word and you go with her. I hear the hard ground is very unpleasant for one your age. Then there’s the problem of wild animals, and hunting for a meal. Of course, maybe the gadge would take you in. But then we gypsies steal when it suits us. Do you think they know that?”

  With that he mounted his horse and headed for town. “Of course, Sonrisa you have been a good woman and I would miss you. But you have angered me. Be here or not when I get back: just make sure she is gone. Tekla, you are dust to me, but you may shepherd the flocks on the upper meadow. Take all you need to survive, including the rifle and the mule. I would not see you starve. You know how to survive off the land.

  Solitude will help you see the error of your ways. Take what’s necessary, cooking utensils, warm blankets, an ax to chop wood for a fire. You must keep the animals away.

  In fact, take your wagon since you are with child. Find your way, child. I trust when you 77

  see me coming you will absent yourself from the meadow. I trust Sonrisa has already given you money.”

  It was then that I realized papa did love me for the first time. He did not want me to die of hunger. He knew my life was over as a gypsy, a member of the Rom. He was sad although he never said so. He had taken hard threads and sewn up his heart when he became a man. His heart would never be given to a woman. Mama hitched up Sancho and loaded all my provisions in the wagon. We said little: she took my face in her hands and peered into my eyes for the last time. It was like looking at two black stones. She was not defeated: she was willing me to have courage. Mother was not afraid of things.

  She was like water, gently going around things, wearing them down.

  As I approached the meadow I thought, “I am dead to gypsy life. I am alive to the world. I will eat fat olives off silver plates. I will wear gray satin shoes in the rain, my body will be encased in lace gowns. I will have the finest of the gadge world. My life will be crimson not pastel. The sun will rise like a blood orange each day and I will thrive.” That night I lay in my wagon under a large oak tree and its rustling was like the whispery sound of a gadge evening gowns. As I looked out I saw the moon like a silver orb through the branches of the tree.

  I was alone, in except for the life in my belly. Would I love him or would I only see the hated face of his father and turn away from him. Poor little baby arms reaching for a cold, indifferent face. I had to love him some way.

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  CHAPTER TWELVE

  My exile was complete like a knife severing gypsy blood from gypsy blood. I lay in the wagon under the silvery fingers of the moon and the cold wind caressed my neck and a wolf howled in the distance. My belly protruded like a huge mountain and I knew my time was soon. I pondered going to the Spanish Queen, Marie Luisa, to ask for shelter all the while wondering why she had not summoned me but I could not go just yet. I could not let go of my gypsy heart. I was like a forlorn, powerful spirit for I still had faith in life. I felt the blood rushing through my veins and all was pain.

  How could my own father deny me council from a Rom Baru, (leader). It was so hard to feel hatred for one you have loved. I did not wish him death. I did not wish him to be a pile of bones in a gypsy grave. I wished him to be impotent, a withered stem.

  Hardship makes you evil though people say it makes you good. I lie awake under the grandfather tree and watch the cold moon slide between the branches. To be mahrime or cast out is a form of death fro a gypsy. I heard the howls of wolves and thank the Lord that I could shoot like a man. Still I am afraid for myself and my unborn one.

  Another thing I am grateful for is I can write. Mother taught me and another lady I worked for also schooled me. Mostly gypsies do not learn to read. We pass our laws down in the oral tradition. Mama says how better to cheat the gadje. They cheat us and kick us down like dogs. They run us from their lands, “Gypsy, you are not welcome here.” I worked for an old lady doing housework. Mama had to do a purification ceremony when I came back each day and I never ate her food nor drank from her well.

  But she had many good books for me to read. Yo
u may think this is cold hearted but any nobleman may conscript a gypsy into service or shoot us on sight as a public nuisance.

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  That is law under King Carlos. They consider us no more than livestock or pigs. They are the pigs. Lace and silk do not cover the stench of rot and they rot from the inside out.

  Yes, I was hard and doubly so since I no longer had my family, my people, my tribe. To be mahrime is like to be executed, an outcast, poisonous to all under the sun.

  This is the worst thing that could have happened to any gypsy. I had no use for tears. I let them stay inside my heart like little spears that tore and tore. I was like the moon, cold and silver.

  Lately, I have been finding baskets of meat, cheeses, bread and wine under my tree. I think mama would be too afraid to come: I believed it was Julio. Perhaps his heart was not totally hardened to me. Also maybe I was carrying his baby: it was too soon to tell. I think Julio cares for me as if I were his own blood.

  One day I saw a man on horseback approaching slowly, swaying in his saddle as if drunk. When he got closer I saw it was Julio who said, “How did you like my little gifts. Even a whore has to eat. I know you helped her escape, Tekla. How could you do it after all we’d been through?”

  He got off the horse, staggering and kicking up dust. I knew it could be very bad when I saw his eyes. I could smell the rotten sweetness of wine on his breath. He reached out and slapped me hard and I fell down.

  “Bitch did you see them pass and not try to stop her?”

  “There was nothing I could have done, Julio. Her mind was made up.”

  “Bitch, you could have warned me.” And he shook me like a rag doll.

  “Cabron, eres loco, (bastard you’re crazy). Would you have kept her prisoner.

  There was nothing I could have done.”

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  Julio ripped my blouse and tore my skirt from my body. “Now, Tekla, I will have my wedding night. Spread your sweet ass like old times. You remember, my sweet.”

  He laid me on the ground and took my like a puta (whore). I was dry and it hurt me as I was far along in my pregnancy. This rape was much worse that the rape of the bandit for I still loved him.

  All the while he spoke, “You bitches do everything together. She plotted with you. Probably made love under this very tree. You knew of her plot. How do you like my cock now, querida?” He bit my lower lip drawing blood.

  “She must have been planning this for a long time. To be my wife was not her honor. Better the gadje castles, jewels and carriages of gold. I will kill her if I see her again. So long I desired her and kept her pure and when I did have her she let me go only half way. Her virgin’s pride. What a lie. Never touching that soft peach fuzz and her small high breasts. I suffered fever and fire for her and she never once really desired me.

  I bought her ribbons, silk and jewelry and still she wanted more.

  Always more. She threw my love in the pig pen so she could lie with a pale rubio in silk shirt and velvet pants! A gentleman the color of milk for my pure red man’s blood. She traded a life that was true and real for a life that was pastel, a life of fog and fantasy. She will never have my warm, dark babies.”

  After it was over he gently put my hair behind my ear but I did not like the look in his eyes. They were like my father’s eyes, cold, merciless, calculating. I did not cry. I willed the earth to stop spinning. Something inside me went very cold. So this was my 81

  wedding night. I thought, “Tonight, I forsake my gypsy blood. I’m going to Seville to my queen, Marie Luisa.”

  Later that evening I gave birth and had to shoot a wolf that got too close. I shot him between the eyes and they were Julio’s eyes or so it seemed.

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  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  That next morning I packed my meager belongings in the wagon and hitched up the mule and headed for Seville, and my Queen, Marie Luisa. I remembered her almond colored eyes and how she looked at me. I threw my gypsy heart away as my people had forsaken me. There was nothing left of my old life. It was like broken shards of pottery never to be repaired.

  I wondered why she had not sent for me in all those months. Was her request a false one to tease my poor heart? My boy, I determined, would have all the gadge world had to offer, palaces, fine food, books and art. I had decided to birth him on my own, cutting the cord myself. I wanted him to feel the grasses, the cold moonlight, what it was like to be a gypsy living off the land. For those moments he would know of his gypsy blood. Then later I would take him into the gadge world. My pregnancy was difficult with wave after wave of descending pain. How I yearned for my mama’s soft hands and warm eyes during my time of pain.

  I looked one last time at the peaceful sheep and I thought they were peaceful because they could not think. What had they to understand but the waving of the grasses and the bright turquoise sky and the cool brook. These things used to delight me too when I was with Julio. When one has the semen of a man inside it is a blessed thing. But no more, I say. Yet I was all alone, and I pushed and pushed until he was out and severed the cord with my hunting knife, and laid him on my belly. I was in such pain I thought I would die. I caught sight of the wolf inching toward my wagon and I blasted him to hell with papa’s shot gun. The scent of blood drew him near. I determined to head for Seville even though I was half dead.

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  The baby cried and cried and his face was the face of the bandit who raped me with his yellow eyes and cruel little mouth. When he suckled he hurt me with his greediness. I did not love him and he knew it. But he was the only thing I owned, the only thing I had left of my gypsy life. I wished him well and did not wish him dead as some would have.

  When I got to Seville little Spanish boys threw stones at us calling me “gypsy, thief, and poisoner.” One grazed my right temple yet I managed to shield Antonio, as I had named him. When I got to the castle the guard put down the draw bridge and let me in. When I asked for an audience with the Queen, he laughed and said, “You, a ragged beggar have business with the Queen, I think not. Go back from whence you came.” I told him I was to be her advisor and he laughed and his big belly shook like cold chicken fat. “The Queen has no need for a soothsayer: she has a Confessor. Get out of my sight.”

  Then I tossed my skirts giving him the gypsy death curse. “I curse you with death, cabron (bastard).

  He paled somewhat and said he would have one of the serving girls make me presentable to see the Queen. Then I said that would be very agreeable and that perhaps I would lift the death curse since he was so kind. His eyes betrayed his fear although he said nothing. The girl came and poured me a bath and gave me and my son fresh clothes.

  She was a sullen witch who was loathe to touch me and I told her she was just as repugnant to me and that she need not touch me as gypsies unlike nobles can bath themselves.

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  She said, “Gypsy do not address me.”

  I replied, “And why not? One day I will have your silly head, or perhaps I will just cripple you. How would you like to scuttle across the floor like a damned scorpion.

  I can do that to you. Soy gitana (I am a gypsy).”

  “Esmeralda, do not anger this woman. Say nothing to her and take her to the queen when she is ready. Do not contradict me, girl,” he said.

  “She may not address me in this way, Onofrio. She’s probably, a sorceress, a thief, and a murderess.”

  “That’s all the more reason to placate her. Be silent, girl or I will discipline you, myself, if you’ve no sense not to see this woman is dangerous.” The girl turned bright pink and did as she was told.

  When I walked the long passageway to the Queen’s chambers many things were on my mind. The first was how to enchant her mind and bring her under my power. The second was to inquire why she had not sent for me. I told her that I could no longer live as a gypsy and begged her mercy. I held up Antonio for her to see. I told her I sought asylum with her.

  “So, a child out of wedlock, We presume.” Sh
e stepped forward rapidly and slapped me across the face. “Why did you not come? We sent for you five times.”

  “Who did you tell? This is the first I’ve heard,” I said.

  “We told an old woman, someone important in your tribe. We assumed she was reliable.”

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  “La Vieja (the Old One) is very spiteful. Perhaps she was envious that you chose me.”

  “Damnation! We should have told a man. We needed you very badly. We shall execute her immediately.”

  “No need. Nature has already done it for you. She died last winter. I do not regret it.”

  “Nor do We,” replied the Queen.

  “She was our curadera (shaman). I suspect she only helped those who could pay handsomely and let the rest die. An evil woman.”

  “Dust to dust. Shit to shit,” replied the Queen.

  I smiled to hear a queen who said, “shit”.

  “And of the child. Tell Us, Carmen.”

  “I was raped by a Spanish criminal.”

  “He must have been a very ugly man,” said the Queen gesturing toward the baby.

  “My queen, I was wondering if you could help me find this man.”

  “It depends on what you can do for me. Can you fortell the future?”

  “I can and I can read liars and dissemblers of the truth.”

  “That is very good. Can the future be transformed or is it immutable?”

  “The future can be helped with certain spells and incantations.”

  “That is very good to know. Are you in league with the devil?” asked the Queen.

  “No, my Queen. I pray to our dear Lord for guidance in all my prophesies and soothsaying. I can do no evil.”

  “And if We ask you to do evil?”