As Luna watched, it was as if a stranger was performing these alien gestures. She felt so far removed from this culture of arcane symbolism and superstition … and separated from Ruy too. Could she ever feel a part of this? There she was, fretting about hygiene and birthing practices, while Ruy casually daubed dirt on the newborn. Yet she sensed an odd stirring inside too, as though some inner part of her was reaching out to it all, like a hungry sapling seeking the sun.
Morena was still explaining these rituals to her and she struggled to focus on the gypsy’s words. ‘The garlic and the bread are for the three goddesses of fate. El Mèdico has explained to us that this tradition we have comes from the ancient legends of Greece. The first goddess spins the thread of life for each person with her spindle, the second measures it with her rod, and the third determines when and how it should be cut. El Mèdico is very knowledgeable. El es un hombre sabio y un curandero, he is a wise man and a healer.’
Morena’s jet-black eyes were shining bright as jewels as she spoke of Ruy. He seemed to inspire hero-worship, if not infatuation, in every woman Luna came across. She wondered how the gypsy men felt about that and if he was as popular with them as he was with the gitanas.
‘He’s been here most evenings this week, when he’s not been at Sabrina’s helping her out.’ Morena smiled. ‘He’s a wonderful man, a true friend.’
Away on business? Luna recalled Charo’s words and seethed inwardly to think that Ruy had been here, at the gypsy camp, carousing with his friends or – worse still – alone with that ravishing minx Sabrina, ‘helping’ her.
If Morena noticed the tightening of Luna’s lips she didn’t let on, but continued to explain matters. ‘He has chosen for my nephew the name of Luis. That is the name he will be known by, but his parents have given him another, which will remain a secret so the devil will be deceived and will never know who the child is.’
Luna couldn’t help smiling. The naïvety of these people beggared belief, yet she found their ways charming.
There was a short pause and then Morena, all of a sudden, took a new tack. ‘El Mèdico often comes here when he is troubled. Always running away from something,’ she mused. ‘It does his soul good to be among his gypsy brethren, as it does when he tends his herb garden.’
Luna couldn’t help but wince at the thought that Ruy might be running away from her, from their growing intimacy. Intrigued, she asked: ‘Where is it, this herb garden?’
Morena gave her a keen glance. ‘It’s about a mile up that way.’ She pointed to a narrow path that Luna could just make out, snaking its way up into the wooded hills. ‘You see? There.’
Luna nodded. ‘Does he use the herbs to treat people in the camp?’
‘Sometimes. Though we do have aspirin and antibiotics, you know.’ Morena gave a throaty laugh. ‘But yes, there are recipes for salves and poultices which La Pharaona passed on to Ruy, ones that have been used for generations. He’s perfected her art and knows more about plant lore than anyone now, living or dead.’
Then as an afterthought: ‘Sabrina knows some, but her mother realized that Ruy was the true apprentice, the one she’d been waiting for. Every healer, every shaman, seeks the one to whom they will pass their secrets, their power before they depart this world for the next. Like my mother Paquita passing her mantle to me. For La Pharaona, her natural successor was Ruy.’
As if by voicing his name Morena had managed somehow to summon Ruy, he now walked over to join them. Not once during the ceremony had he looked in Luna’s direction, which in some ways had been a blessing because it had given her a chance to vaguely soothe her fractured feelings. She gave him a tight smile, while he greeted Morena with a hug. ‘So the little chap has joined us at last!’
‘He was a long time coming. Didn’t want to leave Carmelita’s belly, the lazy little gitano!’
Morena chuckled, then winked. ‘I’d better leave you to it. They’ll need my help preparing the food. You know each other, I see.’
Luna detected a world of knowledge in Morena’s gaze. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised had the gypsy fortune teller known exactly what was going on between her and Ruy, right from the time they’d first met at the costume shop – and not because Ruy himself had breathed a word about it. The gitana would not have needed him to. No, nothing would surprise Luna about this strange, earthy but ethereal woman.
For a moment she and Ruy stood silent while they watched Morena walk away to join the others, her colourful underskirt kicking out in a flash of red as she strode along.
‘Luna, what a surprise! I didn’t know you were also a friend of the gypsies.’ If Ruy detected Luna’s pique, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned his head towards her. ‘Just another thing we have in common,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘I don’t think so.’ Her voice was clipped. ‘I’m beginning to think there’s very little we have in common.’ She kept her attention focused on Morena, who was spooning something from a great big cooking pot into a gaudy earthenware bowl. Luna hardly dared look into his eyes again, fearing he would see the hurt and longing she was feeling just being near him again.
Ruy’s tone changed, all pretence at humour now gone. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been elusive,’ he murmured. ‘I know how it must look to you. A stronger man would have called you, sent you a message this week. But I’m not a strong man at the moment, Luna. The truth is I had to stay away from you.’
She looked up at him sharply. ‘Really? Why is that? Did you have better things to do, other than being away on business, of course?’ Wasn’t that what men said when they were carrying on an affair? Luna tried not to think about the young gypsy siren again. She was acting like a jealous wife and the intensity of her feelings alarmed her.
Ruy dragged a hand through his hair. ‘It’s only the evenings I’ve been here at the camp, Luna. My days have been filled with meetings outside Cádiz. I did arrange them on purpose so that I wouldn’t be in the office and see you every day, though. What I said to you at the concert was true, I can’t control how I feel around you.’ The blueness of his eyes was like bright lasers, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. ‘I had to get my head together before I got in touch again. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing.’
Luna took a breath and bit back a sarcastic comment. What he’d said, and the earnest manner in which he said it, gave her pause. ‘I … I think I understand what you’re saying …’ She found herself stammering a little; she always felt uncomfortable talking about her feelings. ‘Let’s not dwell on it. Apology accepted.’
Ruy smiled and exhaled with obvious relief. He gestured towards his surroundings. ‘Being here has made me see things clearly,’ he said, and she could sense him relax again. ‘And, for a moment at least, with little Luis coming into the world, all other concerns seemed to melt away.’
‘Except the medical ones, clearly.’ She couldn’t help the acerbic remark. ‘Ritual is one thing, but where were the standard birthing hygiene measures for that baby? You’re supposed to be a doctor, for heaven’s sake, not a voodoo sorcerer!’
‘Don’t be angry with me, chica.’ He tweaked her cheek, and laughed. ‘What I did couldn’t harm the child.’
Luna huffed. ‘Dunking him in muddy water? You’re joking!’
Half irritated and half bemused by her antics, he gave her a quizzical smile. ‘Have you looked at the hole?’
She threw back her head defiantly. ‘No, why?’
Was it anger that darkened his face?
‘I wouldn’t judge before you have the facts, Luna. If you had, you’d see that the hole is tiled and the water was clean and warm.’
She felt the wind taken out of her sails somewhat, but her chin was still set at a stubborn angle.
‘You should be trying to educate them, not encouraging these weird superstitions dating from the Middle Ages,’ she retorted provocatively.
‘I’m afraid tunnel vision is not my forte.’
Luna glared at him. �
��Are you accusing me of being narrowminded?’
He returned her glare with a wicked smile. ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘I believe I am.’
She caught that glimmer of laughter in his eyes. Miffed, her lips compressed, she gave him a furious look. Just who did he think he was?
He smiled sardonically, obviously reading her mind. ‘One day we’ll have to sit down and seriously discuss our differences like adults.’
Just then Morena interrupted their tête-à-tête and he was spared Luna’s crushing answer. ‘You must taste one of our gypsy delicacies,’ the gitana said, addressing Luna as she held out a large tray of round cakes topped with sugar. ‘They are called jalluyo and are made of flour, sesame seed, sugar and olive oil. The wine is homemade.’
Luna politely took one of the cakes, but refused the glass of bluish-black wine with dark glints of vermillion. Just as she was gingerly biting into the rock of brown dough, she met Ruy’s mocking gaze.
‘I promise it won’t harm you. Well, maybe you’ll break a tooth or two, but that’s about it!’
His sarcastic comment was just what she didn’t need. At every turn he seemed to accuse her of being uptight, strait-laced or narrow-minded and she’d had enough. She was worn out; it had been a long day. Here she was, among a group of gypsies all talking at the top of their voices in a strange language that she couldn’t fathom, with a man who insisted on following her every move with ironical eyes, scrutinizing her, judging her. Where was the closeness she thought they had shared at the concert now? She felt torn between the sudden need to cry, and wanting to stomp off.
Just then a giant of a man with tousled long black hair ambled over and slung a muscled arm around Ruy’s shoulders. His garish T-shirt barely contained his massive torso and Luna couldn’t help thinking of a fairy-tale giant, making her even more acutely conscious of the strange otherness of the camp, a place and a people completely out of her ken.
He gave a slight nod of greeting. ‘You must be the lovely Luna that Ruy’s told me about.’ His eyes weren’t overly warm as he surveyed her.
Luna didn’t know what to say, other than to make a retort that she might regret, so she remained silent. One part of her was quietly glad that Ruy hadn’t after all been keeping her presence in his life secret from his gypsy friends.
‘Luna, this is my best friend, Chico,’ Ruy broke in quickly, throwing a warning glance at the huge man.
‘Well, enjoy,’ said Chico, raising the gourd he was carrying in his left hand to his mouth and taking a swig. ‘There’s a feast being prepared, and it mustn’t go to waste.’
With a last speculative look at Luna, he walked off, and she almost fancied she could feel the ground shake beneath her feet as he did so.
Luna turned to Ruy, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s time for me to go,’ she said in a decisive tone. ‘I must get back before dark.’
‘You can’t leave now, Luna. The zambra, the party to honour the newborn child, has barely started. They’ll take it as an insult if you go.’
‘Well, I’ll just have to live with that. I’ve parked my car in town and it’s a long walk. I’ll never find my way if I don’t leave now.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘No, thank you. I …’
The rest of the phrase died on her lips as toasts were raised and the frenzied thrumming of guitars started up, punctuated by olés and andes. While Ruy and Luna had been talking, mats, chairs and cushions had been placed outside the cave for the audience, with the quadro flamenco in one corner.
Ruy’s fingers closed on her arm in a grip that brooked no argument. ‘Come, let’s sit down. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a lift back to your car tonight. You really can’t go now.’
‘But I must …’
‘Don’t be so argumentative.’
Argumentative? Her? The cheek of the man! She wasn’t going to have a fight here. Anyhow, she was tired; all this bickering was wearing her out.
They moved towards the gathering of gitanos and, silently, she let herself be led, his very nearness causing her every nerve to quiver with discomfort. God, he was much too close! Her breasts tingled, her stomach churned, her heart knocked against her ribs. A fragrance floated towards her, making her head swoon – a combination of spice, musk and mint that characterized him so well. It was his scent; she would recognize it anywhere. Her throat felt parched and she swallowed hard, praying for this uneasiness to subside. She didn’t want to give herself away. He must never guess how vulnerable she was with him, how much she had needed him – wanted him – this past week when he had clearly decided to make himself scarce.
Night was beginning to fall. Luna watched as the sky became a greenish-blue with a few purple puffy clouds shot with golden tints. Gradually the camp became shrouded in darkness, wrapped up in the veil of night against the clear sky. The moon and stars became visible and more braziers were lit. In the glowing light of the flames, there was something unearthly about these people, these gypsies with their long unkempt hair, coarse swarthy features and magnificent dark and deep-set woeful eyes. Clinging desperately to their primitive ways, they sang and danced to forget their misery. It all combined to give an overpowering sense of unreality and Luna felt as though she was in an epic dream. She decided to give in to it; give herself to the power of this strange and time-honoured revelry, to let Ruy guide her through whatever arcane rites she might be witness to or, indeed, be required to face.
As the night progressed and the wine kept flowing, so the fiesta became noisier. Men and women capered and jumped in the air like mythical fauns, or tapped their feet with eyes half closed, while others performed the toque de palmas – the famous hand clapping – or snapped castanets. All the while, there was the eternal stamping, stamping, stamping of feet, which made the already disorientated Luna feel positively giddy.
Now, gypsy girls with rouged lips and cheeks, in brightly coloured dresses that hugged their waists and hips, took their place in the middle of the stage, one after another. They danced with arms raised above their heads, before moving spiralling hands down their quivering bodies in graceful undulating movements. The audience was growing raucous, everyone drinking, dancing and laughing, loudly joining in the choruses as if they had not a care in the world.
Luna’s mind and body felt inexorably drawn into the whirling noisy maelstrom, wholly sensitized, as if her nerve-ends were electric somehow. She was also painfully aware of the man sitting beside her. He was close, so agonizingly close. From the corner of her eye she noticed his tanned bronze face turning every now and then in her direction, his blue gaze scrutinizing her thoughtfully.
He was going to give her a lift back to where she’d parked. The mere thought of being trapped alone in a car with him filled her with panic. What if he tried to kiss her? A sudden warmth flooded her body. Wouldn’t it be exactly what she needed, everything she had been aching for? No, it wouldn’t, a voice at the back of her mind castigated. How could she untangle the snarl of different emotions she was feeling? There was no logical reasoning or explanation she could whip up against a force so powerful that her whole being trembled with the intensity of it. She sighed.
Immediately she felt his hand on her arm.
‘Tired?’ he whispered softly in her ear.
She shook her head without looking at him.
‘Next, it will be my turn to sing. We can’t leave yet.’
Her heart fluttered like a captive butterfly. ‘You’re going to sing?’ she uttered, breathless, as memories of another time when he had sung rushed back. She looked up at him with wide amber eyes that were unable to hide her feelings.
‘Yes, I’m going to sing a ballad for you, just for you, beautiful Luna.’ His bedroom eyes beckoned and the seductive whispered words were full of promise. When he left his seat to take his place in the middle of the quadro flamenco, Morena came and sat next to Luna.
As Ruy’s powerful sultry voice rose into the night, the atmosphere around him trembled and stirred. Ti
me stood still while Luna was caught up in the magical quality of the tender melody. The melancholy notes floated towards her, making every nerve-end vibrate, releasing her mind from the anxiety and stress that had beset her these past few days, stealing it away to a dreamland where their souls were one. Every note seemed to be a pure expression of love and passion, one that the singer wanted to remain forever engraved in the heart of his intended. Every girl’s eyes in the camp were feasting on the handsome singer, no doubt imagining what it would feel like to be the object of such adoration. How could Luna ever feel secure in his regard – whatever that was – when Ruy was such a magnet for every other hot-blooded woman around?
When the song ended, she met his gaze and although he was surrounded by gypsies hailing him cheerfully, she was aware of the tension flowing from him to her, a kind of wild expectancy that was almost tangible. Her pulse quickened and her gaze tried to skitter away from his, but he held her suspended, anticipating and captive. Once more, her doubts melted away in the fire of his stare. In the midst of a crowd they were alone in the world, each knowing what the other was thinking; each lost in the fierce emotion between them.
Morena flashed a friendly smile at Luna. ‘El Mèdico has eyes only for you, señorita, and you, you tremble when he looks at you,’ she murmured.
Then she took hold of Luna’s arm, and her features darkened. In the glowing light of the fire Luna saw the usually vivacious eyes glaze over in a glassy stare. She had witnessed this once before, at Mascaradas, and apprehension filled her as she tried to gently prise herself away from the gypsy’s grip. Morena’s fingers clutched her tightly, digging into her like a bird’s claws. ‘The electricity between you hovers in the air. It is suspended above your heads, menacing, and charged with foreboding.’
Once again, her voice had become cavernous and hoarse. ‘Such a powerful passion is dangerous. It can cause the earth to tremble and volcanoes to erupt.’ She paused for a moment and then, closing her eyes, raised her voice in a chant and recited an incantation, before ending gloomily: ‘There is a full moon tonight and the moon is a jealous goddess. Sooner or later, she will claim her share and you will pay for it with your tears.’
Legacy Page 31
