La Gitana

by Carol Ann

  She loves you so and has asked me why you no longer love her. She asked how that she might regain your love. You think she doesn’t know you killed Panchita but she knows 26

  and it hurts her. No, she never accused you, nor does she really complain. You are ugly inside not just on the outside. True, you are nothing to look at but you once had a good, good, heart. No man would ever look at a spiteful woman full of hate. I know you love Julio as I love Moishe but that’s no excuse. I will beat you within an inch of your life even as sick as I am if you don’t stop. Julio would just as soon spit on you as look at you.”

  And I thought, “Mama, if you only knew.” And I resolved to be more subtle in my torture, to do things that could not be easily detected. For instance, I planted the idea that Julio was surely being unfaithful in Rupa’s brain and then said, “But never mind, the rumors are probably not true.” Except that they were. I thought of a million unkind things to do and did most of them.

  I later met Julio by the river and my love was threaded through with hatred and I started on him. “So when do you plan to marry your child bride, Julio?

  “Don’t call her that. She’s a fine example of what it is to be a gypsy woman.

  Chaste, pure, honest, and innocent. What’s between us is strictly between us and does not involve her or your family.

  “Cabron, (bastard) I have made myself mahrime for you. I risked everything because of my love for you and you don’t even love me back.”

  “You’re wrong. I do have love for you. You are my own wild rose.”

  “But never your wife. Now I can’t be anyone’s wife. The marriage sheet will tell. I would die for you, Julio. Give her up. She doesn’t really love you.”

  “She does love me. She tells me so.”

  “Words, only, Julio. Words. Ask her to risk something for you.” 27

  “No, I would never ask her. I respect her virtue and gentleness.”

  “When your cock is inside her will you respect those things then?”

  “You hate her so much. What will you do? Kill her as she sleeps?”

  “If she were any other woman, maybe I would. She’s my baby sister, and I love her.

  I will not harm her. It would be a true sin, worse than mahrime, spitting in the eye of God.”

  “But, you still feel free to torture her. You put it in her head that I was unfaithful.”

  “Well, you are. With me.”

  “What we do is with us alone and involves no one else.”

  “Blood flows thicker than water. She’s my sister and it has to do with my whole family.”

  Julio drew himself up to his full height and looked down at me and said, “So, you want me to stop, is that what you’re saying? I can just walk away. Can you?” I replied that he was my heart, my soul, and that I’d rather die without him. He laughed and said, “I thought so.” I stopped. I stood still. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I said, “I will not even leave you on your wedding day.” Julio laughed again. “So you do not wish to stop. Now, you listen to me. You will stop torturing Rupa if you wish to continue. I don’t care what you have to do. Shoot birds, torture small animals, cut yourself. Tekla, you will stop. Do you hear?” 28

  The next thing I am not proud of. I lunged at him, knocked him over and bit him on his cheek. Then I tore the buttons off his pants and mounted his erect cock. I caught him by such surprise he really didn’t know quite what to do. And on that day I rode him from the top like the Biblical Lilith, and the smell that arose from my woman’s parts that day was like the brimstone from hell. I rode him as if he was a wild bull and I clawed his chest with my nails such as they were. He caught my hands but I broke free. I had the strength of ten women that day. I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes as they glazed over with lust. With each thrust, in my mind these words, “You will pay, cabron (bastard).” I was milking him of his juices, stealing his manhood, possessing him. In my heart the snake grew of love and hatred but they were unequal. The love was stronger.

  When it was over I got up silently, straightened my clothes and walked away. At some distance I turned and said, “As you wish, cabron. No more torture for Rupa.” 29

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next week when we met, I brought a book of gadje love poems and recited most of the book before I let him touch me. “And what is the meaning of ‘flower’, Julio.

  No, it is not really a flower. Use your imagination. And what is ‘staff’ or ‘tender sword’? How would you like to wash my feet? I am a sainted girl, Julio. No, don’t call me puta, (whore) or I shall charge as one. How many pesetas do you have?” All the while I said these things, I was caressing myself in the way he likes, and I felt the hot point of his desire. But Julio got angry and got on his horse and rode away. I knew he would be back later, and he did come hours later. I was a fever in his blood as no other woman had been. I was in his cojones (balls), in his heart, and in his soul and he was too stupid to know it. But I knew. Yes, I knew. When he got back he dismounted, and just laid his head between the two points of my coffee colored breasts. I said, “Te quiero, hombre de Rupa.” (I love you, man of Rupa’s).

  And he took me like I was the most precious of silvers.

  I stopped looking for him at the river and made him seek me out instead as I tended my traps and the cattle. When he came by wagon every Saturday to take Rupa to town I was the very soul of kindness with kisses for Rupa, and the most sisterly of women to him. I kept my promise not to torture. A gypsy is only as good as his word.

  As the months wore on St. Sara was good to my rustic heart and I did not get with child.

  Rupa would come back all excited. Julio had told her she was the most beautiful of women and that their first born would be called Raoul after his father. And she informed me if a girl she would name it Carmen, my gadje name. And didn’t I think she would make a fine wife? I thought that she would not make a good wife but said nothing.

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  She was too selfish, too passionless, too lazy! I listened to the sugar falling from her lips and cursed her wedding day.

  “No, you silly fool. You will not make a good wife! You are too empty. When there’s work to be done, you’re never around.” This I thought and never said. I had learned not to speak poison nor to harm her. Given a chance Julio preferred a dream to a reality. And I, a mere thistle, learned to bear discomfort.

  This day a gadje stopped me in the field as I tended the sheep. A gadje could conscript any gypsy into service if he chose to just by virtue of the fact that he was nobility. It could have meant the end of my gypsy life as to associate closely with a gadje was and is considered a pollution.

  He said, “Come here, gypsy, the Duke of Osuna beckons you. What is your name?”.

  I replied my name was Carmen and he demanded my last name saying he had knowledge of the gypsy tribes and wanted to know which one I came from.

  I replied, “I am nameless like the wind, Sire.” He leaned down and placed his whip across my shoulder. “I will have your last name. You do not want to give away your power is that it?” And he brought the whip down on my shoulder.

  I told him my name was Caballito (Littlehorse) though it is Esquivel.

  “And I say you lie, gypsy.” And he whipped me again. I looked up at him sitting so high and elegant on his black horse. He was a stunning looking man with a gap in his tooth and a wide black moustache. His saddle was encrusted with silver as was his whip handle. He wore high top leather gloves so as not to mar his fine hands.

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  “I do lie, Sire, but I won’t tell.” And he laughed.

  “So you think I can capture your soul. I’d be a little less concerned with my soul in as much as I could just shoot you a public nuisance as it’s the law. And I may. And what do you say to that?”

  I said nothing.

  “Tell me, gypsy, why are you so bold, and why do dare display your hatred in such a way?”

  Still I said nothing.

  “Very well, Caballito, I am n
ot a bad man, and you may say you have met the Duke of Osuna, a very powerful man. Some day you may need me. You are much too rough to be my wife’s chambermaid. You’d probably kill her and my child as they slept.

  I like the look in your eye like a man driving a bargain. Give me a prophesy, gypsy.” I told him he would meet a strange woman, and he laughed.

  “I have met a strange woman. That’s you.”

  “Very well,” I said. “Don Juan will die in 1680, this year, and will be replaced by a man whose name begins with ‘M’.”,

  “Blasphemy. I just saw him the other eve and he was the picture of health. You lie, gypsy. You put the mal ojo (evil eye) on him.”

  “Sire, you do not fully know gypsy curses. One ruler is much the same as any other. Were I to curse anyone it would be you.”

  He laughed again. “Why isn’t it you have not cursed me?”

  “Who says I have not?” I replied.

  He did not laugh then.

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  “You think and act like a man and I have killed men for less.”

  “Please release me from my suffering. Soy gitana.”

  “You do not scare. How is it you came to be so bold?”

  “It’s an accident of birth, Sire. I am as God made me. Also, I have knowledge of gadje ways and gadje books.”

  “This completely makes the argument that no woman should be permitted to read,” he said and roared with laughter.

  “Caballito, be at the King’s castle in Granada in a fortnight and bring your troupe.

  You shall perform for the King and Queen. The king requires some soothsayers as does his lady. He is very attuned to spiritual matters and the Queen Marie Louise has just lost her mother, and she requires some diversion.” He then placed the butt of his whip under my chin.

  “How is it that I may break the King’s own law that no gypsy may go to a public meeting place in secret or otherwise and it is a two year banishment and 50,000 marvedis to be caught dancing and double that the second time. It is also forbidden for any gypsy to consort with or even marry another gypsy. It is your law.”

  “The Duke of Osuna rescinds that law for your benefit. You have given a powerful prophesy and the King will want to hear it from your lips. May you be accurate in your cast of fate, gypsy. Do not disappoint, mi hija. (my daughter).” Then he reined his horse around and galloped off. What had started off as bad fortune turned out to be good fortune. Blessed St. Sara. When mama heard the news she hugged me tightly and said, “Ganamos mucho. Que buena suerte.” (We’ll earn much.

  What good luck). She began to pull out our best clothes, sewn with bits of turquoise and 33

  silver. We would also wear our jewelry, fine pieces of silver and turquoise and coral.

  Rupa went around the camp announcing the big event. There was much shouting, dancing. and drinking. Only the old and sick would be left behind. Mother firmly stated she was coming in spite of her pain. Papa held her in his arms, and said, “Te quiero, Maria Sonrisa.” (I love you, Maria Sonrisa) but papa is much too hard a man to really love a woman. A woman is born to fulfill a man’s needs. This is gypsy law.

  “Separate not from the husbands.

  Be faithful to the husbands.

  Pay your debts to the husbands.”

  I, Tekla, had made a bargain with a man in a man’s world. We, women are without rights, and are bound to pay all our earnings back to our men. And yet, I won over a gadje man! The world is the same for gadje women. Even the queen had a bride price, yet, a higher one. Instead of sovereigns, and ducats, it was land, and palaces and titles. A woman is property, the necessary glue holding the world together. I, Tekla, am not a proper gypsy girl. Perhaps my thoughts come from the devil.

  On that fateful, night our gypsy passion erupted in full purple bloom to embolden the hearts of the gadje. We danced in a great ballroom of gelt and velvet and the ceilings were painted with saints, angels, and sea monsters. Men wore velvet and leather frocks with swirling robes while the women glowed in silk, satin, and brocade gowns of green, red, gold, pink, blue, and purple. Their white flesh glowed like alabaster. The Queen wore a long white gown embroidered with gold thread and the King had on a light blue velvet suit which made him look like a misbegotten flower. The colors excited and warmed me. Trays of turkey, pheasant, venison, beef and various meats and fowl 34

  adorned long, severe, linen tables groaning under the sheer weight of the food.

  Vegetables, soups, breads, and deserts abounded. I saw one desert that was yellow cake and berries and cream but it is mahrime to eat gadje food. All manner of colored liquors danced in thick crystalline decanters.

  Rupa, as beautiful as any gadje women, captured many hungry passionate looks and envious glances from the women. Because I am strong and bold, they looked at me as well. I think they sensed I was mahrime, and desired me for it. I stomped my feet, and twirled and twirled showing my finely shaped, strong legs. My arms were as branches in the wind, and my back snapped to the beat of the music. And on my face there was no fear of defeat. I danced to show my hatred of their soft, slothful ways. I could smell the scent of many perfumed, unwashed bodies as gadje believe bathing to cause illness. The violins and guitars screamed our wild, free hearts, and when we finished the ground was covered in sovereigns and ducats. Then the Duke of Osuna was at my side summoning me to an audience with the King.

  I walked down a long dark corridor illuminated with torches to the King’s chambers. When I got there he was reclining on a grand canopied bed of red velvet with his Queen. Everywhere were paintings of his ancestors, some stern and proud, and others, flaccid and vacant as himself. I recognized the one of Phillip IV, his father, and I surmised he would have been dismayed to have such a weak and limpid son. Rumor had it that Carlos was so unhinged in mind that he sometimes in fits of melancholia had his ancestors dug up from their eternal sleep. Looking into those brown, blank eyes I did not doubt it. Something was missing from behind those drowsy eyes, some force of character or identity. I could see why Don Juan controlled the throne.

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  “So, gypsy,” he said in a faint voice, “do you find your King handsome? They say you are named Carmen.”

  “Very handsome as His Queen is lovely. I am Carmen,” I replied.

  “I thank you, gypsy, in as much as I can take the word of a gypsy,” she said flashing me a lovely smile. She was long and thin like Rupa, yet behind her eyes was the fire of character, and though she was a Borbon, she spoke excellent Spanish. I thought to myself, finely wrought iron.

  “I thank you, too, Carmen,” chimed in the King. “Now about Don Juan dying. Is it true?” I noted he was rubbing his hands together. “You told the Duke of Osuna he would die.”

  “I did. This year on or about 1680.” The King got very excited and his face was aglow.

  “And you are sure. Will he die in battle? On the conjugal bed? Of some illness?

  How, I must know. I must!” said the King.

  “I know only that he will die. I saw the grave and mourners. You and the Queen were there.”

  The King laughed like a jackal on a carcass and the Queen had to calm him.

  “Carlos, this is unseemly. You know you love your brother. He controls the nobles. Is that not good. Good for the kingdom,” said the queen.

  “Oh, yes, good. Very good. We are very grateful. Yes, grateful,” he said regaining his composure. “Gypsy, how would you like to be Our spiritual advisor? That 36

  We may call on you from time to time. There are dark forces at work in the universe.

  They conspire against us all the time. We are betrayed.”

  “Carlos, do not ever talk to anyone that way,” said the Queen sharply. “It shows that you are a weak sniveling child. Right now, tell this gypsy that you fear no one, that you are brave and evil.”

  “But We are brave and evil,” said the King close to tears. “We are the King of Spain!”

  “Gypsy, tell one person of this and We will kill you,” said the
Queen. “Carlos is ill, and forgets himself on occasion. We, on the other hand, are quite well, and forget no transgression. Now come give Us a kiss on the cheek, gypsy, as a gesture of good faith,” said the Queen.

  It was horrible for me to touch her face with my lips but to resist would have been fatal. A woman can be so much more dangerous than a man.

  “Maria, let Us ask her one more question,” pleaded the King.

  “Oh, all right, my sweet child, ask,” said the Queen.

  “Will We live long and prosper?”

  I told him that he would but I knew he would expire at age twenty-five. Gypsies are not known for telling the truth when it does not personally benefit them. I do have second sight and I did give them one true divination about Don Juan. I had seen it just as I said.

  “One more question from Us,” said the queen. “On what year will We conceive?”

  “The lady does know the answer to that question better than I,” I replied. I took a chance for I knew Carlos was impotent or rumored to be so.

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  “Well, aren’t you the bold one, gypsy, or perhaps you’ve heard the rumors,” said the queen archly.

  “We can,” injected the King, “if We want to. The time has just got to be right.”

  “Will you be quiet, Carlos. It was unwise to say anything! The gypsy is intelligent. She tells the truth, not what people want to hear.”

  “Gypsy, you show your courage. You shall be Our advisor, as well. Carlos, open the box, get out the coins and hand them to me. Here, gypsy, you may keep as many as you can catch.” And she flung them at me. I caught all but one.

  “Pick up the final one, and bring it to Us, Carmen. That is your name, no?” I replied, “Yes” and did as she asked. Then he held my hand fast and looked in my eyes.

  Her eyes were almond colored and very liquid with thick, black lashes and her mouth was a small, plump, red bow. I don’t think any woman has ever looked at me that way before.

  There was a hunger in those eyes, and a disdain.

  “You will be someone to Us one day, Carmen. Wait and see.” Then she dismissed me abruptly and on my way out I noticed her wiping the drool from the King’s lips as she patted his other hand.