La Gitana

by Carol Ann

  spread out the fingers, palm up. I take my own brown hand and slide it under the milky whiteness of her hand. I trace my fingers over her palm.

  “I see you are a very mystical person attuned to the planets and the galaxy.”

  “I am?”

  “You’re very spiritual. Very powerful.”

  “Yes, I am. I can tell when it’s going to rain or a baby will be a still birth. Too bad I couldn’t tell when Willie was stepping out. All those Saturday card games lasting until dawn! To his credit, he always made it home in time for Sunday service and went to confessional regularly. I thought he was a good God fearing man. As it turned out he didn’t fear God or anyone else.”

  “I want a potion to make him love me again.”

  “A potion would not work as he has already lied in the house of the Lord. You have a very long life line: I see another path for you. You will have seven children most of them legitimate.

  “Oh, God, I’m having more babies and I thought Giles was my last. Does this mean Willie is coming back to my bed?”

  “No, he will leave you. I see another man, a dark man of much beauty and virility. Do you know whom I mean or has he not come to you yet.

  “Oh, God, it’s got to be Rodrigo, our gardener. Oh, my, the girls will sure talk.

  Going below my class, although he is quite fetching and it’s not as if I don’t have money of my own. He is not without charm, I must say. How about a potion to kill Willie? Sort of get him out of the way.”

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  “Totally unnecessary. Willie will be gone by the end of the month. He will run away with the woman.”

  “Surely, Willie will do his duty to his wife and child and see the error of his ways and get rid of Flora. She just temporarily bewitched him.”

  “I regret to say, Madam, he will be gone. There is nothing I can do.”

  “Oh, I still love that bastard, Willie,” she said and began to cry big glass tears.

  Her body shook like a dog shaking off water, Rupa stifled a laugh and walked to the window to attract more business.

  “May I remind you that you asked for a potion to kill him not three minutes ago.”

  “That was just my broken heart talking. I didn’t mean it.” I put my arm around her in a gesture of sympathy and gave her a handkerchief. I felt no sympathy for her but I did feel sorry for her young son, raised like a fat whelp never to be a rough, hard man. Boys fed on cream never become men. A man must have salt, and grit, tears and pain. A man must stand alone without his mother. The boy would always be a white worm, soft and gelatinous clinging to his mother’s apron strings.

  “Milady, I see you will be very happy with your new man and all memories of your Willie will fade. Walk with fate now. Have courage. When he comes to you, and he will, let Willie go, and get on with your new life.”

  “Well, it’s not as if I needed Willie’s money. I can live quite well without it.” To myself I said, “Let me cut you, you fat bitch.” And I said very quietly, “That will be three sovereigns for the advice and the purification rite.”

  “Purification rite?”

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  “Your ring, Miss, did you not wear it in the act of love with Willie?”

  “Well, sure, I never took it off once.”

  “The spirit of Willie lives within the ring and although he will have a new life he still will want you to suffer. The ring is hexed and we must remove the spell from it for your sake and your new man’s sake.”

  “I can’t let this ring out of my sight. It’s too valuable. Just remove the hex while I stand here.”

  “I cannot, Milady, you must entrust it to me and return in a fortnight to retrieve it.

  Gypsy magic is too powerful for any non-gypsy to witness. It would result in your death or blindness or insanity at the least. It is also dangerous for your son: you wore it when you conceived him. You must give it to me and we will purge it of the evil spirit.” Oh, well. It’s priceless. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “You’ve trusted me so far. I, Carmen have saved many a lady from almost certain disaster. I would never hurt you or lie to you. It’s not in my nature and I am bound by the gypsy code of honor to serve the people with my magic. We don’t steal from tortured souls, and Lady, your soul is tortured.”

  The woman stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair and threw down the sovereigns, and stormed out. Rupa laughed and held up one finger while I held up two.

  Two hours later she was back with the ring thrusting it into my palm. Rupa then went outside the shop to attract more male customers. The men went to her because she was beautiful and women went to me because I am plain. An old man pink of bald head with glasses strolled in with a cane. He was gasping for air like a fish on dry land and Rupa sat him down immediately in the red chair.

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  “Papa, what is the trouble? I am Clementina and I am part gypsy and descendent of the line of King Carlos of Spain. I can cure your ills. Is it your health? We have tonics, powders and poultices for you.”

  The old man burst into tears and put his head in his hands. Rupa circled him from behind pressing her tiny breasts into his back in a partial hug. The old man felt a stirring in his flaccid member and felt ashamed.

  “I have nowhere else to go. I’ve been to the padre and even he can’t help.

  Constancia is unrepentant and hard, and I cannot make her see how wrong it is.”

  “Your wife is a younger woman and is unfaithful, no,” asked Rupa.

  “How do you know this. My Constancia is twenty-three and I’m eighty-six. I cannot satisfy her even with all my riches.”

  “I know. We gypsies have the power of divination. Before I hear your request may I suggest one measure. Tighten your purse strings. Love and starvation cannot coexist.”

  “I could never do that I love her too much. I can deny her nothing and when I am generous it really seems she loves me.”

  “Is she a gypsy?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no. She’s a lady.”

  “Papa, dear, this is the oldest story ever told. What is it you want from me? A love potion?

  “What else may I do?” he whined.

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  “A woman is a greedy thing, sir. Full of lust like a grasping, hungry weed.

  When young we are all this way. We must bind her to you, and you to her and it will not be inexpensive. It will cost twenty gold sovereigns.”

  “Price is no object. I just want my Constancia to love me.”

  “She will please your manhood in every possible way and when you run out of one potion there is always more,” said Rupa. You just add one drop of her blood and one drop of your blood each time you give her a draught on the full moon. At first you will not notice much change. On the fourth moon the change will be complete. It must be given on the full moon. This potion will work unless she is bewitched by the other man.

  Then black magic and maybe a death potion for him will be necessary.

  “Oh, thank you, my avenging angel. I am so happy,” said the old man. “What would I have ever done without you.”

  “My, pleasure, papa. Madame Clementina knows what is best for you. Come to me any time.”

  When he had left Rupa turned to me and said, “That was some very expensive magic, Tekla. He will be back. Then I guess we’ll just have to poison the lover although I doubt he’d ever be able to get it to him.”

  I rather felt sorry for the old man. To be cheated of love in one’s last years of life is a cruel thing. Perhaps St. Sara punishes the gadje as well.

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  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In mya mind on the way back to Sacro Monte I envisioned Julio and Rupa laughing under the golden sun and her small pointy breasts rubbing up against his chest as they kissed. Envy, a green poisonous mist encircled my heat and I drowned in a bitter dream I could wake from. I made the sign of the cross over my breast and I thought of cutting her tender yellow throat and I saw myself catching the blood and drinking it from a tin cup. Yes,
I turned Julio down for he still loved her and in my mind, he pitied me. If I drank the blood I could possess her beauty and her man. Then I felt ashamed for she was my baby sister of many Christmases, the soft yellow babe, smelling of vanilla I had held in my girlish arms, the milk running down her chin.

  Then I thought again of Julio, how his teeth flashed sharp and white like a cougar and the many times I held him in my arms. I thought of his dark eyes like raw umber and how hard they are when he looks at a man and how they soften when he looks into a woman’s eyes. I envisioned him bare chested, his stomach segmented like the underbelly of a bug, and his shoulders wide enough to carry a steer. His chest hair grew thick and black and was soft when I laid my face in it. I rocked and rocked him, and he filled me with his hot lava, and I reached out and picked stars from the dark and sensuous sky.

  Julio and Rupa are to be married in the spring and I will pick them gooseberries for a pie, a bitter pie made of my own tears. When we get back to the Rupa alights from the wagon like a butterfly and gives part of her money to Julio: the rest goes to papa, who, as I have said, is away. I feel rage: it is I who should be giving Julio money. Rupa is a cloud: I am the land. She once told me she had no special feeling between the legs and I have burned there since I was twelve. My pink petal becomes wet anytime I see 56

  Julio. When he approaches I feel a, pain like a stabbing down there. She only wants him because he is pretty to look at and will be as good earner. Julio loves a dream: she will never awaken under his hungry hands. Rupa loves her own reflection in his eyes.

  Tomorrow there will be a big horse sale and many gadge will come for the quick bargain and will walk away with none. When the day came, Julio wore a red shirt, and leather chaps, and his long black hair glistened like raven feathers at midnight.

  Ramos, his partner wore a black leather vest and pants with his hair tied back in a leather thong. It is rumored that Ramos defies gypsy law by bedding gadje women.

  He is not allowed to camp with us and seems to care not that he is mahrime.

  Some day I will need this kind of courage. I must forsake my own people and live among the gadge. For now, I cannot bear it, but when papa comes back he will cast me out.

  A large gadge man came to Julio and said, “See, here, boy, how much do you want for the black?” He wore gray leggings, a crisp, ruffled shirt, a purple cape and high black boots good enough for kicking any horse or any woman.

  “Sire, I would not recommend you call me boy. My knife is sharp as any for castrating sheep. The horse is pure Arabian and costs more than I judge you could pay,” replied Julio.

  “Dare you threaten the Earl of Mendoza, gypsy?”

  “One less gadje would not occasion my tears. Do you want to insult a gypsy or buy a horse?”

  “Never cross my lands, gypsy. How much for the horse?”

  “Eighteen sovereigns for your attitude.”

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  “Eighteen sovereigns! The horse isn’t worth ten! Do you take me for a fool or a cabron? (bastard).”

  “Sire, I cannot detect your intelligence or the event of your birth. It now costs twenty unless you learn to treat a gypsy as a man.”

  “I won’t pay the price!”

  “Then don’t. I can probably get more for him.”

  “Hijo de puta! (Son of a whore) I have never met such a hard man!”

  “I just know my worth. Take it or leave it, Senor.”

  “All right, cabron, (baastard). I’ll be back at two to pay for the horse.”

  “Sire, you’ll pay half now or lose the horse. Your promise is no good to me.” The man took out ten sovereigns and threw them at Julio’s feet.

  “That will cost you two more sovereigns. You do a disservice to yourself alone, Earl.”

  “Cabron, (Bastard) I will get down off this horse, and cut your balls off.”

  “Keep going and it’s just going to cost you more. Learn one thing today, to treat a gypsy as a man when you want something from him: otherwise kick him at your leisure for your own misfortune. We are not God’s own people. The Catholic Church says you are.”

  The man purple faced said not a word and spurred his horse off a a gallop saying,

  “Voy a volver,” (I will return).

  Julio merely picked up the coins, ran his hand tenderly down his horse’s neck and muttered, “Ojala que se quemarse in invierno, gadje.” (I hope you burn in hell).

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  Julio made several more successful sales if not as profitable as most people had the sense not to insult a gypsy at a sale. Ramos, was also making sales and eyeing the ladies. Many a lady preferred a hard, wild gypsy man to her pale, butter fattened, coifed husband. I speak of one lady in particular.

  The gentleman Ramos spoke to had brought his fair damsel along with him to purchase four white carriage horses for her personal coach and Ramos happened to have four white Lipizzaner stallions for sale.

  “See here, Sir, I must have four white horses for my wife’s carriage.” Ramos, looked at him and saw the coddled, softness of the man judging him to be a white worm.

  “I have some very fine, very rare Lipizzaner stallions just for you. I am Ramos, son of Juan, and Drina of Sacro Monte. Your name, Sir? I must know who I am dealing with. And who is the lovely lady with you? Your sister, perhaps?”

  “I am Pedro Torres and this is my wife, Emelda.”

  “Your wife? I have never seen such a lovely flower of womanhood.” Emelda let out a rough laugh like honey boiling over a pot. Ramos grabbed her hand and kissed it, lightly dragging his tongue on the top of it. Emelda laughed again and lightly placed her hand on his rough cheek.

  “See, here, fellow, you will not take liberties with my wife!”

  “I am sorry, senor, I forget myself when confounded by such loveliness.”

  “See that you make no more references to my wife or I will take my business elsewhere!”

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  “But, hermosito, (beautiful one) do not pout. These are the horses I want. You know how much I love you, dear.” She bent forward in her saddle so Ramos could see the tops of her breasts in her low cut gown, and her hair was an unnatural brassy red as were her lips and cheeks. Ramos knew a reformed puta (whore) when he saw one. Only her milky skin was pristine as it glowed through the make-up.

  “How, much, Gypsy?”

  “They are my finest. Thirty sovereigns. It is a bargain and I am certain I will sell them today.”

  “Twenty-five and you have a deal, gypsy,” said the worm.

  “I won’t take less than thirty: that’s final.”

  “Very well, if this is what Emelda wants she shall have it. I’ll give you fifteen sovereigns now, and return with the rest. Hold them for me, gypsy.”

  “Call me Ramos: I know I am a gypsy but I have a name.. The whole twenty five now and leave something behind as security. How do I know a highway man won’t kill you on the way back? I must have some security.”

  “I have nothing to leave: you have all my money.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” said Ramos indicating his wife.

  “I won’t leave my wife with savages. You might even eat her.”

  “Pedro,” interrupted Emelda, “Don’t be foolish: there is nothing to fear from this man. Can’t you see he is a gentleman? Besides I have this,” she said lifting her skirt to reveal a pearl encrusted derringer strapped to her ankle.

  “You’re no match for these gypsies, Emelda.”

  “Or the other way around I would suspect,” said Ramos archly.

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  “Listen, Pedro, you get the hell home and get that money or I’ll stop licking your ass like those little boys used to.”

  “Emelda!”

  “Don’t forget where you found me, Pedro. Nothing men do surprises me. Now off with you before he changes his mind. We must suffer for what we really want, love.

  Get a new horse on the way back to make the ride faster.”

  Pedro rode out with a wan look on his face and a whip raised
over the horse’s ass.

  “Now,” she said turning to Ramos, “Tell me of yourself, gypsy.

  “I can tell you when a rose is parched for water. You, lady. Come to my wagon and look at my scars. Are you afraid I will eat you?”

  “Actually, Ramos, I’m afraid you will not.”

  “Lady, you hold my heart and my balls in your hand. Have you ever had a gypsy man before?”

  “I’ve had many men and I can tell a real one when I see him.”

  “I am a real man, Milady,” he said and placed her hand on the hardness of his cock.

  “I see you are and you can fill me and squirt me full of your seed. He will be back in three hours.”

  He opened the wagon to a large two person pallet with A royal blue coverlet covered with gold stars, and placed a number of pillows under her ass. He shot red wine into her mouth from a boda bag saying, “No one needs to be sober during the act of love.

  I will kiss each droplet from your lips.” She lay spread eagled, the vision of a fallen angel as he undid the stays in her blouse burying his head in her tits. His tongue went 61

  around each nipple like the tip of a lizard’s tail, around and around sucking and biting then he moved lower, tearing her under things to eat of her flower. He bit and sucked her into a frenzy and then she was spent.

  Only then did he undo his pants and he stood raw and engorged with a purple tinge to his penis. His face was hungry and wicked like a wolverine. As he entered her she shuddered and arched up to receive him and he was brutal, ramming and ramming as if she were an animal of the field. She noted he smelled like man sweat, garlic, wine and tobacco. She envisioned her juices sluicing down his balls. She felt the walls of her sex clutching then releasing him. Then he threw back his head and growled as he splattered her with his seed.

  When her husband returned she was calm and rosy drinking tea from a crude earthen mug and Ramos was casually whittling a fawn with his hunting knife, and she had nothing but kind words to say to him.