La Gitana

by Carol Ann

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  We all laughed and Marie said, “Is that Madame, Uncle? You captured her so well.”

  “Yes, and I had to put a pole up my ass to do it,” he replied.

  “Now, I know why she hates me. She’s in a great deal of pain,” I laughed.

  “No, said Marie, “the real reason is that she’s a pious bitch. Don’t worry about her: the King likes you and in some things he cannot be influenced. She’s so worried about saving souls: she forgot how to laugh. That’s not to say she’s not intelligent. She’s the most educated woman in the court.”

  “Let me watch you dress. It reminds me of when I was a little boy. Women’s clothes look better on me than on them.”

  “You may not wear Our gowns, Uncle. But We will just have to live with the fact that you are more beautiful than We are,” said Marie.

  “Just so you know, dear, just so you know,” he said.

  Monsieur asked us if we wanted to see the Louvre and a very select men’s club where he spent his time. We were delighted to have such a blithe spirit take us around.

  The Louvre was like a thousand lustrous lights all shining at once and the keeper greeted Philippe warmly. “Monsieur is here to immerse himself in beauty but from the look of his companions, he already has.”

  “Mon petit fleurs, (my little flowers),” said Monsieur. “Mine alone. I am their man, fit enough for three. I will ravish them all this night.”

  “If Monsieur is so inclined,” said the keeper with a wink.

  Monsieur and Marie and Magdalena went off in one direction, and I another. I wanted to see the paintings in silence with just the sound of my own heartbeat. I found I 172

  liked Sandro Botticelli’s Venus the most. The Venus is on a giant half shell emerging from the ocean, a fair, nude maiden arising from a turbulent green sea with angels flying around her to clothe her nakedness. Her skin was rosy and airy like the wind and her long, golden brown tresses snaked around her body in ringlets. Rose petals floated in the air by her precious, glowing, gentle face. She resembled Magdalena in features and in spirit.

  I was also taken by the dark, brooding quality of Caravagio’s portraits of peasants. There was an aspect of blood and passion about his paintings as if one could speak to his subjects, or they could reach out and touch the observer. And I liked Goya’s portraits of the child royals. I liked particularly the one painting of a small blond princess with her white flounced dress and her staring round eyed cat. Much of the intrigue comes from the opalescent innocence of the girl child and the menacing, malevolent stare of her pet, cat. Its eyes were so intense as if to pop right out of its head.

  When I later found Marie and Magdalena they were in front of some male statues, well muscled except for the genital area. They were laughing and Monsieur remarked that they would not do for him either. Marie said she would not know about that particular topic.

  And Monsieur said, “I think you are on the right track, my girl. Circular things go with circular things and tubular things align themselves together. Nature loves symmetry.”

  I told Monsieur I thought he was very witty and was looking forward to seeing his club. We arrived in a narrow out of the way street and when we went in the décor was pink and green and there were many chandeliers and elegant silver wall sconces. The 173

  flames of hundreds of candles lightened the rooms. The men were well dressed in brocades, silks and velvets in bright, dramatic colors, such as red and gold. They were also well made up and coiffed, and they flitted gaily about the room like so many colored butterflies. Off to the sides on golden couches lovers caressed each other and kissed. On the upper rooms they made love. They called out greetings to Monsieur and sometimes kissed him on the mouth or the cheek, and they made much of us, complimenting us on our dress and general appearance.

  The most astounding thing was the waiters or waitresses carrying silver trays of champagne and cheeses. Each man was dressed as a famous woman. I laughed when I saw a Madame. The imitation was priceless from the stern expression, penciled eyebrows, her omnipresent gold cross, to her stiff stance. There was even a Marie and one of me, La Gitana. I remarked that they were more beautiful than we were and Marie laughed, and said, “This is obviously Our better self.”

  I asked Monsieur if the King knew we were here and he replied it was the King’s idea to show us all of Versailles, the good and the bad, so to speak. The King wanted us to feel welcome and at home.

  “Yes, mon cherie (my darling), He wants me to show you his splendor and his good will toward you and Marie. He wants you to experience all of Versailles before the main ball on Christmas Eve. Mistletoe will be plentiful and Monsieur will be kissing your pretty lips, and whisking you around the dance floor. You are my girls.” And he kissed us each on the cheek. I noted the smoothness of his face without a beard.

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  On the night of the ball I found myself to be somewhat nervous. I had a strong yearning for a man who could never be mine. I brushed my long black hair one hundred strokes and perfumed it with rose scent and I used the face paints to enhance my beauty and I put on my lowest cut gown. I was a minnow in the ocean.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  It was to be a masked ball, and even the King and Queen would not be announced in the interest of secrecy. Of course, anyone could recognize King Louis from his stance, so bold and resolute. I wore a deep green velvet dress with threads of gold woven into the material, and ruby earrings hung from my lobes like two long, drops of blood. A ruby necklace fit tightly across my neck.

  Marie Luisa never looked lovelier in her silver diamond studded gown. It was if she were personifying an icicle in winter. The silver gown emphasized her tiny waist and she seemed so fragile as if a snow flake would shatter her. We went down and were immediately recognized in spite of our colorful masks. Mine was feathered like a bird of prey: hers was red satin with ostrich feathers.

  Never have I seen such splendor and abundance. The ball was held in the main ballroom with its pillars and painted ceilings. Overhead seraphs battled the forces of evil, snarling, ferocious looking demons with men’s faces and gray body hair.

  The women’s gowns were magnificent and splendorous, with all the colors of an artist’s palette, and every one shone with a kind of mist.

  Hands grasped champagne glasses and beautiful red lips parted like tulips, and the music caressed me like a gentle hand. It soared then came crashing down in a kind of violence only to start up again soft, and gentle. So like my own life. I did not dance at first as I do not know gadje dances. I had planned to dance sometime in the evening, a flamenco dance from Spain. I would be nameless until then. If one could not bring the gypsy to the gadge then one had to bring the gadje to the gypsy.

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  Let the evening advance I thought. I was floating in a splendor observing the world through a lovely prism.

  The food tables were quite impressive. No gypsy ever prepared such a feast. The tables strained under the sheer weight of the food. On the meat table were pheasants, ducks, venison, beef, wild turkeys and wild boars with apples in their mouths. Various vegetables were in evidence, huge baked potatoes, yams floating in syrup, mushrooms and string beans, and onion flavored lentils. Most vegetables came right from the king’s garden. Of the breads, I will say, the French specialize in the art of baking. The pastry table had a tall, multi-layered yellow cake topped with bitter sweet chocolate shavings and raspberries. There was much more that I fail to mention. I, who am dead, have a particular fondness for food and things of the senses, like the act of love. I yearn for what is not within my grasp. To feel the burn of air through my lungs, the sweetness of a peach melting on my tongue, and the clash of sex in my loins. Memories, so many memories.

  Marie approached me and said, “Mon petit cherie, (my little darling) I must talk to various people here so I’m going to leave you alone while I go with Magdalena as she knows them. Use your wit. Circulate. While you are here, this is your home.”
Magdalena in her gold shimmering gown was as lovely as a star floating in a black night sky. Red roses were woven into her long blond hair and she smelled of cloves and roses. I felt a pang of jealousy but I liked her too much to show it.

  Magdalena was a fair dove and her only currency was her beauty and sweetness. An innocent among the wolves. I kissed them both on the cheek and began to get some food.

  Monsieur came up behind me and kissed me on the neck.

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  “Not so much, my darling, eat a third of what you’ve got. We, girls, must keep our figures. No one likes a fat sow. My sweet, you look ravishing.” I thanked him for the compliment and said he looked ravishing as well.

  He said, “Cherie, that is a given. I am the best looking woman here. Why are you not circulating among the people. Is my gypsy shy?”

  I replied, “People must come to me. That is my way.”

  “My, but you are proud. I sense no such reservation with me.”

  “It’s hard to snub someone when they’ve washed your twat,” I replied.

  “And did I get it clean?”

  “Cleaner than it’s ever been before or since,” I said.

  “Then I am a truly great man,”

  “Yes, you are great, Philippe. You have a truly blithe, bright spirit, and that’s rare.”

  “There are some who think I’m a fool and a faggot,” he said.

  “They are wrong. There are those who think people who wage war are the fools.

  One day we will all be dust: what of our conquests then,” I said.

  ”Are we becoming treasonous to criticize the bold and the great,” he said.

  “Gypsies do not wage war, Monsieur.”

  “Neither do lambs. But when one is a lion one behaves as a lion. Nature is absolute, and unwavering. Do you not favor the King?”

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  “Yes, I favor him very much as a subject and a woman. You are a nation, Monsieur. Gypsies are a brotherhood. It is gypsy law that he who has must share with he who has not. We do not fight over land among ourselves.”

  “Do not talk treason, Carmen,” he said.

  “I shall not say that our way is the only way. I have nothing but respect for your King. He is as close as anyone to being a Rom Baru, or wise man as you would say.

  The discussion was just philosophical.”

  “Well, it looks like Marie Luisa and Magdalena are having the time of their lives.

  Look at all the lovely maidens surrounding them,” he said.

  “I wish to not join in right now. But you will see what I do later. I just want to drink in this magical night,” I said.

  And I drifted around from room to room and found a Christmas tree in every room. I breathed in the scent of dying pine. I guess in nature one thing must die to nourish another. The ornaments were blown crystal with little Christmas worlds inside them. I saw angels, fawns, St Nicholas and his elves, and scenes of red birds, sitting on snow branches and the like. When I jiggled the branches snow fell inside the orbs. Then at intervals there were stuffed canaries and robins perched on the branches of the trees.

  The yellow of the canaries and the red breasts of the robins caused my heart to beat faster because of the sheer beauty of the ornamentation.

  Then I went back into the main ballroom.

  The dance floor was vast and airy and candles turned the night into a golden glow.

  The dancers in their white wigs could have sprung from the palette of a Velasquez painting. I saw reds as vibrant as cut arteries, greens, the color of a shaded pond, blues 179

  as vivid as the early evening sky. The gold and silver tints were the harsher tints of beauty. In all my twenty-six years, I never saw anything so splendid. The dancers were so graceful and practiced they reminded me of figurines dancing in a music box or marionettes controlled by invisible strings. There seemed to be a lot of hand signals and gestures, secret exchanges between the men and women, and a lot of changing partners.

  The women’s gowns were hooped to stand out in perfect circles, and their waists were cinched. They were probably such hard women to hold that I likened them to dancing corpses. Dancing should be flesh to flesh, blood to blood, cock to pussy. For what is dance but a prelude to sex. I thought all their money and power shielded them from raw life, the heart beat of passion. Everything was manners, nuance, and flirtation so unlike my gypsy dancing.

  The more wine I had the greater my desire to prevail over the gadges. If gypsy would not go to gadge: then gadge would come to gypsy. I decided to dance for them. I asked the musicians if they knew any pasa dobles from Spanish composers and they did.

  I told them to play one after I made my announcement. I told them that I was Carmen Caballito, advisor to Queen Maria Luisa, and that I was going to honor the King and Queen of France with my performance. I was, as I explained bringing a bit of Spain to France. There was a sparse applause and a murmuring.

  The music began and I felt my gypsy blood rise up in me and a pounding of my heart, to the pounding of the rhythm. I started to stomp my feet, swing my hips, and clap my hands. My hips were part of the earth, dirt plain, and lusty and my feet were heavy as lead weights to make the sound. My arms were curled in graceful arcs like a ballet dancer. I felt a passion in my belly and lower down and I was determined to enthrall 180

  them. I had not land, property, nor a title but I had a power coming from my soul. Life is not for the weak or faint hearted. Life is blood and sinew, joy and pain. I never was at home with dull comfort and predictability.

  I finished and in the final crescendo I yelled, clapped, and jerked my hips in the oldest language known to man. There was a stunned silence then a then a thunderous applause. I noticed a medium tall man with a feathered mask of a falcon standing to the side. He blew me a kiss and disappeared. Then they began to approach me with questions timorous and bold. I answered in a way that was prudent, revealing some of my gypsy life and some of my court life in Spain. The man in the mask appeared amongst them and he asked one question, did I like men.

  I said I liked the pistil as well as the stamen and laughed. He kissed my hand and said, “I find you intriguing, Madame. You put your whole soul into what you do. You are not at all diluted.”

  Then Marie Luisa came up to me later and told me I was fabulous. Yet, I had offended Madame with the lewdness of my dance. “Querida, (darling) on this night we are to sleep apart, Madame commands it. She will brook no sin in her house this evening. Since we’re leaving tomorrow, I think it prudent not to conflict with Her. I will take you to your chambers, It is right next to the royal chambers.”

  “That old bruja (witch) I shall curse her with infertility. Her womb will be as barren as her heart. She is still able to get with child.”

  “Please do and throw in a pox for good measure. Don’t kill her though. My Uncle really loves her. Now, kiss Us goodnight. The people of France love you. We should have known you would prevail over any situation.”

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  “Did Madame tell you that I could not stay with you?” I asked.

  “No, it was the King who told me. He said Madame was too upset to confront you, and your lack of piety,” replied Marie.

  It was then I knew I would have a royal visitor in my chambers that Christmas Eve and I was glad of it. I awoke later and he was standing over my bed with the falcon mask still on. He still had the crown ring on his finger.

  “Gypsy, do you know me?” he asked.

  “My Lord, I do not know you.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “Sire, you do not.”

  “We’re two strangers about to make love and you may not to the point of death tell anyone. I have been faithful to my wife all these long years and I do not want to break her heart.”

  “Yes, my Lord, to the point of death, I understand, and I, too, desire you” I said.

  “I know this. I knew it the minute our eyes met earlier. Yet, you will not know me. I am a lord in the king’s court, nothing more. I’ve brought
wine, my love. One doesn’t make love without it. I find you the same in spirit as me. I saw that in your dance. I shall keep the mask on. I am your Falcon King. What think you of our King.”

  “I find him the most fascinating and powerful man I have ever known and I know of his court as well and his form of centralized government.”

  “Tell me more of your studies of the King.”

  “He has six major councils and presides over three of them. The Council d’en Haut is the principal one. Hugues de Lionne is the Secretary of State. Michel de Tellier 182

  is the secretary of war, and Jean Baptiste Colbert is his Superintendent des Finances.

  These councils He personally presides over. The King does not personally preside over the Council des Parties staffed by lawyers. The King made all the laws the same all over France so that there might be consistent justice throughout the land. The King is well informed about all facets of his government and only he may sign official documents.”

  “And what do you think personally of the Sovereign?”

  “I think him the most able king in all Europe and a fine figure of a man.”

  “The latter statement interests me more. Tell me about it.”

  “He has a fine masculine demeanor and face and it is rumored he is a stallion in bed.”

  “Do you listen to rumors?” he asked.

  “I confess I do.”

  “Disrobe right now. I, too have the stamina of a stallion.”

  “I shall make you a very happy man, my Falcon King.”

  I let fall my white lace gown and stood still and confident as the first woman ever created. He took off his purple robe and his wide cock was in full arousal. He had a barrel chest covered with mounds of dark brown hair, and the scent of sex was all about him, raw and hungry. His balls were enormous, the largest I’d ever seen. He came near me pressing his large body into mine. I felt the hungry insistence of his cock pressing into the soft fold of my belly. He was much taller than I by over a foot. He grabbed my hair pulling my head backward to meet his wide, red lips and his tongue forcefully entered my mouth.