La Gitana

by Carol Ann

  “This is the part Madame no longer wants. Do you still want Us?” I unbuttoned his pants and took us wide shaft in my mouth. Then I ran my tongue up and down teasing the tip. He came so much it ran from my mouth and down my breasts. Magdalena came with a soft cloth to cleanse us.

  “We shall take something from her for this.”

  “My Lord,” I said, I as a gypsy know revenge is a poison swallowed by the avenger as well as the intended victim. It will come back to haunt you. Besides you still love her. I beg you not to harm her.”

  “She has made a fool of us. A little boy begging for entrance to her splendid palace. Everywhere there will be gossip and snickers. We must act but not too harshly.”

  “Do nothing, my King,” said Magdalena. “She will come around. If you take vengeance now, she will never forgive you.”

  “Well, what does she enjoy?” I asked.

  “Her children. Her long chestnut hair. Her ladies in waiting. I don’t know.

  Perhaps her library of classics,” he replied.

  “I think no intelligent woman can survive without her books,” I said.

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  “That’s it, Gitana, We shall deprive her of her books. We will have them all delivered to you. Classics like Racine and Voltaire. The King’s wishes are the law.”

  “My Lord, I think it will only make her resent her more. It will drive her farther away,” I said.

  “We have spoken, said Louis. His black eyes had a hard dullness, a look I had seen before and I knew it was no use to plead. Then Louis informed me he would spend all his nights with me, and his days at the castle.

  A sad thing happened the same year of 1701, the passing of Monsieur Philippe.

  He suffered horribly and Louis was very upset. The doctors could do little for him. To the end Monsieur maintained his sense of humor. When the female nurses came to change his linens he accused them of trying to molest, “the most beautiful man in the earth.” He told Louis he definitely intended to vie for the crown once he got well. And he told me he was going to get me with child and that two sons was not nearly enough for such a boisterous woman, and he would slap me on the backside when he said it. He told Louis he should enact a law that all men and all women of royal blood should be queer.

  Madame went to his bedside every day with various religious tracts trying to get him to recant his homosexuality, and confess his sins. He once retorted that she should try to regain the King’s affections instead of tormenting people on their death bed. She continued to harass Philippe until Louis forbade her to visit him. His friends and associates made daily treks to see him and the blond boy he deflowered thanked him for bringing him into the world of men. Philippe’s days were spent in fond reverie just as Louis had commanded.

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  On the day he died as I held his hand he said, “Gitana, if you were a man I would have love you. Farewell, my splendid one.” He squeezed me hand and then was gone.

  When Louis asked me what his last words were I told him he expressed his love and fondness for the King. Louis went over and embraced his dead brother.

  “Oh, Philippe, never to stand in the light. Always to stand in our shadow. And, We, so proud and never loving to you, always thinking of war. We never thought of you, and your vast kind, and silly heart.”

  I said, “He blessed you with his dying word, Louis. And he had a fine life full of luxury and parties and loved ones. Monsieur lit up whatever room he went into. He had his own light: he did not need yours. Do not sorrow, Louis, you treated him well. Even his wife loved him in her way.

  And you, Gitana, do you have your light?”

  “A sun bursts inside me every day that I live.”

  “So true, my dark, vibrant one.

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  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  My days were spent in raising my son, Julio, and in seeing to Antonio’s affairs. I was raising my young son with the help of the Lady Magdalena while Louis pursued his War of Spanish Succession. Julio proved more difficult than I could have imagined and one day he said he hoped I would die soon. I was struck dumb. Lady Magdalena stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face and directed him to apologize immediately.

  He retorted, “Why? It’s true what I feel and if she had any feelings for me she would never have abandoned me.”

  “That is not true, my son. I did it to save your life: you were in danger of being poisoned as I was.”

  “Well, you’re a gypsy and understand all about poison. Why couldn’t’ you just poison them back?”

  “When you’re dead it’s hard to take revenge is why. I would not give them a chance to get to you. Besides, it’s hard to discover who the guilty party is.”

  “You just make up nonsense, Mama. You really didn’t want me.”

  “I want you Antonio more than you’ll ever know. I can stand your hatred. I will melt it like butter in a frying pan. You’ll see. I will not abandon you again.”

  “You may never have my love,” he said stamping his feet.

  Magdalena intervened saying that we would talk of other things or she would whip him within an inch of his life, and she took a strap and lashed him across the back of his legs. He relented and asked if he could go hunting with one of the soldiers. I told him I would hunt with him. As a gypsy girl I routinely hunted deer, elk, pheasants and hares for our table. We all three saddled up and I took the crossbow to impress him. I 258

  explained that gypsy girls rarely hunted and that at first I had to steal papa’s rifle or crossbow but when he saw how skilled I was with them he allowed me to hunt.

  The woods were thick and deep and the hounds seemed nervous. I looked up and saw the viridian curtain of leaves overhead with little pieces of turquoise sky in between.

  The cold February air seared my lungs and my boy looked like a miniature Louis sitting so proud and bold on his mount. One of the hounds caught the scent of prey and we had to run the horses between the trees which can be dangerous. I cornered the hare and put an arrow through its back. Julio, if he was impressed said nothing and he managed to bring down an elk with his rifle. Only Magdalena did not hunt. It was not in her gentle heart to kill a living thing.

  At one point, Julio had me within his sites and yet lowered the gun when I looked in his eyes.

  “Just so you know, Mama. It could happen at any time. Accidents happen.”

  “Well, devil child, I’ll take my chances that someday you will love me as I love you.”

  He asked if I’d tell Magdalena and I told him it was between us. A light appeared in his eyes, and the hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Mama, you are very brave. Will you hunt again with me? I want to learn the crossbow as it is a cleaner kill.”

  I said I’d be glad to teach him all I knew about hunting and we practiced archery every day the next week. He got skilled at it quickly, as he, like his father, was an athlete. He asked when we might go out again and I told him Monday as I spent my weekends with the King.

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  Louis was in a philosophical mood when I saw him and began to talk about his childhood.

  “You know Carmen, We have the blood of murderers, and lunatics in our bloodline. Our grandmother was Marie de Medici, wife of Henry II. It is sodden, brutal, war like blood. Sometimes We are not well Ourselves like when We slapped you. We apologize for whatever harm We have done to you. Louis, the King is not Louis the man.”

  “Apology accepted, my love. A gypsy us hard to damage since we are accustomed to living off the land and our other skills. We are made of blood, lust and dust.”

  “We have never hurt a women before, and We do regret it. Unlike other royals, our mother alone raised us and taught us to love women. We never saw my Father, Louis III, a dour, irritable man and he slept on the other side of the castle and did not share a conjugal bed with my mother, Anne of Austria. As a child We used to sleep in her bed until We reached eleven. It was my mother who instilled in Us Our love of the theatre and the arts. Machiavelli says
war if the business of government.

  Men make war while women heal the wounds of the world. Women are the glue that holds the world together.”

  Our Father died 14, May, 1643 when We were four years old. When he was told he had an hour to live he said, ‘Ah, good news,’ and promptly expired. We shall never say such a thing, Gitana. Life is a vast circus, full of fools, kings and miscreants, and every day is a gift from God. I squeeze life like a lemon to the last drop, and you are the 260

  same. Women are our life and you are the most important woman in my world, my second wife.”

  My heart swelled with pride and I touched his dear face. He asked how it was going with Julio and I replied it would take some time but it was going well. The King and I retired to our bed chamber and we made love for hours until the purple night changed into the golden sunshine.

  Come Monday morning, Julio was at my door demanding to be fed and to be taken hunting. I fed him well of sausages, bacon, eggs, croissants and melon. He demanded a cup of coffee since he was “becoming a man,” and I gave it to him.” He would be twelve soon. The year was 9, February 1702. He asked me why my first son, Antonio, was not fighting in the War of Succession. Julio was eager to be a warrior like his father. I told him Antonio was as artist and not a warrior like Louis. He replied that every man was meant to hunt, kill, and fight. He asked if his brother was even a man. I said all people were different, that Antonio provided for his wife and children and that made him a man.

  “You are the image of your father Julio, in temperament and desire and Antonio is cut from a different cloth.”

  “I don’t consider him a man, and I told him so. He said his children and his work proved he was a man and that war was only legalized murder. War would prove he was a murderer not a man” said Julio.

  “He does serve our country by creating beauty.”

  “Art is for faggots and women with hoop skirts!”

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  “Your Father considers art to be the fulcrum of life, and he, at times, acts in the theatre. Is your Father not a man as well? Would you have us live in mud huts and not know our ancestors by the presence of paintings?”

  “No, you confuse me, mother. I require you to cease talking.”

  “You are not a King: you may not command your mother.”

  “Any man may talk to any woman in any way he chooses.”

  “Julio, the world is changing. Some women even reign over entire countries. I did so for ten long years with Marie Luisa and the Junta del Gobierno.”

  “You actually ruled Spain? Where was King Carlos during this time?”

  “He was mortally ill in body and spirit. We had to take over many time as he lost his senses.”

  “Papa says King Phillip V is no better. That he is a fool and a weakling more interested in satisfying his lust than in running the government. His advisors and his wife, Elizabeth of Parma, actually rules. Papa says he is a slave to lust, bedding his wife a dozen times a day and then he runs to his Confessor for absolution from excessive lust.

  He says King Phillip convenes his cabinet at 2:00 in the morning, and that at times, he howls like a wolf. He even tries to abdicate time and time again.”

  “Oh, that is very bad for Spain. This gives me much sorrow. Spain cannot be strong without a strong ruler. I must talk to Louis about this.”

  “Mama, he did not want you to know. Don’t ask him,”

  “I will ask what I please, Julio. You are a child and cannot command me! Let us prepare the horses: mine is already saddled. Why don’t you take the palomino like last time. The mare is a good reliable horse.”

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  “No, I want the strawberry roan. Papa says I am skilled enough to ride a more spirited horse. He is faster and a better jumper.”

  We argued for a time about the roan that could be a dangerous horse. Finally I gave in. He beat my horse in speed and jumped much higher than mine and he hardly broke a sweat. The day was gray with white wisps of clouds like streaks of milk in a frosted glass. Lady Magdalena wore a black dress with a black straw hat with a veil and I wore a bright rust colored dress and a green hat with peacock feathers. Julio was dressed in tan riding garb and a red riding cap. The first morning hours were very productive with Julio killing a fox with the crossbow while I killed a deer with my rifle.

  Magdalena winced at the kills, and turned her face away. Next, we concentrated on game birds like wild turkeys, and pheasants. Then toward the later afternoon, the roan came back with no rider. When we found Julio, he was unconscious but still breathing. And his right leg was bent back in at an awkward angle. We got a wagon immediately and brought him home to see the doctor. He had a broken leg which the doctor set and a bad concussion.

  The King came immediately from his business in Versailles and sat for three days by Julio’s bed side until he regained consciousness. When he woke up he demanded a large drink of water and some meat and pudding. The doctor was called in and he recommended more bed rest and to carefully observe the head injury to ascertain the degree to which he was injured. Julio complained of a headache so I made a potion for pain to go with what the doctor gave him and nurses were sent in to attend him. Julio was upset but he remained staunch: he wanted to appear like a man before his Father but I saw tears in his eyes. Tears that would not roll down his cheeks.

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  The King spoke first. “We take full responsibility for the accident as We gave him permission to ride that damn horse.”

  I said it was a disagreeable piece of fate and that it was nobody’s fault.

  “Fate is made not conferred,” replied Louis, “character is destiny.”

  “One cannot control one’s circumstances. One can only control what reaction one has to that fate,” I said. “We gypsies believe in St. Sara. She is the saint for all gypsies.”

  “Never heard of her,” said Louis.

  There was much about being a gypsy that I would not reveal to Louis. It was another place and time. Louis pressed me for more information and asked what it meant to be a gypsy. I refused again to reveal more. Julio said he would like to know also since he was part gypsy. Then I relented and told them of our ways.

  “We have our own laws and the Lord in heaven has special rules for gypsies, the world’s poorest creatures. A gypsy is pure if he follows our rules: mahrime or unclean if he does not. We regard anyone who is not a gypsy as mahrime or contaminated.

  Another rule is we are bound to make money honestly or dishonestly from the gadje or non-gypsy. There is not anything a gypsy would not do for profit.

  Gypsies are not born with royal bloodlines. Any gypsy is equal to another. We have no allegiance to any country, King or Queen. We are a brotherhood not a nation.

  By gypsy law any gypsy must help his brother by food and shelter. It is the policy of the

  ‘open hand’. No gypsy may be in pachoras: this means debt. If a man fails to pay a debt, he must work for a year and a day to the debtor with no wages. That is an old law and sometimes not enforced.

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  Yet, We trust you with our balls, Carman. Do you feel allegiance to the Crown?

  “I do feel allegiance to you as a King and a man. I am no longer a gypsy in my ways. But in my heart I will always be gypsy. You asked me about my people and I told you. You are my husband and I am bound to you, heart and soul. In my guts, in my heart, in my mind, I swear my loyalty to you just as I would to a gypsy man.”

  “To have someone so formidable serve Us is an honor. Do you miss it?

  “In honesty, I do miss it sometimes although I live like a gadje now. The things of the gadje are familiar to me now, the delicious food, a soft, warm bed, and your wonderful love. Sometimes, I want to feel the cold north wind on my face. As I wake up from my wagon, I want to see my family eating around the campfire. I miss not being a part of any country, knowing my destiny each day is up to me. Having that crisp, free feeling inside me that what I do, alone determines whether I live or die. That I am not bound to
any man or nation. Sometimes I want to wander from town to town as a tinker or fortune-teller. To live by my wits, to lie, and steal and toss my fate to the wind. To be wild as a hare. Yet that was not my destiny.

  You are my destiny, Louis. And I am yours.”

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  CHAPTER THIRY- THREE

  Blood. Blood ran through the land and sullied the bright yellow dandelions in the meadows. It was The War of Spanish Succession, a brutal war, the year was 1702. Dead bodies piled up like rotten dolls and everywhere the horrid stench of death. Dead bodies that were not given a Christian burial as there were too many. Never to die in peace.. As I walked amongst them, their souls rose up from the verdant grass like gray wisps of smoke, skeletal faces frozen in horrid screams. Mostly, only the bones remained while some still had flesh clinging to their bones.

  I was struck by the face of a young, soldier, so calm and peaceful as if in a deep sleep. He was a rubio (blond) with barely a trace of a beard on his fair skin. He still grasped a silver cross in his dead hands. His blue eyes stared into the heavens and I wondered what his life had been. Was a pretty girl with violet eyes, and her hair tied in red ribbons, waiting for him? Did his long slender fingers play the violin or did he ever in a fit of rage, kick a dog. Or was he a good man or did he play the villain in life? I got a shovel and buried him, sticking his silver cross in the moist earth.

  I knew my boy, Antonio, was safe from the ravages of war. Julio, on the other hand, was not safe as he might come of age before the war ended. Julio recovered from his injuries, with only a slight limp. There was no permanent damage to his head.

  Afterward, he insisted on riding the roan again and Louis informed him he would give him the horse on his sixteenth birthday but he was not to ride him until then. Julio knew not to contradict Louis or plead. He could not overrule a King such as Louis. So, in his stubborn way, he took over the care and feeding of the horse and forbade anyone else to ride him. He renamed the horse in Spanish, Diablo Rojo (Red Devil).