La Gitana Page 2

  But Julio is a fever inside me which burns from the inside out. He is like a knife gutting my heart. Like a fish on dry land I gasp for air. Whatever will become of me. Not even God can save me.

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  I awoke early at 4:30 a.m. to make our breakfast. The campfire still burned and I added more dry twigs and wood to get a hot fire. My family would be up soon and it is hard for mama to get around and do things. She has the twisting in her bones that causes pain and she never complains. My father, Moishe, or Roberto, as the gadjes call him, allows her to drink to ease the pain. It is very unusual for a gypsy woman to drink but he allows it. It is not the custom. Mama is quick with the jokes and quick to give advice.

  She is smart about business, the price of horses, grain, and jewelry and will not let the gadjes cheat us. Mama worked for a gadje family when she was young as a maid. It is mahrime for any gypsy to live among the gadjes, eat their food, wear their clothes, do as they do. Her father, having too many children to feed, sold her to a gaje family when she was but ten years old, and she learned gadje ways but never forsook her gypsy heart. She learned to read books on art, history, gaming, agriculture, and business, and escaped when she was twenty. Gypsies are a wandering tribe and ask few questions, and they took her back among the fold. Only our family knows this secret. She took up gypsy ways and eventually met and married my father at the late age of twenty-nine. I suspect he married her because she was wise and skilled at commerce, and a good earner. She married him because he was beautiful, and she liked his touch. Mama is clever, and does well with men and gives advice on business and selling. Usually a woman’s place is in the spiritual realm of prophesy and spell casting while men handle the practical day to day realm. But a woman may even sit in on a kris, drink and smoke if she is wise, and past child bearing years. Mama gave advice well before she was aged due to the fact that she knew gadje ways and could read.

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  So mama taught me to read and Rupa refused to learn anything saying why would she need to know gadje customs and knowledge to have babies and be a good wife. Me, I value reading: one collects the wisdom of many minds and lives many lives outside of one’s own realm. It is the reason I can cheat the gadje: I understand greed and envy. I think of mama often, her worn face with rivulets of wrinkles like a dry river bed, and her large black obsidian eyes, and how one can never fool her. Mama Has long, gray white hair to her waist which I comb and plait each day as well as buttoning her blouse and pulling tight the laces on her shoes. Mama says she is my living doll and laughs. A gypsy woman holds her babies to her breasts and prophesy in the tips of her fingers.

  I am gypsy in heart and gadje in knowledge. I understand the greed of the gaje and the constant search for wealth and comfort. As I have already said, it is not the gypsy who starts wars. If one has wealth and material comfort, why must one want love too?

  One or the other is enough. Comfort is a want not a need. It’s gluttony! The worst of them want me to curse their neighbors, or loved ones for some perceived injustice. One woman had a cheating husband and wanted me to curse his manhood, making him flaccid and soft in lovemaking. Instead I put a curse on her woman’s part to make her cold to passion. She came back to me in anger saying she could no longer feel and I said, “So what? Your problem is solved is it not? Your husband is now your brother. No need to be jealous: you have no desire now.” She screamed at me saying “Bruja! Bruja!” (witch) I said, “Por cierto (certainly). That’s why you came to me in the first place.” You see, a curse is like the infinity sign: it comes back around to destroy you.

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  I could tell you more stories but why make you fear the girl I was? I only act according to my destiny. St. Sara proclaims and we exclaim. But I digress. Back to breakfast. I gathered the eggs, went to the smoke house fro a slab of ham, and made the tortillas and boiled the thick, hot coffee. Mama was up first.

  “Que tal, mi hija. (How’s it going, daughter?) Why do you look so thoughtful at this hour?” she asked.

  “Mama, has papa found a suitor for me? Will he be old and ugly? Toothless and rich?” I asked.

  “There are many suitors. Leave Moishe to me, Tekla. I will not let him ruin your happiness,” she replied.

  “But if the bride price is right, papa will give me away like a sack of potatoes.”

  “I will make sure he is a good man, mi hija. (my daughter). Even if not the one you want.”

  “The one I want, mama?”

  “Querida, (Dear) your old mama is not blind, deaf and dumb. I know who it is you really want. Julio,” replied mama.

  “Do they know, mama?”

  “No, neither of them notices anything beyond themselves. You should know that.

  You cannot fool your mama. I see how you look at him. You may not have him, Tekla.

  Sew up your heart and give up hope. Hope can kill you.”

  “I cannot, mama.”

  “Trouble and pain lie ahead for you, mi corazon, (my heart). Rupa will marry first.”

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  Then Rupa entered, tousled with sleep, pale as alabaster and demanding to know why I took her green ribbons she was to wear that day.

  I replied, “Rupa, when do I wear ribbons. Think before you speak. The cat probably took them.”

  “You took them because you don’t want me to be beautiful for Julio this day.

  You’re just mean because you don’t have a beau and I do!” she said tearing up.

  Mama and I burst out in laughter and mama said she hated to see the day when Rupa was on the child bed if she thought this was a tragedy.

  “Listen, mi hija, ( my daughter) you must be tougher than this for your life. Do not be so weak. I am ashamed of you. Moishe will get your new ribbons when he goes to town this day. Behave more like a woman and less like a little girl and think about more than just being pretty. Think how to please him as a man, and have his babies, cook for him, and bring him joy. I may disown you if you keep up this tantrum!”

  “Mama, you always take Tekla’s side. You make me feel so stupid,” replied Rupa.

  “Not stupid, mi hija, (my daughter) just light hearted. You are made of lace: Tekla is made of iron. There is nothing wrong with being either way. Except one needs a little brine and bitterness to live this life. You are all sugar, querida, (dear) and I fear for you, Rupa.”

  “Don’t fear for me, mama. Julio loves me,” replied Rupa.

  “But do you love him?” I asked.

  “Of course, I do, Tekla. Don’t I do everything to please him?”

  “Pleasing a man requires much more than just being pretty,” I said.

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  “And you know all about that, puta, (whore),” snapped Rupa.

  “Do not call your sister a whore, Rupa. She is as pure as you are,” said mama.

  “I don’t think she loves him. She loves the way he looks at her and what he can do for her. I’ll show you, puta! (whore!)” I said.

  “She says horrible things about me, mama. I am not so shallow as she says. I have a heart, and feelings, too,” said Rupa in tears.

  “Stop, Tekla. You are strong and know how to hurt with your tongue. So your sister gets upset about ribbons, and loves to be pretty. There’s no harm in that. You could do more to be pretty yourself and not look so wild all the time. The strong must shelter the weak as God commands.”

  “When I look at this pathetic girl, mama, I remember God’s commandment,

  ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’. And it’s a lucky thing.” And I stormed out leaving the breakfast cooking.

  The beautiful get the fruit of the land and I, Tekla, must take the offal. I felt an all consuming hatred for Rupa at that moment.

  Mama soon found me and tried to comfort me.

  “You do love him so in only the way a woman can. I do understand you, mi hija (my daughter). I love Moishe in the same way, a way your sister will never be able to love. It is a sad. sad thing when love is out of reach. But don’t hate your sister so. She loves you and can’t
imagine why anyone would hate her as she cannot feel that emotion herself. She will always be a child, mi hija, (my daughter) and that is very very tragic.

  So much of life she will miss and so much you will have, Tekla. A vivid heart lives 19

  more, loves more and hates more. You are gifted and she is not. The rose rots on the vine: the weed blooms forever. Can you not come back and be a little kinder now?” And I knew it was true. Rupa would only remain as a child, always seeking approval from others, never saying loud and clear, I AM. I am in the sunshine. I am in the rain. I am whether ugly or beautiful. I exist whether life is kind or cruel.

  I, Tekla, say this to myself. I, Tekla, am a stone.

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  CHAPTER THREE

  Julio bathes each Thursday in the river and I spy on him. I always take a basket for collecting berries so I can have an excuse for coming upon him. I hide behind the deep bushes and watch. First he ties up his horse and then un-holsters his pistol laying it by the tree in the green grass. Then he removes his shirt and boots and his pants are last.

  The breeze carries the scent of sweat and horseflesh and I breathe it in as if I could breathe in his soul.

  When he undoes his pants I look at his manhood, lying flaccid and long against his muscled thighs. Then I follow the narrow trail of pubic hair up to his chest. The hair on it is thick, black, and overgrown like sage on the desert, and I think how grand to lay my head there. Then he stands for a while in the cool air as if taking the world in with his body. I notice the curved power of his spine and buttocks and the purple scar running from the left side of his chest to his abdomen. I find I want to follow the trail of the scar with my tongue. His torso is long and segmented and the muscles bunch in rows across his belly. He is tall as the sky and silent when he moves.

  He steps into the water hitting it with his hands. Arcs of water jet through the winter air and I know he is proud of his animal self. Never will he be soft, pink, perfumed like a gadje man. What difference does fine cloth make on worm’s flesh? A man should be raw and hurting with life not pale, fat and smelling of powders and cologne. So much do I yearn for him: it is like a knife of fire up my woman’s slit. I lick my dry lips and anticipate water. I feel a pulse down there and how he plays with the water slapping it over his body and soaping his chest with ash soap. So much bravado and joy. Then he stops and begins to soap his cock and balls. He holds one hand under 21

  his balls, and stokes his cock slowly with the other. Soon he is shaking and moaning and facing in my direction. His face holds an expression of intense pain. I press and press my woman’s flower. The more pressure I give: the more pleasure I get. A thin stream of moisture slides down my leg as if I had wet myself. I lie back in the bushes closing my eyes and nearly loose consciousness.

  When I open them Julio is standing over me with a grin on his face.

  “So, did you enjoy, the joy, querida? (dear?) It won’t be the first time. These bushes do not hide you well and it might be wise not to wear a purple blouse when you’re trying to be hidden!” he said.

  “Will you tell papa?” I asked.

  “Neither your papa nor Rupa. Let this be out little secret.”

  “Rupa, what do I care. Only papa would kill me or cast me out. I am mahrime,” I said.

  “Marime, and our secret,” replied Julio. “I, of course, have knowledge of women.

  Not gypsy women, but woman. Putas (whores) in town. A man has his needs.”

  “But it’s against our law to know a woman out of the marriage bed!”

  “And look who’s talking, Tekla. A little shame is a very good thing.”

  “You are not a proper gypsy man, Julio.”

  “Oh, please, Tekla. You are no example. Any other kind of man would have raped you,” he replied.

  “I guess you are right. How long have you known?”

  “Forever, querida. (dear). From the first. I just wanted to play with you a bit before I confronted you. Shame is good. It makes it all the sweeter.” 22

  “I can’t believe you’re telling me this. I thought you’d have me cast out if you found out,” I said.

  “I am a proper gypsy man. Most gypsy woman do not know their men. It is kept that way. Ignorance is much desired and lack of passion too. It makes a woman faithful and a good mother. If she is busy with the children she will not tend your business too well.”

  “And me? I am not desirable?” I asked.

  “I never said that. No, not ever.”

  “What do you want of me, Julio?”

  “To be my forbidden fruit. But, I tell you I’m still going to marry Rupa. I want to be honest from the start.”

  “But it’s mahrime,” I said.

  “Not if nobody knows, Tekla.

  “Marry Rupa! Que chiste. (what a joke). She has no real feeling for you, Julio.

  You are just someone to tell her how beautiful she is.”

  “Jealous, are we?”

  “Ay, Julio, you are blind. She cannot love a man. It is herself she loves. Just like papa. Sometimes pretty people have no soul.”

  “You are a jealous cat, and you are making me very aroused, I didn’t know you hated her so much.”

  “Why wouldn’t’ I?”

  “Why would you? She’s so good and simple.”

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  “Because she lacks imagination to be any other way. I hate victory without effort.

  It’s shoddy.”

  “Victory without effort?” he asked.

  “People love Rupa and she gives nothing. She lives for her reflection in the circle of a man’s eye and not the man. She floats by like a cloud and with no more care than one.”

  “So much hate. Would you like to kill her?”

  “Perhaps, but that would be a sin, and anyway she’s my baby sister. The little fool.”

  “She’s just slow to warm to me. It is the man’s job to make the woman feel passion. All young girls are innocent as little children at first. Then with the man’s help they become woman. She’ll learn to like love making. A young girl is not supposed to be passionate before the marriage bed. I love her, Tekla.”

  “There’s nothing there to bring out. She’s blank inside, a beautiful dream.”

  “Callate, Tekla. (shut up). You speak out of envy.”

  “Envy, yes. That all the prizes in life must go to someone so empty. The world caters to the beautiful and empty.”

  “You talk like an old woman, Tekla. What do you know of the world, girl?”

  “I am not so young as you would think. I read, I think, I feel. I have hundreds of minds inside me from the books I have read. Girl! How dare you? Tease me! Criticize me! Preach to me! When you knew all along I was near, bastardo!”

  “This just proves the case against letting a woman read,” he replied.

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  Julio approached me roughly, clasped my hands above my head and kissed me roughly, sliding his tongue inside my mouth. Next his hungry hands grasped my breasts beneath the cloth of my blouse. I felt the hard knife of his sex against my belly. Then he stood back and unbuttoned his pants and said, “Here, girl, feel what it is to be a man.” My fingers could not completely enclose him.

  “It is hard, no. Do you know where I will put it? I will put it inside you and first there will be a little pain and then pleasure will follow. Lay down on the ground.” He tore a hole in my pantalones and with his fingers found my special spot, moving in soft circles around it, then applying pressure directly to it.

  “Nod when it begins to tingle and burn and you feel wetness,” he commanded.

  I began to feel the old familiar pleasure and I opened to him. I felt the pain and knew my virgin’s blood was oozing down my leg and then I felt my emptiness go away as I grasped him with my woman’s part. Before long the walls of my sex were squeezing and releasing his cock and I felt the thud of his heart against my tender breasts. He threw my legs upward and drove further in and I felt ungodly heat and delicious pain. I could feel his large balls sla
pping against my ass, and a building and building sensation. He yelled, “conyo” into my ear and shot me full of his juices, and my sex became a soft, happy clam as I slipped from consciousness.

  When I came to he was holding the wine bag to my lips with a worried expression on his face.

  “You really scared me, Tekla. I thought for a moment that I had killed you.”

  “Do you call me woman, now, Julio?”

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  “Yes, I do and I hope I did not get you with child, querida ( dear). We must never tell, Tekla.”

  “Papa would kill me and mama would turn away. We’d have to live as outcasts.

  We broke the law.”

  “And we’ll keep breaking it.”

  I replied, “yes”. Love knows no bounds. I was a woman in secret and it tore at me and I determined to make Rupa’s life miserable. I lay in bed for days with strange maladies just so she’d have to do all the work. I complained and kept her up nights waiting on me. I tore out the stitches in her most beautiful skirt so she’d have to mend it and killed her favorite pet. She cried for days about the cat wondering who could be so mean as to gut an innocent animal. I told her people were just mean sometimes and kissed her on top of the head. One day as I combed out her hair, I knotted the comb in and yanked out a clump of hair. She screamed and it was music to my ears. I treasured the blank look of surprise and pain that shrouded her beautiful face as I did these things.

  She was too innocent to think any of it was on purpose.

  Only mama knew. Papa thought my bad disposition was due to some strange woman’s malady but mama was having none of this. One day she came to me and calmly said, “Tekla, I know why you are doing these things and you will stop this instant.

  It is evil to hurt the innocent and defenseless. Just this morning I caught Rupa crying and she wouldn’t tell me why. She didn’t want to get you in trouble. You are strong and mean: she is weak and beautiful. It is not her fault for what she is and why he loves her.