The Gypsy King (10 page)
away with brooms. The gypsy men were not
allowed to trade horses, which was their primary means of earning money, as they plodded across the hills of southern France.
Nanosh was hoping this new town of
Lourmarin would be different. As his horse drank from the river’s edge, he lit a cheroot and smiled to the heavens, glad to be alive and glad to be with his family. It was his job tonight to scout for a suitable campsite for their small band of wagons that would be arriving tomorrow morning. They would need a suitable area to let their horses graze in grasslands and this mighty river promised good locations both up and down its winding swath. He had been in these hills months ago and felt good about this part of the country.
He was enjoying the peaceful flow of the river and listening to the noises of the woods when his eye caught a white flash falling from the sky. At 97
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first it looked like a falling star, but when it did not vanish immediately, he knew he was seeing something much different. The enormous splash in the river made him jump and he quickly
dropped from his horse and started running
toward what looked like a footbridge.
He watched as a bundle of white and pink
cotton bobbed and rumbled along slowly in the dark water. Nanosh waded out a few feet until he felt the pull of the river beneath his feet. When he saw what looked like hair floating in the water, he leapt high, dove into the Chamois and swam as fast as he could, knowing time was critical. He reached the broken body and lifted its head, reached underneath her chin and twisted himself quickly beneath the floating girl.
He cocked his arm underneath her upturned
chin so she could breathe and swam with all his might back to the shore. His breath was ragged, but his strong strokes cut through the water and, within minutes, he could feel mud under his feet as he dragged her lifeless body to the edge of the waterline and collapsed.
She did not move.
Nanosh reached for her neck, hoping to the
heavens to feel even a slight tremble of life in her veins. He almost retched when he saw the clean, fleshy laceration on her otherwise pristine face. He spit a few cuss words into the night and was grateful the cool water seemed to clean the cut and 98
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stop the bleeding almost completely.
He ignored his instinctual curiosity to stare at the sopping dress clinging to her curvaceous and supple body and instead, quickly surveyed as much outward damage as he could. It was too dark to be sure, so he carefully examined as much of her as possible. He did see bruises and perhaps a broken ankle, most likely bruised or even broken ribs, but was pleased not to see any compound fractures.
As he adjusted his fingers around her delicate neck, he looked up into the night and caught the dark silhouette of a footbridge he had never seen before. He murmured to himself in disbelief. The bridge was at least three hundred feet above the river! He didn’t know any man could survive a fall from that height. He adjusted his fingertips again, and finally found what he knew could be a tiny life struggling still.
“This girl fights like a wild stallion,” he murmured to himself. He lifted her broken body up and over his shoulder and spread his legs wide to create a strong foundation beneath them both.
He bent down almost to the sand and stood up quickly, dropping down again fast, feeling all of her body’s dead weight pressing against his shoulder. He did this until he heard her gurgling and saw river water oozing from her mouth and nose. She was not coughing, but her lungs were emptying from being flooded. Other than the 99
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water drizzling out of her body, there was no movement from her at all. Nanosh continued until no more water was flowing from the girl.
But she did not cough and she did not stir.
He walked with her over his shoulder to his horse and gently laid her stomach first over the animal’s bare back. She was motionless, but there was faint breathing and he knew he had to get help quickly, but it would be impossible to explain this to the town police. He walked beside his horse, using his arms and hands to keep the girl balanced on top of the animal. He walked through the woods until the sun was rising.
Then he began looking for the shreds of
brightly colored clothing hanging between twigs in a tree his family secretly left to indicate their direction. In the areas where there were no trees, he looked for dark spots from fires made from twigs and next to it a small mound of stones, pinecones, broken glass or even chicken bones.
The objects never seemed out of place and never appeared too obvious to the untrained eye.
Nanosh smiled at the way his people used these signs,
vurma
, to share their direction and to leave messages to each other. Nanosh was able to
retrace his route and ride the girl into his
kumpania
by early morning.
The girl never moved or moaned or as much as stirred, but she continued breathing and that was enough.
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After several heated conversations, the Gypsy King acquiesced and Nanosh cleaned out the
storage wagon and made it as comfortable as their meager existence allowed. He splinted her ankle, bandaged her face and made sure she was not bothered until she could leave the wagon on her own. Or never left the wagon again. Satisfied he had done everything in his power to give this girl a fighting chance, he left her and her fate to the heavens.
* * * *
mercilessly. She didn’t dare open her eyes yet, but instead tried to remember her last thoughts moments before she jumped.
She remembered the path in the grass, the tears and running from the house. She remembered
Leone in her bedroom and his rage and her poor Ahndray! She began to sob as she pictured him on the floor. She took a gulp of air and slowly reached up to touch her face. Veronique screamed 101
The Gypsy King
into the night and birds dispersed like waves of black pepper spraying across the sky. She
collapsed in delirium into her makeshift bed.
In her violent dreams, she imagined she was awake, crawling in the blistering Arabian Desert.
Her throat was full of sand and the pressure was choking her to death. She spit sand into the air and it whipped and twirled away in a whirling dervish toward a crumpled roll of carpeting lying in the middle of the sand, its rich red, gold and
Mediterranean blue colors soaking up the hot afternoon sun. She crawled like a crab toward the roll and realized it was not carpet but a snoring Bengal tiger. Its fur glistened and moved gently as the summer breeze washed over the regal animal.
Veronique crawled up to the tiger, listened to it breathing and stared into its face. Suddenly its eyes flew open wide and the tiger’s face became Leone’s face! She shrieked and he roared, showing his huge white teeth and blood red mouth! She turned but couldn’t run. The sand felt like quicksand around her ankles. The sand in her throat tasted like hot grass and dirt as she watched the tiger get up and start running toward her. She closed her eyes and dropped to the ground with her head down as the tiger leapt over her.
Veronique looked up at its red, orange and
white underbelly of fur and felt fire on her face as it slashed her with a razor sharp claw. She looked down. Her blood dripped into the sand and she 102
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was sad. As she watched, it turned to champagne bubbles and suddenly she was standing in the center of a huge party room lifting her glass to toast and beside her was Ahndray who was
smiling and glowing and radiant.
She stared into his eyes and he smiled through sadness as he lifted her hand and put it on his chest. She felt the blood gurgling from his wound.
She told him she was sorry and he nodded in understanding. Then he turned into a horse and she was riding him for what seemed like days and nights. The pain in her ribs was so great she awoke clutching her ribcage, crying and gasping for one deep breath. Aware she would soon be dead, she called for Ahndray in her delirious state, knowing that deep within her broken body, her soul was dying from a broken heart.
Veronique awoke enough to lift her head and look around the dimly lit room where she had been sleeping for what seemed like forever. It was a small space with three tiny, dusty windows on each side. There was barely enough room for her bed, a cream-white and somewhat dirty
eiderdown with a heavy wool blanket for warmth.
On the floor piled up were half a dozen other blankets neatly tied up in rolls along with various pillows and what looked like bedclothes. She was apparently in a storage closet of some kind, but it smelled warm and comfortable. She felt like sleeping for the rest of her life.
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Veronique wriggled her body. By the time she had gone from her toes to her head, she knew she had a broken ankle, which explained the
makeshift splint. There were also several bruised, maybe even broken ribs and a swollen shoulder.
Paused at her face, she slowly reached up and felt the dry bandage covering her jaw line almost up to her ear. It was dry and not seeping, which was a good sign, so she left it alone.
She wondered where she was, how long she
had been here, how she got here and why she wasn’t dead. She didn’t know where her life stopped or started anymore. She looked at the pale moon through a dusty window and thought about the elephants in Bangladesh and the fishermen in Crete.
Veronique looked down at her shoulder and
noticed the bloodstains that had earlier changed her dress from white to sanguinary red had been removed. Washed away somehow? It was now as white as the day she bought it with her mother.
She thought of her family and her home. Suddenly she was angry she wasn’t lying at the bottom of that river after all.
She looked up at the wooden slats above her head and wondered where she would go now and what she would do? It was overwhelming and her head was pounding. She went back to sleep
hoping maybe she would not wake up again.
Before she dozed off, she was surprised, yet 104
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frustrated, to feel the stirrings of curiosity rumbling around her confused mind.
The night crept by like a wounded animal and, when she awoke again, she was stronger. This time she woke up completely and felt almost refreshed. She pulled her legs over the side beam of the bed frame, pulled her hair back, tied it with a stray piece of string and opened up the small wooden door to her new world.
Veronique knew immediately she was in a
gypsy encampment and she looked around
cautiously as she held on meekly to the rough wooden doorframe. Around at least ten campfires, sat women dressed in long flowing ankle-length dresses of all shades of rich colors—lush reds, sunny oranges, burnt coppers, soft goldenrods and midnight blues. They had large dark eyes full of expression and bright white teeth that stood out against their olive colored skin. Many wore gold pieces as earrings, bracelets and necklaces and they danced in the sunlight flashing brightly against their dark skin. Their blue-black hair was shiny and kept long and braided. Veronique was amazed at how healthy and alive they all looked.
Packs of small barefooted children ran all
around the campsite, yelling and chasing each other playfully. Some of them were dressed in rags, but many of them were naked. Veronique smiled as she watched them frolicking like young animals.
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At the foot of small hills, horses grazed while tethered with long strips of leather and there were many stiff-haired dogs wandering about, but none looked menacing. The smell of smoke permeated the air and she counted at least a dozen fires now that were throwing up thick blue ribbons of smoke into the morning air. Loud, clear voices from the gypsies rang all around the camp. Veronique felt warm gratitude towards these people of whom she had heard many things, but never had the opportunity to meet. For the first time in over a week, she was glad to be awake and breathing again.
She stepped down gingerly and studied the
wagon that was providing her comfort and
convalescence. The covered wagon was perched on high wooden wheels, which had been painted many times. Chipped layers revealed many coats of white, yellow and even red. It had three windows on both sides, and a single door opening onto a wide board that acted as a step and a porch.
The sides were a natural oak and had a heavy layer of varnish.
She had seen these wagons, sometimes fifteen or twenty of them, in a caravan along the roads near her town. The children never waved to her, they only stared as they bounced and rocked in the back of the wagons moving on to another town or vacant lot. She looked around and noticed several more eiderdowns with faded flower motifs 106
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airing out in the bright sunlight.
Veronique took a deep breath and walked
toward the biggest campfire with the most people around it. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, and she was feeling lost and alone and more than a little ashamed, but not quite as sad now.
She passed several adult squatters who paid her no attention. Soon several children surrounded her, clutching at her hands and the hem of her dress, pulling her toward the fire and rubbing their hands on her, begging for her touch. She found herself smiling and rubbing their greasy hair and naked backs as she walked slowly toward the group.
Every one of the women smiled at her as a
welcome and continued talking and laughing as they shifted and made room for her to sit.
