Masquerade (2 page)

The sun was setting. A little distance from the sea in a glade as dry as brown wrapping paper, wild and barren lay the encampment. Yawning with caves and split by rocky gorges, it was a smaller than usual site and somewhat modern compared with most gypsy camps. It was close enough to Cádiz to be hooked up with electricity and running water. The caves had been excavated from the soft rock hundreds of years before, during the Moorish conquest of Spain, and after the Arabs’ expulsion the
gitanos
quickly appropriated them as their own. Formed in a rough crescent along the hillside skirting the glade, many of these homes had crude rectangular doorways in front of which were assembled rickety chairs, tables and lines of washing.

Several tents and wooden caravans were grouped here and there, painted in bright reds, pinks, yellows and greens, and embellished with a wealth of carving. They were set up in an uneven semicircle facing the caves and completed the wide enclosure of haphazard dwellings. Right at the front of the camp, near the track leading down to the beach, was a solid bank of sacks and boxes of rubbish that marked the entrance.

Great wood fires were burning, above which large copper containers filled with stew – the powerful smelling
pirriá
for the evening meal – hung from iron hooks. Two gypsies were singing while beating metal horseshoes on an anvil over a fire, their strong, hoarse voices resounding loudly in the camp. Men sat in groups of three or four in front of their tents, chatting or playing cards; decrepit-looking mongrels sniffed around the cooking pots, hoping
for a bone; olive-faced urchins of various ages played hopscotch or ball in front of their doorways.

They ran towards Leandro, clamouring, and clustered around him as he walked into the camp, carrying the girl. Children liked Leandro. He would usually take time to play and joke with them or hand out the sweets and chewing gum that were always kept in his pockets. Today, however, he walked right past them, his face grave, towards the largest and most elaborate-looking cave.

A
gitana
was standing at the entrance. She must have been in her late forties or early fifties, still handsome and well preserved for a gypsy, not a wrinkle on her olive skin, which nonetheless had a somewhat pallid look. A mass of tousled black hair undulated wildly around a fiercely sensual but hard face, and down to her shoulders. The gold and silver chains and bracelets she wore spoke of her status within the camp: a striking gypsy queen. A big black cat idled beside her as she stooped to stir the steaming contents of a large pot on the fire. Upon Leandro’s approach, her blazing dark eyes broke into a smile, softening her features and making her look almost gentle.

‘Where have you been, my boy, and what have you there?’ Her voice was low-pitched and slightly husky.

Leandro gestured with his head towards the dunes. ‘Her horse bolted so I brought her back here to make sure she wasn’t hurt. She hit her head and lost consciousness.’

The
gitana
flicked a glance over Luz. ‘Huh, this one’s a
gajo
! We don’t let their sort in the camp, you know that.’ She pushed the ladle roughly through the stew, a heavily ringed hand resting on her hip.

‘
Mamacita
, what would you have me do with her? I couldn’t just leave her on the beach, she needed help.’

She met his expectant gaze and stopped stirring. ‘So now I’m to let a
gajo
into my house because you decide to play rescuer, eh?’ She sighed, her expression losing its hardness. ‘You have a kind heart, my son, maybe too kind … very much like your father, may God rest his soul.’ For a moment, her eyes filled with dreaming, and then the look was gone. She nodded curtly towards the cave.
‘Take the stranger to my room. Lay her on my bed and I’ll make her a brew for when she wakes up.’

Leandro pulled Luz closer, feeling her steady breathing against his chest, but made sure not to look down. His mother was keen-eyed, the last person he wanted to guess at any attachment he might have formed to a
gajo
.

‘No one in the whole of Andalucía has your healing touch,’ Leandro offered quickly. He grinned. ‘If anyone can put her right, it’s you.’

‘We’ll see,’ she murmured begrudgingly and watched her son as he went inside.

Many of the caves were one room, though some of the larger ones had two or three, fashioned out of the knobbly rock with low-domed ceilings and rough terracotta tiles on the floor. This cave was vast, its thick whitewashed walls hung with a scattering of religious pictures. In the bedroom an old iron lantern had been fixed into the rock of the eight-feet-high arched ceiling above the brass double bed. The floor was tastefully tiled and the space richly furnished, somewhat in conflict with the outside surroundings. There was a heavily carved wooden cupboard, an ancient armchair draped with brightly coloured brocade and a delicate chair that stood in front of a good-quality
coiffeuse
dating from the nineteenth century.

Leandro lay Luz gently on his mother’s bed and arranged the pillows behind her head. He gazed down at her, aching to run his fingers through the long raven-black hair that splayed out in lustrous strands on the pillow like spun silk. The alabaster colour of her skin and the purity of her bone structure seemed to him the most exquisite and serene beauty he had ever beheld in a woman. Her thick dark lashes spread fanwise on her cheeks, like those of a Madonna in repose. Luz shifted slightly and her soft full lips parted a little, as though offering a subconscious invitation in her sleep.

The gypsy’s blood stirred. Never before had he felt desire so strong – not even Rosa had awakened his senses with such vibrancy – coupled with immense tenderness. For a moment he thought
ruefully of the gypsy girl whose savage and primitive beauty had once driven him wild, but that was before. He knew now that he could no longer continue his dalliance with Rosa and that he would have to extricate himself from it: everything had changed.

Leandro’s eyes travelled over Luz. The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel the smoothness of her skin beneath his hands, was overwhelming. For a few moments he fought to keep a check on his movements and then abruptly left the room.

He went out into the night to get some air and made his way to the wooden hut that served as a stable for some of the gypsies’ horses. It made sense to saddle up Ventarrón, his black stallion, so he could take Luz back to her house once she had woken. Much as he would have liked to keep her close by him for just a little longer, he knew that this would be opening a Pandora’s box of trouble if he were to encourage any sort of intimacy with a
gajo
inside the camp.

In the meantime Leandro’s mother had returned to her bedroom carrying a cup of herbal brew, which she laid on the dressing table. She went over to the bed and leaned over Luz, sucking in her breath as she noted the girl’s fine and unmistakable features and her undeniable beauty. A shadow passed over the gypsy’s face and, just then, the gold locket that hung around Luz’s neck caught her eye. With the nimble fingers that had served her well all her life, she flicked it open. There was a fierce gleam in the jet-black eyes and they narrowed a little, blazing now with a strange expression. With just as much dexterity, she detached the clasp, took the locket and slipped it in her pocket. As she did so, her big black cat uncurled himself from the bed, jumped to the floor and padded towards the
gitana
, mewing and waving his tail. He brushed against her legs, purring loudly, winding himself around her ankles.

‘Yes,
mi caballo negro
, my black knight, we’re in luck,’ she whispered, a look of triumph on her face. ‘We are most certainly in luck.’

The
gitana
went to a shelf and pulled down a pot, from which she retrieved some dark purple pods. She crushed the seeds they contained into the cup of liquid on the dressing table and returned
to the bed. There, she placed a thumb over one of Luz’s eyes, opened the lid and peered at the pupil.

‘Mmm, nothing wrong. She’ll be awake soon,’ she muttered.

She scooped up the cat, stroking it slowly as she stared down at Luz, who groaned a little and then was still again.

‘Better she doesn’t wake here.’

Leandro returned, carrying a blanket. ‘How is she?’ he asked. ‘Has she woken up?’

His mother’s face set itself into an impenetrable mask. ‘She has stirred a few times. I’ve examined her. She’s unharmed, but she must have had a nasty shock.’

‘She looks pale.’

‘Yes, she needs time to recover.’

The gypsy let the cat jump from her arms and motioned to the cup on the dressing table. ‘There, feed her that brew. It will calm her, but most of all it will make her sleep deeply till morning. I must attend to our dinner. Lucas and some other dealers are coming over to discuss the next horse fair with Juanillo and your brothers.’

But he wasn’t in the mood to put up with them at the moment; besides, he had a trip to make up the cliffs. ‘I won’t be around for that tonight.’

‘Suit yourself.’ She coughed roughly.

Leandro sensed the change in his mother’s mood but he was used to her erratic behaviour. She was a creature of impulse: sometimes mischievous and diabolical; a vociferous spitfire in anger, vengeful and unyielding; and at other times so loving, so caring … at least to him, her eldest son.

‘You should look after that cough and give up the pipe. You know you’re not well.’

His mother threw him a dark look. ‘You worry too much, my boy. We gypsies are tough,’ she said gruff ly, waving him away with her hand.

He picked up the cup as she swept out of the room and sniffed at the pungent brew.
Valerian root
, he thought. Indeed he, too,
was once given some of this concoction by his mother, he recalled, while suffering with insomnia and it had sent him off to sleep for many hours. He sat on the edge of the bed. Luz stirred and opened her eyes briefly; they were sapphire-blue with the depth and mystery of the ocean he loved so much. He smiled at her, but the long black lashes shuttered down again. Placing an arm around her shoulder he lifted her slightly to give her the tea his mother had concocted.

‘Here, drink this,’ he whispered, leaning over her as he held the cup to her lips. ‘You’ll feel better.’

Luz seemed to revive slightly at the sound of his voice and the feel of the liquid at her lips. She forced open her heavy eyelids and sipped a few mouthfuls of the brew but then looked faint and a pained expression crossed her face. Despite her wrenching effort to sit up and talk, she fell back on the pillows with a little groan and closed her eyes, once more overcome by sleep.

Leandro glanced at his watch: it was getting late. They must be looking for her by now if the mare had returned to its stable. Maybe it would be better if she were examined by a doctor, but the colour had returned to her cheeks and she looked perfectly serene in her slumber. She had just been shaken by the fall. His mother’s potions were renowned for their powerful healing properties. Hopefully, the herbal brew would have a beneficial effect and she would rest till the morning.

He found his mother sitting on a stool at the entrance to the cave, smoking a hubble-bubble.

‘I’ll take her home to her family, they must be looking for her. If the horse found its way back, they’re sure to be concerned.’

The
gitana
stopped smoking and tossed her head back arrogantly. ‘What is it to us? Anyhow, do you know where she lives?’

‘I have a pretty good idea.’

‘Do you know her name and who she is?’

He paused. ‘No, but I can find her house.’

The
gitana
turned to look at her son, pipe in her mouth, her bright, hawkish eyes considering him pensively. She shrugged and returned
to her hubble-bubble. ‘Well, my son, do as you please, but when you get back, come and see me. It’s a full moon tonight, a night of good omens, the night I’ve been waiting for so long.’ She flicked an inscrutable glance at him. ‘I will not rest until you have said goodnight.’

Leandro smiled and kissed his mother. ‘Always mysterious, always speaking in riddles,
Mamacita
! Tell me, do I ever go to bed without first saying goodnight?’

Her gaze softened. ‘No, my boy, you never do. You’re a good son, and your father would have been proud. I’m a lucky woman.’

Her expression changed as the sound of boisterous cheering rose up from a group of young men opposite. Wineskins were being passed around while a couple of youths sent pebbles flying through the air from large catapults, knocking over tins lined up on barrels.

‘But your brother is another matter,’ she murmured, watching one of the youths detach himself from the group and saunter towards them.

‘
Mamacita
, did you see that? Twenty-three in a row! Brought them all down, even after a skinful. Hey, Leandro, want to try your hand?’ The youth was swerving slightly and came to an unsteady halt in front of them.

‘No, thanks, Toñito. I’ve got better things to do tonight.’

‘Better things, eh?’ Toñito, who wore faded jeans and a petrol-stained T-shirt, curved his overly full lips into a sneer. ‘Yes, always better things, brother.’ The young
gitano
pulled at the catapult in his hand, stretching the sinuous elastic. His eyes were like his mother’s, jet-black and fiery, and now they were fixed on Leandro, who stood calmly watching him, arms folded.

‘Isn’t that right,
Mamacita
?’ Toñito gesticulated dismissively with his catapult. ‘Angel Boy here, your pride and joy, has better things to do than share a bottle of brandy with his brother and play a little target practice. Anyone would think you only had one son. Well, I need a little respect too.’

He punched his chest with his fist, swaying a little.

Leandro narrowed his eyes. ‘Take a look in the mirror sometime. Respect is earned, little brother.’

‘
Earned
? And what have you earned in your life, eh? You think you’re so much better than me, isn’t that right, Angel Boy?’

Leandro took a step forward, looking his brother straight in the eye. ‘Call me that one more time and we’ll see who’s an angel.’