Read Online Being a Green Mother by Piers Anthony - Free Book Online

region did not know where it was, but agreed that the source of Gypsies was the place to look. They were not sure where that was; perhaps the Gypsies of Northern France would know …

– 4 –
QUEST
    Orb no longer had to ask about to locate the Gypsies of the region she traveled. Now she knew the signals of their presence and could find them directly. Because she now spoke their language as well as many of them did—most were bilingual, speaking the local language often at the expense of their own—she was accepted by them. In fact, her knowledge of Calo enabled her to get along at times when English didn’t, because it crossed national boundaries as freely and existed where English didn’t.
    In northern France they told her another story of the Llano. She sat among the several wives of the local chief—known to outsiders as his wife’s sisters, because polygamy was not an approved family style here—and listened. The women had heard this tale before, of course, but enjoyed it again. It seemed that once in the past a tribe like theirs had been trapped by soldiers of the hostile government, in one of the periodic persecutions of the Gypsies. Outsiders didn’t understand about things like stealing food or deceiving the gullible with fortunetelling or entertaining men for money with erotic dancing. Orb herself had become more tolerant in such respects than she would have believed a few months ago.
    “But today is the day my love and I are to be married,” a young man protested as the cordon tightened.
    “We are trapped and outnumbered and out of bullets,” the chief said. “Most of our men have already been killed. In an hour we may all be dead. How can you think of marriage?”
    “I love her! I may have no other chance to marry her.”
    “We have no food, no wine for the celebration.”
    “Her lips are wine enough for me!”
    The chief realized that he had a point. “You speak like a true Gypsy,” he said. “We shall have the wedding!”
    They gathered in a circle for the occasion. But their musical instruments had been destroyed by the pursuing soldiers, and they had no bright clothing to wear for the dancing. The soldiers were approaching; shots sounded, and bullets struck the trees beside their camp. They couldn’t wait.
    One old man among them knew a piece of the Llano. His voice was weak and cracked, but he began to sing, and the young couple danced the
tanana
to that song. The rags they wore seemed to become bright and new; the tarnished buttons on his jacket took on a glow as of fine gold, and her dull earrings and bracelets seemed to catch fire. The circle of Gypsy women snapped their fingers to the music, and the old man’s voice became stronger. Now it seemed to fill the glade and intensify the day; all of them were garbed in color. The bride had been of passable feature and figure; as the song suffused her she became beautiful and provocative, holding all eyes as if magnetized.
    The soldiers closed in, firing their guns. Bullets smacked into the bonfire, throwing up embers. But the Gypsies, mesmerized, kept snapping their fingers, and the couple danced with utter abandon. The song expanded to touch the soldiers. They stared, amazed that the Gypsies should be ignoring them.
    Then a Gypsy girl stepped out of the circle, took a soldier by the hand, and brought him in to the center to dance. The song overpowered his will, and he set down his gun, followed her, and took her in his arms and danced. Another girl took another soldier, and a third did the same, while the song continued. Soon all the soldiers were in the circle, their mission forgotten.
    All night they danced. When the morning came, and the old man’s voice gave out, and the dancers were too tired to continue, the soldiers looked about, dazed. Each had a lovely Gypsy girl on his arm, and the last thing he wished to do was harm her. How would they explain this to their commandant?
    They conferred and decided that there was no way to