Gypsy Serenade August 26, 2008
Posted by dodo in : England, Germany, Hotels, Restaurant , trackbackBy the time the train arrived in Madrid the Arabs had stolen my coat. I had not been long in the restaurant car: ten minutes, the length of a cognac. I was coming south from England; they were returning home from a factory in Germany.
On the way to the hotel I stopped the taxi to have a drink in a bar. Outside it was winter and raining. He was standing inside, an old brown overcoat and a white shirt buttoned without a tie, around forty. One of his sons was dancing in worn-out boots, the other singing for him, to the clapping of hands without a guitar. They looked about ten, with long hair, both so brown and handsome I could have hugged them; if I were a woman I would have made a date with them for ten years’ time. The hair of the third son was cropped almost to the skin. He neither sang nor danced, but with his six or seven years could already dominate both the public and his brothers. When they had finished he ran round with a hat and allowed none of the audience to escape, saying:
`Gentlemen, for our art.’
Afterwards he brought the hat to his father, who counted the contents then placed it empty among the shrimp and peanut shells on the floor.
`And the rest,’ he said.
His son swore there was no more.
`And the rest.’
The boy remained silent. After a moment he dropped some coins from his pocket into the hat and stepped back.
`Now the other pocket,’ said his father.
He hesitated, then did the same and withdrew into a corner. The father looked stern for a while, but soon went to him and, whispering something into his ear in gypsy, gave him a kiss.
I too had put money into the hat. The father drew me aside and we exchanged names, Nicholas and Gonzalo. He discovered to his surprise that I was English, not American. Then he invited me to a gypsy baptism which was to be held that night in the suburb of Vallecas.
When I accepted he suggested I might like to give him a certain sum to help the wine flow. I hesitated. He turned to his sons demanding to know whether there was or was not to be a baptism party that night, and whether or not I would be the only white present. They told him. The sum changed hands, but underneath the table because it embarrassed him to receive money in public.
On our arrival the bar was full of hopeful faces, most of them gypsy ones. Gonzalo introduced me. When I inquired after the baptism he said he had been mistaken, it had been yesterday, but that there would be another in a few days and, anyway, who needed a baptism to enjoy themselves? We ordered Jerez wine and he presented me to his wife. She was the only woman there. She looked forty but must have been younger, and was dressed entirely in black — for her brother who had died three years ago, they said. She held a sleeping baby in her arms. When I asked how many there were in her family she said seven, but that the young ones were at home, and did not mention her pregnant abdomen. She was very polite and, like the rest of her people, never laughed if an outsider said something coarse. When her husband began to sing a little, snapping his fingers in rhythm, she smiled and for a moment looked like a young girl again; but the barman came immediately and reminded them that singing was not permitted. Then he said the father ought to be ashamed of himself, using children who should be in school to make money, and that one day the police would find him. So we moved to another bar, remarking how times had changed.
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