Spencer by Jahri Ann Spence’s life is filled with ups-and-downs. Police is after him, circumstances keep arising. He is invo... [4,984 words]
Liberia by Jahri Ann About a girl that lived in New York but now lives in Jamaica and is appalled at the delapidated culture... [2,260 words]
Cemetery Road by Randall Barfield "What was that? There's someone out there," she exclaimed. [444 words]
Cornileus Capers:A World Of Darkness-Episode 1...The Light In The Dark,The Beginning by Jay Little It's about a man surviving... [1,800 words]
Stanley by Jimmy Mason A short story of a woman and a boy caught in reversal of life. [721 words]
White Horses by Theresa C Newbill - [993 words]
Uncle Reggie's Study Room by Randall Barfield - [268 words]
Una Mañana Mas - One More Tomorrow by Theresa C Newbill - [1,007 words]
Tom's Moon by Liilia Morrison A little doll makes a difference [857 words]
The Talisman Trilogy: The Emperor's Nine Lives by Mariah Neuhauser An archaeologist and a New York Times journalist set out on an a... [1,770 words]
The Salty Skeleton by Theresa C Newbill Haitian Voodoo [1,000 words]
The Night Falls by Jeremiah Semien The story is about one brother, who decided to fake, his own death, to collect money until, one... [9,673 words]
The Mystic Vagabond by Theresa C Newbill - [525 words]
The Mysterious Gypsy
The Little Gods by Michael Potter A short story fantasy about a young couple who are given a flying saucer. [4,814 words]
The Engagement by Theresa C Newbill - [1,641 words]
The Child Prophet by Newbill - [990 words]
The Airport by Newbill - [346 words]
Thank You For Not Sleeping by Liilia Morrison Thoughts go all over the page during the night [1,257 words]
Taxman by Neil Southern Taxman or Bounty Hunter? [592 words]
Residual Effect by Theresa C Newbill - [623 words]
Reflections 1 by Theresa C Newbill - [534 words]
Phantasmagoria by Leanne Nev A teenage girl experiences the peer pressure of a bully disguised as a best friend [2,080 words]
Peter The Goldfish by Kaitlin Kingdon - [428 words]
Nostradamus's Revenge by Theresa C Newbill - [197 words]
My Journey by Kevin Miller The interpretation is up to you. [765 words]
Menopause by Doc Byron A woman going through the ''change of life'' has had enough [297 words]
Latifondo At Sunset by Tarek Karkoutly The Matazarro crime family has been collaborating with a representative of the christian de... [2,721 words]
Kylie by Liilia Morrison Success is not always what we think it is. A girl chooses between fame or love. [1,700 words]
Just Another Joe by Liilia Morrison A gumshoe takes it as it comes [1,096 words]
It Was Raining by Randall Barfield "Let's not talk about it right now, Mama..." [368 words]
I Will Kill You by Doc Byron - [196 words]
I Have Chosen You by Neil Southern This is just for you and no-one else. [198 words]
How Lizard Lenny Svaed My Life by Liilia Morrison A woman escapes life under the El thanks to a man called Lizard Lenny [1,255 words]
Garlic, Ginger And Golden Seal by Liilia Morrison An old woman's recipe for a long life [1,868 words]
Flicker Of Light by Jeffrey Williams Randall Barker, a retired republican strategist, seeks to make the city repair a broken street... [2,146 words]
First Boom (He & Salman) by Anoop Menon first boom is my collection of short stories about the new age citizens of Bombay (in... [1,744 words]
El Gallito (The Rooster) by Theresa C Newbill Political [745 words]
Dragon's Salvation by Brian Money As the title suggests, a short story about dragons which i used for my GCSE English coursewo... [2,736 words]
Down In The Country by Liilia Morrison The end of the line ain't what it's cracked up to be. [840 words]
Dogs, Cats, And Babies by Doc Byron A tale of pet/sibling rivalry [237 words]
Doctor Trek - Sammy's War by Ian Kidd When Cody vanishes, Sammy Davis Jnr (no relation) finds himself on the run in a unive... [12,485 words]
Desert by Gabriel Campbell - [855 words]
Child Predator by Brian J Hankins Please don't read this if you are easily offended by harse laungage, or obsenities towards manki... [738 words]
Catch A Rising Star by Randall Barfield "It's Luis, Jaime..." the old man stammered. [496 words]
Beautiful Is The Night by Newbill - [247 words]
As It Comes by Liilia Morrison A discarded, ragged notebook found on the sidewalk brings impressions and thoughts to the person wh... [756 words]
Abigail's Blessing by Newbill - [592 words]
A Werewolf? by Liilia Morrison A man entrances a woman in Miami, or is he a werewolf? [1,492 words]
A Treat For Heinke by Liilia Morrison A girl finds hope during wartime [1,028 words]
A Tale Of Exile by Newbill - [432 words]
A Rainly Day In New York City by Newbill - [585 words]
A Man Named Joe by Brian J Hankins One man's wasted life as an alcoholic and the impact it had on his son. [2,532 words]
A Gun On A Summers Day by Jessi A couple of random sentences about guns. And nature. [123 words]
Go to page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 [14] 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50
| |
TITLE (EDIT)
The Mysterious Gypsy |
DESCRIPTION
Among old photos of Northern people, an exotic gypsy's photo appears. Who is she?
[1,457 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
History |
AUTHOR
Liilia Morrison |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Writer and artist living in South Florida
[August 2016] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (22)
A Thousand Camels (Poetry) A caravan of long ago [173 words] [History]
A Treat For Heinke (Short Stories) A girl finds hope during wartime [1,028 words] [Spiritual]
A Werewolf? (Short Stories) A man entrances a woman in Miami, or is he a werewolf? [1,492 words] [Mystical]
And The Winner Is (Short Stories) A summer camp sports competition has a surprise ending [1,132 words]
As It Comes (Short Stories) A discarded, ragged notebook found on the sidewalk brings impressions and thoughts to the person who found it. [756 words] [Drama]
Down In The Country (Short Stories) The end of the line ain't what it's cracked up to be. [840 words] [Drama]
Endangered (Poetry) A love goes bad [45 words] [Romance]
Garlic, Ginger And Golden Seal (Short Stories) An old woman's recipe for a long life [1,868 words] [Mystery]
Grandma, I Love You (Non-Fiction) Memories of my maternal grandmother [1,027 words] [Biography]
How Lizard Lenny Svaed My Life (Short Stories) A woman escapes life under the El thanks to a man called Lizard Lenny [1,255 words] [Relationships]
It's About Time (Short Stories) Ups and downs in the world of quantum physics [1,475 words] [Humor]
Just Another Joe (Short Stories) A gumshoe takes it as it comes [1,096 words] [Health]
Kylie (Short Stories) Success is not always what we think it is. A girl chooses between fame or love. [1,700 words]
Magnolia (Short Stories) A young woman finds out what a magnolia smells like [1,208 words]
Ode To Wayne Dyer (Poetry) A light roast of self-help books [262 words] [Humor]
On Turning Seventy (Essays) A woman ponders the march of time [717 words] [Motivational]
Ovidio Gets A Smoke (Short Stories) A party turns sour but Ovidio ends up sittin' pretty. [1,160 words] [Suspense]
She Saw It All (Poetry) Statue of Liberty Saw 9-11 [190 words]
Teacups And Time (Poetry) A troubled, cold soul finally finds warmth [151 words] [Spiritual]
Thank You For Not Sleeping (Short Stories) Thoughts go all over the page during the night [1,257 words] [Mind]
Tom's Moon (Short Stories) A little doll makes a difference [857 words]
Too Late For Coffee (Short Stories) An old man's last days with an angel [1,489 words] [Spiritual]
|
The Mysterious Gypsy
Liilia Morrison
It was years later that I discovered it. Rediscovered, I should say, because I had seen this old photo many times before. When mother and later father, died, we ended up with odd boxes and albums of photos and memorabilia. My brother probably took none of them. My sister, however, took quite a few. She had a chest full of some very choice family photos. I ended up with what was left. It's not that my siblings are uncaring or callous; it's just how it was then. Brother had never been into mementos. Probably many, if not most children of deceased parents don't care to wade through old things that mean very little. During the time of the parting, the family is usually more concerned with the will, the house, the funeral arrangement and the other unpleasant details of a death. Photos don't seem to hold a high priority at that time.
If your family is like mine, too late you regret never having asked whom this or that person was in a photo, when did mother go to the mountains, or why did dad marry her. You know, stuff like that. When the parents are alive, it seems kind of embarrassing to ask questions that might hint at the idea that you are doing it just in case they leave this world and you just want to get the facts straight. No, we were too polite to do that. It may also be that one doesn't really think the parent, the one who has nurtured you from day one, will leave, and perhaps sooner than you think. In this day and time, family gatherings usually deal with the present, since many families live separated by states if not cities or counties. And that is as it should be.
Of course, after a hearty pork roast dinner with sauerkraut and potatoes, when the wine and cakes are brought out, the old man would puff on his pipe and recall fond memories of the past. As the fragrant smell of cherry Prince Albert filled the air and mother finished putting the dishes away, we would sit in the living room and listen to the same tales, told every time we visited. We loved to hear them just the same.
Well, I shouldn't call those memories fond. Not a single story had to do with good times. The biggest laughs and pleasures were squeezed out of the hard times, the times when there was no bread, no shelter, no security. I must say I looked forward to the smiles and grins on my father's face as he recounted, word by word, a well worn story from forty, fifty years ago. The older he got, the more the stories went back in time. In his last year on this earth, he even mentioned how he, as a baby, had been brought to their new home in a basket lined with lamb's wool.
In that last year, I tried to get names of places from my father, but it was too late for that. It was now time to change his bedding, wheel him to the doctor and arrange for day nurses while his children were busy making a living. The call, the inevitable call came from a young, angelic looking Russian day nurse.
Time took its course, and finally the arrangements were in place, the house divided, the will settled and we were left disoriented, numb. He had, after all, been the patriarch. It was he who told us what colors to wear, whom to marry and who was the family bum.
Soon enough my brother and sister went off to their lives and I to mine. From time to time I would contact them, or they me, but it was quite obvious that we were branches without a tree trunk. The old oak, like that old oak around which Basques held their councils, fell.
Life has a way of regenerating. As the Basques planted a new oak, so our lives turned over a new leaf, if you will forgive the pun. I cannot speak for my siblings, but slowly I began to feel the spirit of poetry arising in me. I began to feel the spirit of telling stories. And very gradually, I began to paint. Oh yes, I had been the painter of the family, the talent. But I was also the one who didn't paint or do much of anything but survive most of my life. All this, while father reprimanded me for not painting. I am sure he placed similar well-intentioned burdens on the shoulders of my brother and sister.
Was it last year that I finally waded through my papers and boxes and found the old letters, photos and even my father's old wallet with tickets from fifty years ago? It was a lazy, summer afternoon. I had just finished a cup of peppermint tea. Most of the papers I had some idea about. Here was the old homestead, there a letter from an great-aunt to my mother, her favorite. Here an aunt, there an uncle, a grandfather.
I casually flipped through another stack of yellow-brown photos. There was that odd little postcard. It had meant nothing to me. My sister had chosen not to take it. It was just another little memento. My eyes had been tired from straining at the faded notes and images. Mostly to rest my eyes, I stared at this postcard, letting my mind wander where it might.
One side had three words scribbled on it. I'm not sure what they were. The other side was a profile of a young woman. I looked with amazement at the many ribbons and jewels dripping from her hair, her little tight cap hiding thick, long hair. There were rows of pearls wrapped tightly around her neck. Her vest, possibly velvet, was decorated with seed pearls and other embroidery. She was tan, exotic looking. She had to be a gypsy.
But we knew no gypsies. I had never heard mother or father speak of any family that was not the plain, northern type. Our women's fanciest jewels were a gold wedding band, or possibly a necklace or brooch worn to a wedding or church. This young woman was decked in the most wonderful, bohemian looking décor. But that wasn't what really caught my attention.
I looked up as the lazy afternoon sun cast dusty shadows in my room. Then I look a long moment, trying hard to focus on this postcard. Now her expression began to take on a life of its own. That was really strange because, as I said, it was a profile. She wasn't looking at you. She was gazing at something or perhaps at nothing. The more I looked, the more mysterious this image became. In my memory, nobody from our village or county was from somewhere else. We had all been pretty close to the land, plain people. We had lived like this for centuries.
Had there been a gypsy troupe that had gone through our farm? I knew of itinerant photographers, barbers and such, who would travel from farm to farm selling their wares and services. Could some gypsies have come through and my parents just never mentioned it. After all, gypsies have not had the best reputation, though as one gypsy woman pronounced to a non-gypsy, "We steal with our hands, you steal with your pen." I suppose she meant that we all have a bit of larceny in us.
I never did find out who she was or what her picture was doing in our family mementoes. I paint pictures of her now and try to capture that indefinable look, the look that is not even directed at the viewer. Was she born out of wedlock, a child never mentioned, to a farmer who fell for a gypsy's charms? I know that gypsy women are treated extremely harshly if they are found to not be virgins upon marriage. Was there some terrible tragedy in our family or among our kin that no one would mention?
As I walked into the kitchen to fix another cup of tea, I tried to dismiss these fanciful ideas. It was probably just a pretty picture someone picked up and it ended up in one of the old boxes. My parents are long gone. Since they lived to be very old, nobody else from that generation is around to tell. Even if they were, they would probably just look at me with a blank stare and say, "I have no idea."
I don't know where the gypsy picture came from. Nor do I know the source of a sentence running through my mind; "There are answers in old photographs."
|
|
Submit Your Review for The Mysterious Gypsy
Required fields are marked with (*).
Your e-mail address will not be displayed.
|
|
Submit Your Rating for The Mysterious Gypsy
|
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2007 Liilia Morrison |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
May 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1893
|
|
