"With all my heart," said I; "where are we to sleep?"
"In the stable," said he, "in the manger; however cold the stable
may be we shall be warm enough in the bufa."
CHAPTER X
The Gypsy's Granddaughter - Proposed Marriage - The Algnazil - The
Assault - Speedy Trot - Arrival at Trujillo - Night and Rain - The
Forest - The Bivouac - Mount and Away! - Jaraicejo - The National - The
Cavalier Balmerson - Among the Thicket - Serious Discourse - What is
Truth? - Unexpected Intelligence.
We remained three days at the Gypsies' house, Antonio departing
early every morning, on his mule, and returning late at night. The
house was large and ruinous, the only habitable part of it, with
the exception of the stable, being the hall, where we had supped,
and there the Gypsy females slept at night, on some mats and
mattresses in a corner.
"A strange house is this," said I to Antonio, one morning as he was
on the point of saddling his mule and departing, as I supposed, on
the affairs of Egypt; "a strange house and strange people; that
Gypsy grandmother has all the appearance of a sowanee (sorceress)."
"All the appearance of one!" said Antonio; "and is she not really
one? She knows more crabbed things and crabbed words than all the
Errate betwixt here and Catalonia. She has been amongst the wild
Moors, and can make more drows, poisons, and philtres than any one
alive. She once made a kind of paste, and persuaded me to taste,
and shortly after I had done so my soul departed from my body, and
wandered through horrid forests and mountains, amidst monsters and
duendes, during one entire night. She learned many things amidst
the Corahai which I should be glad to know."
"Have you been long acquainted with her?" said I; "you appear to be
quite at home in this house."
"Acquainted with her!" said Antonio. "Did not my own brother marry
the black Calli, her daughter, who bore him the chabi, sixteen
years ago, just before he was hanged by the Busne?"
In the afternoon I was seated with the Gypsy mother in the hall,
the two Callees were absent telling fortunes about the town and
neighbourhood, which was their principal occupation. "Are you
married, my London Caloro?" said the old woman to me. "Are you a
ro?"
Myself. - Wherefore do you ask, O Dai de los Cales?
Gypsy Mother. - It is high time that the lacha of the chabi were
taken from her, and that she had a ro. You can do no better than
take her for romi, my London Caloro.
Myself. - I am a stranger in this land, O mother of the Gypsies, and
scarcely know how to provide for myself, much less for a romi.
Gypsy Mother. - She wants no one to provide for her, my London
Caloro, she can at any time provide for herself and her ro. She
can hokkawar, tell baji, and there are few to equal her at stealing
a pastesas. Were she once at Madrilati, where they tell me you are
going, she would make much treasure; therefore take her thither,
for in this foros she is nahi (lost), as it were, for there is
nothing to be gained; but in the foros baro it would be another
matter; she would go dressed in lachipi and sonacai (silk and
gold), whilst you would ride about on your black-tailed gra; and
when you had got much treasure, you might return hither and live
like a Crallis, and all the Errate of the Chim del Manro should bow
down their heads to you. What, say you, my London Caloro, what say
you to my plan?
Myself. - Your plan is a plausible one, mother, or at least some
people would think so; but I am, as you are aware, of another chim,
and have no inclination to pass my life in this country.
Gypsy Mother. - Then return to your own country, my Caloro, the
chabi can cross the pani. Would she not do business in London with
the rest of the Calore? Or why not go to the land of the Corahai?
In which case I would accompany you; I and my daughter, the mother
of the chabi.
Myself. - And what should we do in the land of the Corahai? It is a
poor and wild country, I believe.
Gypsy Mother. - The London Caloro asks me what we could do in the
land of the Corahai! Aromali! I almost think that I am speaking
to a lilipendi (simpleton). Are there not horses to chore? Yes, I
trow there are, and better ones than in this land, and asses and
mules. In the land of the Corahai you must hokkawar and chore even
as you must here, or in your own country, or else you are no
Caloro. Can you not join yourselves with the black people who live
in the despoblados? Yes, surely; and glad they would be to have
among them the Errate from Spain and London. I am seventy years of
age, but I wish not to die in this chim, but yonder, far away,
where both my roms are sleeping. Take the chabi, therefore, and go
to Madrilati to win the parne, and when you have got it, return,
and we will give a banquet to all the Busne in Merida, and in their
food I will mix drow, and they shall eat and burst like poisoned
sheep. . . . And when they have eaten we will leave them, and away
to the land of the Moor, my London Caloro.
During the whole time that I remained at Merida I stirred not once
from the house; following the advice of Antonio, who informed me
that it would not be convenient. My time lay rather heavily on my
hands, my only source of amusement consisting in the conversation
of the women, and in that of Antonio when he made his appearance at
night.
