Romance de la luna, luna
The title comes from a poem by Federico Garcia Lorca, about a Gypsy
boy, entranced by the moon. This is pure dream fiction, and
the dream could have happened at any time.
El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano.
Closer comes the horseman,
drumming on the plain.
(Federico Garcia Lorca, Romance de la luna, luna.)
*****************************************
The Gypsy wagons crossed the mountains, crossed the border into night,
from day. The sun set behind the mountains, and the moon rose white,
creamy white, majestic and impenetrable white.
The moon rose over the land of night. The Gypsy wagons crossed the
mountains, crossed the border into night. After the terrible peaks of
the mountains, the rolling hills of night were gentle, and the horses
lifted their heads and breathed the night air. The Gypsies looked up at
the moon and smiled.
Far off in the distance they could see a white tower. The moon rose
over the tower and its tears fell upon the white walls. The tower was
part of a casa, a casa with white walls, white walls with green ivy,
green ivy leaves rustling in the night wind, night wind carrying the
scent of white camellias from the garden of the casa.
The Gypsies had been travelling for many days, and were tired past all
bearing. Before they had crossed the border into night, they had been
fleeing pursuit, which had drawn too close. Now they hoped for a short
time of peace.
They drew the wagons together and built fires. The women cooked dinner
and they gathered around the fires to eat. Then they heard hoofbeats,
horses drawing near.
The men stood and drew their knives, Starsky among them, but he held
back behind the others, as his heart was not in fighting.
The horses drew nearer. There were several strong horses, ridden by
strong men. One man, the man in front, was tall. His hair was caressed
by the silver of the moon and the stars. He stopped, and dismounted.
'Buenas tardes,' he said, though it was perhaps late enough to be
noches. 'Senoras y senores. Does anyone here speak Spanish?'
A number of them did, but all stood astonished at the politeness of his
words, and so none came forward, save for Starsky, who was drawn to
this man as the moth was to the flame.
'I speak Spanish,' answered Starsky, though his Spanish was not fluent.
A gasp of surprise rose among the Gypsies, for these days, Starsky
rarely spoke in any language. At a sign from his grandmother, the old
Gypsy who truly ruled the clan, the others drew back. Starsky and the
Silver Man stood in the centre of the wagons and spoke together.
Starsky bowed to the Silver Man, for he rode a noble horse, and wore
silk and fine wool and boots of Spanish leather. These things meant
little to Starsky, save that they matched the beauty of the man's face
and body and so were appropriate. But one must be polite to the rich,
lest they trample one under the hooves of their noble horses.
'Senor,' said Starsky. 'What do you wish to know?'
'How are you faring? Do you wish to stay long?' Such questions. In such
a voice. So warm a voice, not raised in anger, not demanding their
departure.
'We were hoping to stay a few days. We have had a long journey and the
little ones are tired.' Starsky's voice broke a little on the words
'the little ones'. The Silver Man looked, but said nothing.
'Stay as long as you need to,' he said at last. 'If anyone gives you
trouble, come to me.' The man held out his hand. Starsky touched his
own work-worn hand to it and felt a shiver all down his spine, a shiver
such as he had never felt.
The Silver Man turned, and mounted his horse, and rode away.
****************************************
'I still say that we should leave this place soon. I do not trust that
man. He is too pale, as pale as the moon. I have heard legends, that he
lures young men to his casa, and they are never seen again.'
'My son, I say we should stay. My grandson has scarcely spoken since
his wife died in childbirth, along with their child. Now, he breathes
as if he wishes to live.'
'It might be dangerous, Mother.'
'Life is dangerous.'
It was midnight, and the moon rode high in the west, floating over the
white walls of the casa, floating over the green ivy. The scent of
white camellias floated over the hills, and drew Starsky with their
deep promise of mysteries solved.
He did not understand the smile of the man of silver. He did not
understand the thrill of his touch. The deep, mysterious scent of white
camellias drew Starsky from his wagon to walk the scented hills at
midnight toward the white walls of the casa.
Starsky walked up to the white walls of the casa on silent Gypsy feet.
He stopped just before a low point in the white walls, and prepared to
climb.
'Are you going to climb my walls, and rob my casa? Have you heard the
legends of the hidden silver and gold?'
Starsky looked up. The man of silver waited on the balustrade, his hair
caressed by the moonlight.
'No. I was about to climb your walls, and hunt down the scent of
camellias, for it has been troubling me all evening.'
'It is not the scent of the camellias that is troubling you, but the
touch of my hand. Wait. I will come down to you.'
The Silver Man leapt down from the white walls of his casa, as a
panther leaps from the tree branch on which he has been awaiting his
prey. Starsky watched, and his heart leapt in his chest.
The Silver Man stalked toward Starsky, moving easily, as a panther
through the jungle in search of his prey. Starsky caught his breath and
backed up slowly, not fearfully, but slowly, until his back touched the
tree behind him.
The branches of the tree bent down and surrounded them with its green
leaves. Green leaves, green as the ivy which grew over the white walls
of the casa.
The man of silver came nearer. Starsky could hear his breathing.
Starsky could feel the warmth of his body. Starsky could feel the touch
of his hand, the touch that had so thrilled him back at the Gypsy camp.
The Silver Man touched him and Starsky stopped breathing.
'You are not breathing,' said the man of silver.
'I cannot breathe, for you have stolen my breath, as you have stolen my
heart,' said Starsky.
'If I have stolen your breath, then I will give you mine,' said the
Silver Man, and he kissed Starsky's lips.
'If I have stolen your heart, then I will give you mine,' he said, and
kissed Starsky again.
'There is something else that you have stolen,' said Starsky, and he
took the hand of the Silver Man and pressed it to his groin.
'Then I will give you mine.'
They lay on a bed of leaves, under the tree, in the moonlight. They
were naked and their bodies were joined so that one could not be
distinguished from the other. They moved like the sea, under the white
kiss of the moon. They moved like the grass under the warm caress of
the wind.
Starsky cried out in longing, and his lover's voice answered him.
'Yes. There. Just there. We can join our bodies there and
be as one. There is no need to long for that in vain. Watch. Watch me
join our bodies and make us one.'
Starsky watched, amazed that such a thing could be. The moon watched,
the only witness to their joy. The wind listened, the only hearer of
their sighs.
It was almost daybreak, and Starsky stirred, reluctantly. The moon had
almost set. The wind was a soft breeze, stirring the leaves of their
sheltering tree, carrying the soft scent of white camellias to join
with the warm scent of his lover's body.
Starsky stirred, reluctantly.
'It is morning, nearly morning,' he whispered. 'I must leave you, for
now. They will be wondering where I have gone to, but I can return when
the moon rises over the casa again.'
'Yes,' said his lover. 'You must come to me when the moon rises over
the casa, for I have stolen your breath, and I have stolen your heart,
and neither of us can find peace, except in the other.'
'Amigo,' said Starsky. 'I was wrong. You have not stolen anything. for
I have given all of myself to you, freely.'
The moon had set, and the sun was rising in the west, when Starsky
returned to the Gypsy camp.
His father and grandmother were waiting for him in their wagon.
'Where have you been?' they asked him.
'Walking on the moon,' he replied.
*** The End ***
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