Gypsy

By Kathryn Evans

The bazaar thronged with people, in colorful costumes from half the nations of the world. Hawkers cried their wares, and exotic spices and scents permeated the air.

At one street corner sat two men, both wearing loose pants, long white shirts, and bright vests that hung open and down to the knee. One held a hide covered drum, on which he beat out a slow, yet complex rhythm. The other played on a small wooden pipe, the melody haunting and seeming to speak of summer festivals and of joy itself.

Directly in front of the two men was a woman, in her own island of calm amid the bustle of the street. A red silk scarf framed her dark, fox-like face, and her long black hair fell in a single braid well past her waist. She wore a white blouse, with colorful embroidery heavily covering the neck and sleeves, and layers of bright skirts. She was bedecked in dozens of bracelets and necklaces that jingled with her every movement, and around her ankles were tied strings of bells.

The woman danced along to the music, clapping her hands and stomping her feet, her jewelry making music of its own. Her hips moved and swayed, rising and falling, tracing circles in the air. Passersby stopped to watch her, their eyes caught and intrigued by her flourishing skirts and colorful costume. She smiled and flirted, with men, women, and children alike, her white smile dazzling in her dark face. Children clapped along with the music, their mothers watching with both delight and envy. People threw coins into a reed basket on the ground before the musicians.

The music changed tempo, getting faster and more complex. The dancer pulled out a long silk scarf from where it was tucked at her waist and whirled it around her. The crowd let out an ‘ah’ of appreciation, delighted at the bright colored scarf. She moved it expertly through the air, emphasizing each note of the music, her smile still bright and alluring.

Her ever-moving feet carried her around her circle of onlookers, while never missing a beat of the music. She laughed with delight, and her laughter was infectious. The street was now all but stopped, as people paused to watch her and listen to the music, to clap along and stomp their feet, and throw coins into the basket that was now nearly full.

Now she tucked the scarf around her waist again and brought out another basket, which she balanced atop her head. She knelt down to her knees, making it easier for the onlookers to put their coins in her basket. And she now moved her chest as before she had moved her hips, rising and falling to the rhythm of the drum, with her hands and arms tracing patterns in the air to either side of her. The basket stayed firmly balanced atop her head.

The tempo slowed. The dancer lifted the basket from her head and held it above her with both hands. Still on her knees, she leaned back until she was almost laying flat, her head nearly touching the ground. She arched her hips and her back and placed the basket flat on her stomach, with her head still almost touching the ground and her face still smiling. The crowd cheered appreciatively and more coins and other trinkets rained down around her.

Just as slowly as she had descended, she rose up until she was standing again, the basket again on her head. She made one more circuit around the crowd, collecting coins and trinkets as she went. Finally, she made one grand bow to her assembled audience, and, quick as lightening, she was gone, flitting through the crowd, the two musicians gone just as quickly.

The onlookers hesitated, their pleasure suddenly replaced by disappointment. Then slowly the street began to move again, as people remembered whatever errand they had been. Yet all would remember the gypsy dancer, with her secret, alluring smile.