Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, the future Phantom of the Opera of this story. It is mainly Kay-based. And a wonderful author, Soignata, has been helping me a great deal in the revamping of this story. She is to thank for the boosted personality of Erik! Also, please note that the numbers interspersed throughout the story are footnote numbers that didn't work with the format of ffnet. Sorry about that.
It was an unusually warm day, for such an early spring morning. A clear blue sky allowed a white-hot sun to pour light down over the meadow filled with tents, wagons, people, animals, and small booths for games and food. It was a gypsy fair, like so many that had set up business before it. A nearby city would soon be swarming in for a day of unusual entertainment. But for now, the Romany – gypsies as city folk knew them - were busy enough simply setting up shop.
Although many of them were already up and about, there were the stragglers who were only then waking up at mid-morning. One man, with long greasy black hair, tiredly stumbled from a tent to the back of the campsite. He wiped at brightly bloodshot eyes, smacking fat, dry lips together. Anyone could tell immediately he was hung over, and in a foul disposition.
"Arabella Lyberia!" The man turned to bellow over his shoulder towards the tent he'd just left. "Bella! Get your lazy ass up, and make our breakfast!"
Only an instant passed before a young woman – perhaps in her mid-teens, came nearly crawling from the tent. Thick ebony locks fell in full waves down to the middle of her back. A faint bruise shadowed her jaw, and another ringed each wrist. Like the older man, she was barely dressed. Yet, men barely needed to be dressed; where she wore a long dirty night shift. Huge amber-hued eyes peered around anxiously. The way she moved suggested at pain, and stiff muscles.
"Bella!" The man turned, deliberately bellowing once more directly into her ear. The girl jumped away instinctively, ignoring his little leer and chuckle.
"Yes, Dadrus1!" She agreed quickly. "Coffee and biscuits?"
As she moved about, building a small fire and preparing the light meal, another, older woman emerged from the tent. Swollen eyes gave signs of a restless night, just as the other two showed signs of it. Her facial features were clearly similar to the girl, Arabella, only aged early by time. She was raising to her full height just in time to see the man reach out to lightly caress Arabella's hair in a strangely intimate manner as, in turn, the girl stiffened and leaned away.
"Yaakov!" The woman snapped. "Of all places! Get back inside the tent, and wait for your coffee!" She looked about anxiously; hoping no one nearby had seen the indecent caress. The man Yaakov simply turned to pull her into his arms.
"Well, it's about time I found someone that can do what you won't." He sneered. "Stop falling asleep before it's time. Be a wife to your husband, Noleta."
"Dog." Noleta slapped his shoulder, but the anger had drained out of her. "Av akai2. Come inside, and let her get to the chores before the crowds arrive."
He grinned, a frightening look, with the shark-like teeth in his mouth. Slowly, he drew his wife inside, forgetting about the younger girl.
Arabella made a face of disgust after the couple entering the tent. It was the same nearly every day. As the coffee boiled, and the biscuits cooked, she examined her bruises in a broken hand mirror. At least this one could be hidden under the right make up. Bruised performers were bad for business.
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A gypsy fair was an event settled, "polite" society attended with cautious excitement. Gypsies were outsiders, thieves, dogs, the lowest of the low. Police often patrolled the isles of entertainment, carefully observing the outcast visitors for any signs of mischief. But the simple curiosity of the city folk was so overwhelming, that any strange, or criminal activity, taking place could not be solely blamed on the misfit gypsies.
No amount of initial trepidation could keep the crowds from herding like fascinated sheep. Small groups moved past and into booths to have their palms or fortunes read. Larger crowds packed into tents that read "Freaks", or other such vulgarly named attractions. Then, of course, there were peddlers of herbs, charms, and other supposedly mystical goods.
Interspersed through the fair, individual gypsies earned their own keep by singing, storytelling, breathing flames, and dancing. Each collected their earnings in tin cups, or hats, left on the ground. No one, even other gypsies, were let close enough to have any chance at theft.
It was of this final group that Arabella helped her family. With a tambourine in hand, she was richly dressed in a bright orange dress with red tassels. The tight bodice had off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a low cut neckline. Layered skirts flounced down near slender ankles and bare, shapely feet. Performance make-up covered the shadow on her jaw, and ribbons of silk adequately covered the ones on her wrists. Her dance was attracting nearly every wandering eye in the area, especially the eyes of gentlemen. Many pretended, however, not to look, as they had wives on their arms.
"Wonderful!" The gathered audience broke into exuberant applause. Coins flew through the air and into the tin jar near her feet. But even as Arabella collected her earnings, envious society women could be heard sneering, and scolding their men.
"Imagine it! A woman selling herself like that! Why … she's little more than a cheap harlot!"
"Darling, it's only dancing."
"If you can call that dancing."
Arabella ignored these sneers with a secret smile. It stung to be called a harlot nearly every day. In fact, many called her much worse than that. But women were primarily the breadwinners in Romany society. Men only made money by exploiting freaks, trading horses, or through totting3. Her father was a groiéngero4, but was usually too drunk to make a profit. Sighing heavily, she made her way to the family tent, intending to hide what she had earned. The tambourine was still in her hand.
"Bella! That was wonderful!"
The voice of another gypsy man made her back go straight and stiff with discomfort. Gooseflesh rose on her skin. But he was a member of the community, so she slowed her steps a little out of simple civility. In only a moment, a tall young man, with dark auburn hair and piercing oak-green eyes, ran up and took her shoulder. Arabella flinched from his grasp at once.
"You are supposed to be selling tickets at the tents." She said coolly. "Your cáine5 of an Uncle can't possibly be giving you a break, Adnah. Go and try actually earning your keep for a change."
"Ouch!" Adnah turned bright red in embarrassment, but he was still laughing as though in on some joke with her. He did not notice how she shied from his grasp. "Easy, fatâ 6. My brother is taking care of it. Why are you so mean to me all of the time, Bella?"
Arabella did not look at him once. Meeting his gaze only ever encouraged his cheap advances. She continued walking towards her tent, her step quickening once more. He was so tall, however, that he didn't even need to walk faster. It was a burden to have her annoying suitor be so capable of keeping up with her.
"Because, Adnah. You are a dog. A hound who pants after every last dancing joovi7 in this camp. Go after Jasmina. She likes you … though God alone knows why." She made certain to keep her body between her money and him as he began to try and walk closer to her than a moment before. As if he were hanging onto her every insulting word.
"That tárfa8 ?" He sneered. "I don't want her! She's gone into almost every man's tent!"
"Well, then, you have plenty in common. Don't you? Jai avree9 Adnah." Arabella sighed as she pushed her way into the family tent. It was cooler than out in the sun, and she considered lying down on her pallet to rest. But there was already a formidable lump rising up from a nearby cot, a huge shadow of a demon from her own personal Hell.
"Well now. What have you brought me?"
Yaakov rose to his bulky height, little more than an intimidating black blob as her eyes fought to adjust to the dimness of the tent. A moment ago, she'd felt cool, though disgusted by Adnah's single touch. Now, a paralyzing cold soared through her veins. Slowly, she held out her bag of money. It felt as though every bit of blood inside of her were turning into pure ice. Yaakov snatched the bag away, and poured coins into his hands, some falling through his fingers and onto the ground at his feet.
"Is this it, you little tárfa? He snarled. "Is this all you've made? You useless copil10!" He dropped the coins into the pockets of his breeches before looking over her alluring costume with a fresh sneer. She could hear some of the coins spill down his leg from an inner hole inside his pocket.
"I'll dance again." Arabella whispered timidly, desperately trying to keep her voice from cracking. "I'll get more money."
Adnah grabbed her arm just as she turned to leave hastily. The tambourine in her one hand clattered onto the ground. And she yelped in pain as her arm was nearly pulled out of it's socket. She whimpered as her father dragged her toward his cot.
"No, tárfa. You'll do something useful for me today!"
1 Dadrus – Romany (gypsy) for "Father"
2 Av Akai – Romany (Gypsy) for "Come here"
3 rag and bone dealing
4 Horse dealer
5 Romanian for Dog/brute/hound/beast/doggie
6 Romanian for Lass/girl/miss/maiden ECT.
7 Roma for Woman
8 Romanian for Whore/slut/wretch ect.
9 Roma for Go Away
10 Romanian for Child