The dimly lit tavern was crowded with gypsies. There were some Frenchmen as well, but they were too drunk to care about the company they were keeping. Chatter, laughing, and yelling overlapped one another in the small room. There were few, like Carmen, who did not come to the tavern to drink. But at the beginning, it was rather boring.
The oldest one Michel, was very nice. The whole tavern greeted him and his brother, the blushing man Gilbert, as the group entered. He smiled at Carmen as he helped her into a seat near the back. He was closer to her age than the other men in the room, having turned twenty the month before. However, Carmen felt no attraction for Michel. She supposed that he was attractive, as well as kind and polite, but she couldn't feel anything more than friendship for him. Carmen smiled, maybe this was for the better. As long as Michel didn't get the wrong idea. And she was determined not to let that happen.
Carefully sitting next to her cousin in the small booth, Carmen smiled at Michel and Gilbert as the brothers sat across from them. They talked for a short while, about their travels and the wonderful places to visit in Paris, before the music started. The crowds surrounding Carmen vanished, leaving behind empty chairs and tankards. One drunk was slumped over his table, clutching an oil lamp and snoring loudly.
Mirela jumped up and held her hands out to Gilbert. "Let's dance!"
The young man blushed again, but stood and led her to the middle of the room, where tables and chairs had haphazardly been shoved to the side, creating a dance area. Carmen blushed too, hoping that Michel wouldn't say the same. She looked across the table, where he seemed to be wondering exactly how to ask, and quickly changed the subject.
"Who taught you to play the flute?" Carmen asked, acting innocent. She smiled disarmingly at Michel.
"Me!" A deep voice boomed. Two gypsies were standing several feet away from Michel and Carmen. One was a stranger, but Carmen recognized the other as the gypsy from the colorful caravan. She could feel her face growing hot. He wore no mask, revealing his nose, which he held high in the air. But he did it in a way that was different from the students, almost as an act of defiance. As if he wanted to tell the world that couldn't define him. Carmen felt her respect for the stranger swell.
The other man was much older, burly, with a graying beard. He sat next to Michel, wrapping an arm around the younger man's shoulder. Michel blushed as if he was ashamed or embarrassed. The familiar gypsy sat next to Carmen, but she avoided looking at him. Even though she could see him smirking at her out of the corner of her eye.
"I'm his father," The burly gypsy said, his voice travelling clearly over the loud music. "My name is Paul."
"From the Bible?" Carmen asked immediately. As soon as the words left her mouth, her face flushed and she ducked her head. She rarely thought before speaking or acting.
"Yes," Paul responded, sounding surprised but entertained. Very much like Michel. "Are you Catholic?"
Carmen swallowed. "Christian."
All three men's eyes widened. They weren't disgusted, or sad, or even the tiniest bit angry. Every one of them was genuinely surprised. Carmen risked a smile at Michel, who was removing his father's arm from his shoulder.
Paul chuckled. "And what is your name dear?"
"Carmen," She murmured. "Not from the Bible." She cast a sidelong glance at the man with the goatee, hoping that somebody would introduce him next. But nobody did.
"Do you play any instruments?" Michel interjected. Carmen pulled back the blush before it could surface. He must have seen her staring at the handsome gypsy.
"Oh, no," Carmen replied. "I don't even sing!" This was the first lie that Carmen learned to tell. Carmen had a voice teacher in her parent's villa. She received lessons three times a week, for two hours each day. Even though the lessons stopped shortly after her parents death when she was eight, Carmen still had a beautiful voice. But when her memories of singing were filled with performing for her parents, it was hard to do it without them.
Her stage fright was horrible, and once she joined the caravan, the other gypsies forced her to sing every night at dinner. Until she stopped speaking for almost two full months. After that, she told all of them that she had lost her singing voice. No one was inclined to push it.
The goatee gypsy laughed, and it made Carmen's stomach curl.
"Horrible isn't it?" She asked with a tone of sarcasm, mentally scolding herself for being attracted to a man more than ten years her senior.
"How do you ever survive?" Paul joked.
"I'm nice to my uncle," Carmen responded with a smile, only half joking.
"She's the merchant's niece," Michel interjected.
"Ah, I saw him today!" The gypsy next to Carmen finally spoke. His voice was deeply accented and twanged with a rich melody that was baritone and tenor at once. Carmen's mind was fighting every natural instinct to respond. To make him keep talking.
"I did as well!" Paul added. "He was talking to the guards, trying to sell them something. Funny how they're so nice to him! They even bought some ribbons for their daughters if you can believe it."
Carmen raised an eyebrow wondering why Paul was so surprised that a guard would buy her uncle's wares. Even if the ribbons were stolen from a run down dress shop, meticulously embroidered by Carmen and Mirela in order to sell. Did he think her uncles goods were so loathsome to purchase?
"The soldiers here aren't very friendly," Michel explained, noticing the enraged look on Carmen's face.
"My son," Paul interrupted loudly, "You are far too kind! I have lived my whole life in this city, and I have never received a kind word from those men! Never a sentence without the words 'scoundrel' or 'vermin'!"
"Maybe we are going about this the wrong way?" The man with the goatee smiled. "Next time we should try and bribe the fat one with pastries!" Carmen's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"It's not funny," Michel said seriously. "The whole of the city has been brainwashed into hating us. It's-"
"Pathetic," The goateed gypsy completed.
"I would have said sad," Michel muttered.
"I agree!" Carmen leant forward, her eyes shining. "It's horrible to hate someone for the color of their skin or their ethnicity or profession! Who can twist people's minds like that?" She would have said more but Mirela and Gilbert danced by, faces glowing. Mirela tilted her head to her cousin, ordering her to dance.
Paul smiled at Gilbert. He was happy for his son, having so much fun with a pretty girl. Turning back to the table, he glanced between Michel and Carmen. The latter of who was staring at the table, her finger tracing a whorl in the wood. His son was staring at her like he did the stars in the sky. With a deep longing. "Go!" He laughed. "You young people dance!"
Carmen's stomach lurched. "I'm sorry, I've never danced like this."
"To this?" Michel asked.
Carmen chose her next words carefully. "I grew up in Spain. My parents taught me the traditional Spanish dances. I know nothing of the fancy French footwork."
"A pity that you can't sing either," The goatee man sympathized.
"Michel will show you!" Paul pushed his son up. Michel immediately sat.
"Papa, if she doesn't want to-" he started.
"It's not that I don't want to-" Carmen tried to explain.
"Then why don't you?" Paul asked. "Go!"
"I'm not a very good teacher," Michel added.
"Then I'll teach you!" Paul declared, running a hand through his graying beard.
"Oh, no you won't!" Michel's voice started to grow higher.
"Both of you, calm down!" The third gypsy ordered, half laughing at the scene. Both men immediately collected themselves. "If Carmen wants to learn, then I will be the one to teach her! That is, if you want to." He smiled widely at Carmen, revealing chipped teeth.
"Monsieur, I am sorry," Carmen bowed her head, smiling. The gypsy cocked an eyebrow. "But I cannot. I don't have the pleasure of knowing your name."
The gypsy stood and bowed, removing his hat as he did so, revealing a hairline that was just beginning to recede. "I am Clopin Trouillefou. It is a pleasure to meet you." He took Carmen's hand and gently kissed her knuckles.
"Then, Monsieur Clopin," Carmen stood as well, brushing her hair back. "You may try to teach me to dance."
"Is that a challenge?" Clopin laughed as he led her to the floor.
"Would you prefer a threat?" She responded with a smirk. When they reached the edge, Clopin swung the young woman to arms length and began to position their arms, muttering under his breath as he did so. Frowning, he removed their hands. "You don't even know how to dance, do you?"
Clopin gave her a wicked smile. "I know the basics."
"Are you sure?"
"Trust me," He grinned and changed the position of their arms one last time.
"Okay," Chancing a look into the crowd, Carmen smiled as she noticed that the rest of the dancers were positioned in the same way. Then Clopin began to dance.
"What am I doing?" Carmen shouted above the music, staring at his feet. The music was too quick, and she was being dragged along by his grip. She tried to pull away and leave the dance floor, but Clopin pulled her closer. Her face flushed as his nose brushed against hers.
She looked down again, trying to mimic his feet. Clopin's hand left Carmen's and pushed her chin up. "Chin up! You'll get it, just don't look down!" He smiled encouragingly at her, his black eyes sparkling.
Carmen closed her eyes and listened to the music. When she found the beat, Carmen opened her eyes and smiled back. Her footwork was still messy, but she could follow the music at least. She was just starting to get used to it when the song faded. Clopin put her hand in the crook of his arm and led her back to the table.
"She's all yours," He announced, handing her over to Michel. The young gypsy stood and came over to Carmen, while Clopin sat next to Paul. The two began to whisper in low tones.
"How was I?" Carmen asked, following Clopin out of the corner of her eye.
"You aren't that good," Michel said with a small smile.
Carmen frowned. "I'm trying."
The next song had already started when Michel led Carmen back to the dancing. She didn't last very long that time. She tripped over Michel's large foot and landed in a disheveled heap on the floor. The surrounding crowd laughed, and Carmen's face flushed. But dancing with Michel was so different from dancing with Clopin. He was so much more muscular, Carmen could barely wrap an arm around him. His steps were heavier as well, much less graceful that the long and even ones of Clopin.
"I'm hopeless!" She exclaimed as the pair returned to the table. The older gypsies were leaning heavily on one another as they laughed.
"You'll get better with practice," Michel assured her. He adjusted his hat to wipe his forehead, revealing even more black curly hair hiding underneath.
Carmen sat down, sweeping her dress around her legs just as the door to the tavern swung open. "Everyone shut up!"
The music stopped, and all remaining chatter slowly drained away as the crowd turned to the door. A stout soldier was at the entrance, dressed in tarnished silver armor that smoothed the wrinkled folds of his stomach. He needed a shave, and had deep wrinkles around his mouth, but nobody could imagine him as a man that smiled too often.
"You vermin are disturbing the peace. I have a mandate here from the Judge, ordering you to leave!"
Clopin leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the table. "I knew I should have baked cookies today!" He exclaimed with a snap of his fingers.
Carmen clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. The soldier stared at Clopin.
"Party's over."
"You're right!" Clopin smiled widely, revealing his chipped teeth. He stood up and jabbed a finger at the officer. "It ended the moment you walked in!"
"I should have each and every one of you thrown in the stocks!" The soldier hissed.
"We should have you thrown off a cliff!" A gypsy shouted. The stilled dancers laughed. The soldier was about to retort when another voice chimed in.
"Relax sir," Mirela weaved her way to the front of the crowd, head held high. "It's all in good fun."
"Ma'am you should get out of here." Carmen thanked whatever God was up there that the girls had bathed the day before and were wearing nice dresses. He didn't know that she was a gypsy. "Pickpockets, rapists, thieves! That's all these scoundrels are!" The crowd had begun to silently slink out of the doors.
Carmen ducked her head and followed Clopin as he left the tavern. Outside, it had grown cold, and the gypsies were scattering into alleys and shadows. Gilbert came out before Mirela and greeted his brother and father. The group gave a nod goodbye, and was soon gone as well.
By the time the soldier appeared, still lecturing Mirela, there wasn't a gypsy in sight. Mirela pretended to listen to his lecture patiently.
"Madeline!" Carmen called out, using the fake name they adopted when in front of public officials. Carmen was called Camille. They used the names more often than they should. "Your father is expecting you!"
Mirela said a quick goodbye and followed Carmen, but wrinkled her nose when they were out of sight. "We will have to pray for those poor people."
"I think that the soldier needs praying for," Carmen murmured. Mirela rolled her eyes, but quickly grinned.
"I saw you dancing!" She teased.
Carmen blushed. Clopin had become a very good dancer after he remembered. "He tried to teach me."
"You know," Mirela tapped her chin. "I didn't think so when I first saw him. But he is a handsome man."
Carmen smiled, happy that Mirela couldn't see her red face in the light of the rising moon. "He's too old for me."
"He couldn't be more than 20!"
Carmen raised an eyebrow. He was definitely much older than that. 30 at the youngest.
"Don't you think he's handsome?" Mirela asked as they approached the inn. Carmen didn't dare answer until they were back in their room. She quickly undressed and lay on the mat. Did she think that Clopin was attractive? At least enough to tell Mirela that she was attracted to the man with the potato nose? For all she knew, as soon as Carmen got to know him better, she would find some small trait that would quickly put him at the back of her mind.
"He's nice."
"Perfect! This works out perfectly!" Mirela smiled and began to unlace her shoes. "Did you know that they're brothers?"
"Wait a second…" Carmen trailed off, realization dawning.
"Gilbert and Michel! They're brothers, we're sisters, and it would be perfect!" She smiled at her cousin, not noticing that the girl had frozen. "I already talked to Gilbert about meeting soon."
Carmen's stomach sank to her feet. Mirlea was talking about Michel. And now she thought that Carmen like Michel. Mirela, thinking that Clopin was handsome? Carmen should have known better. But instead, Carmen would be dragged all over the city while her cousin tried to arrange a marriage.
"I'm going to take a bath," Carmen murmured as she darted from the room. Slamming the door behind her, she began to scratch frantically on the back of her hand. How could she be so stupid?