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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
It is a story about a gipsy girl.

Submitted: October 23, 2016

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Submitted: October 23, 2016





I was 7 years old when I first saw her. I remember that night as if it were yesterday, not 20 years ago. As though, I’m holding the remote control and retunring the past back. The weather was terrible. The darkness was replaced by the lighting only for a few seconds. Lighting looked like a ferocious beast which was raging and was not going to give up.  And The wind, the most free thing in this world, was whispeing something to himself. Here and there, drops of rain were falling, and informed us of the inevitable attack. Meantime, two people were running in the street. Dressed in black, a thin, tall woman was grabbing a child with as hard as she could. My mother and me, were those two person. I remember, how amazed I was, that small and tender mother could dragged me, a fat kid, managed to oppose the strongest wind, but love is the greatest power, not it so? Add to this the fear of loss of precious human and you will get the power to spin the earth, absorb the oceans and hold the sky in your fist. It was the first time I saw Larisa, in the terrible and threatful night. She looked like a rainbow, to be precise she was colourful and pleasant, encouraging and fearless. I saw her long, very long blond hair and blue eyes in the light of lighting. She wore a long, colorful dress (like a rainbow) and she had a red flower in the hair. She stood with spreading hand and laughing. I looked surprised and thought she was a ghost of night or crazy, because a normal person wouldn’t stand in that night and start laughing. I was amazed of the girl and was thinking about her but a hot tea and a warm bed faded the memories about the strange girl.



After that day, three weeks passed. The days were similar: getting up in the morning, having breakfast, playing in the yard, watching TV, having dinner, reading, playing again, having supper and sleeping. It was too early to school. In spite of long wished holidays, I wanted school. Monotony and idleness were tiresome. One morning, as usual, after breakfast, I went to the yard. I live in the yard so called Italian Yard. I knew everyone around, everybody payed attention to me. Grandfather Nugzar, who arrived without a leg from the war, was giving children ,,Miatn” candies. Aunt Lia who was always washing the laundry in the yeard, was lending us angel’s toys. Yes, exactly she said: now, my boy is in the heaven and chanting in the angels’ choir, and you should be happy because of using angel’s things. Always, when she was saying that, her eyes were full of tears. Grandmother Venera was giving us sunflower seeds, which she couldn’t sell and grandfather Besarion was reading aloud a newspaper for us, even though more than half of it, we could’t understand. This little Italian yard pored more warmth than the stars of the huge universe. And, exactly then, when I was running to play a football, I saw the girl with long blonde hair and colorful dress. I recognized her straightway. She has a metal plate in her hand and went towards the group of people. Then, she put the plate down and started singing. Nobody used to love gipsy people in the city, that’s why people were disgusted with her song. But nothing similar had ever happened, she was singing in a foreign language to me, but all the words seemed familiar, she was singing so that I forgot who I was or where I was, she created another world and I became a part of it. Each sound was gentle and blue like the boundless sky and her eyes. Her each movement was a sophisticated, lighter than a1ir and aristocratic. She was divine, she must be a member of the choir with chorister angels, that Aunt Lia used to tell us. During a few minutes, a whole yard was listening her breathlessly and then the sea of coins went t her. The girl greedily collected scattered coins and put them in her pocket. Excited people were applauding her.

Since then, she has become a frequent guest in our yeard. Every day the same things were happening, divine voice and excited people. And what can I say about me? I was always standing farther and didn’t dare to go near. I tried many times to step over a boundary between stairs and yard but I was not able. And in the end, happened the thing, I was the most afraid of which.



“what is your name?” I was looking ferociously at the ground as if it was guilty of everything, as if it tempted Eve and it crucified Christ.

“Larisa” I heard a gentle voice and I calmed down. Causeless anger disappeared and I dared to look to the right. I couldn’t see anything except the blue eyes. Although there was everything: seas, oceans, mountains, stars… all the world, endless.

“you are not of this place, are you? “ I asked but I knew the answer.

“No, I am gipsy “ told me again with a cold accent.

“Do you like rain? “ I remembered that night.

“Very much”

“Don’t you have house? “ I asked and immediately regreted.

She bowed her head, silence lasted for centuries, then she looked at me and said:

“It’s my home” She stood on the seat and stretched her hands. Blonde hair seemed to me silvery on the moonlight.

“and the parents?” immediately bit my tongue. I became braver. Impudence occuped my organism. Larisa looked at me. I couldn’t understand what she was thinking. Still standing on the seat. I felt her gaze, but didn’t dare to look at her.

“It’s my father” She was pointing to the full moon. “ It comes home at night because works all day, sometimes it can’t come but I love it very very much. Want to acquaint with my mother? She is sleeping now because she is very busy by day, you can come tomorrow. Yes, she is the sun, the sun! There were legends about love of the sun and the moon in childhood, and I am happy because I am the creation of this love, understand?!

I recalled that night, when I first saw her. Then, I thought that she was crazy, eh, she was really crazy. I was disappointed.

“All right, all right, take a sit Larisa”

“You don’t believe it, do you?” she was looking at me disappointed. “Do you want me to tell you everything who sacrificed me for such an awful life?!

She showed me her stomach and I felt pain as if I was sitting on the electric chair. Pain went from the toenail to hair. She had terrible scars: burned, bruised, festered. I felt sick, I couldn’t see anything, as if Larisa’s voice was coming from far away.

“They were beating me, putting on my body hot iron, tortuning me and telling: you can’t do anything, you are dull, you are helpless and useless, we want to earn money and you hinder us. Then they threw and left me in the street. Now, I feel better. I wish they knew what I can and how many people love me!

I dared and looked at her. Teardrops were searching their ways on her beautiful face.



Since that, Larisa and i have become inseparable friends. Sometimes, I used to bring to her but she was earning such a lot of money with her songs that she was treating me. Our yard got her like a child. I don’t remember a gipsy who gained a such a big love in the city. When she was starting singing every man was fascinated. Sometimes she stayed overnight at grandmother Venera, sometimes at aunt Lia, in short everyone loved her. One day, when she was leaving the yard, I accompanied her. We turned into one street and she started singing. I noticed gipsies at the cornen. Tall, black-haired and tanned woman was holding hand with all her force to the man who was standing next to her and was gazing at Larisa very astonished. Surprise, inspiration, astonishment and insidiousness which most of gipsies have, were changing one another. Something was wrong. I felt it. Jingling of coins sobered me by thoughts. People were clapping and giving money to Larisa. I looked toward the corner of the street. There weren’t gipsies. I had a stomach-ache. deliberately I was running towards Larisa but I was late. I saw a tall, gipsy woman who was caressing Larisa in the group of people. She was exactly the woman who I had seen a few minutes before. Larisa saw me too and ran to me but she was captured. A huge, like a mountain, man held her in his hands. Larisa was screaming.

“Don’t dare anything! “ said a gipsy woman “ She is our daughter, we have been looking for her for a year and after all, we have found her, is that right darling?”

The man nodded and smiled insidiously. I recalled of the scars. I felt annoyed, as if a ball stuck in a throat. Gipsies were going and taking Larisa with them. I ran to the man standing nearby and finally, out-talked:

“Unce, help her! No! Do not allow to take her! Help her! She is not their daughter, she is daughter of the sun and the moon! “ I cried. The man looked at me like I was looking at Larisa that night. Turned back and went away. I looked around, people were leaving and didn’t pay attention to my cry. Larisa’s voice stopped too. I coulnd’t see gipsies anymore. Then, the whole street was flooded. People were floating in the water. I winked. The street emptied from water and the sea of tears covered my face. I sprawled unconscious on the ground.



Since then 20 years have passed. Throughout this time, I was looking for Larisa everywhere although without any result. No one knew a story about the girl who loved raining, who asserted that she was daughter of the sun and the moon, who destroyed boundaries between people and even Apollo would be jealous of her singing. She disappeared, scattered away like a ghost of night but she left a big track in me.

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