Echoes of My Clan

By Rocio Vargas Herrera

This novel tells the story of Carlota, a young gypsy and an indomitable spirit who is forced to learn to live outside her village during World War II. Her free spirit is reflected and defined in the way she lives her life. She does not accept defeat and nothing can stop her as she takes life head on. The passage of her that savors and captivates in femininity is full of passion, sadness, humor, intrigue, trials, triumph and love. Come join the Carlota & her Clan on their adventures. With many unseen truths and messages., we have to open our mind and soul to another way of perceiving reality; to understand only if we are ready to do so. This is a novel that opens itself in unsuspected channels of understanding
Romance, adventure, intrigue, suspense.
I hope you enjoy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rocio Vargas Herrera
• Release date: Apr 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370744251

Rocio Vargas Herrera

Rocio Vargas Herrera was born of a Calo (Gypsy) father and a Gacho (non-Gypsy) mother in the Republic of Panama and currently lives in the United States. Rocio is an adventurous storyteller-turned-author. She is a self-proclaimed bohemian; with her head in the clouds and her feet on the ground. Rocio Vargas sits on the Board of Directors of the prestigious South Florida Writers Association.Rocio felt inspired to give insight on the little known story of the Roma people and break stereotypes.Rocio Vargas Herrera, nacío de padre de Calo (gitano) y madre gacho (no gitana) en la República de Panamá y actualmente vive en los Estados Unidos. Rocio es una narradora aventurera convertida en autor. . Ella se auto-proclamado bohemia con su cabeza en las nubes y sus pies en el suelo.Rocio Vargas forma parte de la Junta Directiva de la prestigiosa Asociación de Escritores del Sur de Florida,Rocío se sintió inspirada para dar una idea de la historia poco conocida del pueblo romaní.. y romper estereotipos.

Book preview

First and foremost, I want to express my gratitude for the privilege of being born a Gypsy, and for the opportunity to share the story of my people.

To my father, a full Gypsy, for giving me a strong bloodline to be proud of, and my mother, a Gacho (non-Gypsy) with the Soul of one, for always instilling in me that no matter where my life should take me, never to forget that I am a Gypsy proud of my heritage/ lineage. Without both, this endeavor wouldn’t have been possible.

To my children, grandchildren, siblings, family, and friends, for their continual support and patience.

With special thanks to Esperanza Vargas for her insight and guidance.

To Emilio Velazquez for all his help.

To Enrique Renard for his Spanish translation and his re-editing of the English text.

An insurmountable amount of gratitude to Jeanne Friend and Yvonne Campbell.

To Raúl Vidal, for his new back cover photo.

Manuel Sanchez-Artist for his painting Flamenco Dancer with White Flower

To my ancestors for their guidance.

I also want to extend my recognition to all those who have crossed my path on this journey, for the gift of their knowledge and wisdom. Without you as my teachers, this would have not been possible. Regardless the place you came from, you were with me when required. Our journey is a personal endeavor, but we all need a ray of light to keep going. Thank you all for sharing your light. May the Universe be your guide always.

echoesofmyclan@gmail. com

Facebook page – Rocío Vargas Herrera-Author

Website: http://www. echoesofmyclan. com/

PROLOGUE

WHAT IS A GYPSY AND WHERE

DO GYPSIES COME FROM?

Gitanos (Gypsies) live the moment; the here and the now is really all we have. Our philosophy is, We are here, let’s enjoy it. We will worry about the future tomorrow. Tomorrow hasn’t come yet. Our attitude is carefree and trusting, for we feel that God will provide. He invariably does.

Free-spirited—to the Gitanos means that we were born to be free; no boundaries, no ties, only the natural laws of the Universe. On the practical side, Gitanos, by their nature, follow their own norms, with the clan Elders directing observance. Should anyone break the norms of conduct determined by them, he/she will have to face their Tribunal.

Our society is unique in some ways, and from times gone by there is little interaction with the Gacho (non-Gypsies) world. As a result, a sort a mystic aura normally surrounds us. Our knowledge of natural herbs for health and healing has conferred us an aura of mystery. It has also added an exotic air to the trades we have mastered throughout the years and over the lands we have traveled through.

Among Gitanos, it is said that it is a blessing to be born one. It is considered as a gift from God, not everyone can be a Gitano. These days it is quite common to hear the expression He has a Gypsy soul, meaning the qualities innate in Gitanos. That saying is sometimes applied at any Gacho who shows the same idiosyncrasy and belief in the Gypsy system.

The Gypsies/Gitanos/Rom/Romani/Roma, as they are variously characterized, originally came from the Punjab region (as some DNA testing has shown) in Northern India. They left the Punjab region approximately ten centuries ago. It is said that one of the reasons for their migration was probably difficulties related to famine or religious and caste-based persecutions. It is also stated that Northwest India came under repeated attacks from Mongol and Turkish invaders; hence the need to migrate became advisable. Whatever the reasons, we have since ventured throughout the world, contributing with our own culture to that of those we have come in contact with.

There are many different theories with respect to the aforementioned migration. The most widely accepted seems to be that Gypsies started moving from India toward Armenia and the Byzantine Empire to Eastern Europe; then travelling over land and the English Channel all the way to England, which explains the fairer-skin aspect of Gypsies from northern Europe. It is also stated that some groups went through the Persian Gulf and from there to northern Africa. From there they crossed the Strait of Gibraltar towards Spain. Those are the more olive-skinned Gypsies.

Despite their travels taking them to settle in new lands, customs and languages, they held on to their own language as much as they could, adding though some colloquial expressions used in the different areas they went through. A derivative from Sanskrit, the Calo/Rom/Romani language can be traced to the first century AD. Their continual use of it made it possible for Gypsies to communicate without a problem when they encountered each other during their travels. Regardless their birth place, they had that language in common. In the remote past, Sanskrit was mostly used orally, such tradition gradually disappearing. However, we are told that Gypys history was passed down orally by the Elders that followed, hence its continual relevancy amongst Gypsies.

Through the years, and according to tradition, Gitanos would sit around a campfire after dinner speaking in Calo about their ancestors. Today’s Gitanos do it around a dinner table.

The first recorded arrival of Gitanos at Spain from France was in the year 1415, under King Fernando and Queen Isabella. As the centuries went by and Gypsies moved through Spain, they suffered incarceration, discrimination, slavery, and persecution, as each king and/or queen had their own views as to how to deal with them. At certain periods they were treated with reverence, and decrees were passed which granted them immunity, for they were looked upon as Egyptian nobility because of their olive skin. The word Egyptian in Spanish is Egipcios. That’s where the word Gitano came from. Other decrees were imposed mandating incarceration for any Gypsy who would be rejected joining regular society, refuse to change his ways, abandon his traditions, his language, and his nomadic lifestyle.

In 1550, a decree was passed by King Philip II, stating that Gypsies were vagabonds and wicked people. Hence the injunction to separate men, women, and children, sending the latter to orphanages and relegating the girls to domestic service. Refusal to comply would mean men being sent off to row in the galleys. Another decree, on 1616, ordered all Gypsies to leave the Kingdom for good. Refusal would be punished by death. It also stated that they could stay only if they would abandon their traditions, adopting the ways of regular society.

In 1749, King Ferdinand VI ordered a night raid of Gypsy caravans, sending them all to a kind of forced labor camps set up by the kingdom. Statistics at the time indicate that approximately nine to twelve thousand Gypsies were incarcerated for reasons not clearly specified. In 1763, Charles III freed all the Gypsies who had survived the labor camps. History shows that we are a people who sometimes have had to conform to society in order to survive. The result divided the Gypsies in two: Those who through the last four to five hundred years integrated themselves to the Gacho communities by abandoning their cultural roots, and those who kept faithful to the latter.

The latter live within the confines of the Gacho society, but keeping their Gitano way of life. They haven’t forgotten their ancestry, continue to educate the children in the oral tradition and are very proud to be who they are. Then you have those who have partially joint the Gacho society. But their Elders did not allow them to forget neither their ancestors nor the old ways. Their transition though has not been an easy one. And to make it worse, from Isabella the Catholic to Francisco Franco the dictator, we have been nothing but victims of Gacho violent conflicts.

ONE

I remember through the years repeatedly wondering about my destiny. When asking, I only got a pretty ambiguous response: You will know it when the time comes.

We believe every person has come to earth for a reason and with a purpose: the fulfillment of his/her destiny. When a Gypsy child is born, the first thing the father does is to raise the newborn up to the heavens and give thanks for his/her health, asking the Providence to bless the child and watch over his/her life.

Travelling through this journey we call life, the passing years showed me that I have in fact led a full life; some may even say that I have lived many lifetimes. As my mother, Agustina (Tina, as everyone called her) would say, "Every child comes into this world with a book under his arm, and everything that will happen to him/her is written in that book— joys, sorrows, trials and tribulations, plus obstacles to overcome. He is supposed to fulfill his destiny, as well as find the answers to effectively surmount difficulties. He has a Divine plan to personally fulfill. He needs to pay close attention to the signals from above to eventually be able to make the right decisions along the way — intuition; some call it — his gut feeling. Others call it the Inner Self, the inner child or inner voice, there to guide him. The voice of Destiny talks to us but we don’t bother to hear it. We are too absorbed in our everyday lives, too busy with the effort to address our needs properly.

In the journey of life, said Tina, you will inevitably come across a fork in the road more than once, and you will have to decide which direction to take. Whatever your decision, you will be responsible for it, and will have to face the consequences. But any path you choose in such situation may be at first considered a mistake. However, the mistake will bring painful consequences which in turn will become a useful learning process which will furnish a learning experience, including lessons that will prepare you to effectively face the next bend on the road.

It is a truism that every decision we make leads to a consequence, since every action has a reaction. We are invariably free to choose, but we are never free from the consequence of our choices. If we divert from our destiny, the Providence will find a way to get us back on track. I used to ask myself whether destiny ruled our freedom of choice, or if it was our freedom of choice that rule our destiny. Clearly, our past brings us our present, and our present will bring us our future. Hence it appears clear that our choices are what determine our destiny. But our destiny is not in stone, only in possibilities. Otherwise, our freedom of choice would be meaningless! What we have as human beings is a potential, and our impulse must be too unfold it. The Law of Cause and Effect rules the whole thing. ‘We shall reap, what we sow’, says the old proverb.

Looking back and now being able to understand what my mother meant, I had to admire her enormous inner practical wisdom, one that I have observed in very few people. Tina was a woman way ahead of her time. Her words resonate in my mind at every turn of my journey. She had the intuition Gypsies are known for.

We observe our surroundings, then go within to reach for the answers we need for the everyday life. Tina was due the utmost respect from all those she came in contact with during her lifetime. She was a strong, independent, selfless, kind hearted, and caring soul, but when provoked; her wrath could be pretty strong. She was a medium size woman, with fair skin and jet-black hair, a white hair lock issuing from the hairline and hanging over her brow. I would tease her sometimes by saying that her hair reminded me of a skunk’s tail. She wasn’t quite fond of that observation. Some say that such peculiarity happens as a result of a mother watching an eclipse during pregnancy, and that it represents polarity, light and dark, a perfect balance. Her eyes were brown, with a happy, perpetual sparkle in them.

I myself, on the other hand, got most of my physical characteristics from my father’s side. Sometimes as I walked down the street people would stop me and ask if I was Javier’s daughter. They invariably said that I looked very much like him. I am of a smaller frame, on the thin side, with straight long black hair all the way to my waist, with olive skin and deep honey-colored eyes, large and almond-shaped. It was said that while on the trails, my mother’s ancestors must have gone through some of the Nordic countries, but my father’s people came up from the south. Some Gachos were afraid to look me straight in the eyes, for they believed that I might hypnotize or put a curse on them, given their intensity. They said I have cat eyes; hence I am not to be trusted.

As I gaze back into my childhood I conclude it was a happy one, even though my family was not as affluent as some of the Gacho families. The difference was quite obvious, but we knew we had the most important thing that they were missing: unconditional love, which brought us both a sense of unity and security. Gachos impress us as people afraid of life. We, on the other hand, cannot fathom any other way of life but ours; hence we are not afraid of it. We have a sense of belonging and respect and, above all, freedom. We are as one with one another.

Our freedom is measured by our soul, not by the laws of man. What makes us so special is that we do not need material possessions to be happy. We have freedom on the physical plane, as well as in mind and spirit. I guess in our own way we feel sorry for the Gachos. They have more material things than we do, but the way we look at it, the more we have, the more we are responsible for, and the heavier the weight we carry.

We have no attachment to material belongings. To us, detachment does not mean that one should not own a thing; it means nothing should own you. Those who possess more are not richer. Quite the opposite, those whose needs are less, are in a sense wealthier. Nothing ties us Gypsies down.

Gachos do not seem to know how to revel in the orange sunset or the yellow sunrise, the pale-blue sky with white cotton-like figures in the clouds, the lush green fields, the trees, the earth beneath your feet, the colorful wild flowers of the fields, the rolling hills, the animals grazing in the meadows, the sound of the passing river, or the clear water of the stream—just to be able to sit under the evening sky with the stars, observing the moon with all its phases, and admiring and respecting the beauty of all of God’s creations. One of our beliefs is that there is beauty in everything ever created, and, therefore, it should be enjoyed and respected.

Our days as children were, for the most part quite carefree, with very little structure if compared to that of the Gacho children. The latter followed a routine that started with getting up in the morning in order to go to school where they would spend hours, then back home to do their homework, and then playing the rest of the afternoon. Our days were quite different; every day was an open adventure for us.

I remember that warm spring day in 1925 after General Primo de Rivera had ended the rebellion in Morocco; he was the one that led a bloodless coup against King Alfonso XIII, and the king had no choice but to give him the military control of Spain and fully support the situation in Spain given the chaos created by the different political factions trying to grasp power fiercely fighting each other. Hence General de Rivera became a military dictator under the excuse of stopping the nonsense, and King Alfonso XIII stayed on only as a figurehead monarch. Almost the same thing happened in Italy in 1923, when Benito Mussolini was named Premier and King Vittorio Emmanuel stayed on as a figurehead monarch.

One day, this lady came to our neighborhood. It wasn’t like we had never seen a Gacho woman before, but her alabaster skin tone was rare to us. As children, whenever strangers came around, we were instructed to leave the street and go into our houses, but our curiosity took hold that day. She arrived at my grandfather’s blacksmith shop in a black carriage drawn by two black Paso Fino horses with their manes beautifully braided. When we saw her getting out of the carriage, we admired her lovely white dress, her spectacular hat filled with plumes, and the little white purse hanging from her left arm. She approached my grandfather, and he came out to greet her. He had just finished forging.

As he walked, he gave instructions to my father and uncles to continue their work with the strikers on other pieces. A blacksmith striker is like an assistant, frequently called an apprentice. Part of his duties is to forge in operations directed by the blacksmith. The elder blacksmith holds the hot iron at the anvil—with tongs, of course—in one hand and indicates what part of the piece of iron is to be struck by tapping it with a small hammer held by the other hand. The striker will then hit it with the sledgehammer where it has been indicated to give the piece shape and life. They can also use a hardy, which is used as a chisel or hammer for cutting both hot and cold metals. From there, the metals are passed through a slacker tub, usually a large container full of water or oil used by a blacksmith to quench hot metals. All the men in the shop usually sing Martineta (one of our musical rhythms) to the beat as they strike the metals, but when they saw the lady, they stopped, and there was no wonder at it. She looked like a princess.

She started taking off her white right glove putting it in her left hand, so as to extend her right hand to shake my grandfather’s hand. But of course his hands were full of soot from the yaque (fire), as he worked with wrought iron and steel, hence he just smiled, lifted a hand and nodded to her in acknowledgment. He didn’t want to soil her hand.

Manuel was a tall man, and in his face you could see that the years had not passed in vain, for every wrinkle and every gray hair attested to the wisdom he had acquired. He was a man of dark eyes that radiated tenderness, understanding, and much serene wisdom. You have been highly recommended, she said — a musical tone in her voice — and I would like to commission a statue for one of my father’s gardens".

She was the daughter of a Señorito, (elite/gentry/aristocracy) a rich landowner that cultivated grapes for a local winery he owned, and this was the first encounter we had with her. Her father employed many men from our clan to work on his fields and his wine cellars.

She noticed us children just running and playing up and down the street. She asked my grandfather, Why are these children not at school?

My grandfather Manuel replied, We cannot afford to send them to school, and, besides, even if we wanted to, the local authorities would not allow their presence there. Remember, Gitanos are not allowed to go to school.

It was then that Miss Mercedes somehow realized that her superficial lifestyle should come to an end when she came to the conscious realization that there was more to life than cotillions and tea parties. She then decided to take it upon herself to be our teacher. That was the start of a long-lasting relationship between Miss Mercedes and our clan.

It was beyond her comprehension the fact that Gypsies would be denied the right to an education.

She said, rather perturbed: Everyone has a right to an education, for it expands the mind and enriches the soul. I will take it upon myself to teach your children the basics—reading, writing, and arithmetic. Manuel stood there, just listening to everything she was saying.

There were very few Elders of the clan that could write, much less read, for most were only required to make an X where they had to place a signature. Even if the ones that did know how to write would want to teach us, they did not have the time. For the most part, our adults were illiterate. However, even facing such difficulties, they were able to conduct business properly. They knew how to count in their own way and had the innate ability to identify whenever they were, never being swindled concerning any money or bartering transactions.

In our culture, transactions were done with a handshake, and our word was our bond. It was a time where honor prevailed, although the stereotype hanged on us by Gachos was that we were all swindlers and thieves. Anyone doing business with a Calo should be very careful—that are not to be trusted, was their opinion. But in our tradition, Calos, whether male or female, are people of their word. For the most part, I guess, as in every culture, you have your good and your bad. Society has this clumsy habit of unfavorably stereotyping people who are different from it. Among our clan, we are invariably all good, people of honor and dignity.

As Miss Mercedes expressed her interest in educating our children to my grandfather Manuel, he in turn briefly explained to her that, in our culture, in order to make a decision we need to have a gathering of the Elders of the clan.I will present your proposal to them. . ., he said. I cannot guarantee the outcome, but it does seem like a very good idea.

We didn’t have one Patriarch per se, as the nomadic clans did, so it was more like a board of directors, the Elders, discussing when it came to decisions that could affect the individual families and the totality of the clan.

Each family did have their own Patriarch; we all lived within the same neighborhood, for our ancestors had left the trails many centuries ago and somehow incorporated themselves into regular society by rendering services to the Gacho. We were all related one way or another, and we all worked together. Within the Seville area, there were sixteen established blacksmith clans.

At the meeting that evening, the Elders were apprehensive, as it was hard for them to believe that any Gacho really wanted to volunteer to help us, much less a woman, and that she sincerely had our best interest at heart. Centuries of discrimination, oppression, persecution and segregation, bigotry and injustice had left them quite skeptical.

As my grandfather was one of the few that were literate because he had been taught by a Señorito in his youth, he was more aware of the importance of education. Throughout the years, while my grandfather had encountered both good and bad Gachos, he tried not to prejudge anyone. During the meeting that evening, Manuel quoted from the Bible to the elder clan members to make his point, since he was a very religious man.

He said, If Jesus never discriminated, why should we? If we pass judgment on Miss Mercedes and her intentions, we are no better than the world outside our clan.

Then he turned around and asked, Does death discriminate? Why should we? Can anyone escape death? Maybe this is Miss Mercedes’s fate to be intertwined with us to teach our children. We need to pay attention to the signals given us by the Providence. With this, the clan Elders pondered and decided to give Miss Mercedes a chance, with one condition—that only a reduced number of children would be allowed to be educated by her.

TWO

Once the aforementioned decision was made, the difficulty was now to determine which among the children would be the chosen to go to school.

Manuel then asked the question: This should be done on a volunteer basis. Who would like to be the first to volunteer their children?

No one came forth. The question was asked again. Still no response. Manuel, seeing that no one was first to volunteer, took control by proclaiming that five of his grandchildren would go. He had thought carefully about this opportunity, and he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. He stated that he did not want to waste up the opportunity presented.

As the Patriarch of our family, my father Javier, and Uncle Ismael had no choice, they had to follow my grandfather’s wishes. One of the biggest differences between our clan and any of the nomadic clans was that the oldest male was the Patriarch of his particular family—therefore only he can choose what he deems appropriate for his household—whereas a nomadic clan the Patriarch is the only one to make decisions for everyone in his clan.

My great-uncle Felipe also determined that one of his grandchildren was to go to school. Another uncle, Eugenio, was the last to allow his two children to go to school. Since no one else came forward, it was settled: a total of nine male children would start school with Miss Mercedes.

The following morning, my grandfather sent word to Miss Mercedes that her proposal had been accepted— that she could be our teacher. She was quite excited with the news. This was going to be mutually beneficial to both the clan as well as herself. We would get an education for our children and she would be given a previously non-existent sense of purpose in her life.

A few days later, she came to visit us to make the final preparations before classes were to commence. She was then informed that she was to teach nine male children.

Her immediate reaction was, "Why only male children? Females have a right to education as well. This is not fair. Women’s roles in society are changing. We must prepare the young girls to take their place in the years to come. Did you not know that in 1920, in America, women got the right to vote? Women are becoming very important in today’s society. The women’s movement has been active in Spain since 1918 and for years many are not only struggling for our right to vote, but also for the extension of feminine education, as well as for equality in salary for those women who worked out of the home. Tina then had to explain to Miss Mercedes the difficulty represented by our ways.

In our culture, women are brought up to be housewives. To tend to the children and to take care of the family unit is the only job they have in life. If a woman for any reason would become a widow, or is a spinster, the situation is dealt with differently. They can go out and get a job to support themselves. However, they would still be under the control of their male relatives. Women have no voice. They just have to follow tradition.

This was true for most Gitanas, but there were only a few that were outspoken enough to oppose it.

She continued, Tradition dictates that all women must follow what the males say with no questions asked. It does not matter if he’s a father, a husband, a brother, or a cousin. As long as he is a male member of the family, his word is final.

I was blessed, for Tina was one of the outspoken ones. Javier always said that that was one of the things that attracted him to her. However, Tina was well aware of how far she could go; she never overstepped her boundaries, for she knew that the price to be paid could be high. She was quite savvy. When she wanted something, she always made Javier think it had been his idea in the first place, that all she had to do was to agree. And she invariably got exactly what she wanted.

Miss Mercedes insight into our culture made her extremely upset, for she was a freethinker and could not understand the dominance that our women still lived under. She believed wholeheartedly in the women’s suffrage movement, which had started a few years earlier worldwide. She read the international papers and expressed her solidarity for the fact that in 1918, Austria, Germany, Poland, and Russia gave women the right to vote. She had dreamed of the day when women would be able to vote, as women had in America in 1920. That could never happen in Spain, for we had a monarchy and a military government, and there were no elections to be held. She fantasized that maybe someday she would go to America under the idea of becoming an independent woman. The flappers, rebellious young women of the USA, held a fascination over her.

Miss Mercedes’s questions to us were logical: How can parents be expected to fulfill their duties and educate their children if they don’t have an education themselves? Don’t women in your culture aspire to more? Don’t they want more for their children? Times are changing, and we must change with them. Even within my Gacho culture things are changing for women—slowly, but they’re changing. Industries with machinery are rapidly starting all over our country every day. In the larger cities, factories are being opened every day. The ending of the Great War in 1918, is bringing changes worldwide.

Tina’s reply showed a complex scenario: I myself was taught to read and write, and what has it gotten me? Of course, I want better for my children, as all parents do. Yes, the times are changing, but not for our people. It will take many generations for us to be accepted into society as equals, whether you are female or male. We are looked upon as subhuman, savage, ruthless, dirty swine, so what good would it do for our girls to be educated? The most they can aspire to is to be household domestic employees, if they’re lucky.

After much discussion between them, Miss Mercedes and Tina asked my grandfather Manuel to join them. Both women pleaded and begged and tried to explain why they felt there was a need to having females in the group to be educated.

My grandfather was well known for having an open mind. He pondered on the idea and agreed that he would take the question back to the Elders.

That night the Elders met again to debate the new proposal that Miss Mercedes had given them. Needless to say, there were intense disagreements between all men present. Javier disagreed with my grandfather Manuel. He did not want females to join the school. After all, I was his oldest daughter, so he was not very happy with the idea that I would be able to attend. He found it acceptable that Tina knew how to read and write, but now they were talking about me— and it was a different story. It was the old saying—Do as I say, not as I do. Apparently that was his mentality.

Javier was a tall man, with a relatively slender frame, very broad shoulders, brown-black wavy hair, and extremely handsome. Some say he could be have been a silent-movie actor. In his youth, he had been a bullfighter, like my uncle Ismael. Being a matador was the highest profession that a Gypsy could aspire to at the time. Then in 1914 World War exploded and the armies needed all the help they could get from blacksmith shops. There was much work to be done at the latter, and too many contracts to comply with. It was a prosperous time for the trade.

Although a man of few words, Javier was very wise. He had a tendency to overprotect his family, and his ways were sometimes not the best, but he persisted. At times, he was abrupt and rough around the edges. On occasion he would quietly do things to protect us. We would not find out until much later when realizing what he had done to pave our way. But the thought of myself mingling with the Gacho world was enough to make his skin crawl. This to him was unacceptable. From the experience he had gained in the Gacho world as a Matador he thought that they were very disrespectful not only to women, but also to people in general.

But Manuel said that the matter was not up for discussion—that I was to go, and that was that.

My uncle Ismael intervened with memories from our ancestors. Going back almost four hundred years since the arrival of our clan in Spain, he claimed, we have been, shunned, incarcerated, enslaved, oppressed, persecuted, expelled from towns, and taken advantage by society in general, and you want our women to experience this? As men, it is our responsibility to honor and protect them from any danger. Was it not enough that we had to give up our nomadic lifestyle and the trails, or integrate their society, which in turn treats us as subhuman?

But my uncle Eugenio rebutted him: "My sister and I have some education concerning reading and writing. It has helped us on many occasions when dealing with the calculating and cunning Gachos who try to swindle us with their fast-talking business deals, using the same trickery they have the nerve to accuse us from. The concept they have of us is that we are not intelligent, and this can be ascertained by the manner in which they speak down to us and the way in which they intend to conduct business. Also, if it weren’t for the few of us who do know how to read and write, we would not be informed of what is going on in their world— the political unrest