had not heard the news. Encarna was one of those women with a more rounded body who had accepted a free ride or two from the King of the Taxi Drivers; in fact, rumour had it that she was the one who had enticed him into giving her rides.
Whilst Encarna was collecting water from the river, the moustache had somehow managed to crawl its way into her urn. She placed the urn into her stone-cladded bathroom, undressed and then proceeded to soap herself. Whilst rinsing away the soap with the water from the urn, at the most inappropriate moment the moustache pounced out at her. She hollered in fright at the thought of the rat-infested waters. In so doing, she slipped and crashed to the ground.
That afternoon’s event resulted in a broken ankle. The moustache was laid to rest. Encarna sat by the river that whole evening, bathing her leg in the hope that the magical waters would restore it to its former beauty.
As the main aorta, the River Aynia ran from the top of the mountain into the sea. There were several tributaries, some of which had dried up. Aynia brought life to people, she ran through them; and in return, people brought life to her. Generations bathed, drank, washed their clothes and urinated in the same well. Then, as a customary parting gift, their ashes were sprinkled into her.
I was informed by Delores Del Rey that if I followed Aynia for exactly four kilometres I would come to an enormous bougainvillea tree, and on turning left and following this path it would lead me to the Gypsy. Delores said the Gypsy could answer all my questions for she knew everything. She could tell what the significance of the left eye twitching frantically was; she could cure ailments and see the past, present and future.
Delores asked me to make my way to the Gypsy’s cabin before José got back from his call-out or he would insist on taking me there, which was pointless because the walk down was equally important as it would give me the clarity to formulate the right questions.
‘Remember, Evita, it’s not necessarily the answers that are the most important—it’s the questions,’ she said as I left.
After walking steadily down the mountain, following the path alongside the river, I heard the horn of José’s taxi making its way up and dived behind some bushes in case he caught a glimpse of me. After the car roared past me I continued walking and finally came across the tree. It had a magenta blossom and a truly regal presence. Bearing left, I found the wooden cabin and, nervously, I knocked faintly on the door and entered.
Inside, the cabin appeared much bigger than on the outside and resembled a doctor’s surgery. There was a waiting room holding an array of people with a multitude of problems—broken bones, twitching eyes, burning ears, and also problems that were not visible to the eye. As the morning came and went, the waiting room emptied.
Encarna was the last one before me to see the Gypsy. I glanced at her leg propped up against the chair.
‘Slight misfortune,’ she gestured.
‘Next,’ someone shouted from behind the door.
Encarna hobbled to the consultation room and came out walking perfectly ten minutes later.
‘It was not what everyone was thinking,’ she said, looking at me. ‘There was a therrible, therrible mistake and the Gypsy understood this.’ Feeling incredibly anxious and not finding it to be the appropriate time to delve further into the ‘therrible mistake’ as I would have wanted to, I nodded.
‘She’s waiting for you,’ Encarna shouted as she left.
‘Welcome, Evita,’ the Gypsy said, turning around to greet me.
I gasped, completely taken aback.
‘I’ve been expecting you. In fact, I thought you’d come sooner,’ she said, coming towards me.
‘It’s…it’s you,’ I mumbled incredulously. It was the woman dressed in magenta with chipped nail-varnish. I went over to touch her to see if she was real. Her hands were soft and elasticy like my grandmother’s. I gripped them tightly.
‘Would you like some coffee? Two sugars, endlessly stirred?’ She smiled.
All the questions that I had silently formulated with poised composure on my way down were forgotten and something completely different came blurting out. ‘How did I get here? Where am I? What’s happening to me?’
‘One at a time, my dear. This is the land of possibility where intentions are set and dreams manifest into reality,’ she replied, putting her hand over mine.
‘Where’s that then?’
She laughed. ‘You know the answer to that.’
‘So how did I get here?’
‘By leaving all that you know to be true behind—the safety of your home, your family, your routine—you took a leap of faith.’
‘It was only because I knew I saw him. I’ve never seen something like that with such clarity. I’ve come in search of him you know.’
‘I know,’ she replied.
‘Do you know where he is and how I can find him?’
‘He’s not as far as people think but few really find him. Some make it their life’s work, some come so close but then for reasons that appear mysterious only to others decide to turn back. There are even many who know his exact whereabouts but decide to leave him be, because they know that life can never be the same once they are touched by him. You do know that, don’t you? When you follow your dream, your fears will follow you.’
Life would never be the same after this whole episode, regardless. My fears were the least I had to worry about.
‘Is he near here somewhere? Am I on the right track?’
‘Have patience and all will be revealed to you when you are ready. Focus hard on your intention and then let go. If you do this, he will surrender himself effortlessly.’
‘That’s all?’
‘Just one more thing. Do not stand in your own way by having a fixed set of outcomes, for there is beauty in the adventure of not knowing—of not being certain.’ With both hands, the Gypsy clasped my hand so tightly that I wanted to cry. I knew that grip well; my grandmother had done that same thing to me before she sent me off, and I never saw her again.
At that moment I was desperately trying to think of the last thing my grandmother said to me. Many times I have tried to remember.
‘When you are unsure of what to do, just be still and listen in here,’ the Gypsy whispered, tapping against her chest.
Tears rolled down my face.
‘And if you are still unable to hear, just breathe.’
As I walked back to the village I focussed hard on my intention to see the African dancer in whatever shape or form he decided to present himself, and then I attempted to let go by surrendering my desire, thinking that if it didn’t work out, another fate, perhaps a better one, would be presented to me.
The boys were all playing in the square as I made my way to
