Gypsy wind

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Just two chapters, my dear friends❤️ It's quite hard at the moment to write a multiple-chaptered story🙏

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Vegas has always felt like an alien. In his own family and his uncle's family. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was not his father's own son at all.

When he is discharged from the hospital, where the treatment was generously paid for by the main family, Vegas does not know where to go. Of course, he didn't end up on the street in an instant. He has a place to go back to. But the thing is, he doesn't want to go back there. Macau, thank Heaven, can study abroad. And Vegas has a decent amount in its account.

The decision comes by itself.

Spain. His eighth country in a row. And this evening Vegas wanders aimlessly through the old streets of Granada, hearing guitar rhythms coming from afar. He goes to the sound of music and notices a group gathered in a circle of tourists like him. However, among the crowd and on the outskirts there are still people who are very different from the guests of the Costa Tropical coast. Women of all ages are entirely in long bright skirts with slits, from under tight tops you can see open brown shoulders, along which waterfalls of thick black hair flow along their backs and arms. Some have headscarves tied piratically on their heads, others have flowers stuck in. There are massive earrings in her ears, rows of beads and chains with coins on her necks. There are coins on handkerchiefs tied diagonally at the hip. To match the clothes — bright makeup, especially on the eyes and lips, clearly standing out against the dark skin. The men next to them, with the same black hair and eyes, chat loudly among themselves in a language that only they understand. Many have moustaches and beards. Someone has guitars and violins in their hands. Each has a ring in one ear, which flickers with the glare from a small fire burning in the center of the circle. A young gypsy couple is dancing next to it. The girl herself is like fire, every wave of her hands and hair is like a flash of fire. The guy does not yield to her, sometimes moving towards her and imperiously pulling her to him by her slender waist, then retreating, as if rejecting her forever.

Vegas chuckles softly and thinks: in essence, being a gypsy means never having a real home, never staying anywhere for more than a month or two. And although he himself had a place to live for a long time, it never became home to Vegas. In this sense, his life, especially now, is not much different from the gypsy one. Vegas' gaze falls on a group of gypsies at a distance from the circle. For some reason, one stands out among them. Vegas tilts his head, trying to get a better look at him. The same black hair curling at the neck; a bright colorful shirt, an ear ring... but maybe his skin is a little lighter and makes him a black sheep among the rest of the gypsies?

The guy laughs loudly, throwing back his head, slaps the older gypsy on the shoulder and continues to chat animatedly with the others, gesticulating strongly. And suddenly his gaze sharply crosses with Vegas. The latter shakes his shoulders: it is indecent to stare so openly. Then he turns his gaze back to the dancers. After a while, he still can't resist and squints to the side, but he no longer sees that young gypsy there. Hmm... well, okay.

"Did you know that flamenco originated in Calé dancing?" it sounds on the left in good Thai.

Vegas turns the hull to the left. The guy in the flowered shirt. He wears capris with ties to the middle of his muscular calves, and his feet are bare, as one might assume.

"Uh... Calé?"

"Well, yes!" they smile back with perky dimples. "These gypsies are Calé."

"These gypsies? So you're... you're not one of them?" Vegas raises his eyebrows.

"Do I look like them?" The guy laughs.

Vegas shrugs his shoulders:

"Even if... but you know their language well, right? I noticed how you talked to…"

"Ramirez," they specify the name of the older gypsy, "he is my gypsy uncle."

"Uncle? I'm completely confused then... who are you anyway?"

"Pete,"  the guy holds out his hand, Vegas also holds out his own, waiting for the usual handshake, but Pete grabs it tightly and pulls him along, "let's go!"

"Where to?.."

"To Felicia! She's a fortune teller. We just need cash," Pete raises his free hand and rubs his thumb and forefinger together, "you know, cash, they haven't gotten the hang of accepting cards yet. However, if you open your mouth, your cards will go to them entirely. So be on your guard! And don't buy it when they give you rosemary for free 'for luck'. They don't do anything for free."

"Mmm, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Come on! Sacromonte is just around the corner, and where else will you find out your fate?"

Vegas has heard about this residential area of Granada, where the local gypsies live.

"And if I don't want to know it?"

"Hmm, well, that's also an argument. Then just go! Look," Pete nods at the empty circle, "it's over. Are you going to stand here alone?"

Vegas catches sight of the bonfire:

"It should be put out."

"The gypsy wind will blow it out. Let's go!" Pete takes a couple of steps, so Vegas has to follow him.

"You didn't even ask my name."

"So what? Is it so important that I know your name?"

"You don't even know who I am."

You don't know me either. The name may be made up."

I suppose that's the way it is...

"Shall we fix the situation? Since you've persuaded me to go somewhere, maybe you can tell me who you are on the way."

"Nah," Pete laughs, squeezing his hand a little harder, "you're going to tell me my story."

"How?"

"Try to guess. And I'll tell you whether it is or not."

"Well," Vegas grins, "I'll try. So. Did your parents travel to these places once, and the gypsies kidnapped and raised you?"

Pete is all twisted up with laughter. He's really shaking so much that he almost falls to the ground:

"Yeah, yeah, right, and I absorbed Thai with my mother's milk and therefore still remember it?"

"Damn it. Of course, I did not take this into account. But okay, you could just learn it later."

"Why? It is, as it were, not included in the rank of the most widely spoken languages in the world."

"I find it difficult to explain."

"Okay, okay, you're right, I've just been waiting my whole life for such a Thai hunk to loom on the horizon and I can finally apply my knowledge," Pete winks at him with a laugh in his voice.

"Very funny."

"For sure."

Vegas purses his lips, and Pete looks at him:

"It's my turn, right?"

"Come on."

"Well, it's easy. You are an ordinary tourist from Thailand traveling over Europe. Judging by the worn-out sneakers, this is at least your fifth country, maybe more. You've already been to the Czech Republic, Germany, Belgium and France, right?" Pete looks at the badges on Vegas denim jacket.

"Well, well," Vegas nods, "I've visited a little more countries, Spain is already the eighth."

"Gosh!"

"That's it?"

"You really want to forget something."

Vegas is on alert.

"I think that's enough deduction for today. I also have no desire to go to fortune tellers. But we can take a walk here. Only you're barefoot... you'll bleed your feet on the streets."

"No. I'm used to it."

"Whatever you say."

Pete does not let go of his hands, leading him along a route only he knows, while Vegas tries to cope with the flow of impressions from the last hour of this evening under the purple Spanish sky.