The Fourth Tale:
The Gypsies
I had been banging pots and pans together for the past half of an hour. I had dragged them out of the cupboards out of sheer boredom and now that I was tinkering I noticed they made some interesting noises. To a child these noises are magical music. To an adult these noises are ear-splitting shrill clangings that must be stopped at all costs.
Mother stood with her hands on her hips looking stern and absolutely enraged. I stopped my banging for a moment to listen to what she had to say.
"If you're not good," threatened mother, "the gypsies will come and take you away."
Of course, being five years old I laughed at my mother and continued my steady barrage of percussion concussion. Within a few hours I tired of my little game and decided it was about time for a nap. I left my pile of dishes where they were and crawled to the daybed father had built in the corner of his office. He napped there sometimes when he was tired of working and didn't mind if one of us kids crawled in and tucked ourselves under his arms.
I curled up by myself, wrapped in the little tan blanket knitted by some crusty old aunt who gave us funny little animal pajamas for every birthday and scarves for every holiday in-between. I couldn't have been sleeping long when I was woken by a strange sound.
The light slanting over my eyelids was erratic. There was some sort of clicking or rather a clucking. It was unsteady, like the light flickering over my shuttered eyes. I opened them slowly, afraid of what I might find.
What I saw before me took my breath away. I was situated in a tiny wagon parked at the bottom of a hill, surrounded by thick woods.