- Harry AnderS -
Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer

'Born to be a King'
- by Harry AnderS -

An inspirational fantasy



    A retired psychotherapist meets a severely burnt little Gypsy boy, and takes him into his house.
The boy turns out to be the Heir to the Throne.

This emotional rollercoaster hints at past lives, spirit helpers, karma, the Power of Love, and contains several practical psychological concepts.
The story is written by a retired Dutch psychotherapist, living in The Netherlands, and specialized in supporting troubled children.


Chapter 13 ended with:

    The next morning, I woke up with two yawning boys on my stomach.
Both of them grinned lazily and competed slowly for the best place...
We woke up a bit more, and decided to dress and go downstairs.
I had to phone the transplant clinic, with excuses for not canceling the other day.
Maybe I could set another appointment for this afternoon, if possible...

    I went to my desk, stretched my hand out, and the phone rang...
Surprised, I glared at the bewitched thing, which promptly rang again.
Now I started to laugh.
Obviously, somebody else was trying to phone me at the same time!
    I picked up the receiver:

    "Hello..." I grumbled, hoping it wouldn't be somebody trying to sell me something I didn’t need at all...

    "Escuse sir, do... small boy, Harold Janovski Romani, live you house, speak me, yes, please?"


Chapter 14. A foreign phone call, returning memories, and an abused son.

    I was in doubt about how I should answer this weird phone call...
I heard a male voice, nearly in tears, talking with a strange accent, clearly not used to speaking our language.
Who was this man? And who was the 'small boy' he was talking about?
A certain Harold Janov...

    Suddenly, I sat upright, feeling surprised.
That had to be my boy!
Harold something Romani... that had to be our little Harry!
Why would such a strange sounding man want to talk to little Harry?
    I decided to ask the man a few questions first, to try to find out who he was:

    "I DO have a small boy here, who is called 'Harold Romani'. However, may I politely ask you who YOU are, and what you want?"

    The man told me his name, a strange sounding name, something like 'Michail'...
I could hardly understand the rest, due to his sobbing and his heavy accent:

   "Me... telephone boy, please? Boy in telephone? Yes? Harold, speak me? Please..."

    Obviously, he wanted to talk to little Harold, but why?
Maybe, he was one of those foreign gypsies my lawyer had been looking for since yesterday...
Had they found their Heir to the Throne, my little Prince Harold?
Could I trust this man, and ask my little soul mate to listen to him?
I thought I felt Jack around, telling me in my head: "Yes!"
    Okay, I will ask little Harry to listen to the man:

    "Sorry, sir. I am starting to understand now, I think... A moment please, I will ask little Harry to talk to you..."

    "Harry? I have a man on the phone; and I think he is asking for you, but he is only speaking a strange sounding language. May I ask you to try to understand him?"

    Little Harry looked surprised; and he took the receiver with some hesitation:

    "Yes? This is Harry speaking..."

    Suddenly, his face lit up, and his blue eyes started to sparkle:

    "Issi MICHAIL? Taj!!! Issi Harold!"

    He started to stammer a couple of strange sounding words, obviously having difficulties in finding the right ones...
He listened... and answered again, looking frustrated about not being able to speak his own language properly...
    Now, he turned towards me, and I saw so much love in his beaming eyes...

    "My people have found me, Dad. Michail asks me to tell you he is grateful, and my clan wants to meet you and me as soon as possible..."

    "Could you ask him where he is living, and how we can meet?"

    Again, little Harry had to look for the right words, but the man seemed to understand him.
They talked for a couple of seconds, and little Harry turned towards me again:

    "My people are living in Rumania, in a Romany camp in the mountains. A couple of them will be here by airplane, tomorrow, early in the morning, to meet us. They will try to get an interpreter, so that you can follow our conversation."

    "Well... they will be welcome here, but only if you REALLY want to meet them..."

    "OF COURSE, I want to meet my own people!" little Harry answered, sounding a bit annoyed about such a silly question...

    He returned to the receiver, and again uttered a couple of strange sounding words.
He listened, nodded, and answered again, stammering less and less...
His face lit up; and, now and then, he looked at me with beaming eyes.
Again, he tried to tell the man a couple of things...

    The man and he talked for a long time, and little Harry started to speak his own language more and more fluently.
Obviously, his memories about the first six years of his life were returning...
I also observed a subtle change in his posture.
He stood more upright, had more pride in his gestures, and something I could only describe as an aura of Royalty...

    Eventually, little Prince Harold put the receiver back, leaned into me, and started to sob.
I took him to our couch, sat him on my lap, and slowly cradled him.
John draped his arm around him from the other side, and offered him a couple of tissues.
Little Harry smiled faintly, and blew his nose a couple of times.

    The telephone started to ring again, and I left the couch and went to my desk...

    "Yes, hello?" I told the receiver; expecting to hear the Rumanian voice, asking for little Harry again...

    To my surprise, my lawyer answered; asking for my name to check he was talking to the right person...
With a proud voice, he announced that he had found little Harry's own Gypsy clan somewhere in Rumania!
He had faxed them my phone number and all the other information they asked for; and, within a couple of days, they certainly would contact me...
    He nearly fell off his chair when I told him they had already phoned me:

    "But... they didn't speak a word of our language, and I had to hire an interpreter to be able to talk to them..."

    I told him about the conversation one of them had with little Harry, and about our pending meeting the next morning.
He promised us to be present, to have a look at the legal consequences and to keep a close eye on everything else concerning little Harold something Romani.
What was his middle name? Oh yeah, 'Janovski'...

    I returned to the couch, and both boys melted into my sides.
Little Harry stared into space for a long time, with tears in his eyes.
Now and then, he heaved a deep sigh.
Slowly, he returned from his reminiscences, and he took another tissue from John's package.
    He crawled onto my lap, and started to tell:

    "What a strange feeling, Dad. I could understand Michail, and knew what I wanted to tell him, but I could hardly find the right words in my own language...
    "Then, all my memories returned. I could almost smell our campfire, and hear our violins playing beautiful music. I was their little Prince; and everybody was very fond of me. Michail was... oops, IS sort of a second father to me, and he always cared for me when my parents had to be elsewhere. He has two little sons, but they were way too young and no fun to play with...
    "We had a gang of children about my age and older, and always went into our woods, to catch small animals to eat, and follow wild tracks. We were always naked, but had to dress when we visited a gadjo town to beg for food or money. Gadjo people didn't like us Gypsies, were always afraid of us, and mostly chased us away. Now and then, we got something to eat when we were nearly starved; but, most of the time, we went home still being hungry and disappointed...
    "Now and then, police officers raided our camp, looking for things we were supposed to have stolen, but they never found anything. Sometimes, they arrested a couple of men, but my people always quickly hid my parents and me. The last time, we were warned in advance, and we were able to flee. We went to a small caravan and a car, hidden in the woods for just this purpose. We drove through a couple of foreign countries, planning to return when everything would be safe again..."

    Little Harry kept on talking and talking, and he couldn't stop...
He told us all the details of what he remembered about his mountains, the caravans, his parents, the festivities where he was dressed in a black and golden gown and had to sit next to his father...
He told us about the times when everybody got arrested; and when the camp was nearly empty except for the smaller children and a few elderly women...
He told us about their gang of naked children, setting traps and roasting their caught animals, and that he was their Chief Cook and provided them with lots of spicy herbs every day...
With a proud face, he told us that he was the youngest trained Real Trapper, and allowed to cross the woods alone. He also was one of the best in hiding and sneaking around...
He was the youngest boy ever who had caught a real badger, and his Mom had needled a nice fur coat out of its skin...

    He talked non-stop; until, at last, John picked him up and put him down at the computer to play an adventure game.
That helped.
The rest of the day they were busy, puzzling how to avoid dangerous monsters and where to enter the next hidden cave...

    I phoned the clinic, and excused myself for having an urgent family affair that prevented my son and me from showing up.
Fortunately, they were very understanding; and we set a new appointment, two days from now.
Next, I phoned the airport, to ask what time the flight from Rumania would arrive...
They knew nothing about any flight from that direction! No Rumanian plane would arrive in our country within the next few days...
Now I was puzzled. Did little Harry misunderstand the phone call?

    I asked him, but he was quite sure: his people would arrive the next morning, by plane.
I called my lawyer, and he didn't know what to think of it...
He promised me to contact his interpreter again, and let him ask the Romany people about their time of arrival; and where they had planned to disembark...

    Half an hour later, he phoned me back.
They were already on their way, by private charter flight, and would arrive the next morning around nine o'clock.
They had even ordered a big limousine, to transport everybody to our address...
They had planned to be at our house around ten o'clock, and would fly home the same afternoon.
They were bringing their own interpreter, and had politely asked if I would allow them to take a couple of photographs in my house.
They were also carrying all legal papers concerning little Harold and his deceased parents...
I had to expect at least three noblemen, one interpreter, one photographer, one secretary; and, of course, my own lawyer, my two boys, and myself.

    The boys and I deliberated about how to rearrange the living room for at least ten people...
Fortunately, Davey showed up, and enthusiastically helped us remove the dinner table and move our chairs into a circle.
The boys told him everything about the newest developments; and that tomorrow our house would be crowded with little Harry's people...
He promised us to be there the next day as well, to help us providing drinks and catering for our foreign visitors...
    He beamed, jumped up, and threw his arms around my neck:

    "Thank you, Dad, for letting me help you with such an important meeting!"

    "You are welcome, son."

    "I like that, when you're calling me 'son'!"

    I smiled, and ruffled my third boy's hair some more...

    We decided to visit the supermarket again, and little Harry put his mask on with a little help from John and Davey.
We roamed all the isles, and bought everything we thought we might need, to provide enough snacks for so many people...
The boys helped, by putting everything away in the refrigerator and in the various cupboards.
Finally, we were ready to receive our foreign guests in style!

    That evening, Davey and John cooked our dinner.
Of course, little Harry directed everything, as befits a real chief cook!
First, he went into his little garden, and provided his assistants with a couple of nicely smelling herbs.
Next, he sat down cross-legged on the kitchen table, and told them how to slice the herbs and add some other spices.
Then, he let them cook the potatoes and the vegetables, painstakingly supervising the process.
He tasted the mashed potatoes and the prepared vegetables, and told them to add a bit more salt.
Finally, he was satisfied, hopped off the kitchen table, and told us to sit down and savor the meal.

    Of course, the food tasted delicious again, and I complimented my boys with their cooking skills.
They beamed, and obviously felt very proud of themselves...

    "I think I want to be a real cook when I am older," Davey grinned,
    "and, of course, Harry and John could be my assistants."

    "In your dreams!" John answered, poking Davey in the ribs,
    "Maybe you might clean the floor in my restaurant, now and then..."

    "I will think about hiring both of you as my personal kitchen staff..." little Harry announced with a smug face.

    Both boys attacked him, and mercilessly tickled him until he surrendered and squealed:

    "That's not fair. Both of you are older than me. Dad, help me, I'm wetting my pants! Rape!"

    I grinned, and told John and Davey to leave the poor little baby alone.
Little Harry sent me a dead look, and raced upstairs to change out of his trousers...

    Soon he was back, grinning, and the boys started to wash the dishes and the cutlery.
I brewed myself a cup of coffee, and went to my couch in the living room.

    From the kitchen, I heard my boys, talking to each other and having some discussion.
After a while, they entered the room, and settled down next to me.
    John leaned into me, showing me his best puppy dog eyes:

    "Dad, wouldn't it be easier for Davey to spend the night here?"

    "Yes, Dad, that way he doesn't have to walk back and forth from his house to here!" little Harry added, showing puppy dog eyes number two.

    I looked at Davey, and saw puppy dog eyes number three, looking up at me longingly...
I chuckled, and told them:

    "I don't see any problems, but I think Davey will have to ask his mother first..."

    They raced out of the door, even forgetting to hug me.
Soon, they were back; and Davey shouted, with beaming eyes:

    "YES! I'm allowed to spend the night here! Yippee..."

    He jumped up, threw his arms around my neck, and tried to suffocate me.
I grinned, and thought about the sleeping arrangements...
Would my waterbed be big enough for THREE growing boys plus me?
What if Jack kept his promise, and went on sending me even more of them to be their guide?

    The boys went upstairs, to show Davey their rooms and play one of John's little computer games.
I went to my computer, started a search engine, and typed in 'Romany'...
Soon, I was reading about a culture from the Balkan countries, consisting of around forty million people:

    Everybody else despises them, and nobody seems to trust them.
They are hunted, chased away, and murdered, from the early Middle Ages up to the present...
They have a very elaborate culture, and do not mix with 'gadjo', as they call all other people.
Their belief forbids them to live where one of them dies; and that's why they are living in their caravans, ready to move on if necessary...
They always have only one leader; and, after he dies, his natural son takes over.
The leader always mixes with his own people; and you can't recognize him by his clothes or by other characteristics, except for his known Royal Heritage.
The Romany mostly live from trading goods and manual labor; and, now and then, from begging.
Nobody outside their clans does really know them, as they are very self-contained and proud, and carefully conceal their culture from every gadjo.
Now and then, they call themselves 'Gypsies', to express they are free spirits and don't want to connect to gadjo or live in permanent houses.
They don't use any money amongst each other, but are forced to use it in the gadjo world to be able to buy cheap foods and clothes...

    Three excited boys rumbled down the stairs, and surrounded me:

    "Dad, do you have a little bit of your spare time for us? We would like to have sort of a talk with you..."

    Of course, I wouldn't dare not to have a little bit of my spare time for them!
I grinned, and we settled down on our couch in the living room.
    John opened the conversation:

    "Dad, Davey wants to spend the night with us, but he is afraid he will get another of his nightmares. His own father used to abuse him every night; and, now and then, he dreams that his father crawls into his bed and starts to do those nasty things again...
    "I've told him about Harry's nightmare, and how you comforted him and helped him to sleep again. Besides, Harry himself doesn't remember anything about a nightmare, and he is very surprised!
    "Harry and I agreed that tonight Davey will sleep in your waterbed, so that you can help him with his nightmares, if he gets them again...
    "There's another thing we want to talk about... Davey has never known a real Dad. He only knows a man that always tried to abuse him. Tonight, I want him to discover how a REAL Dad acts...
    "This night, Harry and I are sleeping together in Harry's room, since we will be able to sleep in your bed for the rest of our lives... Is that okay with you?"

    I tried to answer them, but my throat choked up and didn't let me...
I loved my precious boys so deeply and totally!
I merely nodded, nearly squashing them in my arms.

    Davey looked at me with a hint of fear in his eyes, and hesitated:

    "Dad? John told me that both he and Harry are sleeping naked... Don't be mad at me for asking you, but are you sleeping naked too?"

    "Yes, normally I am sleeping naked too. That is, unless you want me to wear something tonight. Do you want me to do that?"

    "Nah, of course not. We are a family of naturists, so we are used to sleeping in our birthday suits and walking around naked from the moment we were born...
    "There is something else. My father used to crawl into my bed nearly every night, and play with my privates. When I woke up, I was mad at him, and started to punch and kick him until he left my bed. He didn't dare tell my Mom, and she never suspected anything, until one night he tried to put his thing in my behind and it started to bleed...
    "I always thought that every father did those things with his children; but I hated it, and I was always afraid of him...
    "Now I'm afraid that, if I happen to wake up in the darkness and feel you next to me, I will kick and punch you because I'm thinking you are my father..."

    Davey shuddered, looked at me with desperation in his eyes, and started to cry.
Immediately, little Harry put his arms around his friend's waist:

    "Let it go, Davey. Don't bottle it up. In a few minutes you will feel better..."

    Davey started to bawl his eyes out, desperately clamping onto me.
He nearly bruised my arms, and a deep wail escaped his throat.
I held him close, without saying a word, while John joined us from the other side.
Together, we sent our desperate friend as much love as we could muster, helping him to let go a lot of sorrow and anger.

    Davey cried for a long time, all the time clamping himself onto me with all his force.
At last, his sobs diminished, and his death grip started to relax.
John offered him a packet of tissues; and little Harry brought him a glass of water.
Patiently, we waited until our friend regained his strength and timidly looked around...

    "Sorry, Dad, for being such a crybaby... I hope you aren't mad at me?"

    "No, son, I am not mad at you... I'm only mad at your father, for causing a nice boy like you to endure so much pain! He should have known better..."

    "Thank you, Dad; and thank you, Harry and John. I'm feeling shivery and I've got a headache, but at the same time I'm feeling a lot better!"

    He hopped off my lap, washed his face in the kitchen, and went to the toilet.
The boys started a new game on the computer, and soon they were fighting dangerous monsters.
Everything else was forgotten...

    I started to think about our pending visit tomorrow.
My lawyer told me there were three noblemen... were they the substitute leaders, until their king would be old enough to reign?
They had asked my permission to take some photos... Did that mean they accepted me as being the guardian of their little Prince Harold?
Or, was I merely a 'gadjo' to them, and would they try to take their little Prince home...
I really hoped not... I didn't want to miss my little soul mate for all in the world!
Maybe, I could go with him, to that Romany camp in the Rumanian mountains, and raise him there?

    Eventually, the boys got tired of their computer monsters, and we decided to call it a day.
Tomorrow, we had to be bright and shining, to welcome little Harry's people...
We went upstairs, and John and little Harry immediately shucked their clothes.
I started to undress too, being much older and a bit slower.
Davey looked at me with some hesitancy, and blushed...
Obviously, he didn't want to undress while a man looked at him... being a naturist didn't seem to be of much help.

    I decided to tease him a bit, to help him overcome his shyness:

    "You are not going to run off naked again? At this time, it's rather cold outside!"

    He looked at me, grinned, and jumped up at me.
He tried to hold onto my neck, as he had seen little Harry doing many times before.
However, he did it a bit awkwardly, and I couldn't catch him because I had my trousers halfway my knees.
Both of us tumbled backwards, and landed on the floor...
    I mock-punched his arm; and complained:

    "Take it easy, please; and remember I am only an old man!"

    "You are only an old grandpa!" he teased me back, trying to pin my arms.

    "Attack of the werewolves!" John grinned, jumping onto my legs.

    "Attack of the creepy aliens!" little Harry shouted, jumping into the pile.

    Together, they pinned me to the floor, looking at me triumphantly.

    "We got your body, your heart, and your soul!" little Harry told me, looking into my eyes.

    "Yes, you can be absolutely sure of that!"

    "Huh?... You are crazy."

    They let me go, with a promise to get me back later...

    John and little Harry raced to the shower, while Davey and I undressed at a slower pace.
I smiled at the now naked Davey, and threw my arms around him.
For a moment, I saw a hint of fear in his eyes... but then he melted into my arms.
I lifted him off the floor, carried him to the shower, and put him down under the warm water stream.
His eyes beamed, and I thought this could be the first time a man carried him without having any ulterior motives...

    We lathered each other and washed each other's body and hair, as we always did.
Davey joined in, albeit a bit hesitantly when he had to wash my hair...
Finally, everyone dried everybody everywhere, teasing each other about looking like shriveled prunes.
While little Harry was drying Davey in the butt crack, I thought I saw Davey wince slightly, as if it was causing him some discomfort...
Did he have a wound there?

    John and little Harry headed for little Harry's bedroom, and jumped into their temporary bed.
I hugged both of them, kissed their foreheads, and wished them goodnight.
They entangled into each other, closed their eyes, and were asleep within a minute.
I grinned, and went to my own bedroom, hesitantly followed by Davey...

    I let myself fall down onto my waterbed, and beckoned him to join me.
He hesitated, looking a bit uncomfortable and shuffling his feet...

    "Come on, jump under the blankets! I promise I will not bite you, at least not this night..."

    "I know you will not bite me, but I'm not really used to sleeping with a grown-up..."

    "Would you rather go to John's room, and sleep in his empty bed?"

    He shook his head, and hesitantly entered my bed from the other side.
He slid under the blankets, leaving a huge distance between us...
I decided to let him have his own space, turned around, and closed my eyes.

    Two minutes later, I felt our first contact.
Slowly and carefully, Davey's body touched my back, and I felt him tremble and hold his breath...
I didn't react, and he let his breath go with a hissing sound.
Suddenly, he pressed himself against me with a deep sigh of content.
He threw an arm around my waist, and tried to melt into me.
I took his hand, and slowly caressed it.
My third boy had finally found his place...

    Five minutes later, Davey withdrew his arm, and lifted himself onto his elbows:

    "Dad? May I ask you something, please?"

    "Of course, son, you may always ask me anything. What's the trouble?"

    "I like that, you calling me 'son'... My butt is starting to itch awfully... Please, will you have a look at it?"

    I turned around to face him, and switched the bed lights on.
Davey threw the blankets aside; and lifted his butt onto a pillow, with both legs pulled up towards his shoulders.
Obviously, he had done this many times before...
He pulled his butt cheeks apart with his hands; and, for the first time in my life, I saw a boy's pucker.

    Involuntary, I held my breath and shuddered.
What a terrible mess!
I saw a dark ring around a small puckered hole, crossed by two ugly red scars and at least six stitches.
I couldn't help it; this time, I cursed!
Dammit! Was that a FATHER, who had done this to his own child?
That poor boy; stigmatized in his most private place for the rest of his life...

    "I know why you are cursing, Dad. I was too small for his big penis, so he tried to widen my butt hole with his fingers. I screamed from the pain, but he held his hand over my mouth and smacked me in the face. I fainted, and everything went black...
    "The next morning, I saw blood everywhere on the sheets. He put some cotton wool in my butt, and warned me not to say a word to my mother...
    "However, she saw all that blood on the sheets, and took me to a hospital..."

    I took Davey into my arms, and wept.
What devils there are in this world!
Davey wept with me, silently, with his head on my shoulder.
    Suddenly, I heard him whisper, barely audible:

    "Daddy, my new daddy, I'm so happy I've found you, and I want you to be my Dad for the rest of my life..."

    After a while, our sobbing ceased; and I took a few tissues from the nightstand.
We dried each other's eyes; and grinned a bit bashfully, now feeling totally at ease with each other...
    Davey repositioned himself onto his pillow, and asked me:

    "Do you have some baby-oil, or baby-powder, to put onto my scars?"

    "I'm only having a small bottle of massage-oil. Will that do?"

    "I don't know... But you could always wash it off, if it doesn't help."

    I got the bottle of oil, and carefully applied a few drops to his scars.

    "Thank you, Dad; that feels a lot better! Now let's go to sleep..."

    I switched the lights off, and we crawled under the blankets.
Davey trustfully wormed himself into my arms, and fell asleep with a deep sigh of content.

    I couldn't sleep for a long time, and felt all worked up...
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that beast... tearing his own son open in frustration, because his little butt hole was too tight for that big penis...
At last, I started to doze away.

    The door opened, and a small figure approached our bed.
He tried to crawl into it, felt Davey, walked around, and crawled onto my stomach with his nose in my left armpit and his arms around my neck.
Little Harry heaved a deep sigh, and fell asleep in his usual place.
The door opened again.
Another figure tried to crawl into the bed, felt Davey, walked around, and John melted against my other side with a deep sigh.

    I LOVE my boys.
I think I'm in love with all three of them!



Thank you for reading the next chapter of my emotional rollercoaster 'Born to be a King'.
Enjoy the reading, and help us make our world to be a better place!

Have a look at my OTHER story, about the same little Gypsy boy growing up in a secluded place in the Rumanian mountains; this time seen from his own point of view. You may click this link.
The other story is on Nifty in 'young-friends', and is callled: 'Born as a Prince'...

All my stories are on my own homepage as well: http://www.harryanders.com

I would LOVE to receive your comments.
Please, write me an email now and then...
Harry AnderS, Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer.