- Harry AnderS -
Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer
The wonderful adventures of a little Gypsy boy
Born as a Prince 1
Book 1: Heir to the Throne
- by Harry AnderS -
A children's series of stories
In book 1 'Heir to the Throne'; a little Gypsy boy narrates the story of his first five years in a secluded place in the Rumanian mountains, surrounded by huge woods and dense forests.
He is the Heir to the Throne, and soon he will be our Chief Cook(ie) and a Real Trapper...
Book 2 'Our Lucky Mascot' will follow; where he discovers the gadjo world outside, is imprisoned during a police raid, has his own little snow scooter, and finally travels to foreign countries...
Chapter 8 ended with:
At last, all of us were stuffed to the brim, and burped loudly to thank the pig for offering its meat.
A couple of mothers took their little kids to their caravans, to wash them and put them to bed.
This time, my Mom and Dad didn't take me to our caravan, as they always did before.
I didn't need a diaper any more, so from now on I belonged to the grown-ups!
From now on, I was allowed to join them around the campfire until I was too tired and decided to go to bed myself...
I looked around with a proud face, while all the 'diapers' were tucked in.
Now I was a REAL Big Boy.
I was dead-tired from all the adventures of the day, but didn't want to leave our group until the sleep would force me.
I BELONGED to our group now!
Chapter 9. Washing, swimming, gadjo stories, and what is money.
All the other grown-ups went to their caravans, and returned naked.
They carried a basket of yellow soap lumps, and beckoned us to join them.
We followed them through the bushes to our waterfall, to wash all the blood, stain, and pig fat from our bodies.
Our woods were a bit spooky this time, as the sun was already setting...
However, I was a big boy now, and didn't flinch or cry!
Secretly, I wanted to hold my parent's or Misha's hand, but I straightened my back and proudly declined.
None of the others were holding hands, so why should I...
We went straight to our waterfall, where a couple of grown-ups helped the smaller kids descend the steep ridge.
We raced to the inviting water, and threw ourselves under the cold-water stream.
Again, we jumped up and down and panted, until our bodies were used to the cold and we were able to breathe again.
Now, we started to frolic around and chase each other; until the grown-ups called us.
The grown-ups lathered us up, and carefully washed away all the sticky fat and smear, using the yellow soap lumps.
My Dad washed me, still looking proudly at his young old trapper son who had caught a real pig and killed it using only one blow!
After the grown-ups had washed us, they helped each other wash and rinse their greasy bodies until finally everybody was spotlessly clean.
In procession, we went to our lake, to have a swim and wash the remainders of the soap away.
I jumped immediately into the inviting water, and splashed a couple of handfuls at my Dad:
"Come on, lazy slug! I want to dunk you! Or are you afraid of me?"
My Dad was stunned to see I was already able to swim on my own:
"Who has taught you to swim? I was prepared to teach you myself, but I can see you are already a real water rat."
"Misha taught me this afternoon. And look, I can dive under water too!"
"Misha, you did an excellent job! Thank you for looking after my son and teaching him how to swim."
Misha blushed at the compliment, and cannonballed himself into the water.
I dived under the surface, saw Misha, took hold of a leg, and pulled him down with all my force.
He started to kick around to get rid of me, and impatiently waited until I had to resurface to breathe...
After twenty seconds, I had to let him go, and popped up to fill my lungs with fresh air.
Misha came after me and tried to catch me, but I dived under the surface again.
I swam away, and popped up behind his back, teasingly splashing water at him and at my grinning Dad.
Now, both of them swam after me, got me, and together they lifted me out of the water and threw me far away.
I hit the surface, went under, popped up, and swam back immediately to ask for more...
For the rest of my life, I LOVED that game of dunking and being thrown away, and could never get enough of it!
Too soon, the sun disappeared, and everything became too chilly.
Reluctantly, we left the lake and climbed the ridge with a little help from the grown-ups.
We followed the steep ravine, crossed the bushes, and went to our campfire to warm up.
A few grown-ups had tended our campfire during our absence.
They had raked the fire and put more branches onto it, so that we could warm ourselves in the nicely radiating glow.
All the children went to a nice and cozy lap, to sit on and feel warmed and safe.
This time, I sat on my Dad's lap, feeling wonderful and loved.
Misha sat opposite us on Michail's lap, and looked at me with a beaming face.
Michail held him close in his strong arms, and slowly cradled him.
I knew that Misha had lost his own Dad a couple of years ago in a nasty caravan accident, and was delighted to see that Michail and Misha seemed to like each other.
I felt I had found a friend in Misha, and smiled broadly at both of them.
Both of them returned my smile, and waved.
The grown-ups started to tell us their stories, and soon I was listening open-mouthed...
They told us about the wintertime, when nearly all the animals were in hibernation.
Every day, the kids returned from our woods empty-handed and hungry, unable to find any food.
Now, the grown-ups had to find work in what they called the 'gadjo' world, being the mysterious world outside our mountains.
There, people lived in 'houses', being huge two-story or even three-story caravans without any wheels attached.
Everybody, even the smallest children, had to wear some kind of garment during the whole day!
They had to wear some clothing even in mid-summer, when it was way too hot to wear anything.
What a strange world was that!
After our grown-ups had been working in the gadjo world, they were 'paid' for the work they had done.
They didn't get any food or things, but 'money', being small pieces of paper with little signs on it.
With that 'money', they could 'buy' us food and clothes in certain gadjo places called 'markets' or 'shops'...
Of course, I had lots of questions about that strange 'gadjo' money:
"Why do you have to work to get those pieces of paper? Can't you make that 'money' yourself?"
Everybody started to laugh, and I felt frustrated...
Did I ask them such a stupid question?
My Dad ruffled my hair, and told me:
"My little Harry, you still have quite a lot to learn. Money is made of a special paper, and the little signs on it are very difficult to copy. If you try to duplicate money and they are able to catch you, they will send you to a 'prison' and lock you up for a long time, as a punishment. It's just not permitted..."
Michail rummaged in his pocket, and handed a rectangular piece of a colored paper to Misha.
Misha hopped off his lap, and handed it to me with a smile.
For the first time in my life, I looked at a piece of gadjo 'money', used in the gadjo world to buy things.
My Dad had taught me to read, so I could decipher what the piece of paper told me:
"A one followed by four zero's, is that a lot? And what's the meaning of the word 'LEI'?"
"Yes, ten-thousand is quite a lot, but not for this money. And 'LEI' is what this money is called."
"You were saying 'this money', so maybe there are other kinds of money as well?"
"Every country has its own kind of money. This is the Rumanian money, from our own country."
I looked again at that enormous number, ten times thousand...
How much would ten-thousand be in reality? I tried to picture ten-thousand caravans around our campfire...
"You can really buy ten-thousand caravans, by using this little piece of paper in the gadjo world?"
Suddenly, they all bellowed with laughter and slapped their knees, leaving me very frustrated...
Where was the fun? Did I ask them something stupid again?
Eventually, they calmed down, and told me that everything in the gadjo world has its own 'price' or 'value'.
When you want to buy a piece of something, you have to pay its price using those small pieces of paper.
When you have done some work, they will pay you the value of the amount of work you did.
They can even punish you for doing stupid things, by giving you a 'fine', being an amount of money you will have to pay to the 'state' or to the gadjo police, as a punishment.
The money in other countries has other 'values'.
For example, 10000 LEI in Rumania represents only 4 DOLLARS in a foreign country far away that's called 'America'...
I had to think this new information over first, and retreated a bit...
Everything sounded logical, but where was the catch?
Supposed, I was hungry and living in a forest, and I had lots of that gadjo money...
How would I be able to buy myself some food, using those little pieces of paper in the middle of nowhere?
What would be the 'value' of that gadjo money, if you weren't able to reach any shop or market to buy yourself something with it?
By using that gadjo money, you were FORCED to live near other gadjo people who were using that same kind of money!
If you were living on your own, or far away from other gadjo people, that money didn't represent any value at all...
That gadjo 'money' did ultimately cost you your personal freedom!
There was the catch...
But, maybe I tried to be too witty now, or did I overlook something important?
At last, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer I started to yawn, and asked my Mom to put me to bed.
Together, we went to our caravan, and my Mom tenderly kissed me and wished me goodnight.
I closed my eyes, fell asleep, and started to dream.
After a while, my dream changed into a nightmare...
I had to work for huge piles of LEI, that represented only the value of one old and wrecked caravan...
I woke up thrashing around, and silently crept in between my parents to feel safe and protected.
That helped, and soon I was in a sound and dreamless sleep, until the morning sun woke us up.
Thank you for reading the next chapter of my story 'Born as a Prince 1'.
This is the first book of the series, called 'Heir to the Throne'. Many more books will follow...
Enjoy the reading, and help us make our world a better place!
Have a look at my OTHER story, about a retired psychotherapist taking the now eight years old and severely burnt little Gypsy boy into his house and raising him.
The story is on Nifty in adult-youth, contains NO sex, and is callled: 'Born to be a King'...
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.