- Harry AnderS -
Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer

The wonderful adventures of a little Gypsy boy

Born as a Prince 2
Book 2: Our Lucky Mascot
- by Harry AnderS -

A children's series of stories

http://www.harryanders.com
harry@harryanders.com

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...

This is book 2 'Our Lucky Mascot'; where he discovers the gadjo world outside, is imprisoned during a police raid, has his own little snow scooter, and finally travels to several foreign countries...

Book 2 chapter 5 ended with:

Being impressed by the sudden silence, we left our truck and caravan, and gathered around Michail.
    He looked at us, one by one, showing a sad expression, as if he didn't want to let us go:

    "Your parents did already explain what you have to do? Always be polite, but try to be persistent in telling the people you and your family are hungry and don't have any money to buy food...
    "Try to produce a couple of tears, as sometimes tears seem to help with the begging, by making good-hearted people feel more sympathy...
    "Don't ever enter any houses on your own, and always be very careful not to be trapped or get lost in an unknown part of the town...
    "Now, the more experienced children will choose one of the younger ones to guide and help them, and all the others will pair up as well...
    "Please, return to us as soon as you are in any trouble, or else, at any time before the sun starts to descend. We will wait here for you."

    Michail hugged us, one by one, showing tears in his eyes, while he told us to be brave and very careful.
I didn't fully understand why he was crying, but decided not to ask him.
Maybe, I would soon be able to find it out for myself...

    Misha immediately turned towards me, before one of the other youngsters had any chance to claim him:

    "Do you want us to go together again?"

    "Well... I'm not quite sure... perhaps one of those other boys will be more entertaining?"

    Misha chuckled and started to tickle my ribs mercilessly, until I squealed and begged for mercy.
Of course, we were going together, as usual!
We had never been in any doubt about that.

    Misha seemed to know the way, took my hand, and went to the surrounding shrubbery.
Walking together, we entered a small and winding path that disappeared into the bushes.
A couple of kids followed us, softly talking and joking, until we left the shrubs and stepped onto some pavement.
Suddenly, all of us were staring at the suburbs of a huge gadjo town!
I gasped in awe, and didn't know where I wanted to look first...

    At first, I felt totally overwhelmed by the sheer mass of everything.
Camp after camp showed up along several endless roads, stretching out and disappearing into even more camps.
All those camps were filled with enormous two-story caravans without any wheels to pull them away, lined up along the roads.
Most of the nearby gadjo caravans didn't look too nice, but some of them appeared to be a bit better, and a few even had cultivated gardens.
This wasn't at all what I had expected to see in the so-called gadjo world, and I needed some time to get used to the strange sight...

    The other kids hugged each other briefly, wished each other a good begging, and split up into pairs.
Each pair of kids went its own way towards the town, choosing several different roads.
How did they know where they had to go? To me, all those roads were looking exactly the same...
    I nudged Misha until he bent over, and whispered into his ear:

    "How do they know where they have to go, as all those camps are looking exactly the same?"

    Misha laughed and teasingly nudged me back:

    "There's no need for whispering here. We're not in our woods, you know, and you may talk, laugh, and even shout if you wish...
    "We are now in a 'suburb', that's like the outside of the town. Today, I want us to go to the 'central market', that's the place where we will have the best chance to get a lot of money and food...
    "The others are going to other markets or big malls, except for Joc and little Jonno who will be visiting the same central market from the other side."

    "But, all those roads and camps are looking exactly the same! How do you know which road you will have to take without getting lost?"

    "Well, have a look at this little plate... It's showing a name on it. Here, the roads are called 'streets', and every street has its own unique name, while every house has its own number...
    "That way, all the gadjo's are having their own 'addresses', consisting of the name of their street, their house number, and the name of their town. Thus, they are always able to find each other throughout the country, and they even can send each other personal letters and packages by using a post office."

    I had to think this new information over for a while, and followed Misha in silence...
Wow, those gadjo's had found a really clever solution! Everything sounded very logical.
Of course, in our small community, everybody knew where everybody else's caravan was, and the only things we needed to know were our names.
However, in this enormous town, having thousands of nearly identical caravans... oops, sorry, 'houses'... they had to use sort of a system to be able to know where everybody else was living...
Maybe, those gadjo's were not that stupid after all?

    We walked towards one of those paved roads that were called 'streets', and now I had a better look at all the lined-up gadjo houses.
All of them had front doors and a couple of windows, just like our own caravans, but they were made of a kind of rectangular reddish pieces of rock!
No wonder they had no wheels and couldn't be moved away... They would be way too heavy to pull them, even with the help of Michail's enormous truck!
Why didn't those gadjo's build their houses from less heavy wood and plastic, as our own caravans were made of?
That would make their lives a lot easier, and moving away shouldn't be such a problem any more...

    Several men and women were walking around their gardens or sitting in plastic folding chairs, all of them being clad in their grayish clothes.
Fully dressed children were frolicking around and playing their games, even though the sun was shining abundantly.
They had to be very warm and sweaty by now, but didn't seem to be hindered by their funny looking garments.
Now, I was very happy to be living in our own Gypsy camp, where we were allowed to go naked every time we wanted...
I really pitied those sweaty gadjo children!

    Misha and I walked along the street, looking at the playing gadjo kids from a distance.
Suddenly, I thought I recognized what kind of a game they were playing, and I veered up.
They were obviously playing hide and seek, counting to twenty and looking for each other around their gardens...
That was a game our own kids were playing all the time, and I was VERY good at it!
I let go of Misha's hand and enthusiastically started to cross the road, wanting to join them for a while...

    Immediately, Misha bolted towards me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me back, looking shocked and hissing:

    "Don't go near them, because I'm sure they will not accept us and chase us away!"

    A couple of gadjo children looked up, saw us, grimaced, and called their friends to join them.
All of them huddled together, scowling and staring at us with hatred in their eyes...
    One of them even balled his fists, took a step towards us, and gave us the finger:

    "Look at your strange clothes! You are only a couple of thieves and vagabonds! Go away from here, and leave us alone!"

    He turned around, and yelled towards his house:

    "DAD, those Gypsies are in town again, and now they even brought their children!"

    He had a very strange sounding accent, but I was able to understand him by feeling the energy of his words.
Why was he so full of hate? We hadn't done anything to deserve this harsh treatment...
One of the other boys stooped down and snatched a small pebble from the street.
He took a step forward and tried to throw it at us, missing us by several feet.
Another boy followed his example, throwing a pebble that bounced up and hit me against my leg.
Fortunately, he didn't cause me any harm...

    Well, I was sure I could aim my pebbles a lot more precise than they were doing!
I was always practicing my skills by throwing them across our waterfall, and able to hit a small leaf from quite a distance...
    I picked up the pebble and wanted to throw it back, but Misha shook his head and groaned:

    "DON'T DO THAT!"

    He dragged me away from the huddle, showing a troubled face:

    "Don't do anything now, because that will make them even angrier, and there are too many of them."

    "Why are they angry with us? We didn't do anything to deserve this..."

    "I don't know why they are always angry with us. I think they just hate us Gypsies..."

    "That's crazy and total nonsense! We don't hate or pester them, so why should they hate us?"

    I let my pebble fall onto the ground with some regret; and we walked on, pretending not to be bothered by them.
Now, all the gadjo children started to shout at us and call us chickens.
Fortunately, they didn't try to follow us or throw any more pebbles.
Soon, we went around a corner and entered another paved street...

    I felt shocked, and didn't understand why those kids would hate us without even knowing us...
We hadn't done anything but showing up in their street, and yet they seemed to be angry with us.
Maybe, their parents had been telling them funny stories from the past about stealing gypsies?
Just like our parents were telling us funny stories from the past about nasty gadjo's and cruel witch hunts...
I started to understand what might be causing their rude behavior...

    Misha and I walked on, until we left the suburb and entered an even more dense part of the city.
Again, I looked in awe at block after block of enormous three-story and even multi-story houses holding many doors, again without any wheels to pull them away.
    I gasped, and didn't understand why those huge gadjo housed were showing so many doors:

    "Misha, why do those huge houses have so many different doors?"

    "Well, in those 'flats' or 'condominiums', many families are living in their own houses, and every family is having its own front door."

    I looked at a 'flat', or maybe this was a 'condominium', and started to count, wondering how big their houses would be:

    "I'm counting forty-eight windows in that flat; and there are only six doors. What does every family need eight windows for?"

    Misha started to laugh, and patiently explained:

    "After you're entering a front door; behind the door, a staircase is leading to the other floors. On every floor one family is living, and each family is using only two windows."

    I started to count again... forty-eight windows; that had to be twenty-four families living together in one huge building...
Twenty-four families, living together in one enormous four-story caravan, having four floors and using two windows each...
What a crazy world this was to live in!
Now, I was very happy to be living in our own small caravan, carrying only one family and having only one floor and one front door...

    We were walking on and on, until I started to be bored and asked:

    "Where are we going now, and when are we finally starting our begging?"

    "We are going to the 'central market', as I've told you. There will be lots of people having enough money, and maybe one of the booth owners will have something to eat for us."

    I didn’t know what a 'booth' was, but nodded without answering, and we walked on...

    Finally, we reached a huge square, being crowded with all sorts of little stalls.
Again, I was totally in awe, and looked around open-mouthed...
Many gadjo people were standing or seated in their small stalls or booths, loudly recommending their merchandise.
They were selling all sorts of food, clothing, pretties, knickknacks, and lots of nice looking things I had never seen before.
There were so many new things to look at, and suddenly I felt totally lost in the constantly and hurriedly moving crowd.
All those different energies around me were pulling at my nerves and making me unsure.
I felt dizzy and sweaty, and wanted to sit down and close my eyes to shut out those surrounding noises...

    Fortunately, Misha had seen my dismay and came over to rescue me.
He took my hand, and determinedly guided me to a nearby food stall.
    He pushed me in front of himself, put his safe arms around me, and showed me to the stall owner:

    "Please, sir, my little brother and I didn't eat for a couple of days, and we don't have any money either..."

    The stall owner looked at me, frowned, and suddenly bellowed with laughter:

    "Well, well, there's a little bastard Gypsy... I suppose your mother must have sold herself to a blond haired sailor with blue eyes?"

    I stared at the man in total confusion, feeling severely shocked by the roughness I sensed in his words.
I didn't quite understand what he told me, but it had to be something very mean and rude...
I felt it had to do with my Mom, and I loved her with all my heart and didn't want that man to despise her like this!
Slowly, a couple of tears welled up in my eyes; and I started to sniffle, trying to wipe them away with a sleeve of my shirt...

    To my utmost surprise, the man's face turned a deep red, while his eyes started to soften quite a lot.
He even averted them, as if he was suddenly ashamed of what he had said...
    He reached down, and took a huge paper bag from somewhere inside his stall:

    "Sorry, little man, I didn't really mean what I said. Come on; now dry your tears, because today is your lucky day!"

    The man started to fill the bag with all sorts of fresh and tasty looking foods.
He handed it to us, still looking a bit ashamed:

    "I hope your brother and you will have a good meal out of this. Now, move on, because you're hindering the other customers..."

    Misha took the bag, smiled, and politely thanked the man:

    "Thank you, sir, for your kindness! You are a good man."

    We left the stall, and Misha threw his arms around me and almost squashed me:

    "Wow, little man; that was amazing! I think I've made a good choice by choosing you as my buddy."

    "Why is that? I didn't do anything, and that man was using really mean words and offending my Mom..."

    "Who cares? Look at what is in this bag! Let's go on; and, please, keep getting tears in your eyes..."

    I wiped the remainder of my tears away, and hesitantly followed Misha towards another stall.
Maybe, the next stall owner would be a bit nicer?
I certainly didn't want to be a crybaby every time!
Ultimately, I was already almost six years old...

    Again, Misha pushed me in front of himself, and begged:

    "Please, madam, we didn't eat for the whole day, and my little brother is almost starving..."

    "I don't trust you! Go home, you thieves, and don't let me see you again. Your Gypsies have been stealing enough from us. Now, move on, or I will call the police!"

    Again, I was able to feel the energy of her too harsh words, and I was shocked by what I sensed.
Misha tried to drag me away, but I was frozen on the spot and refused to move on.
I stared at the woman's eyes in wonder, trying to understand what I was sensing...
Why was she so mean to us, while I could feel she had a good heart?
What was her real problem?
I looked into her soul, and saw a lot of grief and anger.
She didn't trust anybody any more; because, in the past, too many people had tried to betray her...

My eyes filled with tears, while I opened my heart and tried to send her my love.
She wasn't really mean, but only afraid to be betrayed again...
I went on sending her all the love I could muster, while I offered her my broadest smile.

    Misha started to be impatient, and forcefully pulled my arm to let me move on.
However, I resisted him and continued to send the poor woman my love.
Slowly, her demeanor changed, and now she got tears in her eyes...
Suddenly, she colored a deep red, and turned around to hide her face.
She took a couple of paper money flaps out of a box, without even looking at what she was doing.
Without saying a word, she handed me the money, and ushered me to go away...

    I accepted her money and handed it to Misha, while I continued to send her my love:

    "Thank you politely, madam, and I knew you would have a good heart!"

    "It's in your eyes... they remind me of my own kid when he was younger... you are a good boy!"

    She started to cry, turned around, and got a box of tissues.
 She didn't turn back until we had completely disappeared into the crowd...
    Again, Misha threw his arms around me and almost squashed me:

    "Look at what that woman gave to you! That's quite a lot of money. How did you do that?"

    "I don't know. I looked at her, and could feel her grief and anger. That's when I started to sob..."

    "Please, keep doing that again and again! Your tears are opening a goldmine!"

    Misha put our money away carefully; and we went to a small wooden bench and sat down to have a short break.
He opened the paper bag, and offered me a tasty looking roll that was filled to the brim with sort of a yellowish pudding.
He took one himself as well, and now both of us were munching on the nice tasting gadjo delicacies.
Finally, my stomach stopped rumbling, giving me a good feeling.
The only thing I had for breakfast this morning, had been one apple...

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Thank you for reading the next chapter of this story 'Born as a Prince 2 - Our Lucky Mascot'.
This is the SECOND book of the children's series. Many more books will follow, just be patient...
Enjoy the reading, and help us make our world a better place. We need you!

Have a look at my ADULT stories, about a retired Dutch psychotherapist taking the now eight years old and severely burnt little Gypsy boy into his house and raising him.
The adult story is on Nifty in adult-youth, contains NO sex, and is callled: 'Born to be a King'...
Just click this link to go to Nifty, or go to my homepage to read the latest versions.

All the stories are on my own homepage as well: http://www.harryanders.com
Just click this link to go there and read the latest and rewritten versions (recommended)!

I would LOVE to receive your comments or appreciations...
Please, send me an email , to let me know the story has at least some impact on you.

I wish you lots of Love in your Life, and Profound Peace in your Heart.
Harry AnderS, Dutch psychotherapist and alternative writer.

harry@harryanders.com
http://www.harryanders.com