GoT Writings

House of Black and White Prompt 31, w.c. 1637

31. A heavy knock on the door...
[word count: 1637, story only]
Brandon was a thief. He could not help it. He would look upon everyone as prey, a target, a challenge to be conquered. His first success was at the age of five and the victim was his mother. He was quite successful for many years, or so he thought. The sibs just stole their things back. Mother and father tried to curb his craving, but to no avail.
That’s when grandma stepped in to take him in.
“Brandon, your time has come. Pay attention. I will show you the arts of the slight of hand.”
“Grandma?”
“No. The gypsy word is Puridaj. Use that.”
“Why?”
Puridaj scowled at him. “You know nothing of your birth. But you will.”
He came to learn the gypsy arts. Puridaj was the only one who really loved him, and did not mind that he robbed her, too.
Upon his 18th birthday, Puridaj proclaimed, “You must now learn the arts of the knife. It will serve you well when you venture into the world of the outsiders.”
“Daj, I have walked amongst the outsiders. They accept me.”
“Chikni, Te den xa te maren de-nash.”
“What?”
“Speak Romani. It will help when the trials come. It means: When you are given, eat. When you beaten, run away.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. One day a heavy knock will come upon the door. When you answer you will be given a choice. You can either concede or stand up for who you are.”
“I will learn. When the time comes, I will choose. You will be proud.“
Puridaj straightened her shoulders. She caressed his cheek. He would make her proud as his father never could. “My son has given you to me. Will you return to them? For anything? You must choose your ways or familia.”
“You are my familia, they are just the ones responsible for my birth. Daj, why do people dislike us so much.”
“When we work for the outsiders, we ask for payment for the work we do. The bengs think we should work for free. We only take what is due us.”
But Brandon did not listen. He slipped into the world of taking for want or gain only. He would enter the lair of the gang brotherhoods and learn to attack without any artistry at all. Puridaj was disappointed that her teachings were being bastardized.
The day came to have a talk about these things. “Brandon, we must talk about your behavior. It is not our way to take what is not due us. It is not our way to be cruel and hurtful.”
“No “Chikni”?”
“I cannot call you son when you are evil.”
“Yeah, well, Geyro, I cannot call you Puridaj anymore either.”
“How dare you! I am gypsy through and through!”
“You’re an old woman!” Brandon said more that was not repeatable. The glint in Esmerelda’s eyes glinted with steel with each derogatory remark.
No one thought he would lay a hand on his daji, but he did. Over and over until she crumbled to the floor in a heap. Several hours passed. Esme stared at the crack in the wall that ran from the baseboard corner, up through the spider webs until it disappeared behind the hutch. She could hear him going through the drawers. He would not find the cache. She had practiced her gypsy ways far too long. She knew how to hide things where no one would think to look. His boot steps came closer, she closed her eyes and held her breath for as long as she could.
“Shit!” She listened to him dialing a number. As the bootsteps moved away, she caught up her breathing. “Diego, It’s Yogi. She’s dead. And there ain’t no stash. There ain’t nothin’ here worth anything.” Esme followed his footsteps as he paced, matching his attention. She listened intently to the drag as he pivoted to come back, listened intently to each eh-hm and uh-huh and okay. Sometimes he would stop and tap his foot, but so far he did not catch her with the shallow breathing or the times when she held her breath. She heard the final “Got it” and the quick exit out of the house. His boots clicking on the walkway as he ran to meet up with Diego.
She laid in the prone position long after Yogi left. She had to be sure he would not return. It was only when the body demanded a trip to the wash room did she extend her limbs to let circulation return.
After her bio break, Esme held her hands under the running water, gazing at the bruises on her face. At her age, the bruises were a deep shade of purple and covered most of her face, that which was not bruised had bleeding cuts left behind.
Esme left the bathroom and limped slowly to her bedroom. Gently caressing the picture of her dear husband, “Robert, my love, I told you once I would not be beaten. That boy looks so much like you when you had fire in your belly. It is time to end this, Robert. Prepare a space for me.” With that, she pulled the picture off the wall and lifted the torn paper on the back, there was the key to the cache. Palming the key, she made her way to the cellar.
The cellar was not a place anyone wanted to be for long. The steps were steep, the air had the smell of mold and damp. There was a solitary unshaded bulb that was supposed to light the entire area. Esme flipped the light switch and let out a breath of relief that the bulb still worked. She made her way down, grimacing with each painful step.
Along the right wall, she had all her preserves. The food that would stand her in good stead through the winter, if she made it that long. Along the far wall was her freezer and next to that was a bricked in small room that had been the toilet area in the early years when she and Robert married. Anyone who braved the stairs to investigate the basement were afraid to go any farther than the preserves wall or the freezer. Esme jiggled the handle on the door until it caught and she could open it. The water in the toilet had long since dried up, and smelled of rotten cabbage. Esme’s nose was broken, she could not smell that well, but that rancid smell came through forcing her gag reflexes to rise up. She added the contents of her stomach to whatever was in the toilet bowl. Gasping and leaning against the wall, she let her breathing steady and wiped the sweat off her brow. It had been a long time since she produced sweat in this degree. The gagging made every fiber of her body thrum. It no longer mattered. She hurt worse. “Robert, my love, help me, please.” With a will that she could not define, she pulled the lid off the tank of the toilet and flipped it over. She inserted the key into the locked box attached to the bottom side of the lid. It was still there. She pulled out her gold coins and the pistol that Robert had given her for protection so many years ago.
With a quick flick of the chamber, she saw it was still fully loaded. She remembered how to use it and did not really care if it worked after so many years of not being used. If it backfired, that would be okay too. She was determined to end this. Someone was not going to see tomorrow.
When back on the upper floor, Esme still ignored the mess left by Brandon. She needed help. She punched the numbers on the phone in the sequence she barely remembered.
“Hello?”
“Son, this your mother.”
“What did he do this time?”
“It does not matter, my time is short and I want you to know how you can claim your inheritance. I have a small bag of gold coins. There is a frozen fish in the freezer in the basement. Look in the mouth.”
“Mother? I can be there in an hour.”
“Tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
“I’m coming now!”
Esme stared at the receiver a few moments wondering why no one ever listened to her. She must have done something wrong along the way. But that was a tale for a different day. She clicked the nubbins to get a dial tone and called Brandon. He would be surprised to hear from her.
“What do you want?”
“That’s no way to talk to your elder.”
“So? What do you want?”
“I want to kill you….or you can kill me…it doesn’t matter….”
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Bitch!”
“Calm yourself. I have the inheritance stashed somewhere you will never find it.”
“I can tell you want me to come over. Are the police waiting?”
“Gypsies use the senate, not the police. Pity you did not pay attention during your schooling with me.”
“Challenge accepted.”
He must have been on his way. The car screeched to a halt and she saw Brandon and two of his gangster friends exit the car and spread out as they approached the house.
Esme leveled the pistol at the door, the first one through would get it … or it would not work and she would be pulling the trigger with just an series of clicks to welcome the visitors … or it could backfire, which would be an ugly mess. It did not matter. The first one through the door would tell the story.
A heavy knock rang throughout the house.
Esme exhaled the breath she had been holding. Stance, inhale, both hand, locked and loaded, “Come in.”