Two Gypsy Stories

We were in Spain in the late 90s. We'd been warned about this and that, typical stuff. And of course, we were warned about the gypsies.

It's an interesting parallel there, by the way. Dark-skinned people, reputed to be trashy, criminals... If someone came to Texas, would you warn them, "Watch out for the Mexicans"?

Anyway, we were aware that tourists are common targets for petty crime. At the Alhambra, an old Moorish compound in Granada, I experienced that firsthand.

I spotted a pair of boys who looked to be no older than 11 or 12. In a place crawling with tourists, they stuck out simply by looking local. I could hear them feigning excitement as they chattered loudly about being at the Alhambra. This was the only flaw in their approach.

I was walking up a steep sidewalk, and they were perhaps 15 feet ahead of me. The day was warming up, and I had my jacket tucked under my arm. I knew they were up to something, but didn't know exactly what.

Then came the move.

They stopped and did an about-face suddenly to descend the sidewalk. I had to step off the sidewalk and into the street to make room for them, and in a brief moment we were within touching distance. One slipped a hand deep into my jacket, making a precise movement for the pocket within. He got nothing, as my money was tucked into a money belt under my shirt.

Still, I was furious at their nerve, and at my complete inability to stop them from trying, even though I knew it was coming. I called them "motherf*ckers" quite loudly, and they went on their merry way. I can only imagine what accomplished pickpockets they might be at 16 or 25. Stunning.

My pharmacology professor, Connie, travels to Italy sometimes. Besides teaching, she works at Samaritan House in Fort Worth (http://www.samaritanhouse.org/bobsandersstory.pdf is all I can find on them offhand). Her clients/patients come to her with HIV/AIDS, addictions, mental illness and more. She's quite clear about the fact that dealing with someone who isn't "normal" does not bother her, and that it's her gift from God.

She told us the story of the "bag lady" she and her family encountered in Italy somewhere, a gypsy woman who was shuffling along the sidewalk, muttering to herself. Locals and tourists alike crossed the street or gave the gypsy a wide berth, though Connie did not.

As they encountered each other, they stopped. The gypsy woman reached out, caressed Connie's cheek, and said, "Bella madonna." I'm told that's Italian for "beautiful mother." Connie said the same thing to her, and they each moved on.

Connie says that at that moment she knew she was looking into the face of God.

***

I would have crossed the street with the others. I think most of us would have.

***

Unrelated... sort of.

It's hard to do the right thing sometimes, isn't it? I'm not talking about those clear-cut choices about right/wrong, good/evil. But it's hard to bump oneself out of complacency and inaction to step forward and raise a voice in the interest of what is best for you and those close to you, isn't it?