Tales and Stories

Chapter 13 - The Gypsy Demon

“I would have liked the place.” Lou said, shaking her head sadly. “But for some of us there is no way out, no perfect centre where we’ll find rest for the soul.”

“It’s a bit early in the evening to be getting maudlin, Lou - You’re not going to start crying are you?” the sadhu asked.

“Not maudlin, just clearing the way for the arrival of the duende, the demon that stirs the heart of every Gypsy.” She flicked her chin towards the other table, “ Look now - Do you see the old man who’s been waiting by the guitarist for the whole evening, accepting drinks but not saying a word?”

They turned towards the circle of music which had now hushed in anticipation. The expression of the aged man was locked under the weight of years but now he began to sway a little as some inner force welled up inside him.

“He has refused to sing until now as he feels the arrival of his duende - If it didn’t come he’d have returned home without uttering a note. Forget the stage shows of peacock dancers and flashy musicians - This is real flamenco. - where the song must be released because there's nowhere else for it to go.”

The aged singer cut every conversation in the taverna with his first plaintive moan and caused several drinks to be spilled with his first rattling tremolo. His voice cut up the air like flying shrapnel and stung with the vitality with which this man had led his painful and vivid existence. Gypsy Lou translated the central verse:

“In life’s great procession,

The rich ride in fine carriages,

The gentlemen walk

But the poor drag themselves along.”

The singer stood now and his ancient body shook violently with the purge of his song. His face turned red and his eyes began to roll but he kept perfect timing and his audience around him clapped palms in rhythmic support. His words cascaded out of his throat like rocks down a mountain and an awful, abrasive force swelled up behind them; groaning and grinding until it burst out like a sea gale, blood spraying out of his mouth as he passed out.

“You see, everyone has the duende but only some know how to feel and express it.” Lou told them with some satisfaction. “The rest of you live in some protected half-life numb to the depths of Pain and Pleasure, those capricious Siamese twins.

But there exists one who feels the duende more than anyone. To him the doors of heaven are forever locked. The greatest rebel of all he turned his backside to the sky and farted with as much gas as he could muster - Perhaps hoping that a stray spark of lightning would ignite the methane and blow the home of angels to pieces. And for his boldness he was sentenced to eternal exile.

The Story of Even the Devil Gets the Blues