Dedicated to Maddi : the founder of the perfect title :)
and.... Jenna: the one and only editor :)
and my amazing little sister, Laura: my photographer :)
If you set your heart free
June 1554
If you set your heart free, where would it go? Maybe that’s why so many keep it locked up; afraid it will never return or come back shattered. What they don’t know is that the small jabs you feel when it returns broken are nothing because anything trapped behind bars eventually withers away.
...
Arabella is a gypsy. Her body sways freely to the fast paced music. Her heart beats to the sound of the bells strapped tightly to her ankles. They represent freedom, a freedom that is envied by onlookers whose paths are ruled out neatly before them, perfect measurements without space for variations.
But her heart remains trapped and despite others attempts at rescue, she still hold it captive.
The joyous tinkling of silver bells call out at every beat, feet swirl to the light-hearted beat of the tambourine. Long skirts sway to the music, hips move enchanted by the exuberant rhythm.
The villagers jostle around our imaginary stage in the middle of the busy market, women and children’s bodies flowing with the beat as they turn to watch and for a few moments their lives freeze and they give in to the music; sometimes tossing a few pennies into the hat that lay in front of us before turning away and continuing on their path. Men also stopped to stare in awe at our carefree movement and almost in an enchanted state slipped some coins into the hat.
The colourful atmosphere of juicy fruits, vegetables and items of all forms being waved in the faces of potential buyers and the buzz of the market added a bouncy rhythm to which our music danced.
It’s the beginning of summer in England and for the first time in months the sun was shining its bright rays down at us and an unspoken sense of hope hung around the cheerful market.
From the corner of her eye she could see the many curious, along with disapproving glances passed in her direction. Her snow white skin standing out amongst the delicate browns of the other dancers leaving her background an open book for passing villagers to browse. This thought had always scared Arabella because despite her attempts at disguising her hair as black and changing her name to Arabella she was always going to have the colour of her skin as a reminder of her past and that she was not a Roma and never would be.
As the fast-paced tempo of the violin changed over she decided to pull up a young girl who stood in awe of our cheerful dances. She looked as though she had spent the night on the street wich was not uncommon for majority could not afford to have roof above their heads.
She soon fell into the mood, swirling around under Arabella’s arms in her tattered dress, her bare feet tapping along with the rhythm.
Suddenly many passers-by found themselves hauled onto the fictional stage, caught up in the joyous music.
She knew the loud music and joyful dancing had drawn in a huge crowd, amongst which some of the gypsies walked, waiting for the right moment before gently slipping a silver necklace or carefully welded broach off an unsuspecting villager. This was the reason many disapproved of gypsies because along with their unconventional nomadic lifestyle they were branded thieves.
But in truth that’s what many of them were, the music was meant only as a trap to lure unsuspecting crowds. However to Arabella the music was her life, her heart yearned for the sound of the crowd clapping and the knowledge that she relieving them of their repetitive lives, even if only for a second. She was in it for the smiles that it drew on the weak, the sick and the hungry that walked the crowded allies of England without hope.
