The gypsy's feet,
Tired and sore from
Walking the endless road while
Carrying her young son,
Paused by a pool.
Inviting and clear,
It beckoned.
"Wash yourself and rest."
So she sat in the shade,
Relieved,
And dipped her toes
Into the cool water.
As it soothed her bruised
And battered feet,
She sighed,
Stretching and flexing
Muscles rejuvenated.
Before too long,
She noticed other travelers
Who also stopped to visit the pool.
Everyone who drank
Or washed himself in it
Became cured,
For the pool held healing water.
A young man
Caught the gypsy's eye.
He was leading travelers
From the road to the pool.
"Come and see!"
He called to them.
"Come and be healed!
You are weary,
And the water is good!"
Some did not listen
And continued on their way,
But many heeded his words,
Came to the pool,
And rejoiced as their wounds
Were washed away.
The gypsy's heart
Stirred within her
As she watched his work.
"He is not content
To receive his own healing
And go on his way,"
She marveled.
"See how his heart burns
To share this gift with everyone!"
She could not understand it.
Why stay at this pool
Day after day
When the endless road
Stretched before you?
Still, she saw joy in the man,
Joy she had never known.
It drew her to him.
She decided to stay awhile
And investigate this stranger.
Time passed.
Days became weeks,
Months, then years.
The man became her friend,
Then her husband.
He rented a house for them
Next to the pool,
And the gypsy and her son
Lived with him there.
She bore him two children.
Every day they would walk to the road
And call to the travelers passing by,
"Come and see!
Healing water!"
At first it was exciting.
Then it became a routine.
Then it became boring.
Then it became a chore.
"Let's go take a trip,"
The gypsy begged her husband.
"We have no money to take a trip,"
He replied.
"Who needs money?"
She retorted.
"We can walk!"
"With small children?"
He asked.
"Where will we sleep?
What will we eat?
How will the little ones walk so far?
And who will guide travelers to the pool
If I am gone?"
"Aha!" the gypsy fiercely cried.
"The pool!
It's always the pool!
What about your children?
What about me?
Aren't we worth something, too?
Forget about those strangers.
Go find a job that pays something.
Then we can travel
And go wherever we like.
The man gazed at her sadly.
"I'm sorry, my love,"
He said,
"But we cannot go right now."
Filled with frustration and rage,
The gypsy returned to their house.
"Fine," she thought angrily,
"If he cares more about his pool
Than he cares about us,
Then we will go without him."
She began to pack her bags for the trip.
When morning came,
She gathered the children,
Handed each of them a bag,
And informed them,
"We are going on a journey."
"What about Papa?"
The children asked.
"Papa will not leave the pool,"
She replied.
"Come with me."
She led them up the dirt path to the road.
There was her husband at the roadside,
Crying, "Healing water!
"Come and see!"
She walked up to him with her chin held high.
"I am talking the children to see my parents," she said.
"I don't know how long we will be gone."
He gazed at her helplessly.
"You are going, then?" he asked.
"I have to," she replied.
"Kiss your Papa, children. Let's go."
They clung to his hands,
Kissed him,
Then followed their mother
Onto the endless road.
A hot breeze ruffled their clothes,
Kicking up swirls of dust
As they set off on their journey.
Not long after they had begun,
Everyone began to sweat.
"Mama," said the littlest child,
"I'm thirsty. How much longer?"
"I don't know," said the mother.
She began to look around
For some source of water.
In her wandering gypsy days,
She had always counted on luck
And happenstance
To bring water eventually,
Enduring thirst
Until the next fount appeared.
Now, though,
Her little child thirsted,
And there was no water in sight.
"Excuse me,"
A passing woman said,
"But I see you're looking for water.
There is none here, but back the way I came,
There is a miracle pool
Filled with sweet, clear water!
I filled two bottles full,
But I only need one.
Here,
Please take the other
For your baby."
She handed the bottle
To the gypsy with a smile,
Then headed on her way.
Gazing in wonder
At the generous stranger,
The gypsy mechanically opened
The bottle
And passed it to her daughter.
"Thank you, Mama," her baby said.
When the child had drunk deeply,
They continued on their way.
The road was ill-kept and uneven,
Covered with stones and rubble.
As the gypsy and her children grew weary from walking,
Their feet became heavy,
And they began to stumble over the uneven ground.
The second youngest child tripped,
Fell headlong,
And skinned his hands and knees.
As he lay crying in the dirt,
The mother crouched beside him,
Wiping his tears with her dusty handkerchief.
If only she had clean bandages
To bind his wounds!
"Excuse me,"
A concerned voice interrupted.
"I saw your boy trip, and it looks like
He fell pretty hard.
Is he hurt?"
The mother looked up into the face of
A middle-aged farmer.
"I see he is bleeding,"
Continued the man.
"Here, please take some of my water
To cleanse his wounds.
I know it sounds crazy,
But I got it from a healing pool.
The water contains power
To cure injuries.
Please take some
To help your son."
He took her handkerchief,
Poured water from a bottle onto it,
Then pressed it into her hand.
"Cleanse his wounds,"
The man encouraged her.
The mother gently pressed the cloth
To one torn knee,
Then the other,
Followed by the two scraped hands.
When she finished,
The cloth was red with blood,
But her son's skin was smooth,
Unbroken, and completely healed.
"See? Can you believe it?"
The man exclaimed joyfully.
"Good as new!
I had a broken leg, but a man on the road
Told me about the pool.
I figured it couldn't hurt to try,
So I climbed in,
And my leg was healed!
Now I'm taking some water home
For my whole family."
The farmer waved his hand
At the gypsy and her children,
Then continued on his way.
After they had rested and eaten lunch,
The gypsy led her children up the road
Toward town.
They arrived without further mishap
At her parents' house.
It was large and stately,
Situated on a hilltop
In the best of neighborhoods.
From a distance, it shone white and pristine,
But closer inspection revealed
Chipping paint, cracked concrete,
Weeds where there had once been grass,
And an empty swimming pool.
Inside the house,
Nearly empty rooms echoed
With memories of lavish parties,
Social events, and status lost.
The house was an empty oyster shell,
Cast away once its pearl was gone,
Yet still retaining a little of its worthless luster
To delight the eyes of common folks.
For the gypsy, it was only a painful reminder
Of all that had been lost.
As her children settled into
Grandma and Grandpa's house,
She tried to find a measure of comfort,
Yet found herself longing to leave it behind
Along with the memories.
Sometimes it is easier to just keep walking.
Yet she had come home, and family is family, no matter how broken,
So she tried to make the best of it.
As she watched her parents,
She began to notice
All of the little wounds
They accumulated daily.
Some were self-inflicted:
Denying themselves comfort out of pride,
Refusing to accept help lest they appear weak.
Others they inflicted on each other:
Jabs from sharp words,
Cruel jokes,
Bitter speeches,
And I-told-you-so's.
Still others came from outsiders:
Snubs from old friends,
Pity from once-enemies,
Being ignored by everyone who really mattered.
The gypsy marveled at the wounds she had never before noticed.
They crisscrossed her parents' skin
Like little white worms:
Scars upon scars.
Some were new and still bleeding.
Others were decades old.
How had she never noticed?
She found herself thinking of the pool,
The healing pool
That washed wounds away.
What would her parents be like
If their scarred skin was made new?
She looked at her three children
With new eyes,
Searching.
The two youngest had been born
Beside the pool.
She had birthed them into its waters.
They had grown up in it,
Splashing and playing with their friends.
But what about her oldest?
He had been born
In her gypsy days
On the endless road.
He had known thirst,
Exhaustion,
Hunger,
Injury,
And sleepless nights.
When they stumbled across the pool,
It was the most water her son had ever seen in one place.
He had feared it.
Even when he saw his siblings playing in it,
He had no interest in joining them,
Preferring to drink and play
With his friends in a nearby stream.
Perhaps it was stubbornness or a contrary nature
Which made him hate the pool
Which his stepfather loved,
But the gypsy's oldest son had never
Entered it or tasted its water.
"Take off your shirt,"
The mother demanded of her son.
"What? No!" cried the son.
"Take it off now," she demanded.
Sullenly, he peeled off his shirt.
The mother gasped when she saw
A festering wound on his chest,
Angry and red.
A horrible smell
Like rotting meat
Washed over her.
She gagged and fell to her knees.
"My son," she mumbled,
"How long have you had this?"
"It's no big deal. I'm fine," he said.
"How long?" she demanded.
"Forever."
How had she not seen?
How had she not known?
All these years, she had seen no reason
He should enter the pool,
Her perfect boy.
Yet all along, the wound had been festering.
Through tears and gritted teeth,
She choked, "We are going home."
The whole walk back,
The mother was silent,
Deep in thought.
Was she not a gypsy,
Destined to wander the endless road?
Yet the pool had followed her,
Meeting her along the road
And calling her back again.
It had reached out beyond its borders,
Carried by travelers
Who, healed by its water,
Bottled up some of its life-changing power
To carry away and share with others.
Changed by its touch,
How could she not return?
The endless road had become a ring
Leading back again
To the pool.
She passed her husband on the road home.
To her surprise,
He was a small distance
Up the road,
In another town.
"There is a pool,"
He called to the people,
"With healing water!
Come and see!"
She kissed him on her way past
With their children in tow.
"It's David," she said.
"He is hurt.
He needs to get to the pool."
"But I can't take you there!"
Cried her husband miserably.
"I've already committed to help these people today!"
"Don't worry," she replied with a half-smile.
"I think I know the way."
At last they reached the path to the pool.
"Son," she said to her eldest,
Gripping his shoulders,
Peering into his face,
"I am taking you into the pool."
"But I don't need..." he began.
"Son," she said firmly.
"But I'm afraid of..."
"Son," she said tenderly.
"But, Mama..."
"Son, I am taking you in."
With her arm around his shoulders,
She guided him into the pool.
He shivered as the cool water
Touched his feet for the first time. Friends and neighbors gathered around them
As the wound in David's chest
Began to hiss and bubble with steam.
Amidst their rejoicing,
The ugly, corrupt flesh began to fall away.
Beneath it, knitted together before their eyes,
New, healthy skin took its place.
When it was finished,
The boy fell, weeping, into his mother's arms.
They sank into the water together,
Eyes closed,
Up to their necks
As it washed away every scar
From the endless road.
The next morning,
The gypsy woman, her husband,
And their three children
Climbed the path to the main road.
Next to the road,
In a shelter from the sun,
The woman made beaded jewelry,
Offering it for sale
To the passers by.
To the thirsty, tired,
Injured, and scarred,
They were ready with good news:
"There is a pool
With healing water!
Come and see!"
When the necklaces and bracelets
Grew too many for the roadside stand
And the endless road began to call her,
The gypsy woman took her profit
And her family
On a trip.
Along the way,
She sold jewelry,
And they always carried
Bottles of healing water,
Because you never know
When you might meet
A mother with a thirsty child,
A boy with skinned hands and knees,
Or a mother who needs to remember
That sometimes the endless road
Is really a ring
That always leads back
To the pool.
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