I’m not sure quite what to do. I know Facebook is the last place I should post this, but I have to get this off my chest. I can’t even post this on my local Portuguese site for people to see, to be warned, because … well, there are rules and I’m afraid the wrong person will see it. And I think they know where I live. In fact, I’m sure they do because this morning when I opened our front door there were two pennies, one shiny, one dark, right there on my doorstep.
I’m torn between wanting to warn people and not wanting to make a fool of myself. I’ve been inside all day watching to see if anyone suspicious is lurking around; however, it has been raining on and off all day. Few people have been out, and most are using umbrellas so I can’t see their faces. But there has been this one woman who passes by on the street almost every hour. I can’t see her face because of the black umbrella, but I think she is younger and quite tall. She wears high black boots with heels, like a younger woman might. Her trench coat is black too, as are her gloves. I think she is Portuguese because the heels of her boots have a little golden trim around the top edge of the heels.
I started noticing her when I looked out the window facing the street after hearing a church bell chime twice. I thought it strange because it wasn’t two o’clock; I think it was ten, or maybe eleven, but still morning and not two o’clock. And then she was there again when the church bell rang twice. This time I noticed the time, it was about 12 minutes after noon which makes no sense. And this just kept happening until after four p.m., but I haven’t seen her since. And there haven’t been any more church bells.
I know I haven’t told you about the pennies yet, but please be patient because it’s kind of a long story that goes back almost two weeks ago to when we were in Carvoeiro, down on the Algarve coast. It’s a busy little beach town and I’m glad we weren’t there during the summer rush because it was still bustling during the day in mid-October.
Well, we had this great meal one night at this old farmhouse up on the edge of the village. It’s been remodeled of course and been a restaurant for many years. The owner is quite a talker and a great host. Rafael seemed to know almost everybody that came in, except for the four of us, but he made us feel quite welcome. We had a great meal with a variety of seafood and fresh fish on the outdoor dining veranda of the old house. Rafael told us he was born in that house and I would guess that was close to sixty years ago.
Before we left I went inside to use the bathroom and discovered all manner of antiques, both seafaring and agrarian decorating the walls: giant tortoise shells, a boar’s head, part of a wine press, old cooking implements, and a large jaw bone from a whale shark - really authentic local stuff. Yeah, I know - the pennies, I’m getting to that.
I guess I had a little too much to eat. After we got back to the condo we had rented, I just couldn’t get comfortable. It had been a busy day hiking along the incredible beachside cliffs and caves, going for a swim in the surf, and then strolling through town. Everyone was tired and went off to bed. I watched the half-moon rise over the distant sea still feeling restless and decided to go for a walk.
Somehow I wound up in a little café/bar on a dark side street a little away from the beach. It appeared to be a “locals” kind of place, contrasted to every other café in Carvoeiro that we had visited. They all had menus in four languages and I hadn’t heard but a few words of Portuguese all week. But this place was a no menus kind of gig, just a black chalkboard in Portuguese behind the bar and a half-dozen small tables, all occupied. I sat at the only open stool at a wooden bar, polished smooth by spilled beer and rough talk over many decades. The barman didn’t even ask me what I wanted, he just put a cold Sagres in front of me and went back to watching the futebol on a tiny screen and polishing glasses.
It turned out that I was sitting next to a couple of Brits, probably the only other English speakers (more or less) in the place. They were pretty well into their evening and ignored me, but I couldn’t help but hear the story being told by the older of the two fellas.
“This place is fantastic, Eddy. You have to go there if you get the chance. Down in the Azores, I got a flight out of Faro on Ryanair for twenty Quid! This friggin’ lagoon is the craziest thing I have ever seen! They call it the Legend of the Seven Cities’ Lagoons or _Lenda das Lagoas das Sete Cidades _”
“Anyway, this legend claims that in ancient times the lagoon was part of a big kingdom with a beautiful, blue-eyed princess called Antília. She felt restless and trapped living inside the castle walls so every day she went to walk the fields in the region. One day she meets a green-eyed shepherd. They talked about their lives and dreams and quickly fell in love.”
“But the King was unhappy to learn of their daily meetings and forbid them from meeting again. Princess Antília begged the king to let her see the shepherd one last time. Moved by her grief, he allowed one last visit. The princess and the shepherd cried over their lost love as they spoke of separation, and their tears ran down the valley. The princess’ tears formed a blue lagoon and the shepherd’s tears formed a green lagoon, together since then side by side – never united but never apart.”
Then the guy pulls out his phone and shows his friend this picture:
“And Eddy, the crazy thing is the two colors never mix; they just remain separate - one dark blue and one bright shiny green. Just like in the legend; It’s just plain spooky!”
I have to admit, it was an eerie-looking photo. But now I was about finished with my beer and almost ready to leave when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned and didn’t see anyone at first, but another tug focused my gaze down at a tiny old woman, all dressed in black, a dark shawl covering her head and casting her face in shadow. She reached toward me with an open hand and then turned her gaze upward, allowing me to see her face.
She wore deep wrinkles on a sun-darkened face and smiled the kindest smile I’ve ever seen, despite only having one gold tooth. Her right eye sparkled sea-green, but the other was an opaque dusky dark blue and long dead to the light. That struck me as a strange bit of coincidence.
“Chi shugra, chi shugra, “ She said in a voice too young for her face. I had heard those words somewhere before but could remember where. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Portuguese. Then I looked at her small hand reaching toward me, thinking she was asking for money, but in her wrinkled palm, she held two coins - a shiny penny and another older one, dark with time and trouble.
Just then the bartender came up, harshly growling at her, “Saia, saia! Vá embora!” He obviously didn’t want her around. For no good reason, I was offended by this treatment of her and slapped a couple of Euro coins on the bar and got up to leave. I wasn’t sure what this woman wanted, but why treat her so rudely? And if she was a beggar, why was she trying to give me these coins?
She still had hold of my sleeve and tugged again, but his time pointed out toward the entrance of the bar. Again, she repeated, “Chi shugra, chi shugra.“ That’s when I noticed a young woman just outside the entrance, standing there and smiling at our little scene.
Tall, with long lustrous black hair that shimmered in the reflected street lights, she wore a tight black leather bolero jacket with a deep v-neck, highlighting several gold chains and ample cleavage. She winked, tossed her head slowly out toward the street, then turned and walked away. Her long dark blue pleated skirt swirled dramatically and some typical Portuguese-style gilt edging on the heels of her boots flashed in the limited street light. She was drop-dead gorgeous!
I let the little woman lead me out to the street where the younger woman was still striding away from us, looking back only once to see if we were following. I felt foolish and wasn’t sure what was happening, but felt a strange almost magnetic pull toward something … something I probably shouldn’t be doing at my tender age. And then I remembered what _Chi Shugra_ means - pretty gypsy girl!
I had read an article about gypsy pickpockets in Lisbon and how the police seem to tolerate them, maybe because they prey only on tourists. There were some gypsy terms in the article and chi shugra was one I read that stuck, sort of.
And now I was pretty sure this little side trip was headed in the wrong direction, one that my wife would not put in the category of educational travel. My little guide was trying to turn us down a darker beco or alleyway and I decided that was the end of this trip for me.
I pulled away, bowed slightly, and apologized in my best Portuguese, “Desculpe.” I walked quickly away and didn’t look back until I turned a corner up at the end of the street. The little old lady and the younger woman were both watching me. They didn’t look upset or disappointed. They were both smiling and the younger woman gave me a little wave.
Back in the condo, I took my shoes off at the door and tried to not wake anybody. I went out on the rooftop deck overlooking the town and looked to see if I could spot the street where the local café was, but buildings blocked my view. The half moon was about to dip beyond the higher cliffs on the west of town, lighting up a ghostly silhouette of the cliffs.
I tip-toed into our bedroom and was glad to hear the gentle breathing of my wife. She was asleep and thankfully wouldn’t be asking any curious questions because I was at a loss to explain myself. Why did I follow that old gypsy woman … wait, was she a gypsy? Whatever. I was too tired now to care and ready to get in bed. I emptied my pockets on the dresser to avoid spilling any coins or keys as I undressed, put on pajamas, and got in bed.
The strange thing is when I got up in the morning, there were those two pennies right there on the dresser, one shiny and one worn and dark. I don’t remember actually ever taking them from the old woman, but there they were.
I left them there. I’m not superstitious, I just did not want to deal with loose coins really not worth anything, so I just left them where they were. We all went out for breakfast and did a little more shopping and exploring before coming back to pack up and leave. Funny though, I walked around while everyone was souvenir shopping and for the life of me, I couldn’t find that little café where I met the gypsy lady.
We packed up and cleaned a little before starting our trek up a steep hill, dragging our suitcases, to the steep street where we had to park our car. Doing a last-minute sweep for forgotten items before we left, my wife called out to me from the bedroom, “Don’t you want these coins on the dresser?”
“No,” I replied. “Just leave’em” And that … that is why I was so shocked to see them on my doorstep this morning, two pennies - one shiny, one dark with time and trouble. Why me? And what do they mean?
Chapter 2
I know I said I’m not superstitious, but I lied. I have a few quirks, like always preferring even numbers. I never buy three of anything and if I turn off the microwave before it’s finished, I always stop it on an even number. I hate black cats because I’m afraid they will cross my path. Everybody has some quirks, right?
I didn’t know what to do with the coins. I picked them up but didn’t know where to put them. I often toss loose change in a little basket that sits on a table by the front door. When I pick up my keys to leave I grab some change to take with me to help make change if I buy something and avoid getting more change. But pennies tend to collect there until I have to do something with them. But these pennies were different, they didn’t belong there. So I put them in little jars in a drawer, each one in a separate jar. Weird, yeah, I know, but it just didn’t feel right to put them both in one jar because they’re different, right? One shiny, one dark ….
So anyway, I just forgot about them. They are just pennies, after all. I had some chores to run so I took off for the mall. I got some copier paper and some art supplies for my wife, then picked up some groceries for dinner.
When I got back I was fumbling for my keys at the door because the automatic light never stays on long enough for me to get the keys in the lock while trying to hold on to bags of groceries so I would up dropping the keys. I stooped to pick them up and there they were - two more coins there on the doorstep. One shiny, one dark, and this time the damn light just stayed on while I was staring at them.
My wife must be playing tricks on me, I thought as I put up the groceries. She was out at the moment. This is her book club afternoon, but when she gets back, I’ll confront her. Of course, that’s the simple explanation. She picked up those pennies in Carvoeiro and she’s just messing with me. It must be a joke, right?
Except my wife doesn’t joke around. Her sense of humor is dry, and ironic, almost like she’s English. She’s not even ticklish. Everybody thinks she is delightful and she’s a talented artist, but a practical joker? It’s just not her style.
I made myself a drink, went over to the French doors, and opened them to stand outside. I looked up at the stars hoping they might give me some answers. At least it had stopped raining and it was becoming a beautiful Fall evening. Looking west, I could see Venus rising above the hills that climbed away from the city. A few stars were even beginning to show as the sky darkened. The automatic street lights kicked on across the street and that’s when I saw her, again.
She was just standing there looking up towards our apartment. This time she had a hat on, a kind of dark Fedora, but I could still make out her long dark hair hanging to her shoulders, the same V-neck Bolero, and long dark pleated skirt. Her figure was frozen there for a few seconds when the street light came on and then she whirled, her dress swirling, and she was gone.
Chapter 3
So I’m having a “moment.” Some seriously weird stuff is happening to me, but why should that concern anybody else? Maybe I should seek counseling or quit drinking for a while or something, but why do I think I need to warn people? What’s the big deal, right?
I didn’t tell you about the other part of the story in Carvoeiro. At the time, it didn’t seem connected, not important, just a few sentences overheard walking back to my table at that restaurant. Remember Rafael and that old farmhouse restaurant? I almost wish I hadn’t heard what he was saying, but he’s a kind of loud, jovial guy, and I noticed his tone completely changed just as I walked by.
Almost all the antiques I mentioned earlier are against one wall at the end of the restaurant, the jawbone from the whale shark, the giant tortoise shell, and the boar’s head. At the other end is a short bar, only two stools long. Two Brits were soaking up exotic imported gin from England (thank you, Brexit) while Rafael regaled them with folklore. They had all been laughing when I went into the WC, but upon return, the mood had reversed like a full moon tide.
Rafael’s voice was raw with emotion as he spoke saying: “ … the curse is real, gentleman,” his voice grew more hoarse. “They are the angry daughters of Princess Antília and were brought to Carvoeiro long ago by sailors they seduced. When people start seeing those two women, one old and the other young and beautiful, they think they are gypsies. But that’s because they don’t know about the lagoons and the legend. Someone always disappears when people start seeing them! Like two bad pennies, evil follows them like an ill wind.” 1
“There is a … dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. “ - Rod Serling.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot - Happy Halloween.
Nice and spooky!!