I was stolen by the gypsies. My parents stole me right back.
Then the gypsies stole me again. This went on for some time.
One minute I was in the caravan suckling the dark teat of my
new mother, the next I sat at the long dining room table eating
my breakfast with a silver spoon.
      It was the first day of spring. One of my fathers was singing in
the bathtub; the other one was painting a live sparrow the colors
of a tropical bird.