Gypsy in Black: The Romance of Gypsy Travelers (17 page)

It was two weeks after they h
ad camped.  Lounging around the
fires, his stomach full from dri
nking and
eating
,
Nicolae
had been
eyeing a young Poxadeshti gi
rl.  Her long, dark hair flowed
around her
shoulders,
as she dance
d with several other unmarried,
no status girls.  They were girl
s who lost their status through
breaking gypsy laws
one-way
or th
e other.  Shunned by the proper
gypsies, they were there for the t
aking, usually for the night by
single men. 
Nicolae
could remember
leaning over to a gypsy he had
been talking with earlier. 
“
She'
s a beautiful one.  Wonder what
made her mahrime.
”
 

The gypsy, a Mester
i man named Marks, had laughed, cradling
his bottle of liquor in his arms
. 
“
Beautiful yes.  Dances like
the devil.
”

An older gypsy sitting nearby snorted at them. 
“
Dances lik
e
Amaya.
”

Immediately,
Nicolae
had turned
to the man and asked him about
Amaya. 
“
I was betrothed to her daughter,
”
he explained.

“
Amaya is dead now, yes. 
But the girl...
”
  He rubbed his
chin, hiding his smile. 
“
She
is a looker.  Just like Amaya. 
Long black hair with just one th
ick streak of grey over her one
ear.  Breathtaking.  But wild.
”
  The old gypsy leaned forward,
pointing a stiff finger at
Nicolae
. 
“
Be glad Amaya ran off with that
damned Irishman with her bastard
daughter.  Otherwise you'd have
the devil's child on your hands.
”

Nicolae
had tried to hide his
eagerness as he pushed the man
further. 
“
You know where she is then?
”

“
Best I know she is in
up north
. 
Small town near Sioux Falls.
Don't remember the name of the town.
”

His heart had pounded. 
Certainly his father
would be able to find her. 
“
How did you know it was Amaya's
daughter?
”
  At last, he thought, my waiting has paid off.

The older gypsy had reached f
or a bottle of rakiya, taking a
large swallow before lifting his
leg as he stretched out on the
ground and passed wind.  Sigh
ing, he scratched his stomach. 
“
Knew both Amaya and the Irishman before she ran away with him. 
It was her alright.  Spitting
ima
ge of Amaya.  The Irishman owns
a tavern and I was only there once
, at least three years ago. 
Might be married to some gadjo, yes?
”

Deep down,
Nicolae
had known oth
erwise.  O Del would never lead
him this close to finding Sahara
only to snatch her away.  After
all, He was the good god. 
Nicolae
calmed himself as he looked ba
ck
at the dancing girl.  Her beaut
y had faded
.  She was of not interest to him now
as he wondered just
how beautiful his betrothed truly
was.  Later, he had sought his
father and informed him of h
is startling discovery.  As the
warmer weather came, their kump
ania had slowly travelled north
into Minnesota.  The few towns alo
ng the North Dakota border were
small and it didn't take long fo
r the
Rom Baro
to recognize the
Irishman.  The plan had been put t
o order and action took place.

Sahara broke his memories as
she gently leaned against him. 
Nicolae
stroked the side of her h
ead, holding her tightly in his arms. 
“
So you
see, S'hara, my bori, you are home.
”

“
Home?
”
  A soft sigh escaped
her lips.  She had always known
she was different.  Her father
had never loved her, not after
Amaya had died.
At one time,
not so long ago, she had thought t
hat home; it was all she had ever known.  But everything made sense now.  The gaping hole in her heart was filled.  She had never belonged to the Irishman.  He wasn’t her father, hadn’t been even before Amaya died.
Now, as she shut her
eyes,
she remembered the music that Amaya played on the piano.  It was gypsy music.  She remembered her mother’s voice, accented and strong.  But in all of her memories, it was her mother by her side, that soft vision and gentle feeling warming her soul.  Yes, now she remembered more.  There was a connection, a connection between those memories and the past few days.  Indeed, she had felt something was off, too familiar.  Now, as she relaxed to Nicolae’s embrace,
she
felt relieved.  With the clarity, she understood why she
was almost glad
that
Nicolae
was hers
to comfort her. 
Yes, s
he felt
confused and frightened but she wa
sn't alone.  For the first time
in years, she kne
w she wasn't alone. 
“
What is
home?
”




   




Her days were spent caring for others and she didn’t like it.  From before the sun rose until long after it had gone to sleep, she took care of her own baby as well as the man’s two sons.  The older one resisted all of her attempts to feed, clothe, and nurture him while the younger one seemed to respond in a more positive manner.  This created a deeper chasm between the girl and the older boy.  It grew the point that she ignored him and paid her attention to the baby and younger boy. 

Most nights, after she put the three to bed, she would collapse, exhausted.  She slept soundly, even if it only seemed like minutes, not hours.  Her dreams were empty at night.  She had no fantasies or memories that visited her during her sleep.  It was as if she knew, even subconsciously that, in the morning, she would start all over again. 

The two ladies moved ou
t of Sahara's way as she walked
toward the front of the store.  S
he could feel their inquisitive
stares at her outlandish attire.  The full layers of
skirts and
brazen red blouse plainly ann
ounced her association with the
gypsies.  Ignoring the ladies, S
ahara stepped toward the fabric
counter.  She stopped in front
of a bolt of black cotton.  The
plain cloth suited Sahara's mood.  Fingering the soft fab
ric, she
shut her eyes. 

Gypsy, she thought
.  For several days, Sahara had
obsessed
over the new heritage
Nicolae
had given her. 
Her emotions were in a turmoil as she tried to grasp the enormity of his story. 
Sometimes her
new past excited her, like a
wonderfully pleasing dream.  At
other times, she resented having lived a lie all of her
life.
But, in the long run, s
he
felt as though she had just been born.
She fell into this life with her arms open, embracing the new world that surrounded her.

Was it only a week ago that he told me, she thought to herself.  So much had happened.  It didn’t take long for t
he town
people to chase
the g
ypsies away shortly after their
arrival. 
“
We are always on t
he run from folklore we did not
create,
”
Nicolae
had explained.  Sa
hara knew that town people
did not
trust the gypsies, often beli
eving the stories about gypsies
stealing chickens and children.
In the morning hours, the camp
was packed up and the wagons l
oaded.  Once again, the caravan
travelled down the road. 
The day was just as grueling as the first time Sahara had traveled with the gypsies.  At the end of the day, she ached just as ba
dly.  Her hands blistered
from driving the horses
, the old ones were calloused over but new ones broke open
.  But, she didn’t complain.  Instead, she held her head high, refusing to relinquish the reins to the old man.  In her mind, she saw her mother, guiding her along the way.  If her mother had been so strong, Sahara knew that she could be, too. 

The
children still laughed and the
older gypsies smiled.  In new towns, they could trade horses
, sell goods, trade,
and
tell fortunes. 
After traveling all day, the men on the horses returned to the traveling caravan.  They had ridden ahead to scout out the area.  It was Nicolae who reined in his horse, a solid black horse with a lone white stripe down its nose.  The horse snorted and pranced in place.  “Only over the hill,” Nicolae announced.  “We will camp there for a few days.” 
By the time dus
k fell, the new camp was set up
and the music enticing the new tow
n people
to venture to the camp to
satisfy their
curiosity until the novelty would wear off and the kumpania would be forced to leave once again.

“
May I help you?
”

Sahara opened her eyes.  An older gentleman,
his grey hair
neatly combed back from his crow
n, stood in front of her.  Both
of his hands rested on the woode
n counter, one finger anxiously
tapping on the bolt of black
cloth.  Sahara glanced over her
shoulder at the two ladies, both wearing fine satin
dresses and
twirling parasols over th
eir heads.  They watched Sahara
curiously, their eyes wide and hea
ds tilted.  Turning back to the
man, Sahara nodded at the black cloth. 
“
How much?
”

“
Twelve cents a foot.
”

Immediately, Sahara's temper flared and she
narrowed her
eyes. 
“
You're trying to cheat me!
”

“
Take it or leave it.
”
  The g
ruffness in his voice
signaled
that he was not going to bargain with her.

“
I have but no choice.  T
wo yards will do fine.
”
  Sahara
watched him carefully as he measured out the
two yards.  While he wrapped the
material, Sahara bro
wsed through some more bolts of
cloth, finding two more that cau
ght her eye.  After the man had
measured and wrapped those, Sa
hara pointed to some thread and
needles.  Without speaking, the man shoved t
hem on the counter
next to the wrapped material.  He
took out his pencil, licked the
point, and began to fi
gure on a piece of paper. 
“
Two
dollars and nineteen cents,
”
he finally announced.

Sahara raised a delicate
eyebrow, her dark eyes suddenly
flashing as she calmly said,
“
And
you call us the thieves.
”
  She
laid a crisp dollar bill an
d a nickel on the counter.  
“
I
believe you miscalculated,
”
she s
miled as she took her package. 
“
Thank you, sir.
”
  She started to turn toward the door.

“
You with them
stinkin’
gypsies?
”

Sahara turned back to face him. 
“
Excuse me?
”

His face twisted into an ang
ry glare. 
“
I asked if you with
them gypsies came into town earlier.
”

Tightening her mouth, Sahara
fought the urge to spit at the
man.  Dryly, she questioned,
“
If I am?
”

“
Tell them to stay awa
y from my store.  Don't want no
problems.
”

“
And if I'm not?
”

He smiled saucily. 
“
Then hav
e a good day, ma'am.
”
  Furious,
Sahara whirled on her heels, st
ormed out of the store and past
the two snickering women.  Not long ago
, she was one of them, a town person with curiosity about the traveling people with bright colored clothing and strange words.
But today, she thought, I am no
longer Sahara the gadjo.  I am
Sahara the gypsy.  A smile cro
ssed her lips as she thought of
the new material she had purchased.  Sahara, the gypsy in black.

The camp was alive with activity as she
walked up the dusty
road toward it.  Her heart
swelled at the sight of the men
standing around the fires in the
dimming sunset, drinking their
rakiya as the women cooked their dinners.  The children were nowhere
to be seen.  The closer she got
to the camp,
the louder the
gypsy music.  Her ears tuned in
the music.  It was not the same
gypsy music, so full of fire and
passion, that she had heard her
first nights with the gypsies. 
Instead, it was slightly calmer
with gentle folklor
e
tones.  It was the music
the gypsies
played for the gadjo.  As Saha
ra reached the outskirts of the
camp, she noticed several people
dressed like town men.  She was no longer surprised at these
intruders on the gypsy life.

Some of the younger town men spotted the black haired gy
psy
and nudged one of his friends.  So
on, the entire group of town men
stared at the approaching gypsy
.  Sahara noticed the attention
given to her and lifted her ch
in in the air. 
But it wasn’t until they blocked her path that she felt her pulse quicken.  She tried to appear strong and in control.  Forcing an image of her mother into her mind, she stilled her beating heart.  What would Amaya have done, she wondered?  With newfound bravado, she stood
before
them, staring at
each
man,
her hands on her hips, before
asking,
“
You are not gypsy?
”
  She
didn't know where the question
came from.  It was obvious th
at the men were gadjo.  But the
question seemed to reins
tate her own claim as a gypsy. 

The men laughed.  A youn
g man, probably twenty, stepped
forward, slinging his arm around
her neck. 
“
I bet you'd like to
read my fortune in private.
”
 
His words were slurred.  It was clear that he had been drinking.  She could smell the alcohol on his breath.  Before she could stop him, h
e started to drag her away from
the fires and toward a wagon
.  She started to struggle but it wasn’t necessary. A strong hand stopped the young man, a force jerking him backward.  Sahara didn’t have to look to know that it was Nicolae.  He loomed large over the young man, quickly freeing Sahara from his grasp.  He pushed her behind him, protectively placing himself between his wife and the group of men.

The town
man stared up at the large gypsy,
his drunken smile fading into a
frightened frown. 
“
What do you want?
”
  
Nicolae
's face was expressionless.  He had seen Sahara walki
ng
up the road toward the camp.  He
had waited for her to find him
but she never came.  When he
saw her with the town men, his
temper had flared. 
Nicolae
shov
ed past several men and hurried
toward his young wife.  Then he
saw the one man try to drag her
away.  He was thankful that he had caught her before anything had happened.  Too often the town men misbehaved at the gypsy camp, looking for the younger gypsy girls who might welcome their advances in exchange for money.  There were none of those girls in this kumpania.

“
You touch my wife?  I wil
l kill you.
”
  He spoke quietly, his rage
so great that his voice was calm and even.

“
I didn't touch her!
”
  T
he town man's face paled and he
glanced around for help from his co
mrades.  No one dared step in.  With so many
gypsies around, they would all be killed.

Nicolae
lunged for the man
but Sahara grabbed at his arm. 
“
No! 
Nicolae
, let him go!  He knew no better!
”

“
No better than to touch
a woman?
”
 
Nicolae
calmed down, his
hand covering Sahara's. 
“
You
did not provoke
him,
no
?
”

Desperately
she shook her he
ad. 
“
But do you really want to
kill a man?  Especially one lik
e him? He is nothing compared to you…a weak little child.
”
  She cast the trembling town man a
disdainful look. 
“
Th
at isn't even a fight,
Nicolae
.  It
is murder.
”

Nicolae
stared at the man for a long moment.  Sahara thought
she
could see beads of sweat on the man's forehead.  Finally,
Nicolae
put
his arm
protectively around Sahar
a's shoulders. 
“
You are right,
my wise bori.
”
  He looked down at her. 
“
Come.  You must eat.
”