Gypsy in Black: The Romance of Gypsy Travelers (3 page)

Curiously, Sahara walked away from the tents and toward the wagons.  She hadn’t heard any wagon
wheels
d
uring their travels, just the
pounding of the
horses
’ hooves along the road.  Where had the wagons
come from, she wondered.
Her hear
t beat rapidly in her throat
.  More questions began to flood through her mind.  How far were they from her town?  Why would the old gypsy have wanted her?  Perhaps a better question still was how had he known she was there, peering from the s
hadows at the top of the stairs?  Was it true that gypsies had that sixth sense, she asked herself, a chill traveling down her spine. 

Horses grazed from pickets
on the other side of the wagons
while mules grazed freely furth
er away.  No one seemed to fear
they would wander
from the camp.  Several smal
l cooking
fires burned
at a distance
from the wagon
s. 
Chickens scratched and pecked at the ground, never leaving the safety of the wagons in case a brazen hawk flew overhead. 
Women dressed in sleeveless
peasant type blouses with lon
g skirts and scarves over their
heads stood around the fires
.  Some stirred the large black
cooking pots hanging over the open flames.  Others lounged on
the
ground or seated in
those
rickety wooden cha
irs, talking rapidly with
the other women as they sewed col
orful clothes.  A child ran by,
tripping too close to a fire for
his mother's comfort.  Grabbing
the child's arm, the mother boxed
his
ear.  A low w
hine
escaped his mouth as the mother d
ragged him
toward a tent.
  The
little boy disappeared inside
and the mother
reemerged
, returning to her friends
without a word about the scene.

Sahara held her head high as
she started walking toward the
small group of women, her heart s
till pounding.  She had to find
the old gypsy that had gambl
ed with her father
.  The old gypsy had won
her, true.  But Sahara was not
about to abide by some silly gambling rule.
She would be no man’s property.
Chewing nervously on her bottom lip as she neared the g
ypsy women, Sahara realized how
precious her father's horrible
saloon actually had been to her
all these years.  As much as she
had thought that she
hated it,
now
she wanted
only to return.
It was the only home she had ever known and her father was her only family. 
Certainly, sh
e thought, the old gypsy cannot
expect me to travel and live with these people. 

One by one, the women slowly
looked up, noticing the strange
non-
gypsy girl.  Her long bla
ck hair flew wild in the summer
breeze.  As the sun beat down on h
er, the thick white streak over
her right ear caught the rays.  He
r creamy gold skin, free of any
blemishes, amazed the
permanently
brown women.  This was the girl
that the
Rom Baro
, their leader,
had won.  Sh
e was the reason the
men had left camp, leaving the women and children
for several days.  She was the reason the
y
had camped
here, anxiously awaiting the
return
of the men with such a
powerful
and important
bounty.  When the men had returned, the women had expected something wonderful and rich.  Instead, now
t
he women
stared at the girl
as she stood on the
edge of the group,
wondering about the change that was to befall their traveling band of family. 

The girl stared
back
with equal
curiosity
. 
They wore colorful clothing, most in the same style as the clothing that man had given to her.  Many of the women wore scarves over their heads.  All of them were dark skinned and had thick, black hair.  Sahara
noticed that several of the
older
women wore
gold chains around their necks
and rings among their fingers.
  Immedia
tely, Sahara remembered the old
gypsy and his thick gold chai
n that her father had craved so
dearly he had gambled his own d
aughter away. 
“
Where's the old
gypsy?
”
  Sahara
demanded, directing
th
e question at a heavy set woman
standing next to the fire with a ladle in her hand.
Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

All of the women stared at Sahara, their mouths
gaping as if
ignorant of her words.  Then, t
hey glanced at the woman Sahara
addressed.  After several long seconds, the large gypsy woman
cleared her throat.  With a hea
vier accent than the man in the
tent, she asked Sahara,
“
Rom Baro
?
”
  Sahara shrugged, not understanding exactly what the
woman was asking, although the
word sounded familiar from the
poker game last night. 
“
He is
gone.
”

“
What do you mean he's gone?  Where did he go?
”

The woman shrugged. 
“
The men...eh...they went away.
”

Sahara shook her head,
angry that this
Rom Baro
was not
available
. 
“
Not all the men. 
There was a man in my tent less
than ten minutes ago!  Where is he?
”

Several women gasped at her
announcement.  One whispered a
strange word,
“
Mahrime,
”
under her breath.  Children hid b
ehind
the wagons,
peeking around the
corner to stare at the strange
girl.  It was rare that a gadj
o moved into a gypsy kumpania. 
Certainly unheard of in
the lives of
most gyps
ies
.
  Gypsies tended to avoid gadjo, not wanting
any infiltration of the outside world to change
their culture.
  But as the children
watched the
woman with the white streak and
golden skin, stan
ding
with her head held high and star
ing down
the
offended old gypsy
women, the children sensed ther
e was something
different about
this gadjo.  As they spied on th
e newcomer, one of them noticed
the man walking around one of the tents.  Elbowing the other
children and sshing them quiet, the
child pointed toward the man. 
He
stood behind t
he
feisty
woman
,
a
hint of a
smile on his lips as he watched her.

“
I don’t know what that means,
”
she said sharply. 
“
But I do know that there was a man here, in this camp, just a few moments ago.  I insist upon speaking with him!
”

One woman raised an eyebrow, never taking
her
eyes off the gadjo woman standing
before
her. 
“
A man, yes?
Perhaps you
mean him.
”
 
She gestured with her head then, w
ithout another word,
the women quickly went back to
cooking, ignoring the gadjo girl. 

Sahara turned quickly, hardl
y surprised to see the man from t
he tent. 
This man does not intimidate me
, she told herself,
although she wasn't sure if sh
e believed it.  His steady gaze
unnerved her. 
She had seen men look at her before, often through the smoky air at the saloon.  But as the night fell, her father always insisted that she retire to her room.  The drunken look in the eyes of his patrons hinted at more than a desire for another drink.  Yet, this gypsy was different. 
His dark gypsy e
yes looked through her as if he
had known her for years.
Indeed, there was something familiar and it unsettled her. 
Taking
a deep breath, Sahara tried to
hide her discomfort. 
“
Where's the old gypsy?
”

The man stepped forward, t
aking her arm gently as he le
d
her away from where the wome
n could hear
but within view
.  They knew not to
openly listen to a man's conver
sation but he was familiar with
their eavesdropping ways.  The
man released her arm when they
reached a safe distance by an empty
wagon.  He faced her, his
eyes gleaming as he spoke. 
“
Rom Baro
is out with the other men. 
He will return soon.
”

Impatiently, Sahara demanded,
“
How soon?
”

The man shook his head, try
ing to hide his pleasure at her
feistiness
. 
“
You must learn patience, shey
-
bari.
”

“
Stop
call
ing
me that!  My name is Sahara.
”

“
S'hara?
”
he repeated as if tasting the word. 
“
S’hara…
”

Sahara frowned at his
accented version of her name. 
“
Something like that.
”
  Her eye
s roamed, looking around at the
strange environment again.  The camp was
in the middle of a large
meadow.  Barely could she m
ake out the timber-grown bluffs
bordering the
prairie
grass in the
distance.  She raised her eyes,
suddenly more frighten than angry. 
“
Where are we?
  I don't
recognize this place.
”

“
We are...
”
  He paused.  Th
ey had trave
led
for almost two days to catch up with the k
umpania.  Rom Baro had left the women and children
in the small valley so that the men could ride faster and free from
the
wagons.  It was only earlier that morning when they had returned.
The man
shrugged, uncertain of their ex
act whereabouts. 
“
We are here,
yes?
”
 

She glared at him. 
“
What
do you mean 'here'?  Where are
we?
  Where is here?
”
she insisted.

He shrugged, uncaring. 
“
I do not know.  Just here.
”

Sahara stared at the handsome man in front
of her.  His
indifference toward her
dilemma
amazed her.  In all her life,
Sahara had never stepped two fee
t out of the town where she had
been
raised
.  Her entire you
th had been centered
on
her
father's saloon.  She had helped him run it ever since her
mother
died.  Now, suddenly, she was tor
n away from the only family she
had, which, Sahara reluctantly ad
mitted, was better than nothing
if faced to live with these gypsies. 
“
Who are you?
”