Gage reflected that with Nadyha’s attitude it might not help Denny very much; he was aware of how peculiarly vulnerable sick people were to the people caring for them. Remembering Simza’s proverb about pleasant words giving health were particularly fitting, but he also knew that if he tried to quote such to Nadyha she would very likely claw his eyes out. He got Denny’s shirt off, folded it neatly, and set it aside.
“Lalo, red, it’s mahrime, unclean,” Nadyha said evenly. She pointed to Denny’s bullet wound. “He’s been shot?”
“Yes, ma’am, almost two weeks ago now,” Gage replied. “The wound was healing cleanly, but then when he got the measles it seemed like it opened up again. That’s why I’ve left the stitches in.”
She nodded. Then with surprising tenderness, she said to Denny, “Don’t worry, gajo. I’m going to see what your sickness is, and then ask Baba Simza how to care for you.”
“I have measles,” Denny said, puzzled.
Ignoring him she laid both her hands on his chest and watched as it rose and fell; his breathing was very irregular. She felt of both sides of his neck, probing a little, and then lightly pressed two fingers right on his Adam’s apple. She seemed pleased when he didn’t cough. Then she laid her head down on his chest, her ear pressed down to his right side, and stayed perfectly motionless for a few moments. She ordered Denny, “Cough,” and he obliged. Her face grew grave. Startling both Gage and Denny, she moved so that her nose was almost touching Denny’s bullet wound, and sniffed, long and hard. “It’s not septic,” she murmured, then laying her head on the left side of Denny’s chest, listened as she had before.
She sat up straight and asked Gage, “Will you help me get him up and see if he can lean over his knees so I can listen to his back?”
It was an odd request to Gage; he had seen doctors listen to a patient’s chest, and tap and thump them many times, but he’d never seen one listen to their back. Still, he pulled Denny up, then gently leaned him down, supporting his shoulders. First Nadyha sniffed the exit wound in his back, seemed satisfied, and again listened on both sides. Without a word she rose and went to Baba Simza’s wagon. Gage gently laid Denny back down. Denny’s swollen brown eyes had a very slight sparkle. “Gosh, she’s something.”
“Told you,” Gage said smugly.
“I get the feeling that if it weren’t for Baba Simza she might be trying to figure out how to chop me up into little pieces with that knife of hers, instead of worrying about what’s wrong with me.” In spite of his light words, he looked worried. “Do you think something else is wrong, besides the measles?”
“I honestly don’t know, Denny,” Gage said. “But I’ll tell you this. I’ve been praying for you, asking the Lord how I can help you, and I feel like this is His answer.”
Denny said with some embarrassment, “You know I’m not real religious, like you are, Gage, so I don’t know what to say except ‘thank you.’”
“Don’t thank me,” Gage said, smiling a little. “Thank Him.”
Nadyha returned with the other young woman Gage had seen before. “This is Mirella, my bori. I forget the English, my brother’s wife. Mirella, this is Gage and that’s the sick gajo,” she said, pointing out and to the obvious.
“My name is Dennis Wainwright, Miss Nadyha, Miss Mirella,” Denny said with an effort. “It’s a very great honor to meet you both.”
Mirella smiled at Denny, and Gage was struck by the warmth and good humor he saw in her expression as she said to him, “Thank you for helping Baba Simza, Gage. I’m glad we can repay you by helping your friend. Welcome to our home.” She turned and went to the lean-to and started searching the shelves.
Nadyha put her hands on her hips and looked at both Denny and Gage in that same daring, defiant manner she had spoken to Gage before. “I want you gaje to understand something right now. I don’t touch men. I don’t touch Roma, and I don’t touch gaje. Except when I’m the drabengri, when I’m trying to heal. Do you understand?”
Both Gage and Denny nodded humbly, and Nadyha seemed satisfied. She knelt by Denny’s pallet and looked into his eyes. “Gajo, you have the water in the chest. This is never good, but you’re not so bad. I asked Baba Simza about how to care for you, and she knows all about this, the water in the chest, the coughing, the measles. You’ll be much better in two days and in six or seven days you’ll be well enough to eat too much and walk around and ride the horse, unless you’re too weak from being sick and then you’ll fall off.”
Denny managed a faint smile. “Ma’am, if I’m well enough to fall off a horse in a week, then you’ll be a miracle worker.”
“No, I’m not,” she said evenly. Turning to Gage, she said, “For two days he’s going to need all-day, all-night care. Will you help?”
“Of course,” Gage said positively. “In fact, if you can teach me what to do, ma’am, then I’ll take care of him by myself. With you sort of supervising, if you would.”
“A gaje asking a Gypsy woman to be his ciocoi, his overseer? Now there is a miracle,” she said sardonically, rising to her feet. “Mirella and I will be back when we’ve finished your medicines. Lie flat, gajo. No pillow for you,” she finished severely.
“I’m curious to see what they’re going to do to you,” Gage gently teased Denny.
“Curious isn’t the word I’d use,” he replied. “What I’m curious about is if she’s right, that I’ll feel better in two days. I hate to admit it, but now I feel like a ninety-year-old man just about to kick off. I guess, if she is right, in two days I’ll feel like a seventy-year-old man that’s got a few years left in him.” The effort of saying so much obviously exhausted Denny, and after a fit of coughing, he closed his eyes.
“I think she’s right, Denny,” Gage said quietly. “I think in a week you’ll be well.” Silently he added to himself, And that, Lord, will be the true miracle.
Mirella had been busy making some concoctions in two of the three pots hanging over the fire. Nadhya went to the lean-to, put on an apron with deep pockets, gathered some supplies, then retrieved the two copper pots from the fire. She and Mirella started across the “yard” to Denny’s pallet, and Gage saw with bemusement that the bear, who had been watching Nadyha carefully, lumbered after them. Nadyha turned and fussed at him in Gypsy, and the bear turned and dejectedly walked back to his cushion. He looked so disappointed and hangdog that Gage felt sorry for him.
Nadyha and Mirella spread out a clean canvas cloth by Denny’s pallet, placed their supplies on it, and knelt down. Nadyha said to Mirella, “Pour some of the elachi tea into this small bowl, and break up bread pieces in it until it’s like a kind of gummy pancake. Just a little, though, to make two poultices this size.” She laid two doubled squares of muslin down that measured about three inches square.
Denny sniffed, then asked, “What’s that smell? It’s—it’s—” he groped for words, and Gage knew exactly how he felt. As Denny inhaled deeply, it made him cough. He snorted hard, for his nose was still running constantly, and then gulped.
Nadyha said, “That’s just what you musn’t do, gajo. Don’t swallow that poison from your chest. You have to blow it out of your nose, and spit it out of your throat, into these cloths.” She laid down a small pile of squares of unfinished muslin by his hand. “Don’t use the cloths more than once,” she warned. “Throw them into this.” She held up an obviously old, ragged basket. “You understand, gajo?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Denny said meekly.
Mirella had finished pulping up pieces of white bread into the elachi tea, and had put the gummy substance onto the fabric squares. Nadyha picked one up and told Denny, “This is elachi, Grains of Paradise. We just got the plants back from the Blue Beasts, and we don’t have much of the seeds, which is what you smell. I didn’t want to use them for you but Baba Simza is making me.” She placed the poultice over his wound, then lifted him up to slide the other one under him. “I’m not going to put bands around you, because of the measles spots, it’ll just make them itch
more. Here, here, you’ve been scratching, you’ll make sores, they’ll get septic. Don’t scratch.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Denny repeated helplessly.
“Now then,” she said in a businesslike tone, “I want you to sit up.” Gage made a movement to help Denny but Nadyha smoothly put her arm around his shoulders to support him. Her touch was much gentler than her tone. Mirella took a pint bottle filled with clear, thick liquid out of her pocket, poured it into a large spoon, and Nadyha took it from her. “Here, take this. But don’t gulp it, let it roll around in your mouth before you swallow it. It’ll make the sores in your mouth feel better, and it’ll help your sore throat.” Obediently Denny took the spoonful. His eyes opened wider, but with pleasure, not alarm. He swished it around in his mouth for a few moments, then swallowed. “That’s delicious,” he murmured. “What is it?”
“Anisette,” Nadyha answered. “It will help you sleep, but not at first.” She watched him expectantly.
After a few moments he started coughing, and Nadyha said with approval, “It helps you cough up the poison. Here.” She held one of the fabric squares up to Denny’s mouth and he coughed and spit, gagged and coughed and spit. When the spasms relaxed, Nadyha threw the soiled cloth into the basket and said kindly to Denny, “That’s very good, gajo. Now sleep.” Denny sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and seemed to instantly fall into a deep sleep. Almost running, Nadyha went to the pump and washed her hands, then returned to Denny’s side.
She pointed to the other copper pot, which had steam rising from it, with a clean herbal scent, and told Gage, “This is to bathe him, tonight, when the fever goes high. It’ll be just lukewarm by then, and the herbs will soothe the itch.”
“I can do that,” Gage said firmly. “And what about that stuff, you said it was anisette? Is it some sort of laudanum?”
“No, it’s made from the anise plant, it has a taste like licorice. But we make it with distilled gin, so it’s a spirituous drink. That’s what makes him sleep, you see,” Nadyha explained. “So for the next day, and the next day, he should have a spoonful every two hours, maybe three hours, depending on how much and when he starts coughing in his sleep.”
“You mean I’ll need to wake him up?” Gage asked. “Even if he’s sleeping soundly?”
“Yes, for tonight and tomorrow, and then we’ll see,” Nadyha said firmly. “He has to get that poison out of his chest. Don’t give him a pillow, if he sits up it’ll make it all sink to the bottom of his chest and it’ll be harder to get it to come up. You see?”
Gage nodded. “Makes sense, though I’ve never heard of this treatment for pneumonia. Thank you, Miss Nadyha, I’ll take care of him.”
Nadyha went on, “I’m going to go over there,” and she pointed behind and to the left of their pallets underneath the oaks, “and fix our fire pit. These cloths must be burned,” she said with emphasis. “And when you touch them, you must go wash your hands at the pump.”
“I will. But, couldn’t I go dig the pit? I really would like to do something, ma’am, instead of just sitting here like a stump. And then maybe, if Denny would be okay for a couple of hours, I could go hunting for us. These woods are filled with all kinds of game, and I’m a pretty good hunter.”
“It would be good for you to bring us some pigeons, maybe a wild hog,” Nadyha agreed. “But soon my brother will bring our supper. Maybe tomorrow you can hunt. And yes, I’ll show you the fire pit, it’s already built but you’ll need to gather some small dry kindling for it. While you’re doing that Mirella and I will gather moss and herbs to make the gajo a good mattress.”
The sun was lowering, slowly disappearing behind the willow tree and its shadowing oak giants. Underneath the trees the temperature dropped quickly, and a quiet, soft breeze carried the strong mint smell over the camp. Gage gathered a good-sized pile of dry sticks and knots of pine around the fire pit. He noted the clear path leading to the pit from the direction of the wagons, and wondered what they burned so often, for the tin-lined fire pit was much used. All trace of grass and weeds had been cleared around it, and a deep layer of fine ash lay at the bottom.
Returning to camp, he unsaddled Cayenne, who had been wandering around just inside the woods, nibbling on the thick grasses that grew even in the deep shade. Gage was looking at the pump, for there was a trough by it, and he wondered if that was the animal’s drinking-trough or if the Gypsies used it for something else; a freshwater reservoir, maybe, or for bathing. He had just decided to go find Nadyha or Mirella and ask about watering Cayenne when they both came out of the woods from behind the wagon with, Gage presumed, Nadyha’s brother Niçu. He was as tall as she, with long legs, but there the resemblance stopped. His skin was as dark as Simza’s, and his features were sharp and severe, his dark eyes glittering. He wore a plain white shirt and black trousers tucked into knee-high boots. Oddly, for the first time, Gage now noticed that both Nadyha and Mirella went barefooted.
Both of the women were talking at the same time, urgently, in Gypsy. Niçu was holding a five-gallon bucket in one hand and a stringer of fish in the other. Now he held up the hand with the heavy stringer in an imperative gesture, commanded, “Chavaia!” and both women fell silent. Nadyha took the bucket, while Mirella took the stringer. Niçu gave Denny and Gage a dark stare, then went into Baba Simza’s wagon.
Gage watched as the women went to the pump, and Nadyha started pumping fresh water into the bucket, placing a tin mesh over it and letting it overflow. Mirella also held the fish under the streaming water, quickly washing each one. They talked in low voices, glancing at Gage and Denny. The bear came up to them, and Nadyha patted his head and smiled at him.
Mirella came to the lean-to and laid the fish down on a table built onto one side of it. She got a bundle of leaves and some jars of herbs from the shelter, then pulled a fish from the stringer and chopped off its head expertly with a butcher’s cleaver. Gage went to her and asked, “Ma’am, can I do that for you? I really want to help.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said. “If you’ll chop the heads and tails, I’ll wrap them.”
Gage took the mallet, chopped off the fish’s tail, and slid it down the table to where Mirella stood. She deftly sprinkled both sides of the fish with some spices, then wrapped it in two leaves, and placed it in a big Dutch oven.
“I love catfish,” Gage said, for on the stringer were six big fish. “But we usually fry—”
“Don’t call them catfish,” Mirella said with alarm. “Especially in front of Baba Simza. You must call them mudfish.”
“Okay,” said Gage, puzzled. “But may I ask why?”
“Because they can’t be cats,” Mirella said, plainly unsure of how to explain. “Ask Nadyha, she can tell you better than I can.”
Gage had been watching Nadyha—indeed, it was very hard for him not to, he found her not only alluring but fascinating—and she had finished flushing out the bucket. With a long-handled, big spoon she reached into it and brought out a pile of crawfish and then dumped them into a smaller bucket. She was smiling and talking to the bear, who was sitting watching with avid interest. After another big spoonful of them went into the bucket, she picked it up, kissed the bear on the head, and walked to his cushion, talking to him all the time. He followed her, and Gage could have sworn he was smiling. She set the bucket down by his cushion, he plopped down, and with relish dipped into the bucket and started devouring crawfish.
Gage compared the bear and the cougar in his mind; the bear was so tame, his ways and even his expressions so clear that he seemed almost human. On the other hand the cougar Anca seemed primitive, unknowable, as if she might spring on one of them at any time. She got up and walked over to the bear’s bucket, sniffed it, and turned disdainfully away. The bear seemed supremely unconcerned. Anca returned to the steps of Nadyha’s wagon, sat down, and began washing her face. To Gage her paws seemed enormous, the claws nightmarishly long and sharp.
Nadyha dumped the remaining crawfish and a pile of jacket potatoes int
o an enormous steaming pot on the fire. Then she sprinkled several powders into the pot, and the old familiar, and to Gage terrific, smell of Creole cooking wafted to him, peppery and spicy.
Nadhya came to the table and grabbed the last fish from the stringer. “This is for Anca, if she wants it,” she said. “She hunted two days ago, she may be getting hungry now.”
Gage watched curiously as she went to the cougar. Nadyha knelt down so that they were eye-to-eye, and spoke softly to her. Nadyha stroked her head, then touched her nose to Anca’s. Holding out the fish, Anca, with great delicacy considering such large teeth, took it from her hand. Lying down in her Sphinx position she began to eat the fish.
Gage went to the pump, where Nadyha was already washing her hands. “I like your pets,” he said. “I’ve never seen such tame animals, even in the circus. They struck me as being obedient, but not affectionate. Your cougar and your bear are.”
“To me,” Nadyha said shortly. “Well, Boldo is a big baby, he loves everyone. But Anca cares for no one, especially men. She’s not really a pet, either. She only stays here when she wants to, like Rai, my hawk. Anca goes out to hunt, and maybe one day she won’t come back.” Nadyha shrugged. “That’s the way it is with her. Matchko, my cat, is under my feet all the time, he’ll never go anywhere he doesn’t have to, he’s so lazy.”
“That reminds me,” Gage said, “Mirella told me not to say ‘catfish,’ to call them mudfish. She said you could explain to me why.”
Nadyha looked at him curiously, drying her hands on her apron. “Why do you want to know? Why do you care what we call things?”
“I’m curious, ma’am, but I don’t mean in a bad way,” Gage said uncertainly. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Gypsies, I mean. Uh—I know you call yourselves the Romany, and we call you ‘Gypsies,’ you said. But do you consider ‘Gypsy’ to be an insult?”
“No, not at all. In fact, there’s a story behind ‘Gypsy’ that we think makes us special,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “Anyway, we’d rather the gaje call us that than know or understand the real Romany.”
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