Requiem for a Gypsy

by Michael Genelin

  The lecture was being held in a hall, one of the government buildings near Grassalkovich Palace. It was used on the weekends by a variety of Communist-approved organizations. It was not mandatory for anyone to attend these events, but the clean and pleasant surroundings near the palace gave the lectures and meetings at the hall an aura of respectability, so they were reasonably well attended. There were always a number of kids at them, whole families sometimes coming, depending upon the subject. Given the poor selection of entertainment and amusements under the regime, they were, at least, a type of diversion from humdrum ordinary life. The only demands for money were a plate placed prominently on a table at the entrance, by whatever group was presenting the event, on which you could drop the fewest number of korona that your conscience would tolerate; and, on another table holding various handouts, a slightly smaller plate.

  Jana and her mother walked into the half-filled hall, her mother slipping a few coins into the plate at the door, a young woman who was standing guard over the plate welcoming them. The wall was not decorated with any Communist Party paraphernalia since it was not a party event, simply an event provided with a permit by the government. Jana’s mother was saying hello to another woman when Jana saw the poster with the small photograph of the lecturer on it. It was Georg Repka, the one-time agent provocateur who had been beaten by the police, the one who had betrayed his fellow students. Jana turned, ready to leave without even telling her mother why she was going, when the urge to see Repka again, to see what kind of man the student had become, stopped her.

  Jana’s mother saw the change in her daughter’s face and took her elbow. “You’re not feeling well?”

  “I’m fine. Mother,” Jana said, indicating the poster, “you know Georg Repka?”

  “He’s always working on issues. A good thinker. You just know he’ll go into politics. Georg stands out.”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “He’s not a party official, but he’s respected by them.” “It’s good when people respect you,” Jana said without really meaning it. Internally, Jana could feel the turmoil of anticipation generated by the thought of seeing the man again. She had a dreadful feeling that she was going to be involved in an experience that she wished she could avoid, but which was rushing toward her with a momentum she couldn’t stop.

  “Let’s get close before all the seats are taken,” Jana’s mother urged. They walked up to the first row and sat directly in front of the dais. “Why strain to hear when you can be right in front of the speaker?”

  The room did not fill up, and only about half of the seats had been taken when the young woman who had been at the door came to the dais to introduce Repka. She went into the usual glowing praise, identifying him as a man who had become known as a clear-minded, respected social critic who had, even at a young age, caught the attention of the serious-minded people of Slovakia who were looking for future leaders, a man of high moral principles whom people could look up to. Her introduction went on much too long, but she finally wound down to let Repka take the podium.

  There was a smattering of applause as Repka strode up the aisle to the dais, his face radiant as if he had been freshly anointed as a saint’s representative and was now ready to explain heaven to them all. He still had the hitch in his stride caused by the police beating, though the limp was improved from when Jana had last seen him. Repka raised his hand to stop the applause and looked over the audience, immediately seeing Jana’s mother and giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. Jana’s mother beamed back at him, happy to be recognized, nudging Jana just in case she had missed it. He had not recognized Jana.

  Repka launched into his speech. The man was a natural crowd-pleaser. He began with a couple of jokes, comic stories that were harmless enough, then transitioned into the main portion of his talk, which began with an account of a hobo from another country begging for change from a woman after he had stolen a pie she had baked. Imagine, he said, the nerve of a person stealing from a woman, then trying to get money from her too. From there, he moved on to the subject of foreigners in general. Aliens had come into the country and were begging for handouts after they had already begun stealing the country’s wealth. He then veered from this xenophobic call for distrust of foreigners because they didn’t care about the needs of the Slovak people on to the Roma question.

  The Roma question? Gypsies?

  Jana was startled. She’d known there would be rhetoric, because her mother wouldn’t have been interested in the lecture if that hadn’t been expected. However, the excoriation of the gypsies that followed was beyond anything Jana could have imagined.

  “We have been tainted by a foreign presence for many years. We’ve been strong enough to tolerate those who come into our country and take advantage of this land’s people and their generosity. What we cannot and shall never tolerate is the alien, scabrous presence of those people who steal from us and then steal again, without ever contributing one iota to the common good. They demand, and demand, and demand more, never giving, always taking. The gypsy presence has to be dealt with. Let them go home. Let them be repatriated. Help them get out if it can be done quickly. No matter how they protest, help them, not too gently if necessary, to all get out. Wash our country clean.”

  Repka continued on and on, his speech broken only by applause, the man bathing in the glow of approval. He was calling for expelling the gypsies. He was preaching no tolerance. He seemed to be verging on calling for an extermination of the Roma, only pulling back at the last moment, implying to his audience that this might be the appropriate course if no other way of dealing with the alien Rom presence in their nation succeeded.

  To Jana, it was as if the Nazis had come back into the country, only in another guise. She felt a new anger building on the anger she already felt for the man, now turning into rage. She wasn’t sure she could contain it, but at the same time she didn’t want to alienate her mother. But her mother sat beside her virtually eating out of the man’s hand, applauding every time she got the chance. It finally became too much for Jana to endure, and she stood up, staring at Repka, swaying slightly, holding herself back from physically attacking the man, a man who had betrayed his own people before and was now calling for another betrayal.

  Jana’s mother grabbed her arm, trying to pull her down, the audience becoming aware that Jana was not standing in support, but in defiance. Repka began to dart glances at her, aware that things were not quite as he would like in his audience. The rest of the spectators had begun to focus so much on Jana that they were no longer hearing what he was saying. They had stopped applauding. The silence, combined with Jana standing indomitably in front of him, eventually wore Repka down, Jana impressing her will on his. The man’s speech faltered, descending into silence, both he and Jana staring at each other.

  “I think this lady is ill,” Repka finally suggested. “Can one of us help the lady to get some air outside?”

  “All of us need air in here,” Jana responded.

  Jana’s mother forcefully yanked on her arm. Jana ignored her.

  “You betrayed your friends; you want to betray your countrymen. You want them to beat the students again, only now they’re gypsies. How long do you go on with this?” Jana asked.

  “The lady is obviously sick,” Repka announced. “Can we get on with this meeting? Will someone lead her out of here?”

  The woman who had provided Repka’s introduction came over to Jana. “You seem to be ailing,” she whispered. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll get you a glass of water and you can rest for a while.” She tried to take Jana’s arm, but Jana shook her off.

  “You can’t do it again, Repka. You’ll be stopped.” Jana turned to the audience. “Don’t you see? He has to be stopped.” There was no response. After several seconds of silence, Jana leaned over to her mother. “I’m going. You should come with me.” Her mother didn’t move. “I’ll wait outside, Mother.” Jana walked down the center aisle and out of the hall.

&nbs
p; Jana’s mother remained seated for a few moments, uncertain what to do. Then she gave Repka an apologetic look, got up, and hurried after her daughter. She found Jana in the area just outside the lecture-hall entrance.

  “Are you crazy?” Jana’s mother snarled at her.

  “No, Mother, I’m not crazy.”

  “Then why did you do this?”

  Jana walked out of the building and onto the street, her mother following her.

  “Why did you do this, Jana?” her mother repeated.

  “Because someone has to stand up and stop him, Mother. You have to see what people like that are. You have to realize what they’re doing. Then you have to stand up and say enough!”

  “My friends will talk about this,” Jana’s mother complained. “The party will hear about what you said, and I’ll have to answer for it.”

  “Does the party sponsor state action against the gypsies, Mother?”

  “They’re letting that flag fly to see which way it will blow. Then they’ll decide. We’ve all talked about it. We have to do something about them. Don’t you see?” Her mother’s voice trailed off.

  “Yes,” said Jana, talking to herself rather than agreeing with her mother. “Except you can’t see if you’re looking through dirty glass.”

  They walked for a short distance together, awkwardly hugged, then went to their own separate homes.

  Chapter 26

  They drove west on Unter den Linden, which quickly became Strasse des 17 Juni, the car heading toward Charlottenburg. Jana thought about the events at the airport, deciding to explore the unease she’d experienced when they’d all come together.

  “You don’t get along with the BKA?” she asked Konrad.

  “There’s always rivalry. They accuse us of encroaching on them; we accuse them of being inept. They think they’re the cavalry; and they think Die Kripo is the infantry. We think they don’t really know how to work street crime; they think we hang out with thugs and can’t be trusted. So, a small amount of friction.”

  “They’ve got something under a blanket they don’t want us to know about.”

  “Naturally. They always do. So does your fellow Slovak, the prosecutor. Otherwise she wouldn’t be hanging out with the BKA. That also means you won’t be getting the whole truth from your people. Chances are you will get less than nothing. And so will I.”

  “Are we dealing with state secrets here? Earth-shaking events?”

  Konrad winced. “I hope not. The last time I was involved in anything like that, the streets were littered with people who had been shot, stabbed, and generally maimed. The BKA were involved up to their asses in that one as well.”

  “What’s going on, Albrecht?”

  “All I know is that there’s some kind of angst hanging in the air around the Ministry of the Interior and a few of the other parts of government.”

  “With all this hiding and concealment, it has to be big. The thing, whatever it is, has to affect a lot of people or there wouldn’t be all this interest.”

  “I agree.”

  She thought about the murder of the Turk in Slovakia. “Have you had any mention of a man called Makine, also known as Koba?”

  “Damn, is that bastard involved in this?”

  “He may be.”

  “Maybe I should take my pension early?”

  “You’d be bored.”

  “I like lying around. I’m just a simple person.” He laughed at his description of himself. “Okay, I’m not so simple.”

  “Did you come up with anything on young Bogan?”

  “He’s not so young. And he’s in the game.”

  “He’s a criminal?”

  “Not a good man, as we might say. He’s playing with the Turks.”

  “Turks?”

  “We’ve got a huge Turkish population here. They come into Germany for work. Considering the piss-poor wages they get in Turkey, it’s not a bad idea. They’ve done pretty well, except for the usual fringe group that preys on them and everybody else. Lots of narcotics activity. They have the contacts in Turkey to bring it in. Some are hardcore thieves and enforcers. The German gangs like to use them for heavy-duty muscle because they’re safe. It’s hard to penetrate through the layers in the tight-knit Turkish community. Their ‘capital’ is Kreuzberg. Used to be primarily working-class German. The Turks have more or less taken the place over. The biggest Turkish population outside of Turkey. Tons of kebab shops and travel agents that want to send you back to Anatolia at cheap prices.”

  “Any informants who work the area?”

  “One good one. I can nose around to see if any of my people have any others. Why?”

  “I’ve got a Turk in Bratislava who was found with an ice pick in his eye.”

  “That’s why you asked about Makine?”

  “The ice pick sounds like Makine, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s not a popular weapon for anyone else I can think of.”

  “There are two others possibly involved in the killing, one of them a German named Balder who worked with the Turk. I’ll get you the workup we have on it.”

  She dialed Seges on her cell phone. He seemed preoccupied when he came on the line.

  “What’s wrong, Seges?” she asked.

  “My life is being made miserable.”

  “What’s Em doing?”

  “It’s my wife.”

  “Then what is she doing?”

  “She’s listening to that little monster and buying clothes and makeup and dishes, and now she’s talking about buying furniture. It’s just a matter of days before she throws me out.”

  “Why is she going to throw you out?”

  “Because of your Em.”

  “She’s not my Em,” Jana interrupted.

  “Because this Em has said that I haven’t been nice enough to my wife, and now my wife is talking about divorcing me.”

  “Has she actually said she’s divorcing you, Seges?”

  “No, but I can see what’s coming.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  There was a long silence.

  “She’s talking about a boyfriend she had years ago,” he said. “I know what that means.”

  “It means she wants you to pay more attention to her, that’s all it means.”

  There was another silence. “How am I supposed to pay more attention to her?”

  “Ask Em.”

  “Em will know?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Seges was silent again. Jana took advantage of the moment to tell Seges to fax the information on the dead Turk and his friends to Albrecht Konrad. She asked Konrad for his fax number and passed it on to Seges. Then she hung up before Seges could complain any more.

  She glanced out the window. The area was becoming less commercial and more residential.

  “We’re almost there,” Konrad informed her.

  They passed the large green area that housed the magnificent Schloss Charlottenburg, the palace surrounded by huge gardens that Frederick the First had built for his queen; then they swung onto a side street. It was lined with old but still-elegant houses, remnants of the aristocracy who used to live in these villas near the palace. Konrad pointed to a huge white wood-and-brick structure mostly concealed by large trees in its front yard. From what Jana could see of the lawn and the mansion, it was well kept up.

  “Not a bad place to live, eh?” Konrad observed.

  “I’ll take it. I wonder exactly what the younger Bogan does to deserve all this.”

  Konrad gave her a knowing smile. “He knows how to stay out of the front lines. I’ve never seen the man, but from what I can gather he’s provided the bankroll for a few criminal events. One was a wholesale jeweler who had too much gold on hand. The other was a bank. They tunneled from three doors down, under the intervening buildings. It was a hell of an engineering feat. We got most of the loot back from the first job and nothing back on the second. All in all, even though the first one went bad, he more than made up his c
osts for it with the second one. The man has walked away clean on everything, white as that house of his. He’s banking outside of Germany; where, I don’t know.”

  “His daddy has a bank in Vienna.”

  A long, satisfied “Ahhhh” came out of Konrad’s mouth. “That’s where it’s coming and going. He gets his startup funds there, then deposits what he makes. I like it. Neat. Daddy is taking care of his son.”

  “Except we seem to have lost daddy and haven’t quite found the son.”

  “You won’t find him in there, either.” He pointed a forefinger at the house. “There’s nothing in the place.” Konrad had a “cat who ate the canary” grin on his face. “Not one stick of furniture.”

  “You’ve already been inside?”

  “You think I’m going to wait for the BKA to make a decision about whether I’m even going to be allowed to go in with them? I’d never even get a taste of what they found, if they ever could find anything. So, I didn’t wait for a warrant.”

  Jana was not surprised that Konrad had already been in the villa. Thinking over the situation, she might have done the same thing.

  “You have a key?”

  “An easy lock pick. Except there’s nothing to see inside.”

  “For my own satisfaction, I’d like to go in the house.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  They got out of the car and walked through the gate and up to the front door of the house. The surround of trees concealed them from the neighbors as Konrad picked the lock, and within seconds they slipped inside.

  The rooms were spacious, light-filled, and, as Konrad had said, empty. Jana walked from room to room. Everything had been removed, even the light bulbs in the beautiful chandelier still hanging in the dance-floor–sized living room. Jana took one side of the double staircase leading to the second floor and went through every room upstairs. Not a stick of furniture anywhere. Even the floors had been scrubbed clean. Whoever had emptied the house had done a thorough job. There was nothing to find on the upper floor, Jana concluded. She went back downstairs.