by Sarah Price
Softly, Sahara replied, “To my father and the tavern.”
Nodding, Nicolae watched her carefully, his gaze still steady and his eyes penetrating deep into her own. “I see.” He paused, as though choosing his next words carefully. When he did speak, the smoothness of his voice disappeared behind the harshness of his words. “You want to go home to your father, yes? The man that gambled you away? The man that fought so valiantly for you after he lost?” The emphasis on the word valiantly caused Sahara to shift her weight, her eyes breaking his gaze as she looked away. He had struck a raw nerve. Daringly, Nicolae reached out and touched her chin, waiting for Sahara to look back at him. He gave her a soft smile as he said, “You must love him very much.” But then, after the briefest of hesitations, he dropped her chin and his tone became more sinister. “Certainly more than he loved you if he gambled away his own flesh and blood. I did not see him stand in your defense when you were carried away. Nor do I see him following us, trying to right this wrong.”
Her heart sank. With growing trepidation, Sahara realized that this man was right. Her father had sold her, like common chattel. His drinking and gambling had finally destroyed the one last thing he had in his life: his only remaining family. Sahara could never return home. Not to her father. Feeling alone and frightened, she frowned. “Where am I to go?” she thought aloud, not really desiring Nicolae's advice or expecting it.
“S'hara, you may go nowhere,” he said. His voice was deep and thick, the accent making his words flow together so that they had a songlike quality. It was comforting even if the words were not. “You belong to the Rom Baro.”
Snapping her head, Sahara narrowed her eyes. How dare he assume she would allow herself to belong to anyone. Unless they chained her, Sahara would never stay with these people. “I belong to no man! Especially some scraggly old gypsy!” She started to walk away, but she stopped, her heart pounding. The women stared at her, watching her every move. To them, she was the outsider and they were studying her reaction. Sahara had to get away, even if for just a moment to collect her thoughts. Her mind reeled at the surreal situation that she faced her. She stared at the tents and wagons. They all looked the same and Sahara realized that she had no idea where the tent was that she had slept in. She couldn't even escape from the gypsies' curious gazes.
Sahara felt the tears stinging at her eye. She blinked, trying to fight them back but, before she could help herself, she began to sob softly. Lowering her head into her hands, she felt lost and alone, torn from the only home she had ever known, the only life she had ever lived. She couldn’t go back. That was true. Nor would she stay here amongst strangers of mind, body, and culture. If she could leave, she had no money, no skills, and no home. The man had, indeed, spoken correctly: she had nowhere to go.
The wind blew through her hair as she stood on the deck of the ship. She held the small infant in her arms, protecting her from the wind by holding her close to her chest. The air smelled of salt and of freedom. She shut her eyes and felt the sway of the boat beneath her feet. The boat rolled gently in the waves, each roll followed by a loud slap of water against the hull. The only other noise was the occasional flutter of the canvas sail, snapping in the wind. The sun shone overhead but the woman was in the shadows of the sail, protected from the harsh rays of the noonday radiance.
The other passengers were downstairs, below deck. Many were tired of the journey. Most of them slept as much as possible, especially during the heat of the day. It made time go faster. But the woman would not be confined beneath the deck and away from the fresh air. The small infant needed air and she needed to get away from the angry stares of the others on the ship. It was a time of great stress and tension and the woman could only escape by slipping away and hiding in the shadows of the sail.
The sailors left her along, respectful of the new mother. She had only given birth a few weeks ago, during the mid-point of the journey. The birth had been easy and her recovery fast. That was attributed to her youth and vigor. But the fact that she gave birth at all was frowned upon, a stain on her family and her future. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t have traded any of it if it meant the loss of those few days of passion and love. Forbidden love, true. But it was so powerful and so honest. She found herself smiling as she remembered his arms, his words, his powerful lovemaking. He had never made her any promises and that was fine with her. He had given her something even better than memories. He had given her the child in her arms.
Chapter Three
The days were long and it was getting hotter each day. The sun rose early in the morning and often did not set until well into the evening. During the first few days, the gypsies left her alone. She would often wander on the edge of the camp, searching the horizon as if the answer was there. In the distance, she could see hills and forests. The road did not look familiar and she did not see signs of other towns. She had no idea where they were and no one spent any time paying attention to the distraught stranger in their midst. It was lonely and she was frightened. In the morning and at night, the man called Nicolae delivered her meals, usually without so much as a word and always under the watchful gaze of the older woman. He wasn’t unkind but distant, allowing her time to adapt without forcing conversation or explanation.
At night, the campfires flickered in the darkness casting shadows around the tents and wagons that encircled them. During the initial days, Sahara would stay inside the tent, too frightened to leave. She knew the stories about gypsies and what the men were capable of doing to a single woman. Instead, she would huddle under the blankets, sometimes weeping, other times forcing herself to sleep in order to pass the time quicker. When she was awake, she would listen to the music. They played fiddles and wooden flutes. The noise was lively and fiery. The tunes were fast-paced and caused her heart to race. Yet, deep down, there was something comforting about the music. On those nights, while the music played, she snuck to the tent opening and peered out, watching the life around the campfire, listening to the beckoning notes that flew from their instruments, and seeing the shadows of people dancing in the flickering glow from the fires.
She had not seen the old gypsy since the night at the saloon. If he was at the camp, he remained hidden. Since her first daring excursion a few days past, she had not ventured into the company of the gypsies. Her mind reeled at the changing course of her life. She had to make a decision but she was completely unprepared to even begin comprehending what were her options. She wandered around the edge of the tents, avoiding the clusters of women and men.
Once, she sat on a grassy hill, staring down at the activity in the gypsy camp. She counted at least eight wagons and over twelve tents. The horses grazed nearby, two small boys keeping an eye on them. During the height of the day, the activity was much less. It seemed that the gypsies chose that time to escape the sun and took long naps in the shade. But she wasn’t certain. She just knew that they disappeared and the campsite was quiet. It was then that she ventured down from the hill and walked quietly through the tents. She stared at the crates full of pots and pans. She saw clothes hanging out to dry on makeshift clothing lines. She smelled the woodsy scent of smoldering logs, the grey smoke just barely visible as the embers died.
“Ah, you emerge at last,” a voice said from behind.
Startled, Sahara jumped and spun around. She had thought everyone was gone for their midday respite. She was surprised to see Nicolae, sitting in a tall ladder back chair, his foot on a log as he balanced the chair on its two back legs. He held a knife in one hand, a stick in another. He had been sharpening the stick but he stopped when he saw her. He wore the same dark tan breeches that were tucked into dusty black knee boots. His white shirt was opened at the neck, his bronze skin glistening underneath. Similar to the other times she had seen him, his thick black hair was bound by leather and hung down his back. When he looked at her, his dark eyes gleamed and seemed to look through her. It made her uncomfortable.
�
��You scared me,” she whispered. She took a step backward, moving away from him.
“Scared you, yes?” He looked down at the grass, a hint of a smile on his lip. She felt her heart beating inside of her chest. His eyes flickered up to meet hers once more. “So you are still scared, S’hara?” He tossed the stick into the grass and put the knife into his boot. Standing, he stretched his arms for a moment. He was much taller than she had thought, especially when he was outside under the blue sky and not inside the tent. “There is nothing to be scared of, S’hara,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “In fact, you should be excited, yes? There is a great adventure ahead of you.”
Before she could stop herself, she laughed. “A great adventure? I find that most humorous!”
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “That is one way to look at it, yes? But you already know that you cannot return to the Irish gadjo so what is the harm in being happy with our kumpania.”
“Kumpania?” she repeated, not understanding what he meant.
“Our family, yes?” He walked closer to her, his eyes never moving from her face. For a moment, she felt hypnotized. He was searching her soul, she could feel it. The feeling was so intense that she hardly felt the strong hands on her shoulders. It was a comforting touch and, for the first time, she felt relaxed in his presence, especially when she heard the gentleness in his voice as he spoke. “S'hara, you will stay with our kumpania, yes? You will be happy, I promise.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she whispered.
“You have no reason to leave,” he countered.
“I just don’t understand, Nicolae.” She could not speak further, the words burned in her throat. She wanted to say more but she fought back the tears instead. She was lonely and she afraid. She needed a friend and this man, this wildly handsome gypsy man, was all that she had. For a moment, she tried to avoid his gaze but, when she felt him wipe the tears from her cheeks, she raised her eyes to look at him. “I don’t belong here,” she managed to force out of her lips. His face was dark but she sensed that there was nothing to fear from this man. She wondered why all of the other men would be gone with the exception of this one man. Had he been assigned to watch over her? To make certain that she would not run away? Sahara wanted to look away but she recognized something else in his face. There was something soft and gentle in his gaze. And, once again, she sensed something familiar.
“Your father may have gambled you away, S’hara. But that does not mean that you cannot be happy. The traveling life is a happy life. We are a family, a tribe of people that love and care for one another. We make each other very happy.” He smiled at her and whispered, almost so quietly that she couldn’t make out his words, “I will make you happy, S'hara.” He wiped another tear that trickled down her cheek.
“But I am not part of that family,” she whispered.
“Ah, but you will become part of our tribe and we will take care of you, too, yes?”
“Part of your tribe…” she repeated softly. She felt dazed and bewildered, nothing was clear to her.
“You like gifts, yes?” Nicolae didn't wait for her answer as he took her hand, leading her slowly toward one of the wagons. “A welcome gift that will help you become part of our tribe, yes?” She felt like a rag doll, being led about by this strange man but her resolve was gone. She couldn’t understand her surroundings or her destination. She only knew that she couldn’t return to where she had been. The life that she had known had died. Now, here she was with a strange man in a strange world, being led toward a wagon, his hand gently holding her arm.
His boots slammed against the wood as he bounded up the three steps, throwing the door open and waiting for Sahara to enter. He reached out his hand to help her through the small doorway. Once they were both inside, he eagerly gestured toward the rickety chair beside a feather mattress. Numbly, she sat down, still feeling dazed. As he rummaged through some crates, Sahara looked around. The wagon was small and cramped. She could see rays of light through the boards. They cast shadows on the floor. Overhead, clusters of sweet smelling dried herbs hung next to a single unlit lantern. Her eyes trailed down the wall to the colorful scarves, skirts, blouses, and dark pants draped over pegs sticking out of the wooden walls. Besides the clothing, there were cast-iron pots and several lanterns hanging randomly from any free pegs. Where Nicolae was leaning over, Sahara noticed several crates full of bowls, bottles, and other utensils.
“Ah!” Nicolae stood up straight, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. “Your eyes. They must be closed.” Confused, Sahara stared at him. “The eyes!” At his insistence, she shut her eyes, unsure of her options. A moment later, she felt him place something around her neck. It was heavy and weighed her neck down. “Open now, yes.” He watched Sahara open her eyes and look down at her chest. “You like?”
The gold chain shone against the blackness of her dress. It was twice as thick as the gold chain her father had gambled for. But it was the large clear gemstone that caught her attention. Sahara lifted the bottom of the chain away from her body as she eyed the stone. It was the size of the tip of her little finger and the color of the night sky, encased in gold. Gently, she dropped it from her hands as she raised her eyes to meet Nicolae's. “It’s beautiful, Nicolae,” she said. “But why would you give me something so precious?”
“The Rom Baro's romni gave it to me when I was a shev.”
She didn’t know what he was saying but she was certain of one thing: clearly this was stolen. All gypsies steal, she thought. Everyone knew that. “What does that mean?”
Nicolae stared at her, his flashing brown eyes questioning her. “What does what mean?”
“Rom Baro rom ashev...” Her voice trailed away as she jumbled up the words Nicolae had spoken to her.
He laughed at her confusion. “The Rom Baro's romni...”
“His wife? Your mother?” she correctly guessed.
“My mother, yes. She gave that to me when I was...” He motioned with his hand toward the floor.
“A boy?”
Happy that she understood, he nodded again. “A boy, yes. Before she died, she gave that to me.”
Sahara ran her fingers through her hair as she stood up. She didn't understand why he would give her, a total stranger, something so beautiful and expensive. It glimmered in the light that shone through the doorway. Facing Nicolae, she asked once again, “Why would you part with something as dear as this?”
“You are a gadjo and we are not. But you belong to us now. You must become one of us.” He hesitated. “Family, yes?”
Sahara stared down at the necklace. “I must become one of you?”
“If you wear the necklace, S’hara, you will become one of us, yes. You will wear the necklace then, S’hara?” He hesitated, “You like the necklace, yes?”
Sahara wasn’t certain how to react. He was giving her his mother’s necklace, telling her that, by wearing it, she would become one of the gypsies. Given the situation, she had nowhere else to go. With no money and no family, she was now just as nomadic as this man standing before her. She knew what prospects laid ahead of her if she tried to leave and make her own way in the world. Therefore, she knew she had no choice but to lower her eyes and whisper, “I like the necklace fine, Nicolae.”
His excitement faded as he heard her announcement. In its place was a somber look. For a moment, he appeared to be deep in thought, reflecting on her words. Sahara watched him, curious about the change to such seriousness. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she waited for him. Finally, he looked at her and nodded. “Then it is settled. There will be a slava tonight! You will wear it and we will dance, yes?”
“Slava?”
His eyes glowed as he stared down at her. He reached out and gently tugged at her hair. “A feast, my bori. A feast to celebrate, yes? Tonight, you will celebrate with your new family and hid no more in the tent.”
She wondered if it was really that easy. It was as though she was shutting
a door on everything that she knew about her past. She felt like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. If she became part of this family, she would be protected. She would have food and shelter and protection. The thought of not worrying about her future anymore had a calming effect on her. Yes, she thought. It is as easy at that. She would do what Nicolae suggested and emerge from the cocoon. She would spread her wings and join this family. “Yes,” she replied, a strong sense of determination in her voice. If she was shutting the one door, she thought, there was certainly another one opening.
He helped her through the narrow wagon door and down the two steps. Outside, the air was cooling down and life was beginning to emerge. Nicolae held her gaze for another long moment, long enough for Sahara to feel herself catch her breath. She had never had any man pay attention to her before, not like this. She broke the stare, diverting her eyes to look down at the ground. She thought she heard him chuckle under his breath. Without another word, he walked away.
She thought about following him, considered wandering into the cooking area where the women were beginning to gather. Instead, she sat on the wagon stairs, her chin in the palm of her hand as she watched. There was an organization to the chaos, a gentle orchestration of job responsibility. Everyone seemed to know what they had to do. They all moved as one, each independent from the other but connected and in harmony. They were, indeed, a family.
She saw the figure of a man approach the main area. He held up his hand. Every one stopped. The gypsies began to gather around the man. Sahara squinted as she tried to see who it was. Her heart fluttered as she recognized the old gypsy: Rom Baro. The camp grew silent as the Rom Baro slowly walked toward an old woman. He stopped in front of her. Obediently, she lowered her eyes and waited for what seemed an eternity to Sahara. In silence, the Rom Baro glanced at the eager faces staring anxiously back. Another man stepped closer to the Rom Baro. It was Nicolae. Sahara stood up and, cautiously, walked toward them so that she could see better.