Gypsy in Black: The Romance of Gypsy Travelers

by Sarah Price

  Sahara carried her bowl of papin away from the crowds. The glow of the fires died as she walked further into the shadows of the night. She moved toward a wagon, situating herself comfortably on the steps. The heavy clay bowl felt clumsy in her hands as she set it on her lap. The steam rising from the contents warmed her cheeks. Lowering her face down, she inhaled. Pungent and spicy, the papin didn't appeal to Sahara's nose. But her stomach growled, forcing her to reach into the bowl with her fingers. The first chunk of meat tasted a little like heaven. If the odor had been slightly repulsive, the taste was just the opposite. Hungrily, she lifted the bowl to her lips, sipping the liquid away from the meat. With her fingers, she shoved the food into her mouth, savoring the taste only as long as it took her to force more in.

  When she finished, she set the empty bowl on the ground by her feet. She wiped her fingers on her skirt, not caring if the material got dirty. Leaning back against the steps, she stared up at the clear sky. The stars seemed minute against the vast blackness. Each one seemed to taunt her, tease her because of the situation she was in. Sighing, Sahara folded her hands on her lap as she gazed at the sky. She wondered if her father missed her. A wave of anger flashed inside but quickly subsided. He deserved her pity more than her anger.

  “You sit alone, instead of joining the fires?”

  The unexpected voice startled Sahara. She bolted to her feet too quickly, causing her to stumble forward. She started to fall down the steps but the large man caught her, his muscular arms holding her protectively until she regained her balance. She could feel the warmth of his flesh through his thin blouse. She could barely make out his features in the dark and his touch frightened her. Gaining her senses, she pushed him and started to move away from him. The man grabbed her arm, forcefully pulling her back. His grip hurt her. The pain caused her to shriek but he covered her mouth with his large hand. When she had quieted, he took his hand away.

  “Let go of my arm! You're hurting me!” Abruptly, he released her arm with such force that she had to take a step backwards to keep her balance. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering if he meant her harm. “Don't you know you aren't supposed to sneak up on people! You scared me!” In the darkness, she could make out his silhouette, noticing the glow in his eyes. The upper part of his body was thick with muscles and tight, hard flesh. His long hair hung over his shoulders in loose curls. The thin gold earring in his left ear caught a ray of light and shimmered.

  “And you are?”

  Still frightened, she looked up at him confused. “What?”

  Boldly, he reached out to touch her hair. “I do not recognize you. Tell me who you are.” His voice purred softly into her ear.

  Standing stiff, she let him gently pull a strand of her long hair toward him again. Her heart pounded and she barely whispered her name. “Sahara.”

  “But of course.” His voice was as accented as Nicolae's, yet stilted and perfect in diction. In the dark, his eyes clouded over and he stared at Sahara. His eyes took her in but the look in his eyes was different than Nicolae’s. It was fierce and bold with a gleam of anger. “You are the gadjo.”

  “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

  He hesitated, his eyes searching her face as if trying to make a connection. Finally, he spoke. “I am Emilian,” he said, letting her hair fall from his touch. In the darkness, the necklace that she wore caught a glimmer of light from the fires. Abruptly, he reached out to touch it. Sahara held her breath as he fingered the gold chain. Suddenly, he snapped his eyes to meet hers. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his breath bursting forward in a fearful rush.

  Sahara moved away from him, frightened by the anger in the stranger's voice. She had heard stories of gypsy men and things that they would do to women. She hadn’t given it much thought, not having sensed any truth to those rumors. But, under the cover of darkness, she didn’t know what such a man might do to a young, innocent woman. “It was given to me!”

  Before Emilian could ask another question, Nicolae walked out of the shadows, calling for the girl. When he saw her there, he hurried to her side. “S'hara! You must come to the fires!” Nicolae ignored Emilian as he touched Sahara's arm. He led her away, his back to the other man. “You should never eat beyond the fires, S’hara. There are many dangers out here,” he said, tossing a quick glance and angry glare over his shoulder. “And now the people wait for there is the ceremony.”

  “Ceremony?” She looked up at Nicolae curiously.

  Quickly, Emilian started to answer. “The kapara ceremony. You know of it, yes?”

  Nicolae grabbed Sahara's arm, jerking her toward him. His eyes met Emilian's, anger burning through the darkness as he silenced the man with one word. “Enough!” Nicolae pushed Sahara toward the fires. “You come with me, S'hara. Now!” The anger in his voice startled Sahara. Obediently, she followed Nicolae, glancing over her shoulder to see the man Emilian disappear into the darkness.

  “Who is he?”

  Nicolae looked down into the face of the slightly intoxicated girl beside him. As they neared the fires, her eyes began to radiate again. The gem lying upon her breast sparkled. Slowly, he smiled and his mood softened. “He is my brother, S'hara. But you must not speak with him. He is mahrimed and now, he is no one.” Loosening his grip on her arm, Nicolae lead her toward the center fire where the dances were still being performed. As soon as the musicians saw Nicolae approach with the girl, the music faded away to silence and the dancers withdrew back to their places in the seated crowd.

  The silence disturbed Sahara. Clinging to Nicolae's arm, she stared around at the strange, unfriendly faces watching her. Their eyes seemed too round and dark, too full of curiosity. Looking up at Nicolae, she pleaded with him. “I don't like this. Can't we go sit down?”

  He did not answer her. Out of the corner of her eye, Sahara noticed a man standing beside her. She turned her attention toward him and recognized the Rom Baro. He seemed taller than she remembered. He held a long, narrow loaf of bread. Behind him stood two smaller gypsy boys. One held a glass of what Sahara assumed was wine and the other boy had a soft, white substance cupped carefully in his hands. The Rom Baro lifted the bread over his head, chanting something that Sahara did not understand. The gypsies seated around the fires remained silent, their eyes studying the girl.

  Sahara looked around, not listening to the Rom Baro's incoherent, gypsy words. She began to finger the necklace around her neck. The gold felt warm under her touch. Smiling to herself, she glanced at Nicolae. His nostrils flared as his dark eyes sparkled. There was something about him that aroused Sahara's curiosity. He acted mysteriously about the customs of the gypsies, never quite explaining them fully to her. Yet, he claimed she was to be a part of their kumpania, a part of the Machiwaya vista. Whatever that means, she thought to herself.

  “Nicolae?” Her voice was soft as she gazed up at him. Her eyelids drooped, a wave of drunken fatigue washing over her. Lazily, she asked, “What is this?”

  He whispered back, “To make you a romni.”

  “Do you mean a gypsy?”

  He nodded once. “Something like that.” Silencing her with his hand placed over hers, he returned his attention to his father.

  The ceremony continued. The Rom Baro handed Nicolae a piece of bread. Carefully, Nicolae broke the bread into two pieces, giving one to Sahara while eating the other piece. Sahara wasn’t certain what she was supposed to do. Nicolae nudged her and motioned toward her mouth. She placed the piece of bread in her mouth and he smiled, reassuring her that she had done the correct thing. His smile caused her heart to flutter. It was warm and beautiful, even in the orange glow of the burning fires. The Rom Baro interrupted her thoughts as he took her left hand and Nicolae's right. Still speaking in his gypsy language, he poured salt into their palms. Sahara glanced down at it, her head starting to spin again. More chanting echoed in her ears before Nicolae whispered for her to throw the salt over her shoulder. “What?”

  Nicolae nudged her. “O
ver your shoulder.”

  The Rom Baro waited for Sahara to toss the salt over her shoulder before he handed Nicolae the glass of red wine. For the first time, the Rom Baro ceased speaking. He stood before this, a smile on his face but a distant look in his eyes. Sahara wondered where he had drifted, to what memory gave him such pleasure. But her thoughts were interrupted as Nicolae slowly lifted the glass of wine to his lips before handing it to Sahara. Raising the light glass, she sipped at it. The wine tasted sweeter than the harsh rakiya from earlier in the evening. It agreed with her more so, eagerly, she tilted the glass again, finishing the wine to the gypsy women's dismay and the gypsy men's delight.

  Several gypsy women came over to Sahara, taking her to one side. Her fatigue vanished as she suddenly became very frightened. The women chattered happily, clawing at Sahara, turning her around and touching her. Some spoke English, others their gypsy language. They kept crowding around her, spinning her beneath their hands. They were smiling and they were happy. She understood that much. But, of the rest, she understood nothing. Sahara glanced over her shoulder at Nicolae. He smiled reassuringly at her. The oldest gypsy woman, the one Sahara assumed was the Rom Baro's wife, turned around to a young girl. The girl handed the woman something. The old woman lifted her hands into the air as she turned back. Slowly, she placed a fancy royal blue scarf, weaved with golden threads, onto Sahara's head. Silence followed as the old woman turned Sahara around to face the people. With a gentle shove, the old woman said, “Now return to him.”

  Relieved, Sahara practically raced back to Nicolae's side. He put his arm around her waist and spun her around. The people cheered, the music resumed and the dancing began again. The other gypsies no longer stared at her. Instead, they cheered and clapped, dancing and laughing along with the night. Nicolae looked down at Sahara’s face, masked by the blue cloth. He reached out to brush his finger across her cheek. She started to say something, startled by his touch. But, before she could form the words, Nicolae abruptly left her side, being pulled away by several younger gypsies. She watched as the younger men danced around Nicolae, their feet moving in time to the music, their hands clapping and their voice trilling in the air. Nicolae was at the center of the men and could barely be seen through the sea of limbs and bodies.

  Wandering around the fires, Sahara forced her way through the people. As the rakiya reared to her head, she noticed that the gypsies had multiplied. This morning, she had noticed a couple gypsies here and there. Now, they were everywhere. At least sixty, if not more. She touched her forehead with her hand as she stood near a fire. The music began to grow louder, enticing her. Opening her eyes, Sahara stared at the dancing women. They moved gracefully around the fire, lifting their arms into the air, snapping them down, and then lifting them again. Their heads moved rhythmically, from one side to another in time to raising and dropping of their arms. They trilled their tongues in waves.

  Drawn by the beauty of the dance and song, Sahara slowly walked out toward the dancing women. The music sped up as Sahara neared. The women continued dancing, moving their feet faster in time with the fiddles. Carelessly, Sahara joined the circle, dancing around the fire. The music raced even faster. Sahara pulled the scarf off her head, holding the ends as she raised it over her head then slowly dropping it as she followed the other gypsies’ movements. Her long hair billowed across her face each time she moved her head. She began to spin, whirling in time to the music. Her bare feet hit the ground, small clouds of dust rising. The fiddlers played her game as they fiddled faster, faster, so fast Sahara could spin no more. Exhausted, she collapsed in the beaten down grass. Her arms covered her eyes, deliriously drunk from both liquor and laughter.

  The music stopped, causing the fervor of chatter to also cease. Sahara opened her eyes, surprised to see Nicolae standing over her. Raising herself on one arm, she stared up at him. The smile faded from her face as he reached a hand down. Taking it, Sahara let him help her to her feet. Still staring into his eyes, she faced him, her heart pounding as her blood boiled through her veins. Was he actually exciting her like no man had ever done? Why did her heart pound so? Why did her skin burn at his touch? She had no time to ponder her questions as Nicolae lifted his chin and arm into the air. The fiddles sang once again. This time, the song was soothingly slow. Sahara looked back at Nicolae, relaxing her arm, as she felt safe once again.

  Keeping her at arms length, Nicolae began to move elegantly around the fires. His free arm floated through the air, rising above his head. His one foot slowly kicked forward, gracefully followed by his other foot. The entire time, he stared down at Sahara, enticing her with his passionate eyes to follow his example. Slowly, she began to let her intoxication take her actions as she demurely looked away then brashly looked back. Lifting her scarf over her head, she waved it back and forth in time to the music.

  The fiddlers took this as a cue to quicken their pace. Nicolae let go of Sahara's hand as he began to dance wildly around the fire. Leaping into the air, Nicolae spun, landed on his knees, rolled forward, and sprang upright then repeated his actions. Stunned, Sahara watched him with large, dark eyes. His precise movements in time to the flaming gypsy music aroused something inside of her she had never felt before. When he leapt into the air for the third time, he landed in position to roll forward. The music came crashing to a halt as Nicolae's roll found him lying at Sahara's feet. Dumbfounded, Sahara stared down at him where he laid panting, trying to catch his breath. He was covered in a layer of dust from rolling on the dry ground. His black hair was damp with sweat, a few pieces stuck to his forehead. But as he lay at her feet, his eyes meeting hers, Sahara warmed inside. Burning with fervor of excitement, she fell to her knees, looking at him on his own level. The gypsies around the fire began to shout, trill, and cheer as they looked on. Nicolae smiled at her between gulping for air. Whatever she had done, Sahara realized she had pleased Nicolae.

  “Nicolae, you like?”

  Tossing his head back, he laughed. His laughter rang brassy in her ears. It was a handsome sound and it made a blush cross her cheeks. When he sobered, he reached out for her hand. “S'hara, I like.”

  Crowds of gypsies surrounded the fires, laughing and trilling as they tilted their bottles of rakiya. Nicolae got to his feet, helping Sahara up once again. He took her scarf, dirty from dancing, and replaced it over her head. He sighed softly as he glanced at the people milling around the burning flames. When Nicolae looked back at Sahara, he lifted her chin up to meet his eyes. “You are tired, yes?” When she nodded, Nicolae glanced over the heads of the gypsies. Sahara couldn't see to whom he gestured, but shortly after, two older women clucked their tongues at her, grabbing her arms as they dragged her away from Nicolae. He nodded, letting her know he approved.

  The old women took her to a wagon. No herbs hung from the ceiling or pots from pegs in the wall. A dusty chair rested against one wall with a grey dress tossed over the back of it. A heavy wooden crate was turned upside down next to the chair. A brass candlestick holder with a half burnt white candle sat on the center of the crate. One of the women quickly lit it. In the flickering orange glow, the only thing Sahara noticed was the feather mattress on the floor against the far wall. She let the old women undress her for she was too intoxicated to care. Stretching across the pillows, she shut her eyes and fell asleep before they could cover her with a thick, wool blanket.

   

  It wasn’t until at least a month after their arrival that they met up with the other family. The girl with the infant held her head high as she was presented to the people. They looked at her, the women with frowns on their faces and the men with curiosity. She was joining their family but not through marriage. It was unusual but they all knew the reason why. It was the baby in her arms, small and meek. A child born out of wedlock and one that , in the future, would marry into the family. In the meantime, the mother would be the caretaker, a burden to them as they must care for her with no man to help shoulder the task.


  The girl did not meet their gazes. She stared ahead, unwavering in her composure. She didn’t show any emotion as her father let her toward the people. Her father had not spoken to her again since that night on the ship. He did not speak to her now. Instead, he spoke to the man who would become her new “father”. He was younger than her own father and his two sons stood behind him, their expressions strong and stoic. The smaller of the two boys looked at her, curiosity getting the best of him. The larger of the boys looked bored. She didn’t try to listen to the words. She was too focused on masking her own feelings as she was given away, no longer welcome in her father’s family and not certain how welcome she was in by the new family standing before her.

  Chapter Five

  The old women grabbed at Sahara's arms, then desperately at her hair. Sahara escaped out the wagon door, ignoring their screeching voices as she bounded down the wooden steps. Raising a trembling hand to her head, she felt a throbbing headache developing. Momentarily, she shut her eyes, wondering how much she had drunk the night before. She remembered the music, the dancing, and the reaction from the people. She felt her cheeks grow flush and she quickened her steps, as if the speed of her walk could suppress the feelings of embarrassment.

  She noticed the empty bottles scattered near the black, smoldering circles in the grass. Around the blackened but still smoldering fires, dirt showed through the beaten down grass. Several small boys were already up, taking the horses to pasture. One of them noticed her and smiled. For a brief second, Sahara almost smiled back. Instead, she waved for him to come to her. Cautiously, the boy walked over Sahara. Behind his dirty face and greasy hair, Sahara recognized the unmistakable resemblance the boy had to the other gypsies. A faded blue kerchief was tied around his neck. His bare young chest showed through the button-less, dirty white blouse he wore. As he spoke, his dark eyes glowed. “You wish to speak to me, bori?”