Gypsy in Black: The Romance of Gypsy Travelers

by Sarah Price

  So Sahara was pleased to be remembered, he thought. Indeed he had remembered her. All day, his thoughts had been of her, wanting to return to camp and pull her into his arms, make love to her over and over again until they fell asleep, their bodies entwined and exhausted. When he had rode over the hill, his eyes had searched the faces of the gypsy women, eager to see Sahara waiting for him. He had barely heard the story about Emilian and Greggor before he understood Sahara's disappearance. “Perhaps we do not join the festivities tonight?” He stroked her bare arm, waiting for her reaction.

  She snapped her head away from the horses, the opal bouncing against her forehead. She met his lustful gaze. So that was on his mind, she thought. “Wouldn't the people be disappointed if we didn't dance for them?” The past few evenings since the Rom Baro had agreed to allow Locke and Finny to wed, Nicolae and Sahara had been the main attraction of the camp. Everyone loved to watch their love story danced out, including the gypsies. It hadn't been planned. The music had started one night and Nicolae spun around the fire, taunting Sahara to join him. Rakiya burned her head as she drunkenly got up, laughing to herself. Her feet had moved like never before, dancing after him. The next thing she knew, she had been in his arms and the crowd was applauding.

  Nicolae gave his shoulders a childish shrug. “Perhaps I want you to myself tonight.”

  Her pulse began to quicken. Startled, she realized she wanted him just as badly. “And what about what I want?”

  He smiled at her question. Glancing over his shoulder at the other gypsies, he was pleased to see they were inspecting the new horses. No one was paying attention to the future Rom Baro and his wife. “You wish to get dressed for the dance?” He chuckled, tugging at her hair. “I find that hard to believe.”

  To argue with him would have been fruitless. She reached out, pressing her hand against his cheek. She could feel the fire burning within him. “No, Nicolae. I don't want that.”

  “What do you want?” he teased. He took her back into his arms, lowering his lips onto hers.

  From off in the distance, a man called out, “Nicolae!” Nicolae gently pushed Sahara back as he looked up. The Rom Baro was walking toward them, his face twisted in a frown. Sahara recognized it as the frown Nicolae wore when in a rage. Suddenly frightened, she clung to Nicolae's arm, standing behind him as she watched the Rom Baro approach. The Rom Baro nodded his head at Sahara then turned his attention to Nicolae. “I must speak with you, my son.”

  Frustrated, Nicolae glanced down at Sahara. Her fingernails dug into his arm and her dark eyes were large. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and she looked pale. Too pale. “You are alright, S'hara?”

  The Rom Baro looked concerned as he reached a hand out to steady Sahara. “S'hara?”

  A soft moan escaped her lips. There were three Rom Baro's reaching out to her. She wanted to scream but nothing came out. Everything grew dark and heat flashed through her body like lightning. She grabbed for Nicolae as her knees gave way and she crumbled into his arms, her entire world spinning rapidly before closing in around her in a dark shroud of blackness.

   

  The older boy watched his father with Amaya. The way that they talked to each other. They way that they danced together. He thought of his own mother, barely cold in her grave. He saw tenderness from the Rom Baro to the wild Amaya that he had never seen between his father and mother. It angered him. How could his father fall for the wild, shamed gypsy girl from Europe? She had never been married yet she had a child, a child that was betrothed to him. An infant. He looked away from the Rom Baro and Amaya in disgust. His future wife was not even walking yet he was almost a man. Would he have to wait forever to marry? Would he have to marry a child when there were so many women available now? If he waited another ten years, he would be twenty and a man. But the child would still be a child.

  The other boys teased him about his infant bride. The other boys teased him that his father would marry Amaya and have more sons, sons that might replace him as the future Rom Baro when his father died. The other boys mocked him as they pointed out the girls that they wanted to marry in the upcoming years. But Emilian was destined to wait for many more years to come. He didn’t want to wait and he didn’t want an infant bride, especially one born from this woman who was bewitching his father and changing the customs of the kumpania.

  The rage built inside him and he left the fires, retreating to the solitude of the shadows where there was no Amaya and no baby Sahara.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Sahara opened her eyes, she stared around the tent with a twinge of shock. How had she gotten there? The last thing she remembered was the Rom Baro's hand reaching out to her and Nicolae calling her name. What happened, she wondered fearfully as she clutched the blanket around her half clothed body. “Nicolae?” Her voice cracked as she softly called his name. She looked around, thankful to see Nicolae standing near the tent opening, talking with someone she had never seen before. The man was dressed in black slacks and a black jacket with a white shirt underneath. The black hat on his head and leather bag in his hand made her wonder if he was a gadjo doctor. “Nicolae?”

  This time, he heard her. Nicolae nodded his gratitude to the doctor before hurrying to Sahara's side. He knelt beside her, reaching for her hand. Pressing it against his lips, Nicolae kissed it. “You made me worry, S'hara.”

  She saw the relief in his eyes. “What happened?”

  Nicolae smoothed back her hair. “You fainted. Don't you remember?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “I carried you here and someone ran into town for a doctor. Everyone was very worried.” His hair had fallen loose from the leather strings that he used to tie it back. Dark circles hung under his eyes. When Sahara had paled, clutching his arm as her knees gave way, Nicolae's heart had almost stopped. Unconscious in his arms, Sahara had looked so helpless and still. O Del, he thought, don't let her be dead. He had sent one of the young men into town, summoning the doctor to come with him to the gypsy encampment. Upon arrival, the doctor had to push the frantic Nicolae out of the tent before examining Sahara. The gypsies kept their distance, murmuring among themselves as they glanced at the distraught son of their Rom Baro, pacing back and forth near the tent.

  With a nervous smile, the doctor had slipped out of the tent. He glanced around at the unusual surroundings. The older gypsy women hovered over their cauldrons, stirring dinner while the younger children ran afoot. Several young men sat against a wagon, sharpening their knives as they talked. An old man walked through a crowd of small children, stooping to pick up a small girl dressed in a long, dirty white shirt with a tear at the hem. Her dark hair hung in her eyes and the old man pushed it back. The little girl laughed, hugging the old man before he set her back on the ground.

  “What is wrong with my wife?” The panicking gypsy man had asked impatiently, tugging at his sleeve. He was a young man, no more than twenty-three. His richly tanned face was streaked with sweat from worrying about his beautiful, young wife. “How long have you been married?”

  Nicolae frowned, standing with his feet apart and his one hand on his hip. Running his other hand through his hair, Nicolae glanced nervously at the tent as he mumbled, “Two months…maybe three. ” Nicolae looked back at the doctor. “Is there something wrong with her? I want to know now. Is she going to die?”

  The doctor shook his head. “She shouldn't. She's healthy enough. Strong too.” The doctor smiled as he placed his hand on Nicolae's shoulder. “She's with child, man.”

  Nicolae had been speechless. It hadn’t crossed his mind but, as the words echoed in his ears, he realized the obvious. A child, he thought. The first-born of the next generation. He felt pleased and apprehensive at the same time. Pregnancy had been the furthest thing from his mind. He had to digest it, not quite able to realize what that meant on the many different levels that he had to consider.

  The doctor had given her some medicine so she could
sleep, claiming she had fainted because she was overtired as well as her body reacting to the growing child within her.

  Now, Nicolae kissed the inside of her hand, still worried. Would O Del take Sahara away as He had Nicolae's first wife? “You feel better, yes?”

  Sahara nodded. “What did the doctor say?”

  Nicolae pulled her into his arms. Hugging her tightly, Nicolae said, “The doctor said you'd be fine. Just needed some rest, ‘tis all.” He wanted to tell her but he knew it wasn't his place. A man never talked about such subjects to a woman. Pregnancy was mahrime, a pollution of a woman's body. Until six weeks after the child was born, a pregnant woman was mahrime. Remembering this, Nicolae quickly released Sahara and got up, heading for the entrance of the tent. Pausing, he spoke with his back to her. “Make yourself presentable then come for supper, yes?” He didn't wait for her response as he left the tent.

  Not understanding his sudden departure and gruff manner, Sahara stared after him. What did I do, she wondered. When he had hugged her only seconds before, her heart had fluttered. She had given herself to this man, accepted all of the changes in her life and looked forward to the future. But only for that brief moment. When he had pushed her away and retreated from the tent, her heart turned cold, despising his temperamental mood swings that she would never understand. If she had done something wrong or offensive to Nicolae, why didn't he speak up and tell her? Sometimes she thought Nicolae wanted her to hate him.

  After getting dressed in a sky blue dress with a full skirt, Sahara ventured outside. The dry, stagnant air struck her, forcing her to stand still for a minute and steady herself. Her head swooned and her stomach felt nauseous. Shutting her eyes, Sahara waited until the queasiness passed. The summer heat seemed to jump at her. Although the gypsies travelled north for the hot season, Sahara knew they would not escape the relentless intense heat of Mid Western summers.

  Sahara headed for the cooking fires, hoping Nicolae would be waiting there for her. Some of the older women walked over the knoll, returning from the river with their arms full of wet clothing. When they saw Sahara walking toward them, they greeted her with smiles. But no one stopped to talk with her. She thought nothing of it until she saw Finny near a small cooking fire, dishing some papin into two bowls. When Sahara stopped to

  say hello, Finny just smiled politely and walked away. Confused, Sahara stared after Finny. After all Sahara had done to help Finny marry the man she loved, she couldn't even say hello? Angry and hurt, Sahara wandered aimlessly toward some wagons, her mind reliving Nicolae's coldness, the women ignoring her, and Finny turning away. When she noticed Duda sitting in her rickety rocking chair, her feet rising above the ground each time she rocked backwards, Sahara approached her in the hopes of finding comfort. The chair creaked softly, moaning under the heavy weight of the elderly gypsy. Duda seemed to sense Sahara's presence and looked up, smiling at the bedraggled Sahara. “You are feeling better, bori, yes?”

  Sahara nodded, sitting beside Duda on the ground. Tucking her legs under her body, Sahara stared up at the graying woman. “Yes, romni.”

  Duda gave Sahara her toothless smile again. She reached down and stroked Sahara's loose hair. The heat made it cling to Duda's hand. “You have never worn the diklo Nicolae has provided, no? Why is that?”

  Sahara shrugged her shoulder, leaning her head against Duda's knee. It felt nice to have some motherly affection. “Is it necessary? After all, my blood is gypsy but my upbringing was still gadjo.”

  Another smile, more distant than the others, crept onto Duda's face again. A long while back, when she had been younger, she had known a similar woman. “You are much like Amaya. Except you are more beautiful.”

  Sahara tried to imagine her wild mother, racing through the fields on the bare back of a black stallion. She tried to feel her mother's thoughts, emotions, dreams. After hearing everyone speak so highly of her mother, Sahara wished she had known her. “Did you know her?”

  Duda nodded. “Briefly.”

  “Did she love a man, Duda?”

  “A man?” A laugh escaped. “She loved many men, S'hara. But she loved herself most of all. She was promised, yes. But she ran off with a gadjo.” She hesitated, thinking back many years. “She refused to marry a man she did not love. She was her own person, yes. Her name was legend among the campfires. Even after she left, the men sang of her beauty and feats. Women tried to dress like her, act like her, be her. But none succeeded.” A wistful look crept onto her face. “Until now.”

  Sahara sighed. She couldn't see herself as the next Amaya of the gypsies. Sahara knew her mother had tried to express herself but failed because of the restraints her culture pressed upon her. That was why she had run away. “Did she love me?”

  “To death,” Duda admitted.

  “And my father?”

  Duda shrugged. “A man. A lucky mortal somewhere in Europe fathered you while Amaya's kumpania travelled to the coast to sail to America. But many had said a god fathered you. Perhaps Moshto himself.”

  Sahara smiled to herself. She hadn't known people spoke of her in such light. It was an honor to have people think Moshto, one of the great gods the gypsies believed in, was her true father. “And now Moshto's daughter is married to the Machwaiya kumpania's future leader. Certainly gives this gypsy tribe an advantage over the others.” At the winter gathering, she could only imagine the stir her presence would create. “Nicolae is a lucky man then, yes? A half goddess for a wife.” Sahara chuckled, shutting her eyes and enjoying the motherly attention Duda was bestowing her.

  The chair creaked loudly as Duda rocked backwards. “You are a difficult woman for Nicolae, yes?”

  “What did he expect?” After Duda's description of Amaya, Sahara knew Nicolae wouldn't have wanted her any other way.

  “He expected to love you very much, S'hara. And he does.” Duda remained silent for several minutes as she rocked. Sahara had always been kind to her, especially after the first week of her travels with the gypsy tribe. In truth, Sahara was Duda's daughter-in-law but Duda tended to look at the misguided gypsy girl as her own flesh. “Maybe the Rom Baro was wrong in pursuing you. Maybe he was wrong for listening to Emilian and Nicolae.”

  “Emilian?” Sahara lifted her head. “What does he have to do with all of this?” Duda sighed as she reminisced. Emilian had not been mahrimed then and the kumpania knew he was to be the future Rom Baro. “You were his before Nicolae's, bori. But Emilian was cast away and Nicolae took over everything his brother's life stood for. That is what happens when you are mahrimed for life.”

  “I didn't know that, romni.”

  “Now you do. But,” she warned. “You must be careful with such information.”

  Sahara shut her eyes. A lot of things made sense now. Emilian's obsession with her was out of fury rather than love. Nicolae's love for her was pure, natural, and honest. He was proud of her in a way Emilian could never be. “That's why Nicolae hates me to befriend Emilian.”

  Duda breathed heavily. “S'hara, Nicolae does not wish for you to speak with Emilian because Emilian is dead. He is mahrime, bori. He committed a crime so dear, his own father killed him spiritually. Emilian has nowhere else to go so he follows our Rom Baro. No one speaks with him. He is no longer one of us.” Even as Duda spoke, she knew it was not the truth. In so many ways, many gypsies still considered Emilian the future leader. “No one is to acknowledge his presence.”

  Sucking in her breath, Sahara dared to ask the inevitable. “And his crime?”

  “Duda!” The word was spoken sharp and crisp.

  “I should not have said so much,” Duda whispered then, standing up, she lowered her eyes to the ground as she stood before the Rom Baro. His lower lip trembled as he faced his aging wife. When he looked at her, he saw his own life slowly fading away as death crept closer. “You have my food ready at once!” Duda bowed before her husband and walked away backwards. The Rom Baro looked after her, waiting for Duda to disappear into the wagon she shared with h
im to gather the rom baro's bowl to serve him. Slowly, the Rom Baro turned his head around, his eyes boring a hole into Sahara. Fearful for Duda, Sahara wondered how long he had been standing there. The Rom Baro tortured Sahara with his eyes for several silent minutes before lifting his chin. “You have nothing to do, bori?”

  Standing, Sahara faced the Rom Baro. Her own fear of him passed away as she noticed the tired wrinkles under his eyes. His back was growing crooked with each new day. He is but a man, she thought. An aging, nasty old gypsy man. “And if I do not?”

  “Then find something!”

  Sahara straightened her shoulders. She would not allow him to intimidate her anymore. She met his steady gaze, feeling extremely ill-tempered toward him this evening. “Rom Baro, I have done Nicolae's wash. I have straightened the tent, not that there is much to clean. I have never fixed his meals nor do I have any children to tend. Perhaps I should walk into town then? Busy my idle time by fighting the scorn of the town people? Is that what you suggest?”

  The cloud lifted from the Rom Baro's face. His reaction startled Sahara, reaffirming the misgivings she felt toward him. He tried to hide his amusement. But the corner of his mouth trembled ever so slightly, a hint of a smile forced away. “You fight the scorn of the town people, S'hara?” He took a slow step closer, reaching out to grab her arm a little rougher than he intended. His voice hissed at her, “What would you do if you had to fight the scorn of the kumpania?”

  Her eyebrows twisted together as she leaned away from the Rom Baro's words. Softly, she whispered, “What do you mean? Why would I have to do that?”

  The cold hearted cackle that crawled out of his throat frightened Sahara. Frozen where she stood, Sahara watched the Rom Baro as he mocked her ignorance. The Rom Baro tapped her arm with his crooked finger. The touch sent chills down her spine and she jerked her arm away from him. “Perhaps one day you will find out, wild S'hara with the legendary past.” He laughed out loud as he turned to leave. She could hear him laugh as he walked toward the cooking fires, ready to eat the meal Duda had prepared for him.