by Sarah Price
“Is the truth, yes?”
“And if it's not?”
He answered her with another kiss, holding her so tight, she could feel how much he had missed her. “There are no ifs, S'hara.” He didn't wait for her response before he kissed her again, slowly leading her back to the tent. “I want to make love to my wife.” He smiled teasingly. “And gypsy custom says the wife must obey her husband, yes?” He watched the color rise to her cheeks. She is beautiful, yes, he thought. And I a lucky man to have her. He knew then that she would not be apt to forgive him so easily again for so lengthy a crime. Never again, he vowed as he shut the wagon door behind them, will I allow the custom to separate me from the woman I love.
Tradition held that the woman waited alone on her wedding night for her newly-wedded husband to finish enjoying the festivities. There was always a lot of back slapping and teasing of the groom who, often eager to visit his bride on their wedding night, tried to play coy and aloof to the other men. Nicolae was no exception. He knew Miquela awaited him. Her family had taken her back to the tent they would share when in camp. But Nicolae stayed with his friends, partaking of rakiya and enjoying the good-natured jokes of the men in the kumpania.
Emilian watched from the shadows, seeing his brother in the center of the group. He heard their jokes, listened to their laughter, and seethed inside. His brother was just a boy and already wed. Emilian was a man with no bride to be seen. He knew that his time was past and it angered him. He knew that his betrothed was gone but, as the eldest boy, it was he who should be married first. Emilian glanced at the group one more time, convinced that they were too immersed in conversation to notice his own disappearance. He walked to the tent, listening for any voices that lingered inside. There were none.
I should be married tonight, he thought. This should be my bride, he told himself. And, with one last glance over his shoulder, he darted inside the tent and took what he felt belonged to him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The days began to pass quickly for Sahara. No longer was she an outcast and shunned from the nightly festivities. Instead, she was invited, often anticipated at the dances. After long days of taking care of Lea, Sahara gladly relinquished her motherly duties to Duda at night. That was when Nicolae insisted Sahara sit by his side at the fires so he could show off his beautiful wife as he socialized with the other gypsies. All too willingly, Sahara forgot the months of abandonment Nicolae had put her through as she glowed in his newfound affections.
Some nights, Nicolae gave Sahara a bottle of rakiya. These were the nights the rest of the gypsy encampment watched breathlessly as Sahara released her reserve and danced for the hundreds of strange eyes. Proudly, Nicolae would stand nearby, watching her protectively. Each sway of her body, each movement with her hand. Each day as his love for Sahara increased, he vowed never to allow the customs of the gypsies to come between them again. And every night after her dance, Nicolae would lead her back to their tent, away from the noise and the fires. The rakiya in their blood boiled as their bodies pressed close together, joining as one over and over again until the sun rose over the gypsy encampment.
Unknown to Nicolae or Sahara, other people had noticed the change in their new Rom Baro. Some whispered that Nicolae would truly weaken to the ravenous beauty, now that he had total control over the kumpania. The people's soft gossiping trailed behind the two lovers wherever they walked, sometimes hand in hand with their heads bent close together. Perhaps, some said, the kumpania would be forced to suffer much as the Afrikaiya had when Amaya had left so many years ago. What if the Machwaiya legend came true? What if the ancient tale of the beautiful girl destroying their people was not a story but a reality that faced each one of them? The gossip continued as Nicolae and Sahara rejoiced in their rekindled love, unaware of the uneasiness among the gypsies surrounding them.
But there was someone who was very aware of the people's disturbing thoughts. Someone who was interested in the fears of the people. Each day brought more news of apprehension over the new Rom Baro's actions to Emilian. His ears burned whenever someone broke his mahrime to confide their anxiety about Nicolae to him. After all, they reasoned, wasn't Emilian the true leader of the Machwaiya and not Nicolae? As each day came to a close, Emilian seethed deeper in his anger at his brother and deceased father.
Every night, Emilian stood on the edge of the fires, thinking as he watched the flames burn, the heat caressing his face. Certainly if Nicolae's people come to me for advice, doesn't that mean they forgive me for disgracing Nicolae's first wife? Doesn't that mean they accept me as their true leader? And wouldn't they forgive me for mending a wrong done to me so many years ago? And every night after Nicolae and Sahara left, Emilian listened to the people's worries and reassuring them that the gods would never let them down. But the people weren't so easily persuaded.
“We're the shunned people of the world,” they claimed, slowly and unconsciously returning to Emilian what was rightfully his by birth: the kumpania's leadership.
“Our Rom Baro is turning gadjo because of her. She must be the one of the legends. The one to disband the Machwaiya. Will we never be at peace with the gods?”
“One day we will. We must be patient.” He spoke to the men that had defected from Nicolae under cover of darkness.
One of the men from the Afrikaiya came forward, not afraid to speak out. To them, Emilian was not mahrimed and, to many, he was their true leader. “Will you lead us, Emilian? Will you take us away? It is time to move on and the time is now.” Several men nodded in agreement, causing the Afrikaiyan man to be even bolder. “We joined with your kumpania to be reborn and travel under the leadership of a strong Rom Baro. Is that man you?”
In the back of his mind, the wheels continued to roll and Emilian knew his destiny of leading the kumpania and wedding Sahara were still in his future. Not even Nicolae can defeat the gods of destiny, he thought as he hid in the shadows, watching Sahara dressed in a gold silk costume, dancing wildly around a fire. Her feet never touched the ground as she felt the music take control of her body. Each motion flowed from her heart and soul. The music was Sahara and Sahara the music. The silky cascade of black water pouring down her back swirled around as she spun and lifted her hands to the heavens. When her body finally collapsed to the ground, every inch of her energy was spent.
She could dance no more although all male eyes watching Sahara desired more. If only they could touch her, kiss her, love her—just once, they thought--as they knew Nicolae would later that evening. If only she would reach out and touch them in the special way she did when Nicolae walked to her, kneeling before her. Her hand stretched out, brushing his cheek as Nicolae took her other hand and gently helped her to her feet. The dance was over. Nicolae was taking Sahara away to selfishly hoard her for himself. No other woman dared to follow Sahara's dance. They lacked the beauty and grace taught to them since children, something Sahara did not have. Yes, they thought, Sahara dances from her heart, not from her head.
The men watched Sahara leave, her cheeks flushed from dancing. She leaned delicately on Nicolae's arm, staring up at him with such love and dependence that each man turned to his wife and felt contempt and disgust. Every night when they returned to their tents and wagons, they found their wives angry with the children or too tired to make love. Never did their wives stare up at them with complete trust and a heart so full of emotion and ready to burst with love. Instead, the men were greeted at their tents by snotty-nosed children with ripped clothing and dirty faces, often with grievances of their own. And the men grew envious of Nicolae's loving wife. Few remembered how Sahara had fought with him in the beginning. Few thought of the times she disobeyed and shamed him by not following the customs. All they saw was their Rom Baro's head spinning for a gadjo-gypsy. And they knew it would destroy the kumpania. “You were beautiful tonight, S'hara.” Nicolae's fingers entwined with hers, gently caressing her hand as they walked back to their tent.
/> Sahara shut her eyes, enjoying the moment as her heart pounded and her spine tingle. Tonight, like so many in the past, she could sense his passion and it pleased her. Opening her eyes, she stopped walking and stared up at him. Softly, she said his name. “Nicolae?”
“What, S'hara?”
Blinking her eyes flirtatiously, Sahara parted her lips and said, “I thought I was beautiful to you every night.”
Laughing, Nicolae embraced her, holding her as tight as he dared. Never had he felt so alive than these past several weeks. With his father gone, there was no one to look over him and threaten him. No longer did he have to fear being mahrimed for loving his beautiful, ravishing wife. The baby had been born and Sahara was no longer considered polluted. Now that they could love freely again, Nicolae knew he couldn't live any other way. He felt so young and carefree. No worries, no complications. The kumpania seemed to have fewer problems and didn't seek him out as often as before. Unless Nicolae took some men out for the day, he could spend time with his daughter and his wife. Life had never shown him such bliss before. “You are beautiful to me always, S'hara.”
Emilian stood in the shadows, eavesdropping on the lovers. They said no more, only disappeared into their tent. Emilian waited several minutes until the lantern was blown out before heading back to the fires where he planned on stirring the coals some more. As he passed through the crowds, he could feel the tension growing. Yes, they said, S'hara is the most beautiful woman but Nicolae's devotion to her is life threatening. Emilian
smiled as he overheard these conversations. Whether the men were truly frightened about the wellness of the kumpania or envious of Nicolae's love for Sahara, he did not care. What he did care about was the fact they came to him for advice.
“Emilian,” one man called out upon recognizing the burly man. He waited until Emilian stood next to him before saying, “Did you see it tonight? Did you see what happened?”
“No,” he lied. “I saw nothing.”
Another man joined in. He was older with deep creases under his eyes and grey streaking his hair. “The Rom Baro left the fires after she danced. He always leaves the fires too early. People are worried, wondering if he truly is O Del's choice of leader. They are whispering about the real Rom Baro being another. You understand, yes?”
Emilian understood much better than they thought. Day by day, they forgot his mahrime, much the same way as Nicolae forgot the gypsy customs when dealing with Sahara. Nicolae was softening and Emilian hardening. “S'hara is not the true wife of Nicolae and Nicolae is not the true leader of the kumpania. They are living in sin, yes?” Several men nodded in agreement, taking heavy swallows of rakiya. They were getting drunk and Emilian more popular.
“Perhaps,” Emilian continued, “it is time for O Del to choose what must be done, yes?”
“She is evil, a descendant from Beng!”
Emilian quickly turned toward the man that had spoken those words. Even quicker, he grabbed him by the throat and shoved him to the ground. Leaning upon the unfortunate man's neck, Emilian's face grew violently red with rage as he choked the man. “It is not the girl. It is Nicolae! He is the one! He stole my title, stole my wife, convinced all of you of a crime I did not commit, did he not? Then is not he the son of Beng? He is the one to blame and to be punished, yes? Not the girl.” Releasing his grip, Emilian stood up and turned to the other men. They stared at him, half in fear, half in awe. “You wish to be led by a man who is weak to his wife? He will be weak to you too, yes? He is no leader. He was not chosen by O Del to lead you. I was and I will lead you again, yes? But it was also the choice of O Del to have S'hara my bori. There is but one way to right the wrong Nicolae has committed.”
No one spoke. They knew what Emilian meant. It frightened them that Nicolae's weakness had come this far. It terrified them that Emilian had spoken what they had all whispered about in private or not at all. Nicolae must be removed from his position as Rom Baro. Silently, they backed away into the darkness, adverting their eyes from Emilian's, afraid of what they saw and what they knew he must do. None saw the truth behind his empty words. Emilian, too, had a weakness where Sahara was concerned but in a much stronger, desperate way. No man could stop Emilian from having Sahara. He would have her with or without her consent. For in gypsy custom, there was only one way for a man to wed his brother's wife.
When Nicolae finally entered the tent, he was both scared and excited. His wedding night was before him and his bride was waiting. His young, beautiful bride, he thought. The tent was dark and he could hear the crowds cheering from the other side of the tent. The men had escorted him to where Miquela waited, teasing him along the way as they shoved the young man toward his journey of manhood. Nicolae had laughed with them, enjoying the moment.
Inside the tent, he struggled to find a lantern and light it. It was too dark and he wanted to see his bride, see the look on her face when he approached her for the first time as her true husband. The flame of the match flickered, momentarily blinding him in the golden flame. But his eyes adjusted quickly and he lit the wick of the lantern. It cast a soft glow around him. He lifted it from the table and turned around to face the bed. He was smiling, his heart pounding in anticipation.
“Miquela,” he said softly as he took a step toward the bed.
He could hear her breathing softly but her back was toward him. Was she feigning sleep? He knew that was not possible. No bride slept on her wedding night. He set the lantern down next to the bed and knelt on the soft mattress. “Miquela,” he repeated and reached out for her shoulder. “I have come to you, as your husband.” He spoke softly and caressed her bare skin. She did not turn to face him but he heard a different sound. Weeping. Soft weeping as though she was trying to hide her cries. She is scared, he thought. He knew that he was, too. He had never had a woman before but he also knew that it was a night of magic and beauty. He would make her see that, too. And ever so gently, he repeated her name, turning her to face him. But even in the darkness he could see the bruises on her cheeks, swelling of her lips, and the fear in her eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By mid-March, some of the different kumpania had already left the winter encampment, leaving their friends and families for another year. Nicolae had spoken little of the Machwaiya kumpania leaving the place where he had found such passionate love in Sahara. Instead, he avoided the subject by continually answering the question with a simple “Soon.” Most of the people were ready to leave, wanting to travel north again in search of foolish gadjo, eager to part with their money. The gypsies said goodbye to more friends each day, wondering if Nicolae would ever give them the signal to pack their belongings into their wagons. But the signal never came.
The weather grew increasingly warm and the gypsies increasingly impatient. Spring was here and they wanted to travel, to explore the countryside, to sell horses and trade goods. Among themselves, they whispered about Nicolae's lack of leadership, wondering if they would soon find themselves wanting for guidance. Was the gadjo-gypsy girl turning him away from the gypsy customs and lifestyle and making him gadjo? If she was, where would that leave them? Everyone knew Emilian wanted to step in and take command of the lost kumpania. Certainly the true leader in the eyes of O Del would not let them down. Some of the gypsies continued to support Nicolae, knowing that the past Rom Baro would never leave his people in incapable hands. There was a split among the kumpania. Suddenly, the gypsies were quarreling among each other, bickering and fighting. Families began to divide, some favoring Emilian over Nicolae and others, Nicolae over Emilian.
“We should all leave with Emilian tonight,” one man declared to a crowd of his friends. They stood some distance from the fires, the air having warmed so much to make socializing near the flames too uncomfortable. “After all, he is the first born, the true leader.”
“Ah, but what of the girl?” An older man stepped forward, his tremulous hand reaching out to touch the other's shoulder. “S
he is the leader of the Afrikaiya, yes? And are they not our kin now?” Several men stroked their chins, nodding in agreement. The older man continued. “Then her husband leads them, yes? We cannot leave Nicolae for Emilian for some of our kin will not follow.”
The younger man sighed, shaking his head as he stared into the darkening sky. The night had come once again but no more did the girls dance around the fires. No more did the wild music steal every listener's soul. Instead, the people sat around, wondering when Nicolae would act. “He is not leading us, Robello. Instead, he moons over the girl and forgets us. ‘Tis as if she has bewitched him. Those who will not follow Emilian can stay with Nicolae. But the rest of us want to move on. We are the last kumpania as of today. And they stayed so late because E Martya visited one of their women in childbirth. We must move on, yes?” Several men nodded their heads in agreement, leaving the group to go tell their families that they had decided to leave without the rest of the kumpania. They would find Emilian and tell them that they were willing to give up friends and family to follow him and travel down the road. Their wanderlust was calling and they were far too willing to answer.
The older men stayed behind, shaking their heads as they wondered what should be done. Perhaps the younger men were right and Nicolae was turning gadjo. Perhaps Nicolae never meant to leave. Already the food supply was gone. Those that went out in search of fresh meat had to travel further and further each day, sometimes even camping overnight. No longer did neighboring towns welcome the gypsies to their saloons or general stores. After the long winter, everyone in town had caught on to the cheating and thieving. The doors had shut to the gypsies just as they believed Nicolae's eyes had shut to the kumpania. The towns wanted the gypsies gone…and the gypsies wanted to comply. But they could not leave without a leader and their leader was too caught up with his gadjo-gypsy wife.
Robello and two other men decided to talk to Nicolae. After all, they reasoned, he is a young Rom Baro with a new wife and daughter. Certainly his lack of understanding the needs of the people was forgivable. He just needed to hear from the people, to learn what they were thinking and to understand their concerns. So they walked toward Nicolae's tent. Several women standing around outside their own tents looked up, noticing the men headed for the Rom Baro's. Curiosity got the best of them and, slowly at first, they began to follow the men, clucking to each other like a pack of mother hens.