At Novgorod Severskij the trail grew warmer. The Gypsies had camped outside of the town only three weeks earlier. And because they were travelling at a much slower pace than our troika and taking longer rests, we would almost certainly find them before another week had passed. My excitement mounted. When we arrived in Kiev we learned that my Gypsies had passed through the city only three days ago.
“You see, you see!” I exclaimed, bouncing in my seat. “It will not be long until I see them all again.”
We stopped at an inn in the tiny village of Obuchov near the Desna River, knowing that the next day we would find the Gypsies. I could not eat that night, and long after I should have been asleep I sat staring into the flames of the big fireplace, watching and waiting for something, I knew not what. After a while I couldn’t bear it any more. I took out my crystal ball and held it in front of my eyes. I stared into its depths, feeling guilty because I knew I shouldn’t do this for myself, only for a paying gorgio customer. But I had to know that they were all right, my Gypsies. I wanted to see them, if only briefly.
And then I had the vision. Horrible. I screamed and threw my crystal down. The men who had been playing cards in another corner of the room gathered around, and Seth crouched down next to me.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “What happened?”
“The crystal,” I said hoarsely. “The crystal. I was looking—I wanted to see them. I felt I could not wait. And I saw horses and fire! I heard children crying! And I saw blood, blood everywhere!”
“You dreamed it,” he said tersely. “Now put this thing away and go to sleep.”
“Bad, bad omen,” I said in a terrified whisper. “This is the second time! The first time—you were there! I saw blood, and that very night my uncle died! Now I looked into the depths of the crystal and there was fire!”
“Of course there was fire,” he said impatiently. He picked up the heavy glass ball. “What do you expect to see if you look at glowing embers through glass? Look!”
“No, no,” I moaned and sank down on the floor, covering my head with my arms, “I cannot look. I shall never use it again, ever. It is cursed! Oh, oh, what is happening! I am dying inside, I can feel it! Fire and blood! I have seen the fire and the blood!”
In the morning we drove the remaining ten versts to the Gypsy camp. I felt sick and terrified, and I was so still and quiet that Ivor asked solicitously if I was ill. I shook my head. I could not speak. The day was grey and low-hanging clouds promised more snow.
We followed a narrow path along the Desna. The snow on the path was well-trodden and recently disturbed.
“Many horses have ridden this way,” Ivor yelled back to us over the the din of the harness brass and horses. “Maybe your Gypsies were having a race, eh?”
A shudder passed through me. I said nothing.
The river bent around a rocky cliff. The villagers had told us that the Gypsy camp was on the other side, and that the quickest way to reach it was to fork off from the river road and to drive straight up the lower side of the cliff and down again into the bowl. Ivor stopped the troika at the place where the paths diverged and stepped down from the driver’s seat. He motioned with his head for Seth to follow him. They moved off a few paces and stood talking.
I followed quietly and heard Ivor say, “We are only a hundred yards away from a Gypsy camp and there isn‘t a sound. Mother of God.” And he crossed himself. “We must not let her see—”
But I was away, up the path and over the rise. He shouted after me. They knew what they would find. The wind carried to all our nostrils the acrid, sickening smell of charred wood and flesh. Only I had to see for myself. I had to see the fire and the blood.
The camp had been decimated, the inhabitants destroyed. I went down the slope. It had been a good campsite, I noted. Near water, sheltered from the prevailing winds by the cliff on the north and by tall pines on the south and west. When the attackers had ridden in, the Gypsies had been trapped. The camp now looked like a black, running sore on the white landscape.
I picked my way through the smoldering rubble. My eyes streamed from smoke and sorrow. I saw a small bare foot sticking out from under a blackened wagon tongue. I pushed the timber aside and found the body of my little stepbrother, Sasha. Waves of dizziness broke over me I clutched my middle and wretched horribly.
I heard disconnected voices in the background. Meaningless words, empty of feeling:
“What happened?”
“Soldier.” It was a quavering old woman’s voice. I had noticed a few peasants poking around like scavengers. “Cossacks.”
“Why?”
“They said the Gypsies had stolen their horses and tried to sell them back after they painted them! Foolish cheats, the Gypsies. They deserved to die!”
“Silence!”
“They ought to be buried.”
“Go to the village and round up the head man and as many strong men with shovels as you can find. They’ll be paid.”
Bodies were scattered all around. The Cossacks had rounded up all the Gypsies in the middle of the camp and shot into the mob until not one was left standing. Then they had fired the wagons. The horses were all gone. I looked into their faces. I knew them all, every one. Father. Lyubov. Django.
I held him in my arms. His black eyes were open to the sky but they could not see anything. In the several months since I had seen him last a mustache had started to sprout on his upper lip. He would have been very proud of that, because it meant that he would soon be a man. The other men and boys would have made gentle fun of him. I wondered if he had thought of me at all, and if he remembered my promise to return.
A mangy-looking yellow dog came into the middle of the camp from the trees and sniffed at one of the corpses. A shot rang out and the animal gave a convulsive movement and fell, dead. I saw Seth Garrett put away a gun. I stared at him and through him. He came over to me.
“Leave him,” he said. “Come away.”
I remembered the body in my arms. “It is Django,” I whispered. “He is dead. Django.”
“I know. Come on. The villagers are coming to bury them.”
"He will never know that I came back, that I fulfilled my vow,” I said.
He prised my arms loose and lifted me to my feet. I felt as though I had no bones in my body, that I was composed of sorrow and jelly. He led me to a high part of the cliff. I saw the villagers coming, riding in Ivor’s troika and in their own carts.
“You don’t need to watch,“ Seth said as the men started to hack out a large pit at the edge of the forest. The ground was hard and the task took most of the day. I did watch, though. I watched as they dragged the bodies over and pushed them into the pit. I watched as old women picked through the smoking ruins. And as a black-robed gorgio priest and his acolytes waved censors over the huge grave. Incense mingled with the other inhuman smells around the camp.
When the villagers were about to cover the bodies with clods of earth I stepped forward.
“Wait!”
They stared at me. The priest, who had started to walk away, turned around again and peered at me over his long beard.
I walked to the edge and spoke in a firm, clear voice.
“You have left me to go to the Nation of the Dead. You have gone without obtaining forgiveness of the ones you have injured, and without forgiving those who have injured you. In the name of all the Gypsies, I, Rhawnie, forgive you. Gregor, my father. Lyubov, our leader. My brothers, Sasha and Vanya and Alyosha.” I named every one of them. And finally, “Django, who was my betrothed. I forgive you all, and I ask you to forgive me.” I searched in my hidden pockets for some coins and threw them over the bodies. Then I slipped off my bracelets, including the diamond bracelet that I had stolen from my uncle’s box, and I threw them into the pit as well.
Everyone was silent, watching. I took a long breath.
“May the curse of God be upon those who did this thing!”
My voice rang out over the charred camps
ite and echoed back from the face of the cliff. The villagers crossed themselves, and Ivor Andreivitch did the same.
“I know that you were brave in the face of death,” I said. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I bid them a final farewell. “I only hope—that I can be as brave when the time comes.” I wiped my face hastily. “And now I leave you to God.”
I turned away from the grave and the still-smoking wagons and walked up the rise, back to the troika. The horses looked sad and I told them what had happened, even though they already knew. They always know. Their velvety noses were soft and warm. The wind flapped my colorful skirts. They seemed incongruously bright against the bleak landscape, like a parrot in Hell. Then I heard Seth Garrett’s footsteps on the hard-packed snow. His limp was worse today, I could tell.
“Before I left,” I said without looking around, “the old woman Ursula told my fortune. I did not believe her then, but everything she said has come true. I only tell you because our fortunes are linked, yours and mine. She said that I would find the Gypsies, but that I would not see them. I did not understand her then, but she was right, wasn’t she?”
He said nothing.
“And the last thing she said was that I, Rhawnie, who had been born Gypsy, would be Gypsy no more. She was right about that, too. A Gypsy without a tribe is like a piece of a wrecked ship floating in the sea. It is nothing. She was right. I am Gypsy no more.”
Seth Garrett said, “I’ll take you as far as Odessa.” Odessa was the big port city on the Black Sea.
I made no reply. I felt disoriented and bereft. I didn’t care where I went or what happened to me. Russia had never been my home. Only the Gypsy caravans had been my home, and they were gone forever.
I went into mourning. For three days I did not eat or sleep. At night when we stopped I would sit in front of the fire or near the stove at our inn and rock back and forth, sighing and keening. Dogs howled and the peasants regarded me with hostile suspicion. I spoke to no one. I did not comb my hair or bathe my face and hands.
“How long is this going to go on?” I heard Seth ask Ivor.
“I do not know,” Ivor said. “She told me once that the nearest relatives of a dead person starve themselves for three days after a death. Perhaps she is mourning for a longer time—so many deaths, you know.”
But I collapsed after three days, totally exhausted and empty of grief. I slept for a day and a night. When I awoke I astonished Seth by demanding bath water and privacy. That night I sat wrapped in my quilt in front of the fire, struggling to pull a comb through my long hair as it dried, while my clothes dripped on an improvised clothesline. The next day at our evening meal I picked up a fork and used it clumsily. Seth and Ivor stared at me, then laughed heartily.
I was furious with them and with myself. Using a fork was harder than it looked. But I persevered.
“I am not Gypsy now,” I announced. “And if I am not Gypsy, I must be gorgio. So I must learn your ways.”
“Why don’t you find another tribe of Gypsies?” Ivor asked me. “They would take you in, wouldn’t they?”
I shook my head. “I would not wish them to. I am cursed, or I would have died with the rest. I would only bring them bad luck, I know it.”
“Very shrewd,” Seth remarked. “You’re thinking just like a gorgio now.”
“You are laughing at me because you think I cannot learn!”
“I think you don’t want to learn.” He sat back against the wall and lit a cigar. “I think this is all part of a little Gypsy scheme. You’re trying to persuade me to take you to Paris.”
“Ah!” I looked hurt and reproachful. “How can you think such a thing, Monsieur Seth? I know that you did not wish to bring me even this far, and I know that I owe the burial of my people to you. I have much to thank you for. But I know also that you do not wish to take me to Paris. I would not ask it of you. You are taking me to Odessa, no? I am grateful for that, believe me.”
“And what will you do in Odessa, child?” Ivor asked worriedly. “Do you know people there?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I do not know anyone else in the world now, except for you two gentlemen.”
“Why don’t you take her back to Moscow, Ivor?” Seth suggested. “I’m sure her aunt and her cousins will be glad to see her.”
I glared at him. . . .
Odessa was a filthy, teeming port city. The narrow streets were clogged with beggars, prostitutes, roving sailors and merchants, thieves and pickpockets. Seth and I climbed out of the troika and bid farewell to Ivor. He drove off, waving, and Seth turned to me.
“I’ll say good-bye to you, too. I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, but it’s been interesting.” He dug in his waistcoat and tossed me a coin. “So long, Gypsy.”
“Don’t call me that!” I snatched the coin deftly out of the air. “I am gorgio now, just like you!”
We faced each other. He ran his eyes over my particolored skirts and scarves, my fringed shawls and red boots and gaily printed blouse. And then he threw back his head and laughed loud and long. The blood rushed to my cheeks and I clenched my fists.
“You dirty gorgio dog,” I said, “you dare to laugh at me? You think that being a gorgio like you is so hard to do, eh?”
“Anyone can be gorgio,” he said. “The world is full of gorgio. But being civilized and educated is something else again. And you, my little friend, couldn’t learn to be civilized in a hundred years. For the rest of your life you’ll be nothing but a dirty little Gypsy. I don’t care what you call yourself.”
“You are a liar,” I said, narrowing my eyes dangerously. “May the sun fall out of the sky and bum you to a cinder!”
He picked up his bag and walked away, still laughing to himself. I followed at a distance. He thought he could get rid of me so easily, did he? The fool. I had told him what old Ursula had said, and he didn’t believe. But he would see that she had spoken the truth. He went into an inn for some food and vodka. I was waiting for him when he came out. He ignored me and walked along briskly. My boots made tapping noises on the cobbled street as I trotted along, trying to keep up with him.
“What is the most civilized city in the world?” I asked as we moved along. “It is Paris, is it not? If I wanted to learn to be a real gorgio, to be civilized, that is where I should go, no?”
“No,” he said.
“If you took me there I would repay you,” I said. “I have no one to care for me now. You cannot leave me in this evil place! I will be dead before the dawn comes, I know it!”
“Good.” He strode swiftly down a narrow alley. He limped only slightly. I regretted giving him the ointment. The man had no warmth, no gratitude.
“I think I should go to Paris, Monsieur Seth,” I panted. “I think you should take me.”
He went into a low building near the waterfront. I asked someone what the place was, and they told me a steamship office. I sidled in and crept up behind him.
“—leaves tonight with the tide,” the man behind the counter was saying. “Should arrive in Marseilles in two months, weather permitting.”
Seth turned around swiftly, almost knocking me down. “Did you buy a place for me, too?” I asked eagerly. “I will thank you all my days!” I attempted to kiss his hands but he shook me off violently and walked out of the office. I ran after him. “Do not leave me here, Monsieur Seth!” I bawled loudly. I caught up to him and grabbed his arm. He tried to shake me off but I hung on tenaciously. A crowd started to gather. “You cannot do this to me!” I shouted. “Oh, oh,” I looked at the people who were watching us, “this man is my husband and now he says he is leaving me! I am only a child, only fourteen, and I am with child! He gave me no money, nothing, and now he is leaving! I should have known better than to believe a Frenchman’s lies. Oh, oh, was ever a girl so unfortunate as I?”
Seth managed to escape before the crowd caught on to what I was saying. I let him go. I knew he was probably going to the ship, and that they would never let me board with
out a special ticket. But what could I do? I suddenly wanted to be on that ship more than anything else in the world. But I didn’t have nearly enough money. I looked at the coin he had thrown me: ten rubles. I hurried back to the steamship office.
“What do you want, Gypsy?” the man at the counter growled. “Get out of here. No beggars allowed.”
“I want to get on that ship. The one that’s going to France tonight. How much?”
“The cheapest cabins are thirty rubles. A place in steerage is twenty-two.”
“No bunk, no bed,” I said impatiently. “I will sleep under the stars, in a small corner. How much?”
“Twenty rubles,” he said coldly.
“You are a thief and a bandit,” I informed him. “To charge a poor orphan child twenty rubles for a few feet of space, without even a blanket! Bah. I would rather walk to Paris. How about ten?”
“Fifteen,” the man said. “No lower.”
“Ten,” I said stubbornly. “I still have to buy food for myself, enough for two months! I will give you ten rubles right now. In cash.”
We bartered back and forth and settled on thirteen rubles. That meant I still needed three, plus extra for food. I told him I would return in one hour with his thirteen rubles, and that if he sold my place to someone else I would cut his heart out with the dagger I carried under my skirts. He looked impressed and a little scared, as though he believed that I carried a weapon on my person.
I went back to the wharf and looked up at the ship. My ship. I saw Seth standing at the rail and I waved cheerfully. He managed a weak grin. The fool really thought that he would leave me behind as soon as the tide turned. I would show him.
I chose a place within earshot of the ship. A good location, sheltered from the chill winds yet right at the heart of a busy intersection. People ran to and fro, back and forth. I sat in a doorway and arranged myself: I twisted one leg around so that it would look lame, and I rubbed my hands on the ground and then wiped them on my face. I was ready. But no, the red boots were too shiny, too richlooking. I took them off and hid them in my quilt. Then I saw a really filthy rag lying in the gutter not two feet away. I retrieved it and bound it around my crippled foot.
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