“Kernels full, healthy.”
“Plenty of sunshine.”
“Just enough rain.”
Talk buzzed about the upcoming fair in Obrenovac. The wheat harvest had an air of festivity with the villagers welcoming the respite from everyday chores. Kata knew that any day now gypsies would begin setting up caravans of horse-drawn carts in the countryside. In Ratari, they usually camped by the crumbling bridge over the creek that drained into the river Sava. During their stay, some of the gypsies attended the fair, peddling their wares. Others went through the village and, for a small fee, offered to read fortunes or play a song on their violins.
It was early Friday afternoon and Kata’s parents had already left for the market in Belgrade. She was in the courtyard, using a small willow basket to collect rose petals for flavouring preserves. Once in a while, she glanced at her grey tabby, Remi, dozing on the wooden bench under the lilac tree. He was on his back, legs spread wide shamelessly, exposing soft white fur on his belly, with white front paws bent as if they were broken: the left paw was carefully placed over the left eye and the right paw over the right eye. His flat, grey nose with black dots and pink nostrils encrusted with dry milk appeared squashed between the paws. His plump body seemed to be spilling over one side of the bench, as if at any moment it would tumble off into the dusty hollow beneath. But he seemed unconcerned, snoring, his long white whiskers dancing to the tune of the chirping crickets.
Kata heard the gate squeak and saw Miladin approaching. With a finger across her lips she whispered, “Shhh.” But he paid no attention.
“I saw a dancing bear!” Miladin exclaimed.
Remi opened his eyes and yawned lazily. He hopped off the wooden bench, twitched his whiskers, and glared.
“You woke him up,” she hissed.
“Didn’t you hear me? I saw a dancing bear!”
“You saw what?”
“Twice! I saw it twice today! I saw cigani, you know, gypsies. With their wagons and the whole thing. And they have a dancing bear.”
Kata pressed both hands on her chest, trying to stop the loud thumping of her heart. She didn’t want to give Miladin the satisfaction of knowing he had brought exhilarating news.
“Some people gave them eggs and bread,” he said as he stomped his feet and strutted along the rose garden, imitating the dancing bear. “So the bear can dance. But they want a chicken. You think your grandma – ”
Kata could no longer contain her excitement: “She will! I’m sure.”
The two now had an urgent agenda. They found Grandma. She nodded in agreement, and the three went off into the barnyard. Kata and Miladin poured some dry corn kernels into the tin feeder. They threw handfuls of the corn up in the air. From all around the barnyard, the chickens ran toward them, clucking excitedly. Miladin quickly closed the gate, and they now assessed several young fowl they had trapped.
Grandma pointed to the one with a clump of upright burgundy feathers, tipped with black, at the top of its head. “Let’s catch that one.”
The cockerel began to crow, walking sideways with head tilted, puffing its wings and circling a cluster of young hens.
Miladin was imitating the cockerel, puffing out his chest and crowing. “I want an old Ciganka to tell my fortune.”
“Fortune-telling? For you? I think not! My mama, God rest her soul, always said those swindling gypsies will do anything! To sway your young mind! To get into your pocket!” Grandma, Kata, and Miladin turned, startled. Roza was standing behind them, hands in a red apron.
“Didn’t see you coming,” Miladin said, frowning.
“Little Miladin,” Roza stretched the words as if she were tasting them. “Showing off. In front of a girl.”
“And look at you!” She now turned to Kata and feigned a spitting: “Tpp! Tpp! Tpp! A young chickadee! Don’t you let any gypsy cast the evil eye on you, you hear?”
Roza walked over to the fire-pit Grandma used for cooking poultry-feed. She scraped some ash with her index finger and drew a stripe across Kata’s forehead. “This will ward off the evil eye.”
“Here, Roza,” Grandma called. “Help me get that cockerel, will you?”
“You wouldn’t want any gypsy boy looking at her,” Roza said. “Casting his spell with a love potion. I know a woman, got a headache potion from a gypsy. Made with water from many wells. And some bird spit and a feather from a swallow’s nest. Worked like a charm. No headache, ever. They have a love potion …”
“No worry, Roza, dear, about an evil eye, or a potion,” Grandma replied. “They have better things to do.”
Roza looked uncertain. “No harm in making sure! My mama always said they have their place in this world. And we have ours. As long as we all know our place and don’t mix.”
With Roza’s help, they cornered one of the cockerels. It offered little resistance as Grandma tied its legs with twine, placed it in a wicker basket, and fastened the lid. The rooster squawked and thrashed about. It tried to crow, but only a muffled croak escaped from the basket.
“You could sell this cockerel for 2000 dinars, instead of giving it to those lazy gypsies,” Roza continued: “Used to work for my papa, God bless his soul. Those vagabonds. Hoeing and weeding the corn. Ate more than their labour’s worth. Brought whole families. Sang and danced all night. But the next day, in the field? Moved like snails.”
In the distance, they heard a man’s voice bellowing” “Dancing bear! Come and see the dancing bear! This is your lucky day!”
Kata and Miladin ran toward the approaching band of gypsies.
“Over here! Grandma wants your bear to dance!” They shouted as they raced along the rutted path toward the road that snaked from one farm to the next. Grandma opened the wide wooden gate leading to the yard and waved the procession in.
Kata and Miladin strained to see the star of the show, the Dancing Bear, encircled by the cheerful band of gypsies. Children of various ages ran alongside the group, bare-footed, some wearing only shorts, their long hair bouncing around suntanned faces. Two women held a wooden stick suspended between their shoulders. Colourful cloth bundles tied in a knot were slung over the stick, the bulging contents swinging to and fro.
Other women strode along in colourful dresses and skirts, their dark long hair hanging loosely or carelessly looped in buns or ponytails. One propped a toddler on her hip, supporting its back with her hand. She was chatting with another woman carrying a straw basket, the type villagers used for carting groceries. Another toddler’s cherubic face and round little arms protruded from the basket.
A third woman wore a flowery frock. The top part of her bodice was unbuttoned and her right breast hung out with a baby’s mouth firmly attached to it. It was difficult to tell where the baby’s chubby cheeks ended and where the plump breast began. With her arm the mother easily supported the baby’s weight, as if carrying a loaf of bread. Chatting happily with another woman alongside her, she kept gesturing with her left arm as if unaware of the cargo on her right one.
Kata stared at the untanned part of the woman’s breast. She had seen women nursing many times before, but usually while reclining comfortably in a sofa or a chair. This woman seemed oblivious to the baby on her arm. Yet suddenly, she lifted the baby up, pushed her breast inside her bodice, and without bothering to button up, propped the baby on her left shoulder and gently patted its back, while continuing her chatter. A few moments later, she placed the baby in the straw basket that had been slung on her arm, and supported the basket on her hip.
“Look at that baby! Fresh like an apple! Plump like a dumpling!” Roza laughed joyously as she ran out toward the road, waving the neighbours in. Kata thought it strange that Roza’s voice was not scolding, not even a tinge.
As the group got closer, the rattle of the chain and the metal caught Kata’s attention. Two men held the two chains fastened to a metal rod that led the large, brown bear walking sluggishly in the middle of the group. The rod was attached to a metal collar around the bear�
�s neck. A burly, middle-aged man in faded black pants held one chain. The upper part of his body was clad in a tattered leather vest over bare skin. He was covered in dust from head to toe, as if someone had sifted dry earth over him: particles clung to his chest hair, his wide black moustache, and the tangled dark hair protruding from under a brimless felt hat.
A golden eye feather? From Hera’s peacock? Kata could not believe her eyes. An iridescent blue and green peacock feather poked through a rip in his hat crown. In his other hand, he held a wooden stick striped by freshly peeled bark. His gait was confident, head held high, a mischievous shine in the dark eyes. Insolence shaped his proud face, and his demeanour exuded energy and strength – all fairytale-like under a frosting of brown dust. Kata instantly named him Gypsy King.
The crowd with two horse-drawn gypsy carts entered the barnyard, Roza close behind waving her hands and shouting: “Menagerie, menagerie, they’re here!” A train of village children followed, most barefoot and scantily dressed. If Kata hadn’t recognized their faces, she would’ve thought they were part of the gypsy band. Other neighbours neared, calling out and waving for yet others to join them.
Gypsy King raised his head and assessed the gathering. He handed the stick to the older man beside him who’d been holding one of the two extensions of the chain.
Gypsy King passed the chain from his right hand to the left. He flexed the bulging muscles of his right upper arm on which a tattoo of a dancing bear was etched, with the word GRIZZLY vertically next to it.
Miladin grasped Kata’s arm. “Look at that tattoo! Look at GRIZZLY on that Cigan’s arm! Those muscles, they’re huge!”
And then, below Gypsy King’s prominent nose and drooping moustache, a broad smile showcasing a glint of gold tooth greeted the crowd. Kata wondered how such a fierce face could radiate such a welcoming grin.
“My name is Grizzly, and this is my little brother, Hungaro,” he announced in a deep voice, pointing to the man next to him. “That’s not really his name, but we call him that ’cause he was born in Hungary. Some people like to call ’im Scarecrow.” He glanced sideways at his audience as the villagers broke out in a wave of laughter. Hungaro shook a clenched fist in mock threat.
“I’m also big brother of Wild Bear,” Grizzly continued, pointing to the chained bear. “I rescued him as a cub and we’ve been together ever since. This wild beast has a gentle soul. And he’ll dance for you if you ask him.”
The children shouted: “Dance, bear! Dance!” They frantically elbowed each other for a closer view.
Grizzly raised his hand and shouted: “Please, parents! You must keep your children at a safe distance! I said he’s a gentle soul, not a lamb! He’s a wild animal and his name is Wild Bear for a good reason!”
“Dance, Wild Bear! Dance! Dance!” squealed the village children.
“I’ll sing him a song,” Grizzly said, “and this magnificent, majestic bear … yes, I said this majestic bear, will dance for you!”
Hungaro, holding a chain section in one hand and the wooden stick in the other, stood on guard, glancing watchfully over the growing crowd of villagers. He smiled the same broad smile as Grizzly, but there were dark gaps where teeth once stood.
And then all eyes were on Grizzly, who stood poised, like an actor performing on a stage, Kata thought. He raised a hand above his head and snapped his fingers. Two musicians stepped up, one with a fiddle and the other with a flute. They began playing lazily, then suddenly quickened their pace. Another musician, walking a large double bass that appeared taller than him, joined the duo. The music subsided to a near-whisper, and Grizzly’s deep voice filled the air:
dance for me, my wild bear
dance with your body, dance with your soul
dance with all your wild mighty
until your spirit starts to soar
Slowly, the bear lifted a paw off the ground.
dance for your mighty master and his sons
his dutiful wife, her frail sorrow
dance for his bashful, innocent daughter
his morning glory, his virginal swallow
The bear lifted a second paw, first unsteadily, and then more assuredly.
and if your heart was to break and fall
dance with your heartless, divine soul
dance until your master’s soul is high
until the swallow soars in the sky
The bear was now standing on its hind legs, shifting its large mass from one foot to the other.
and if the swallow’s heart was to break and fall
dance for her heartless divine soul
dance until your master’s soul is high
and your divine roar fills the sky
The crowd was hollering, laughing, clapping, and shouting:
“Lift the other one, bear!”
“Dance like this, bear!”
“You crazy, crazy bear! Dance, dance, dance!”
The village children were jumping up and down, contorting their limbs and faces while trying to follow the rhythm. Kata stared at a four-year-old who was screaming and rolling in the dust. She thought at first he was throwing a tantrum, then realized he was laughing. The frenzied audience clapped and shouted more instructions to the bear.
The gypsy group huddled to one side, some swaying to the music. Their children sat on the ground, cross-legged, their tanned, slender bodies pressed tightly against the adults’ legs.
Hungaro stood before the bear. With one hand he waved his wooden stick as if it were a baton and he a concert conductor, while with the other he held the metal rod with the chain attached under the bear’s muzzled chin, forcing it to keep its head raised.
“Look at those flies under the bear’s chin! You see it?” Miladin shouted over the noisy crowd, as he poked Kata with his elbow.
“That poor, poor, bear! What is that?” She yelled back into his ear and pointed at the festering sore, wet fur smudged in gooey yellowish substance, covered in a swarm of flies.
“Maybe it’s from that metal thing,” he shouted back. “Somebody said that’s a muzzle, so the bear can’t bite.”
From the swarm of people, a cane eased out toward the bear. The next moment, it stuck out farther, poked at the bear’s chin and landed on the sore. The bear’s roar cracked through the chorus of Grizzly’s song, the bass’s thump and the villagers’ laughter.
The bear lifted the front paws even higher and growled again. Then it dropped first one paw and then the other and yanked at the chain. The three men holding the chain stumbled, before quickly regaining their balance. Two others rushed to their aid. They led the bear into the large cage on wheels.
“Who did that to the bear?” Kata shouted angrily. Without a word, Miladin turned and ran from the crowd.
“Come back,” she called after him. “Stop hiding.”
Grizzly was no longer singing. With clenched fists, he was advancing toward an old man who was limping away, thumping his cane on the dry earth. Grizzly caught up to him and grabbed him by the shirtsleeve. Another gypsy seized Grizzly’s arm as two others placed their hands on his shoulders, pleading restraint.
The old man straightened up and waved the cane in his raised hand. Another villager stepped in and clutched the stick just before it could land on Grizzly’s head.
Papa Novak made his way among them and placed his arm on the old man’s shoulder: “Come now, Ivan. Let’s talk like men, let’s reason.”
A young man ran through the gate and pushed into the crowd: “You’ll pay for that, gypsy! For attacking my father!” Angela’s brother’s voice rose over the throng like a trumpet. He grabbed Grizzly by the shoulder. Two villagers took hold of the young man’s arms, trying to calm him down. The whole group shifted to the side, shouting.
Papa Novak raised his hands above his head: “Hold it, now! Hold it!” He let go of Ivan and turned to the crowd encircling the shoving trio. The group parted and let him in, threatening voices yielding to calm. He patted Angela’s brother’s shoulder
. “Help your father home, son. Don’t start a brawl.”
The young man shook off Papa Novak’s arm and walked off brusquely. Papa Novak turned to Ivan, led him to a tree stump and pushed him gently down. He seemed to be comforting him.
Kata peered at the burled knots on Ivan’s cane, the same one that poked the bear’s chin. Why is Papa Novak comforting Ivan? Why isn’t he upset at him? She spotted Roza talking to a neighbour and joined them.
Roza waved her arm toward Ivan: “Broken-hearted. Shamed. By his own daughter.”
The neighbour nodded. “Disgraced her father, Angela did, and with a gypsy, they say.”
“Lost her chastity.”
“No decent man will marry her.”
Roza fluttered her fingertips on her chest, daintily, face beaming. “My Alex got himself a virgin bride. A cherry. Everybody knows.”
“That we do, my dear sister,” the other woman said, boasting. “We saw your white sheets with your blood on them, waving in the breeze.” She waved her hands in the air, simulating the wind. Kata moved closer to Roza, ensuring she did not miss a word of this forbidden talk.
The neighbour pointed to Angela. “There she is now, trying to console her poor father. Should’ve thought of him before she gave in to desire.”
Summer of The Dancing Bear Page 6