“Tell me about the prison,” Ion nudged Christian’s arm to get his attention.
“There isn’t really much to tell. The Nazis are cruel, there’s no doubt about that, but lucky for me they are also stupid.”
“That they are. When the other men and I were dressing to go and break you out, we were concerned that we might not look convincing. After all, if they found us out, we would have been right there in prison beside you.”
“That’s true. You are courageous, my friend.”
“I don’t know if it’s courage or just plain stupidity.”
The three men broke into laughter.
“You know, when you walked in to that room and I was strapped to that table, I thought for sure that you were high-ranking SS officers,” Christian said.
“We really looked the part, didn’t we?” Ion winked at Christian, then slapped his knee. “You know, the Sintis are known to be the finest of entertainers. We are of a long line of actors, singers, musicians…” Ion stood and bowed. Then they all laughed again.
“Our mission, besides survival, is to get as many of our people out of the camp and to safety as we can,” Shmul said, turning a serious gaze upon Christian.
“You raid the camps?” Christian asked, shocked.
“Not yet, but we plan to. So far, we only help those who have already escaped and come to us for papers,” Ion explained. “Shmul here is a great forger, and so far we have been lucky with our work.”
“We have also been trying to set up a network of like minds to move people out of Poland and Germany, and into Switzerland. If we don’t get caught, we’ll give the Germans quite a run for their money,” Shmul said; then he winked as he slapped a fly on his knee.
“This camp is made up mostly of Jews and gypsies, Hitler’s most-favored people. You, being an Aryan, are a minority here, my friend. It looks to me like you are a pure Aryan. Is that right?” Shmul asked, running his hand over his chin, studying Christian. He seemed skeptical of Christian’s presence among them.
“I guess you could say that, yes.”
“Then, if I may ask, why would you risk your life to fight a cause that has nothing to do with you?” Shmul persisted with his line of questioning. He still mistrusted the man with the face of a German.
“I wish I could tell you. Sometimes I wonder, myself. I guess it has to do with my childhood. When I was a boy, I had friends of all religions and nationalities: gypsies, Jews, everyone. When I first joined the resistance, I must admit that I didn’t really comprehend the extent of the danger. It was almost like I couldn’t believe it. I’d been warned, but it just didn’t register until I was captured. Since my arrest, I am now fully aware of what the Nazis can do to a man. I feel sometimes like I should run, especially when I think about what it felt like to lie bleeding on the cement floor in that prison, and yet I still cannot give up the cause. It’s in my blood I guess. Either that or I am truly a fool,” Christian shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, that is certainly good for us,” Shmul said, more convinced, but not entirely. “Welcome to our humble camp.”
“Thank you. And thank you for breaking me out.”
Christian watched as Nadya emptied the sticks into a pile at the side of a tent. A warm autumn breeze sailed through the camp, blowing the curls away from her face. As Nadya turned, her eyes connected with Christian’s. The intensity of his stare held her fast for moment. It burned like a fire within her bosom. She had never known anything like it before. She felt her face flush with heat, but still she could not turn away. His eyes held her captive. She heard the caw of a hawk as it flew overhead. It broke the silence, and she realized that she had been looking passionately at a man, with a direct and open gaze. This was strictly forbidden for a Romany girl. Embarrassed by the attention, she turned quickly and ran back to her wagon.
“Take as much time as you need to get well… Then, if you choose, we would like you to work with us to help us in our cause,” Shmul told Christian. It was difficult for Shmul to trust, but he’d seen this man suffer at the hands of the Nazis, and he knew he must give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he did have the look of a German.
“I would be honored,” Christian answered, but his eyes were glued to Nadya, willing her not to run away. “Come back,” his heart spoke silently. “Sit beside me; talk to me. Let me bask in your beauty.”
Ion interrupted his thoughts “My sister will bring you food. The doctor says that it is wise for you to rest as much as possible; he says the less you move about the better. Stay in my tent while you heal. It will protect you from the sun.”
“Thank you for your generosity.” Nadya would bring his food. Those were the only words he’d heard. That meant he would see her again, and soon. His heart beat a little faster.
Chapter 5
Christian spent the remainder of the day in Ion’s tent, shifting between sleep and waking. He was more tired than he’d realized. The ordeal of the prison and the beatings had taken a toll on him, and his body craved rest. Early that evening, Nadya arrived. When Christian saw her his heart fluttered. She carried the same white wicker basket she had brought to his prison cell. Nadya busied herself. She could not look directly at him; if she did her feelings for him would certainly be detected. Setting the basket before him, she removed the wine bottle and placed the heavy white cotton napkin on the ground. As she was setting up his meal of chicken with rice and spinach, she brought out a sparkling silver fork.
“I got this for you.” She handed him the fork. “I knew when I saw you trying to eat with your fingers that you were not accustomed to it.” She looked down not meeting her eyes.
Touched, he looked at the tiny silver fork, and held it in his hand. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Don’t tell Ion, but I went into town and stole it from a shop. Since you look like nobility, I thought you might prefer this way of eating.” She tilted her head, smiling. Then she brushed the curls away that had fallen in her face. Nadya had been sheltered her entire life by her brother, Ion; she did not fully understand the effect a beautiful women could have on a man. Nor did she seem to comprehend the danger of going into town. Being a gypsy would have been enough to get her arrested. Then, in addition, her lovely appearance would have appealed to the cruelty of the Nazis in ways Christian dreaded to reflect upon. Plus, the stealing would have caused such a stir among the shopkeepers that the entire town might have joined in the maltreatment.
“This was certainly thoughtful, but highly dangerous. Please, don’t take any more risks, especially on my account,” Christian said. By looking at her tender face and delicate body, he knew she would never survive their horrific ways. He, a strong man, had been at the point of madness when he was in the SS’s terrifying grip. Envisioning her lovely face held in that prison cell nearly broke him down. He prayed that he would never be forced to face the idea of this butterfly of a girl as their captive. The strange thing was that he knew, deep somewhere within him, that no matter if it meant fighting to the death, he would have to come to her rescue.
“You don’t like my gift?” She held up the fork, looking at him, wide eyed and hurt. Then regarding him for a moment, she felt that he was ungrateful and her ebony eyes sharpened with anger.
“Yes, of course I do. But you are simply too valuable, and the danger is much too real, to try anything like this again. Please promise me that you won’t under any circumstances,” Christian asked. Then he realized that his tone had been harsh. Softening his voice, he looked into her eyes genuinely. With his hand, he gently lifted her face so that she would look at him, “It is for your own safety that I implore you to stay away from town, to stay as far from the Nazis as possible, and not to try anything like that again. You were very lucky this time, all right?” Christian spoke seriously.
“If you ask me not to then I won’t do it.” The defiance in her eyes was fading away.
“Please… I beg you not to.” His sincerity touched her heart.
Sh
e nodded. Then she sat beside him while he ate, and attended to his every need, making him comfortable, as is the way with gypsy women. After placing a cloth napkin on his lap, she poured him some wine.
“Why don’t you have some food?’ He gestured to the large feast she had brought.
“I’ve eaten already. I’m here to make sure that you don’t want for anything. My brother has instructed me to take care of you. The women here always care for the men. It is our way.”
“May I make a request?” Christian asked, lifting his eyebrows in question.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, casting her eyes down.
“Tomorrow, when you bring my food, will you eat with me please?”
“If you so wish…then I will.”
“I do wish it. It would please me greatly,” Christian said.
The following day, Nadya could hardly wait to bring Christian his supper. She knew she must not let on to Ion that she found Christian attractive or he would surely send one of the older women to tend to Christian’s needs. It was wrong, she knew, to have these feelings. But when she thought of his golden hair and the twinkle in his eyes, a shiver of delight came over her and she had to smile.
Finally, at long last, the day grew old and the evening began to emerge. It was a night when the sky was black and filled with flickering silver stars. The cooking fires brought the aroma of delicious meats to Ion’s tent. As Christian gazed at the forest surrounding him, he saw the beauty of a life he had never known: The life of the Rom.
It was not long before Nadya arrived. She carried the same basket, and set about putting out his food immediately. As he watched her tiny hands set out the plates of meat and vegetables, he longed to take them in his own and kiss each finger slowly and tenderly. After she’d finished setting up, she prepared a plate for him and set it down on the cloth. Christian looked away, afraid she would see the pure desire in his eyes and be frightened.
At first he used the fork that she gave him. But as he watched her eat using her fingers, Christian picked up a piece of meat and ate with his hands, as was the custom of the Rom.
“You are becoming like one of us,” she looked at him, a coy smile spreading across her face. “We have quite a rich culture. Actually, do you find that the food tastes different when you use your hands to eat?”
“You know, I do. The flavor is stronger.”
“Yes, because you are using all of your senses to enjoy eating. First you look at what you are about to eat. Then you are touching and smelling and tasting. When you add touch, it heightens the experience.”
“So it does,” he said.
“Here… Will you try something for me?” Nadya asked.
“Of course.”
“Close your eyes,” she said.
He closed his eyes. She took a piece of sweet potato in her hand and brought it to his lips. With her fingers she touched his mouth. “Open,” she whispered, and he did. The warmth and softness of his lips on her fingers made her entire body tingle. A warm sweetness spread over her, settling deep within her womanhood. She tried to ignore the feelings, but they would not go away.
Slowly, she fed him. Nadya knew she should not be having such open contact with a man. It was against the strict laws of virtue put upon Romany girls. If she were seen by any of the old gypsy women, she would surly acquire a nasty reputation, and probably have a terrible time finding a husband. But she didn’t care. At the moment…there was something captivating about this strange and wonderful gage.
His breath caught in his throat as he felt her tiny fingers upon his open mouth. If he thought it wouldn’t scare her, he would kiss and suckle each one. Never, not with any other woman, had he felt such desire.
The fire outside the tent was burning out, and just a small smoldering flame remained. It illuminated her face. When he opened his eyes, he saw the glow dancing in hers.
“That was wonderful. I have never tasted a sweet potato like that before,” he sighed, taking a deep breath. What was this tiny girl doing to him?
“I hope you will like it here, and that you will learn to love the ways of our people.” Her heartbeat quickened as she realized how close she sat beside him. She felt the warmth of his thigh, only inches from her own.
“I think I already have. You are a strong and noble people,” Christian said. His voice was hoarse with emotion.
The moment was filled with sensations. She was afraid he might kiss her. Then again, she wanted his kiss more than anything she’d ever wanted. But she knew she must not feel this way. The inner chaos was overwhelming. Quickly, she turned away. “We have never been regarded as strong or noble by the gage; the stigma that follows us is one of fear and hatred,” she said, forcing herself to move a few feet farther away from him.
“People can be wrong. They fear what they don’t understand. Hatred and prejudice is something I have fought against my entire life,” Christian said, disappointed that she’d moved away.
“Yes, I have heard of your work. The men here talked a great deal about you before we actually brought you here. It is one thing for us to fight the Germans… They attacked our people, the Jews and the Poles as well…but you…you fight only because it is the right thing to do. You may not know this, but here amongst our little group, you are considered a hero.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I guess I wanted to be a hero at one time - that’s every boy’s dream. But now it’s not that I want to be admired anymore. It’s just that when I see the pain and suffering caused by the Reich, I feel compelled to stand up for those being persecuted. It’s almost as if I must fight against it or consider myself a part of it. So, I must choose to fight. Sometimes I want to run away. I have doubts and questions all the time. I am certainly not fearless, but I try to do what’s right.”
“And that makes you a hero - my hero, anyway!” She felt the color rising in her face and was stunned at her own admission.
He shook his head laughing, “You are an amazing little creature…lovely Nadya.”
“Would you like me to sing for you?” Nadya asked.
“Is that customary? That a woman sings for a man?”
“It is.”
“More lovely customs,” Christian nodded his head.
“Ah… You’ve not seen the best. Wait. The women here are known for their dancing,” she said, and she giggled.
“Hmmm, I can’t wait.”
Nadya sang for Christian, her voice a soft, crystal-like soprano. He listened, and the tender notes touched something deep within him.
All of the cooking fires had been extinguished; only the fire at the center of camp remained. It was here that the Romany women would dance.
Christian found that he was sorer today than the previous day. And so, when the fire was roaring and the achingly sweet cry of the gypsy violins filled the night, Nadya helped Christian to the fireside.
She showed him over to a large rock where the men gathered to watch the dancers.
“Now, you will watch me,” she whispered. Every nerve fiber within him tingled with the sound of her voice.
All of the women danced, swaying around the fire. The flames cast a golden glow upon their faces. Christian sat transfixed by the colorful dresses as they twirled about in the light of the flames. But his eyes kept finding their way back to Nadya. She mesmerized him.
Once the girls finished, a gypsy man with a thick black mustache brought out a guitar and began to play.
Nadya sat beside Christian.
“I used to play guitar,” Christian remembered.
“If I ask Tomas if you can use his guitar, will you play for me?” she asked, indicating the man who held the instrument.
“Yes, if you’d like.”
Nadya walked over to Tomas and whispered something. She returned carrying the guitar. Christian took the instrument and began to strum. He sang along, his voice soft. Nadya sat beside him, quiet and caught up in the lovely music. He smiled at her as she listened. The second song Christian chose to pla
y was a love song. As he crooned the words of longing, he noticed that her face turned a deep scarlet, and he wondered if she felt the same about him as he did about her.
Across the circle, Tobar sat, watching. He had been planning to ask Ion for Nadya’s hand in marriage. She was of age, and the time had come. Over the last year Tobar had acquired a nice bride price to offer Ion. It was customary among the Rom that a man seeking a wife should bring a suitable sum if he wanted to acquire a bride. And there could be no doubt that Nadya was a prize. She had beauty; she could also read cards and tell fortunes, which was considered a big asset in a wife because she could earn her keep. What else could a Romany man ask for? In good times, she would surely bring a high price. Now, because of the ways in which their lives had been altered by the Nazi regime, he hoped Ion would accept his offer. It was as generous as he could manage in these hard times. Tobar had wanted Nadya for his own since they were children. They had grown up in different kumpanias, but they had seen each other often. Their respective kumpanias had met as they traveled and spent days together in celebration, as was the custom. Although he’d seen her, he’d never spoken directly to her. When they were young, they’d sat at the fire with a group of children and listened as the adults told stories or performed with the dancing bears. While the youngsters had been enthralled in the storytelling, Tobar had watched her lovely face, always dreaming of the day when he would claim her as his own. As Tobar studied Nadya and Christian, he grew concerned. She seemed to be showing an unhealthy interest in this new gage. Tobar decided that it was best that he go to her brother as soon as possible and make the arrangements, before this man with the blond hair soiled her, ruining her forever.
When Christian finished playing he placed the guitar against a tree.
“You make beautiful music. You could have been born a Sinti,” she smiled.