We shared so much joy. I believe that was the happiest time of my life. I prayed that it was to last forever.
But....it was not to be so.
Chapter Four…
A
lone.
I awakened in a pool of blood.
I was wet and cold, it was December in Siberia. I shivered as the loss of blood combined with the weather took hold.
My head ached and the severe pain I felt in my abdomen was excruciating.
I knew that I had lost the baby.
The possibility that I myself would die crossed my mind for a moment. There was so much blood. It was as if a murder had been committed. The sheets were soaked with it. A rich substance of bright red mixed with a garnet color almost black. Pieces of matter were intermingled with the thick liquid and as I touched them I wondered if they were parts of my unborn child.
The bile rose in my throat and I had no strength to move so I turned and vomited over the side of the bed.
It's quite strange really; the things that you think about when you feel that perhaps you will die. In delirium I laughed to myself. Until I had moved into this small room I had never slept in a bed. The Rom does not sleep on beds and it had taken me a while to adjust. I thought about this and how in the beginning I felt as if I were floating on a cloud. Now I wondered if my tiny fetus floated across the open sky. Perhaps he or she was a traveler by nature, a true Rom. These were the things that danced in my head as I held my uterus and trembled with cold and pain.
I drifted in and out of sleep.
I woke crying several times. Not for the loss of my life, which at the time I was sure was eminent. But for the small innocent, conceived through such love, which now was no more than a bloody mass. I would never hold this tender infant, or suckle it to my breast.
If one could feel the breaking of ones heart, I felt mine.
I fell once again into a fitful sleep. Dreaming of my childhood, I saw my cousins and I riding bareback through an open field. I could smell the fresh cut hay and the odor of horses all around me. Then I was swimming bare breasted under a hot sunny sky in the blue green ocean, salt water on my lips, my hair hanging wet against the naked skin on my back.
Then I awakened and I longed for Grigori. How I loved him. If I were to die, I prayed that at least I would see him one last time.
Now the bed was drenched. Blood had dried on my legs and back and had stuck my night dress to my skin. I wondered when Grigori would return. If it were not soon, I would not be able to say goodbye.
It was by God's good grace that he appeared late that afternoon. By his face I knew that I looked bad.
He did not speak, but he fell to his knees beside my bed. Seeing him so frightened and humbled touched my heart and moved me in ways I could not explain. In all of my suffering, his anguish hurt me more than my own pain.
It was a great feat, because I was so weak, but I lifted my arm and ran my fingers through his long hair. Then with all of the strength that I could muster I smiled at him.
He did not smile back, but sobbed openly. I had never seen such a display before.
Laying his hands upon my body, and remaining on his knees he began to rock back and forth.
"Live" he cried out "You must live...I command you to live."
Over and over until his voice became hoarse he continued to chant. The whites of his eyes were all that I could see, the familiar sapphire color had rolled back in his head.
He rocked harder now and his voice bellowed out
"Live, live, live....I give to you the breath of my life...take years from me if you will that she may live."
And I did.
Maybe an hour, maybe two passed. I began to feel my strength return. Not all at once, but slowly and steadily.
Grigori was so attentive; he bathed me and changed my bed discarding the bloody linens. With the few vegetables that I had, he prepared a soup and insisted that I eat. Holding the spoon as I slurped.
As if I could have loved him any more than I already did, on that day I felt that my love had grown beyond anything imaginable.
For two solid weeks he stayed with me, never leaving my side. I thought about his wife, but decided that she must know him as I did. Grigori would not be owned.
Finally, I was feeling better.
I took to reading cards in my room. The peasant women of the town, visited me asking for spells. I gave them what they wished and some came to love me.
Of course I tried every known bit of magic on my own lover, in an effort to make him stay, but nothing worked. I lit candles and tied his hair up with mine encircled with red ribbons, I drank his semen mixed with herbs. I carried a piece of his clothing in my locket, but no love spell could conquer him.
And at the end of two weeks he left. He was gone for the remainder of the winter.
It was during these frigid months that I began to have dreams. In them I saw white doves flying and being torn to shreds by hawks. The death card in the tarot danced before me, the skeleton jumping off of the paper. I woke in a cold sweat. The dreams became longer and more vivid.
I knew something was going to happen.
Chapter Five….
B
LOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.....
Would I never escape it?
I dreamt one night of a river turning red as ripe pomegranates. The water took on living form and wrapped itself around my neck. I was choking. I was drowning. Coughing, I awoke bending at the waist and trying to catch my breath. My heart pounded as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
Although darkness filled this frigid land, I could find no comfort in sleep.
The days were dismal and sunless, the nights even worse.
Gripped by loneliness, I was haunted with memories of my childhood. I wished that I had the company of one of the dogs that I had been raised with, but alas I was alone. With Grigori gone the emptiness became unbearable. Finances, at least, were not a problem. He had left me well cared for.
Outside my window snow fell over thick coatings of ice. Walking was treacherous. Now I knew why the Gypsies left this place while the summer still prevailed.
That winter was the longest I have ever known.
When a bright spring sun began to show her face the earth responded in kind. I felt so renewed. Each tiny flower was a breath of life to my weary soul. The deep green leaves and the swaying grass filled my aching heart with joy.
Soon the colorful ballet of spring would be in full force.
In a few months my parents and the rest of the Kompania would arrive. I had jitters in anticipation. I knew that I had brought shame upon my father. Still, I longed to see him. Even if he were still angry, I would revel in the sound of his voice. How I had missed them.
It was late July before the caravan came through town. The wagons rolled in with a new flock of horses roped on the backs. They planned to trade furiously here in Siberia.
I watched from the street as the wagons rolled along, remembering how I had felt when I was among the travelers.
The horses whinnied and shook their manes, as their shoes clip-clopped along the cobblestone road. The dogs ran chasing each other and barking, along the side of the vudons?. From where I stood I heard the familiar Romany folk songs and my heart melted.
Tears and memories.
Then I saw my parents wagon, and I knew.
One of the boys from another family sat at the front driving the horses.
Running as fast as I could I followed the wagons out of town to the campgrounds. By the time I reached my mother I was out of breath. She stood outside stretching. Before she saw me I took notice of her once long black hair which was now white. Her slender body slumped over, and the wonderful light that I had known all of my life had left her eyes.
"Mama" She opened her arms and I ran inside like I had done as a child.
"Your father is dead. He died of a broken heart. We were riding along the big? river and he fell over and was dead."
Now I knew what the d
reams meant.
I blamed myself.
It was then and there that I decided that when the Kompania left I would be with them. I would drive the wagon and take care of my poor mother for the rest of her days. I owed her that much.
Silently I prayed that Grigori would not return. For if he did, I knew that my resolve would be tested.
Chapter Six….
F
or several years my mother and I traveled through Europe in our wagon.
I became as good as any man at horse trading. I could mix up a potion for a tired old animal and when the gage came to look at it the beast acted like a young colt. My mother and I told fortunes and depended on the generosity of the rest of the Kompania. And so we got by.
It was in the countryside in the outskirts of Munich during the height of the strawberry season that my life changed forever.
There were trees filled with white blossoms and flowers growing wild on the sides of the dirt road.
We set up camp by a small stream on a hilly green patch of land. The leafy trees with thick trunks gave us shade from the sun. All around us the gage were tending their farms.
On hands and knees the peasants picked the ripe fruit and filled their baskets. I saw them as they hurried about, their hands red with juice.
My mother had been weak and ill for a while. But since we had come to the highlands of Germany her color returned and instead of laying around for most of the day, she was up and around playing with the little ones and talking to the other women.
That night I gathered wood and began to build our cooking fire.
"Do you smell the strawberries?"
"You want some, mama?"
She would not ask me to bargain or steal them from the gage. As she was growing older she became more frightened. She feared arrest and persecution. In her life time she had certainly seen enough of it. But I thought that perhaps the fresh fruit might improve her condition.
At sunset, under the protective veil of a darkening sky, I set out to get your grandmother some berries.
Exhausted from laboring in the sun, the peasants would be retired for the night, leaving the fields unattended.
For a while, I walked gazing at the farm houses their lights glowing softly. I wondered about the lives of their inhabitants. Finally I came upon a patch of land, with a house covered by darkness. Instead of candles burning in windows with pretty embroidered curtains this one appeared empty. Yet, someone was tending the land, for the fruit grew in perfect rows.
I knelt on the ground and began to pick the ripe berries off the vine. Tasting a morsel I marveled at how sunshine came through in the gifts mother earth gave us. I sat back and folded my legs beneath me and savored the sweetness.
For a moment I forgot I was stealing. I sat there on the ground, my magenta and gold skirts billowing out around me, my shoulders bared as my white blouse fell carelessly about my breasts almost revealing my nipples. A cool breeze came down from the north and caressed my hair, gently floating through my long black curls. I was enjoying the beauty of the approaching night, the taste of the strawberries and the light of the new moon rising. I didn't see him.
He walked over to me, his golden hair falling over his eyes in the moonlight. At first I was frightened. I thought he might call the police. We were gypsies, usually not welcome by the farmers. They knew that we took their crops and they were leery of us.
I felt a rush of blood to my head and my heart began to thump.
Not only was I in terrible danger, but I could bring the law’s wrath upon the entire Kompania. I tried to get up and run, but he grabbed my arm.
"Are you stealing?"
I didn't answer. To be honest, I wondered why he was asking me, because the answer was obvious.
He was very tall, and as he spoke I looked up into his eyes.
Expecting to see rage, I found it strange but I saw the kindness in his face and my fear subsided. He had a warmth in his eyes and an openness I'd not seen in a man before, not in the Romany men, and certainly not in Grigori.
Knitting his brow he shook his head .
"you're hurting my arm."
Suddenly embarrassed, he released me.
"I'm sorry."
Then he crossed his arms over his chest and I could see he felt awkward.
But beneath the false exterior, even in the semi-darkness, I saw the quickest flash of desire come over his face. It was there one moment and then it was gone. I knew in that instant that I had the power to keep him from going to the authorities. After Grigori I knew how easily men were distracted when sex was involved.
"This is your farm? Then I guess these strawberries are yours."
I probably should have been afraid, but I wasn't. Something told me to go ahead and take the chance.
Looking deep into his eyes, I took a strawberry from the basket which was now on the ground between us. Then I ran my tongue over the surface and took a bite. I took the rest of the strawberry, the juice dripping down my hand and I walked over to him. Slowly I lifted the scarlet fruit to his lips and rubbed it softly until his mouth opened.
What a fool this man is, I thought to myself, so easily manipulated by an unspoken promise.
After Grigori I was done with all of that.
Or so I thought.
Trying to feign anger he looked down at me.
"you shouldn't steal."
Then for no reason at all he laughed. His laughter was warm and contagious and I could not help but laugh as well.
"I guess you can't tell a gypsy not to steal."
"And I guess you can't tell a gago to be smart enough to expect it."
He sat down on the ground beside me and began to help me gather strawberries.
"I suppose these are for your poor hungry children?'
"Actually no, they are for my poor sick mother."
"Now, now, you needn't make up stories for me. I welcome you to take my strawberries."
"In fact, it's true. They are for my mother and she has been ill as of late."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there no husband who could have come stealing for you?"
"No, I'm sorry to say. I have no husband."
His face lit up brighter than the stars in the sky. A white perfect smile with dimples that made him seem more of a boy than a man.
I had not looked at him before, had not taken notice of the muscles that stood out on his arms and chest, or of the tightness of his flat stomach. Tall, and well built, I could see the man had spent his life farming.
I learned he was alone. His parents had died several years earlier and he had lost his wife the previous year in an accident. She had taken her horse and buggy into town and lost control. He told me that he wished he had gone with her, but she had insisted on going alone.
Having experienced the guilt over my fathers death, I recognized it in him.
His name was Jan Reinhardt. He was honest, uncomplicated and kind, with the type of good looks only a gago can have.
And I found I liked him in spite of my self.
Chapter Seven…….
T
he outskirts of Munich Germany late 1800's through early 1900's
Jan surprised me. He was different than I expected
Every day, after working his land, he came to see me. And I suppose you could say he courted me.
He always brought gifts. Sometimes, fresh eggs from his chickens, another time ribbons for my hair, but he never came without a basket of ripe strawberries for me and mama.
With his hair blowing softly in the gentle breeze, crisp black pants and white cotton shirt, he walked through the rolling green hillside with me. We were quite a sight, me, barefoot, with my full skirts and uncovered shoulders and him with his dimples and golden hair, falling over his eyes.
Mama openly disapproved.
"Do you realize what everyone is saying about you?"
"No, mama and I don't care."
"Well, you should. You take walks alone with a man, and not only a m
an, but he isn't even a Rom. Are you crazy? That's it, maybe you've lost your mind. No decent man of the Rom would have anything to do with you now."
"Mama, please, I have long since given up the idea of marrying. I wouldn't bring much of a bride price anymore. I'm sure that everyone has their own ideas about what happened with Grigori and I. Their tongues were wagging then too, I'm sure."