To The Rhythm of the Moon By Chess Capino
Part 1 – New Moon Chapter 1 – The Gypsies Come I don’t remember my father or my mother. My grandpa told me that when my mother died on the day that I was born my father left our village in his grief, vowing never to return. Maybe, if I had been a boy-child he would have taken me with him, to travel the world, far and wide. He could have made a deerskin sling and carried me on his back as he rode through the forests and the meadows. I’d grow up wild and free, the birds and creatures of the forest as my playmates. Instead, he left me there with the old man and his wife. She’s dead, too, now, but she took good care of me then; always giving me warm milk and bread and singing me a song every night before I settled to sleep under my goatskin blanket. The old man and his wife lived in a village not far from the river Danube. Their house was on the village square. We always knew what was going on! My grandpa had been a tailor. But, by the time I came along, his eyes could not see well enough to thread a needle, let alone to do the fine work that had earned him respect in the village and the means to afford a house on the square. We lived simply, though we always had enough good food to eat. Grandpa would trade fresh milk and cheese from our cow for vegetables and fruit. Sometimes we would go into the countryside together and gather the fat blackberries that grew wild near the stream. Grandpa was always afraid that I’d loose my balance and slip into the rushing water. I used to beg him to let me come with him when he went to the fields. I loved to go into the woods. I loved the smell of the damp soil and of the different plants and fragrant herbs that grew wild along the edges of the plowed fields. Sometimes I wandered out of the village and sat on the old stone wall and watched the farmer who, with his big horse, plowed the field in preparation for sowing the wheat that would later be ground into flour for the fresh bread that I loved so much. Back and forth, back and forth they would go, horse and man; sometimes pausing to remove a stone that blocked the path of the wooden plow. Always more stones! I wondered where they all came from - each season the field would be plowed and each season more stones would be unearthed. Our houses were made of these stones, and the walls that divided the fields and marked the boundary between one village’s land and the next. How many times Grandpa found me sitting on that wall - watching the sheep and goats, watching the clouds making patterns in the sky! And he would be angry with me for wandering away, for not staying within the safety of the house, for not helping Grandma with the many chores that she had to do, day after day, year after year, to make sure Grandpa and I had a clean home and good food on the table. When I was just about tall enough to see out the front window of our house the gypsies came. Not the gypsies that everyone was scared of. When those gypsies came to the village my Grandma and Grandpa made me stay in the house. They made sure that I didn’t wander off into the woods on my own. At night, in the distance, we could hear their laughing voices over the sound of a crackling bonfire. After a few days they’d be gone - and somebody would be shouting that his strongest plow horse was gone, too! Or one of the village girls would be missing, deciding that a life on the road with the gypsies was more fun than the hard life she would live in the village. But Grandpa and Grandma whispered in low voices that they thought I couldn’t hear, using words they thought I wouldn’t understand, “That foolish girl, she has no idea what life will be like with those people!” That is why I was so surprised on the day my gypsies came. Instead of closing the windows and barring the doors, Grandma and Grandpa became very excited! They smiled and called me to the window to look and see the colorful group of people entering the village square. From all around, the villagers were gathering. Some followed the gypsies into the square, leaving their tools in the fields hastening to join the excited crowd. Ladies put on their bright Sunday kerchiefs and there was a festival mood in the air. “Who are these people?” I asked Grandma. “They are known as the star children, my child. They bring joy and happiness wherever they go.” I stood on my tiptoes and looked out the window at the ‘Star Children’. At first glance they did not look different from any other people I had seen. But, as I watched them moving around the square, greeting the villagers and settling their horses, I noticed the graceful way they moved. Their faces were very beautiful. There was a glow around them, the glow of happiness. There weren’t any old people in the group. Maybe they stayed at home. But where was their home? Before I had a chance to ask, Grandma, in her prettiest embroidered apron, called me over to her. She tied a bright red ribbon in my hair, took me by the hand, and with Grandpa, led me out into the square to join the others in this spontaneous movement of happiness.
At first I was overwhelmed by the bustle and activity. Through the noise of laughter and people talking all at the same time I could hear the sound of a viol tuning up. It sounded like a strange bird! But I knew it was a viol. Once before a lone gypsy had come to the village. He looked poor. He didn’t have a horse or even a mule. He had to carry all his belongings on his back as if he were a mule himself! I was afraid when I saw him. He was old and dirty and he didn’t smell very nice when we passed near him on our way home from the bakers. But Grandma stopped close to him and gave him a loaf of warm bread that she had bought for our supper. He reached out his filthy hand and took it, with a great smile that cracked through the grime on his face. It was then that I noticed that he couldn’t see! How did he know we were standing there? I wanted to ask by Grandma, but before I could I stopped, transfixed, as the old man slowly opened one of his grubby bags and gently unwrapped a viol. Placing it beneath his chin he started to play for us. Such a song! I cannot say that it was a happy song, nor was it sad. It had a sweetness, a longing, like a memory of a sunny summer morning on a gray winter’s day. After he finished Grandma thanked him and we went inside to prepare our meal. I had a hundred questions! “Who is that old man? Why is he traveling alone? Why is he so dirty? Why doesn’t he have a horse? Why did I feel like crying when he played the pretty song? Why can’t he see?” I asked. Grandma laughed and said, “Enough, enough! I don’t know all the answers to your questions! I do know that he learned to play the viol from the Star Children. He lived with them for a while when he was a child. Now he travels the countryside playing for bread and wine and a corner to sleep in. He is a good man, but very sad. I don’t know why so don’t ask me any more questions!” Grandma wasn’t angry with me for asking questions. She just got tired some times because I asked so many. I pulled Grandma in the direction of the music, wondering if it was the same old man returned to our village. I couldn’t see where we were going in the tangle of the village women's bright blue skirts. Finally, we came to the edge of the square. The stairs of the church formed a makeshift stage. What a sight! Not only was there a man getting ready to play the viol but there were three other men holding strange things - I guessed that they were musical instruments, too, but I had never seen or heard anything like them. Then I saw the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her long black hair reached below her narrow waist, cascading down her back like the mane of a wild horse. Her lips were full and red and smiling. Her eyes were the most beautiful part of her. They smiled, too, as if with a secret delight it all that was going on around her. She wore a pretty white blouse and a full crimson skirt that swished happily as she moved about the improvised stage. In her hand she held a round thing, like a drum but smaller. Around the edges were disks of shiny metal. When the music started she shook and tapped the instrument keeping time with the merry jingling of bright metal circles. Others joined in the singing. Meanwhile, the villagers prepared a feast to welcome their guests. Long tables were set out in the village square as if a wedding were about to take place. Women were busy bringing food from their storerooms and larders. They crossed the square carrying heavy dishes to roast in the baker’s oven. I heard an awful sound and knew that one of the villagers had slaughtered a pig to be the main course in this feast. What an occasion! We were offered a seat on a bench near the music. Grandpa found us and joined us on the bench, his foot tapping in time with the happy rhythm of the music. I found my feet starting to move too, all by themselves. I got up and started to dance around. Some other children were dancing, too. I twirled and jumped, carried away by the jouful sound of the viol and drums. I was having so much fun! I didn’t want to stop when my Grandpa took me by the hand and told me that it was time to join the others for supper. I just wanted to keep on dancing forever. We took our places at one of the long tables. It was an unexpected treat to have so much good food at one time. On the table were hunks of bread fresh out of the oven, onions, pungent pickles, curly heads of bright green fennel and a huge platter with the roasted meat of the pig. All my favorite things, but I wasn’t hungry at all. I wanted to go back to the music and dance some more. When Grandma and Grandpa finally finished I jumped up and ran off to where the musicians continued their cheerful tures and the beautiful lady still smiled and danced. But Grandma caught up with me, all out of breath. She told me it was time to go to bed. How could she expect me to sleep! I tried to talk her into letting me stay up and dance. “You can dance in your dreams”, she told me as she led me away from the sparkling crowd.
We walked slowly to our house, hand in hand. I was glad that at least we lived on the square and could still hear the music. I climbed into my bed, closed my eyes and pretended to be back with the musicians. As I listened to the music and the noise of the many people out in the square it was easy for me to imagine being out there with them. In my mind, I stood at the front of the crowd watching the beautiful lady. She approached me and smiled, squatting down on her haunches so we were eye to eye, she said, “Hello Milada. Would you like to dance with me?” My face broke into a smile and I yes, “Yes, oh yes!” My grandpa and Grandma always called me “Anna” but when the lady called me “Milada” I knew that was my name. In my dream I danced with the gypsies until the faint light of dawn returned the colors to the square. “I have to go home now,” I told the lovely lady. “My Grandma will wake up and wonder where I am.” I ran across the square toward my house. As I neared the door I saw old Dr. Maslev coming out of the house, slowly shaking his head. “Good morning!” I called to him. Usually when he saw little children in the square he’d reach into his pocket and produce some nuts or an apple or some other treat. This day, though, he did not wave back or even look up and smile when I called out to him. It was as if he didn’t even see me. I ran into the house. Something was strange. Grandpa sat by my grandma’s bed. Usually she was the first one up. I ran over to see what the matter was, a cold feeling in my stomach. In my haste, my foot caught the edge of the hearth rug and I felt myself falling to the ground. I opened my eyes and realized that I was back in my bed by the fireplace! I looked toward my Grandma’s bed to reassure myself that I’d only been dreaming and that this morning was like all the others. In the dim light I saw my grandpa sitting, his head in his hands, beside my grandma’s bed, just like in my dream. I quietly got out of bed and went over to my grandpa. Grandma looked strange. Her skin was pale. Something wasn’t right. “What’s wrong with Grandma?” I asked. Grandpa said nothing. I repeated the question, “Grandpa, what’s wrong with Grandma? When can I have breakfast? I’m hungry!” Grandpa said nothing. Tears came to my eyes. What was going on? Last night had been so much fun and now something awful was happening. I heard the door to the house open. It was our neighbor Mrs. Patca and one of the gypsies. The gypsy woman walked silently over to the bed. She smiled at me and put her hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. His shoulders relaxed and he let out a soft sigh. The gypsy took Grandma’s hand in hers. She looked at Grandpa and softly said, “Her soul has flown away". Grandpa buried his face in the palms of his hands. I’d never seen him cry before, but from the way his body rocked on the stool I could tell that he was crying now. I ran over to the gypsy woman. “What’s happening?” I demanded, “Why is Grandpa crying? Why is Grandma still in bed instead of making our breakfast?” The gypsy lady knelt on the floor beside me. “Your grandmother has taken the first step of a long journey”, she said. “One that will take her to wonderful lands far from here”. I looked at the gypsy lady and then at my Grandma and back at the gypsy lad. “If Grandma is going on a journey then why is she still here?” I asked , “And why can’t Grandpa and I go, too?” “Ah, little one, you ask many questions! That is good. But the answers to your questions are not so easy to tell, and now is not the time to explain this journey that we all will take one day”, the gypsy lady replied. She stood up and kindled the fire in the hearth. She quietly prepared a simple breakfast for me. “Come”, she said, ”Here is your breakfast.” in spite of the strangeness of the morning my breakfast tasted delicious. While I ate I watched as the gypsy lady went back to Grandma’s bed. She stood near the old woman's head with the palms of her hands facing downwards and said strange words that I didn’t understand. Keeping one hand near Grandma’s head she slowly slid the other down over her heart then her stomach and legs. She faced her palms together and intoned a low chant. I couldn’t make out the words but the sound of her voice was like the sound of the forest, a soft breeze rustling the autumn leaves. As her song went on Grandpa stopped rocking back and forth. His hands fell to his lap and he was able to look at Grandma’s body as it lay on the bed. The gypsy lady finished her song and silence filled the room with its peace. Grandpa looked up at the Gypsy lady and said, “I knew this day would come, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. What’s to become of Anna? She needs a woman to care for her.” The gypsy lady smiled and gently touched his shoulder, “Don’t worry about the child”. She looked over at me and smiled and then she was gone. I approached Grandpa, not knowing what to say. “Ah, my child,” he said, taking me in his arms, “what will life bring to my little one”.
Chapter 4 - Layla and Her Firefly What a day that was. My Grandma was gone and the life seemed to drain from Grandpa, too. The happy sparkle in his eyes was gone. We sat together by the fire while the women of the village prepared Grandma. I watched as they washed her body and dressed it in Grandma’s best clothes, as if readying her for a festival. Outside in the square people went about the business of daily life. The sound of laughter and the occasional strains of a song came through the window along with the late morning sunshine. The star children were still here. Maybe Grandma had decided to journey with them. Maybe that was the mysterious journey the gypsy lady told me about! Maybe this is the preparation for that journey. Several times I had watched a bride be prepared for her wedding. Other people dressed her in her best clothes. Then there was a big party. After that she would ride off with her new husband to live in his village. That’s it! Grandma was going with the gypsies! I felt better now that I understood what was happening. “Don’t worry”, I said to my grandpa, “Grandma will have fun with the gypsies!” He didn’t seen to
hear me. Not wanting to miss anything that was going on in the square
I kissed Grandpa’s forehead and ran out the door and right into
the arms of the lovely lady I danced with in my dreams! She looked at
me and laughed. I couldn’t say a word. I was lost in her dark eyes. “Did you like dancing with us last night?” she asked. How did she know? I felt this lady knew me to the depths of my soul. I still could not utter a word. “Ah, Milada, you thought it was a dream? Many a dream has been known to come true!” She called me “Milada” again! I said, “My name is Anna,” and immediately regretted it! Somehow I knew my name was not Anna, but Milada. “We all go through many names in our life. In my tribe we all have four names. The first is our true name, the one that tells who we are inside. When we have lived three years we choose a name for ourselves. When we prepare to marry, when we are betrothed, the head of our clan, the Baron, bestows upon us another name. When we are older and no longer raising our children we spend our time helping others and working for the good of all. Then we choose yet another name because, you know, as we live we outgrow our old names and our old role in the group as we outgrow our clothes! My name is Layla. May I call you Milada?” “Oh, yes!” I replied, “I like that name.” Layla said, “Would you like to meet my horse, Firefly?” Of course I said yes. Hand in hand we walked across the village square. I didn’t think about asking Grandpa’s permission if I could go with Layla. I was too excited about meeting the lady with the radiant smile - and now I was going to meet her horse. We were at the far side of the square sooner than I thought possible. We reached the foot of the church steps. This morning, it all seemed normal, as if the festivities of the previous night had, indeed, been a dream. Layla waved at the fiddler who remained on the steps. Had he slept there all night, I wondered? He didn’t seem tired or uncomfortable. He waved back at us and sang out his greeting, “Good day to you Layla, and good day to little Milada, too!” He knew my name! I was happy that he did! I smiled back at his cheerful face. Passing through the south side of the village we came to the field where the gypsy band was camped. There were many horses there, none of them tied up or fenced in. “Don’t your horses run away,” I asked Layla, forgetting to be shy, or polite. She just laughed and said, “They do not want to leave us. We treat them well and they are happy to share their lives with us.” I wondered which horse was Layla’s. I looked over the horses as they serenely grazed. There was a sleek buckskin with black mane and tail, an elegant mount. Was that Firefly? One horse was jet black. I imagined that on a moonless night it would be nearly invisible with only its yellowish eyes to betray its presence. Was that one firefly? Or was he the palomino who tossed his head so proudly? I was so lost in thought that I was startled to feel a soft nose nuzzling the top of my head. I turned and looked up and saw Layla with her arm around a creature with eyes as kind as her own. This, of course, was Firefly. “She likes you!” Layla said with a smile. “Want to go for a ride?” Layla hoisted me up in front of her. She held the reigns lightly, made a soft clicking noise and we were off, gently cantering toward the forest. I watched as Firefly’s reddish mane rippled in the breeze. I can’t remember ever being so happy! We rode along the wide river, watching the duck and geese take their morning baths. “Why do you call her “Firefly”? “ I asked, “Do her eyes glow in the dark?” Layla‘s laughter was like a tinkling brook. “Maybe they do. But that’s not why I call her “Firefly”. When I ride her I feel the fire rise in my blood. I want to gallop up to the stars. Together we can fly like fire, like the fire that is the stars. Maybe one day, Firefly will take me home.” I didn’t understand all that Layla told me but I was satisfied that Firefly was a lovely horse, and that her eyes shone like stars, or fireflies. We dismounted in a grove of beech trees, their leaves just starting to change into their autumn livery. We sat together, not speaking, just watching the river flow by. Layla finally spoke, “Milada, my friend, would you like to come and live with me?” Without a second thought I said, “Yes”. Looking back now I wonder why I didn’t think of my grandpa who I’d be leaving alone; why I didn’t think of my playmates or the animals in the village I’d lovingly named. I think that I believed my grandma would be coming along with us. I don’t know. But I was sure that it was the right thing to go with Layla. I hugged her and said, over and over, “Yes, yes!” On the ride back to the village I couldn’t stop myself from asking questions. There was so much I wanted to know. “When are we leaving? Will I sleep with you? Do you always live in your wagons or do you have a house somewhere? Can I ride Firefly by myself when I grow up? Can you teach me to dance like you? Can Grandpa come with us?” At this last question I felt a change in Layla. She touched my arm gently and said, “Alas, that cannot be. But we will pass this way every so often and visit him.” Suddenly I was afraid. What if Grandpa would not let me go? Life would surly seem empty and dark when the light of Layla ‘s smile was no longer near. We left Firefly at the camp and hurried back to Grandpa’s house. He was still sitting by grandma’s side. Layla told me to gather my few things together and went to speak with Grandpa. I couldn’t make out her words. She spoke very softly to the old man. Then she called me over. I could see in her eyes that it was all right for me to go. I looked at Grandpa and he looked at me. I saw such sadness and yet such love in his eyes. It reminded me of the blind man’s song, so sad and yet so lovely. Grandpa took me in his arms and held me for a long time. Then he said, “I’ll miss you terribly, but Layla is a lovely lady. She will care for you like the mother you never knew. You are lucky to be invited to join the star children. It is best for you to do so. I will leave a candle burning in the window each night to guide you back to me when you come through the village on your travels. Go now. Learn and be happy.” We embraced once again. I glanced at Grandma, still lying silently on the bed. I felt she was already waiting for me with the gypsy band. Hand in hand Layla and I walked back to the camp, never looking back.
Pale sunlight filtered through the young leaves onto the beaten earth of the clearing. Layla led me across the colorful carpets laid out on the ground. I could hear music in the distance, and the beat of drums and laughter. At the far end of the clearing was a brightly painted wagon. Layla sat on its shiny blue step, her eyes smiling at me and said, “This will be your home for a while.” She lifted me up so I sat beside her on the wagon. “Do you live here, too? I asked, hoping that she would tell me yes. “No, little one,” she replied, “I live on the other side of camp with my family.” “Do you have lots of brothers and sisters?” I asked, “ I wish I did.” “I have one younger brother” she said, “You will meet him soon.” I felt something move behind me. A pair of green eyes peered out at us from beneath the curtained entrance to the wagon. I saw that they belonged to a large gray cat. “Look who’s here”, Layla said to me. Then she said to the cat, “Hello, my friend. Where are your children?” As she spoke a tiny white face peeked out from under the curtain, then another and another and another! Soon the mother cat and four gray and white kittens joined us on the blue step. One of the kittens curled up in my lap. “She likes you, Milada,” Layla said. “I like her, too. Can I keep her?” I asked. “The kittens come and go as they like. If you are good to her she’ll stay here with you,” she replied. “Kittens!” I heard a cheerful voice say. I looked up and saw a little girl standing and smiling at us. Layla said, “Tanya, this is Milada. She’s come to live with us.” “Hello, Milada. Do you like the kittens?” Tanya asked. “Oh yes!” I replied noticing that Tanya’s eyes were the same color as the mother cat’s. “I love animals,” Tanya said, “especially baby animals. I have a baby hedgehog inside. I don’t know what happened to its mother. I found it a few days ago under that big oak tree over there”. I didn’t know which tree was an oak tree but I looked to where the girl was pointing. “I left it there because maybe its mother would come back, but I kept watch. The next day there was still no sign of its mother so I brought it in and have been feeding it myself. Do you want to see it?” I looked at Layla, not wanting to leave the safety of her company, but also wanting to see the baby hedgehog. “I’d like to see it, too,” said Layla. Tanya hopped up the step and pushed aside the curtain. Layla and I followed her. It was dark inside the wagon, but even in the dim light I could make out the shapes of strange objects that I had never seen the likes of before. Here and there a glint of gold picked up what little light filtered through the heavy drapes. Tanya moved to the back corner of the wagon and lifted a crimson blanket. There, nestled in a bed of dried leaves a tiny creature about the size of my hand lay curled up in sleep. “He sleeps almost all day long”, Tanya whispered, “I give him milk in the evening and early in the morning. When he gets big enough to take care of himself I’ll let him go.” “Is he prickly?” I asked, remember that Grandma told me never, never to touch a hedgehog. “Not yet,” Tanya replied. “Touch him and see for yourself.” I was a little bit afraid in case his quills really were sharp. Maybe Tanya was trying to trick me. “Go on”, she said, “just be very gentle.” I reached out my hand and very carefully touched the sleeping creature. Its little spines were stiff but not unpleasant to touch. I felt the slow rhythm of its breath beneath its fur lifting and lowering my fingers. Tanya smiled at me and I smiled back. We quietly left the wagon and went back outside into the sunlight. “Do you live in this wagon?” I asked Tanya. “I sleep here with Zora. I live in the forest and out here in the sun”, she replied. “My grandpa didn’t let me go into the forest by myself. He told me it is very dangerous”, I said. “It can be, when you don’t have the knowledge of the woods,” Layla said. “From the time we are babies we learn the secrets of the forest and how to live with its creatures. In time you will learn, too.” “Come with me”, said Tanya, “I’ll show you where the swallows nest, and where the dormouse lives and the fox cubs’ hole, and…” I looked at Layla again and saw her smile her consent. Tanya took my hand and together we ran into the forest. And so the days passed one after another. Layla was right, I did begin to learn the secrets of the forest. Although she was not much older than I was, Tanya, knew so much about the plants and the animals that made the forest their home. Every morning we woke to the sound of birdsong in the leafy canopy above our wagon. Before we joined the others for breakfast Tanya would make sure that all the small animals in her care had been fed. I went with her on her rounds, helping her carry dried seeds for the birds and fresh milk that came from one of the goats that accompanied the gypsy band on their travels. Zora did not come with us. She had other work to do. I was a little bit afraid of Zora with her piercing black eyes and serious look, older than her seven years. She left the wagon early in each morning to collect wild herbs and flowers while they were still moist with dew. During the day she was busy cleaning them and setting them out to dry. I was too shy to ask her what she was going to do with them. One cool morning I woke up with a pain in my throat. It hurt me so much I didn’t want to go with Tanya to feed the animals. She went by herself but came back with Zora after a few minutes. Zora put her hand on my forehead. It felt cool and soothing. “Open your mouth wide and let me have a look”, she said, Without another word she left the wagon only to return a little later with a cup of warm tea in her small hand. “Drink this”, she said, “it will make you feel better”. The tea tasted bitter but I drank it up. I had never tasted anything like it before. I put the cup down beside me and fell back into a dreamless sleep. When I awoke, I could tell from the streak of light coming through a small crack in the wooden roof that the sun was high in the sky. My throat felt much better. Zora poked her head through the curtain. I had to shield my eyes against the bright sunlight. “How are you feeling
now,” she asked me, seeing that I was awake. “It is a tea made from the bark of the red elm tree”, she replied. “How did you know that it would help my throat?” I asked her. Zora said, “The forest is full of plants that help and heal us. Our people know the ways of the forest.” “Can I learn them, too? “ I asked her. “I can teach you,” she said, “but it’s up to you if you can learn.” Chapter 6 Preparing for our Journey One morning as I lay in bed I heard other sounds, besides
the chirping of the birds. I could hear horses neighing, goats bleating
and people calling to one another. I turned to Tanya and said, “What’s all that noise?”
She said, “Everyone is up early. Maybe today we will
move our camp.” Zora reached
up and pulled back the curtain. I could smell the breakfast fires already
lit and fresh bread toasting. In the dim light of dawn we saw the wide
skirts of the women swishing by as they moved with unaccustomed speed.
“Yes, it was decided last night. The Baron decreed that
it is time to move on”. “Who is the Baron?” I asked. “He is the leader of our band,” said Zora. “He is Layla’s father,” said
Tanya. “And Dragan’s,” Zora added. So Dragan was the name of Layla’s brother. I still hadn’t met him. I saw Layla every day. She always asked, “And how is my little Milada today?” Sometimes she took me for a ride on Firefly.
Once we rode to a meadow full of flowers as red as Layla’s
skirt. “Can I have a red skirt, too,” I asked her. She just
smiled. That very same night Layla
came to our wagon with something in her hand. “This is for you, little one,” she said, handing me a
parcel. I untied the string that bound the soft material together
and saw a bright red flounced skirt, just my size. I slipped it over
my head and Layla helped me fasten it at the
waist. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”” I said as I spun
around and around until I was so dizzy that I collapsed into Layla’s arms, laughing. “Now you are ready
to dance with us at the campfire!” she laughed. Together we drew near the other gypsies who had gathered
for the evening. Through the smoke of the campfire I looked around at
their faces. Where was Grandma? I expected to find her here. But Grandma
was not at the campfire. There were no old people there. One or two
had a touch of grey in their hair but there was none as old as Grandma
and Grandpa. A boy sitting across from me smiled. He had fire in his
eyes. There was something familiar about him but before I could ask
Layla who he was, Tanya came and sat by my
side. A man with a huge moustache took out a viol and started
to play. It was one of those bittersweet songs. I tired to keep my eyes
open, to watch and wait for the happy songs so that I could dance and
twirl by the fire, but my eye lids felt heavy and I felt myself slipping
into pleasant dreams, my head on Layla’s soft
lap. Days, how many, had passed since that summer’s night.
And still there was no sign of my beloved grandmother. “How can we move without Grandma? I thought she was coming
on this journey with us,” I asked, returning from my memories. But Tanya
had already risen to join the others in their preparation. I jumped out of bed and ran to find Layla, unhappy and afraid for the first time after leaving
my home. I found her by a small fire, carefully balancing a big
black kettle on a grill over the flames. I hardly noticed the boy from
the campfire sitting beside her, warming his hands. “Layla, is it true? Are we
leaving? Where’s my Grandma? Why isn’t she here?” I asked in a rush
of words. Layla smiled
as she poured some hot water from the kettle into a small cup infusing
the fragrant leaves within. She handed me the cup and said, “Your Grandma is on her
journey to the stars. Maybe someday you will catch up with her, but,
for now, you must follow a different path.” The warmth of the tea and Layla’s
eyes helped a little but I still felt like my heart would break. I sank
down by the fire and buried my head in my arms. My tears dripped into
the steamy cup. “Watch out - you’re making your tea salty.” I felt a
gentle touch on my shoulder and realized the boy was talking to me. “What?” “You’ll make your tea salty with all those tears. Don’t
worry about your Grandma. She knows that you are well. Be happy so she
can be happy for you, too. If you are sad, then she will be sad because
she loves you and is watching over you from her place in the sky.” I lifted my head and looked into the boy’s eyes. I couldn’t
look away. They were fiery brown, like Layla’s,
with the same soft kindness that melted away all my fears. “Are you Layla’s brother?”
I asked the boy, wiping the tears off my cheek with the back of my hand. He smiled, “That I am”. “Zora said that your father
decided that we are leaving today. Is it true?” I asked him. “Yes, the weather is changing. It’s time to move to a
more protected camp for the winter,” he replied. “Why does everyone move when your father says it is time?”
I asked. “They move because
they trust him to know when the time is right,” he said. “How does he know?” I continued, wanting to know. “He follows the
signs. I’m learning to follow them, too, so some day the people will
trust me like they do my father. Look.” Dragan pointed
his long finger at the patch of sky visible between the branches of
the overhanging tree. I looked up and saw some large birds circling
overhead. I could hear their hoarse cries carried on the wind. “Birds,” he said. “But there are always birds in the sky,” I told him. “Wait and watch,” he said. The circle of birds grew tighter. More birds came from
all four directions and joined in the circle dance. The patch of sky
grew dark with birds, their cawing loud in my ears. Then, from the circle,
one bird pulled away. The others followed making a great “V” in the
sky. Their calls grew dim as all together they flew out of sight. “See,” Dragan said, “the birds
know when to move. When they move, so do we. The leaves on the trees
are turning gold and red. Soon they will fall from the trees and return
to the earth to nurture the new sprouts.” Layla came
and sat beside us. “Yes, Milada,” she said, “it’s
time for us to move on. This is a time of adventure, a chance to learn
new things and see new places. Embrace change, because, you know, everything
is always changing. The seasons change, the plants and trees grow; you
grow and change yourself moment by moment. Look, you’ve been with us
only a short time, but I can see that already your shoes are too small
for your growing feet!” I looked down at my tight leather shoes. Most of the
gypsies wore no shoes at all. Many of the children in the village went
barefoot, too, but Grandma always said that I must wear my soft leather
shoes. I hadn’t really thought about it before. “I’ll find you some bigger ones and you can give those
to Tanya for the journey.” I didn’t want to give Tanya my shoes! “But they still fit me!” I protested. Dragan laughed. “Never mind, then,” Layla said
as she returned to the big black kettle. I was still looking at my feet, squished into my leather
shoes, not liking that Dragan was laughing
at me, when I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I pulled away
and saw the huge face of a horse, inches from my own. Dragan
laughed even harder. “I’d like you to meet Dobro”
he said. “He must have missed me.” In one movement, Dragan stood
up to pat his horse. Dobro’s raven forelocks
fell across his eyes just like Dragan’s dark
hair fell over his own forehead. Dobro nuzzled
Dragan. Boy and horse looked content. I couldn’t help laughing
myself. “That’s better,” Dragan said,
“Why cry when you can laugh? Would you like to come for a ride with
me?” I looked a Layla for approval.
She smiled and we were off into the early morning mist, Dragan holding tightly to Dobro’s
mane, me holding tightly to Dragan.
Our Departure When our ride was over I felt I had made a friend for life. I no longer feared moving on. I thanked Dragan and Dobro, gave Layla a big hug then ran back to the wagon to help Tanya and Zora pack up our bedding, cooking pots and other bits and pieces that were spread outside our wagon. Zora was carefully bundling the herbs that had been hanging to dry on the massive oak that over-shadowed the wagon. “Why didn’t you put those in the sun to dry?” I asked
as I watched Zora’s delicate hands tying each
separate bundle. “If they dry too fast they loose some of their strength,”
she said. “It is better to dry them slowly and gently. Don’t rush things.”
I felt that she was telling me off because I always ran
from place to place, impatient to get where
I wanted to be. I think she somehow knew what I was thinking because
she came up to me and gave me a little hug and said, “Why don’t you
go and help Tanya with her animals.” I went inside the wagon and found Tanya holding the hedgehog
wrapped in a quilt because it wasn’t a baby anymore. Now it’s spines were hard and very, very sharp. “It’s time for us to say goodbye,” Tanya softly told
the ball of prickles. “Aren’t you taking him with us? You’ve had him since
he was just a baby,” I said. “No, Milada, his place is here. Maybe where we are going there
won’t be the right things for a hedgehog to eat. It’s better if he stays
in his own place,” she replied. “Won’t you miss him?” I asked, knowing that I would miss
watching him wake up in the evening and turn circles in his box in the
wagon. “Every Hello is also a Goodbye,” Tanya said as she stepped
out of the wagon with the hedgehog. “Goodbye, little one, may you live
and grow”. Tanya gently set him down on the carpet of leaves. He
looked back at us once as if to bid us farewell and then scuttled into
the dense bushes and was gone. “Bye, bye, little hedgehog,” I said. I knew I’d miss that strange little creature. “Let’s go and see about the others,” Tanya said, taking
my hand. Together we went into the woods to gather the small goats
and chicks that would be making the trip with us. Soon, everything was ready. The colourful wagons were
hitched to the strongest horses, which would pull them across the rutted
roads. The horse’s silver bridles glistened in the sunlight and their
bells tinkled as they pawed the earth, ready, as we were, to move on.
I climbed up on our wagon, wondering if Zora
and Tanya knew how to manage the huge horse that had been hitched to
it. From my high vantage point I could see that none of the
others had boarded the wagons. What were they doing? Before I had time
to hop down and find out Layla came into the
clearing. She helped me down from my perch and said,
“Before we go we gather round the embers of our last
fire and give thanks to the spirits of this place.” She took my hand and led me through the trees into the
big clearing. Only a few glowing embers now remained from last night’s
fire. We joined our hands with the others, completing the circle. The
Baron began to sing a strange and beautiful song. It sounded like the
wind when it blows though the dense leaves of the forest. I could not
understand his words but something in the sound of them brought tears
to my eyes. The Baron stopped singing. There was no sound in the forest,
not a rustle or a chirp. No horse whinnied. No dog barked. It was as
if this was a moment out of time. I could not even hear the sound of
my own heartbeat. Nothing. Only a silence so deep that I thought for a moment that it was all
a dream. Finally the Baron spoke. “Thank you, Spirits of this
place, for allowing us this time here. Thank you for the food that your
have provided for us, for the plants you gave us to help the people
and animals of this place, for the earth to sleep on and the air to
breath. It is time for us to move on now and leave you to your peace.
Thank you and bless you all.” He reached down and carefully took up some glowing embers
in a small brass box. As he stood up, he looked around the circle and
said, “Let’s go!” At once the circle exploded into a whirl of activity.
From somewhere came the sound of a happy flute. Soon a drum joined in.
We all went to our wagons while some of the men buried the rest of the
embers. “Let’s go,” said Layla, almost
dancing as we walked toward the wagon. “Will you ride with us?” I asked hopefully. “Zora can handle your wagon,”
she said, “I’ll ride Firefly”. She sensed my disappointment. “Would
you like to ride with me for a while?” Would I! The two of us mounted Firefly and joined the procession
of caravans that was moving onto the tree-lined road. Soon Dragan joined us on Dobro. The sun
had risen only halfway up the sky and we were on our way; away from
my Grandpa and the only home I knew. Why did I feel so happy? Chapter 8 Bora's Viol Tanya and I were becoming great friends and I wasn’t
so afraid of Zora anymore. Often she took
me with her on early morning collecting trips. Now I ran barefoot like
the others. I finally gave that first pair of shoes to Tanya, but we
had both long outgrown them. The morning dew felt cold as the damp earth
squeezed between my toes but as the sun rose I loved the feel of the
warm grass beneath my feet. We collected chamomile flowers to make a
fragrant tea that could calm a stomach ache and help us sleep. Zora
dried the flowers and sewed them up in muslin bags to give to people
who came to the gypsies for help. “How do you know what herbs to use?” I asked her on one
of our expeditions. “I always knew,” she said, “And I watch and observe what
happens when people use them. I watch what animals eat when they are
ill. They know what to do. And so do I. Now,
you are learning, too.” And I was. When
I wasn’t careful and ran into a patch of stinging nettles I knew which
leaf to rub on my skin so it wouldn’t come up in a rash. I knew that
if I tripped and cut my knee I could pound some fresh sorrel leaves
and put them on the wound and it would heal faster. But, with or without
shoes, I hadn’t learned to slow down. I still ran while others walked. One warm spring morning I was running through the woods
looking for Tanya when I stopped in my tracks. A sound.
Was it an animal crying? Or a baby? The sound
grew into a song. Someone was playing the viol. Slowly at first, then
the tempo picked up. I couldn’t stop my feet from dancing! Who could
be playing in the forest at this time? I thought all the grown-ups had
gone to the village. As I moved toward the sound, I saw Tanya, her thick brown
plaits hanging down her back, walking quietly in the same direction.
“Tanya” I whispered, “Tanya, who’s playing the viol.”
She turned to me and whispered back, “I don’t know. Let’s
go see!” Together we moved toward the music. In the clearing we
saw a small boy about our age. He held the viol in his stocky arms.
His eyes were closed and he seemed to be listening to the sounds coming
out of it with wonder and enjoyment. His foot tapped out the rhythm.
“It’s Bora,” Tanya whispered.
Listening to the happy music I just couldn’t stay still.
I clapped my hands and started to dance around Bora.
He opened his eyes and smiled at us, and continued to
play. When the song was finished he lowered the viol. “Hello,” he said. “Hello Bora, I didn’t know
you could play like that!” said Tanya. “I didn’t either,” he replied with a shy giggle. “I’ve
always liked to listen to music but I didn’t know that I could play.
Last night Radko gave me this.” Bora giggled
some more as he waved the viol in front of us. “He said, “This was my first viol. Take it and play.
You know how.” So I took it, and the bow, too. It felt really good in
my hands. And I played. Isn’t it great! Maybe you can play, too. Here,
try it.” I looked at Tanya but she didn’t move to take the instrument.
“I know that’s not my talent,” she said. I took the viol and tried to hold it like Bora did. I held the bow and pulled it across the strings.
The sound that came out was like an angry cat when someone steps on
its tail! We all cringed. “I guess it’s not my talent, either,” I said, handing
back the instrument. Bora took
it with a grin and started to play another cheerful tune. “How come Bora can play like
that? And you know all about animals, and Zora
knows about herbs and plants,” I asked Tanya as we headed back to the
camp. “That’s the way it is. We remember.” I was just going to ask “remember what?” But before I
could get the words out of my mouth I heard a loud crash coming from
the camp. “What was that?” “I don’t know,”
Tanya said, “let’s go see.” We hurried back to the wagons. People were gathered around
one of them. One of the hitching
poles was sticking up over the crowd. I saw Layla
among the people. “What happened?” I asked her. “Radko was repairing the wheel
on his wagon when the support gave way,” she said. Curious, as always, I edged my way into the crowd of
people until I could see Radko, crushed under
the wagon, his lifeless face with its huge moustache gazing up at the
bare branches of the birch tree above us. The men carefully lifted the
wagon and pulled Radko’s body out from under its heavy weight. Bora left
us and went to Radko’s side. He picked up
his right hand and just sat quietly beside the body. A woman with a
thick silver plait reaching nearly to her waist stepped forward and
gently closed his eyes with the palm of her hand. This woman, Mother Miriana,
sometime went to the villages when someone died there. She danced and
laughed with the others at the campfire, but when she spoke everyone
listened. I knew she was older than the others, but not nearly as old
as my Grandma. I knew now that my Grandma was dead. The “journey” that
she was on I could not follow. In the villages, when someone died everyone
cried. Some people even pulled out their hair. They brought the body
to a church and lit lots of candles and prayed. What for? For
the person to come to life again? “Save his soul”, they prayed.
Save it from what? It was different with the gypsies. I watched as Radko was placed next to a small fire. Mother Miriana and her friend Lazara followed.
Bora came
back to us and said, “That’s why he gave me his viol. Someone has to
play for the band.” He took up his instrument again and began to play a haunting
melody, one that made me want to cry and smile
at the same time. Mother Miriana was singing
softly with words I did not understand. She and Lazara
sat beside the body all day, singing and swaying slowly back and forth. Layla found
Tanya and me at our wagon. “Come,” she said,
“Let’s go to the village to get some bread and vegetables. Tonight there
will be a feast of farewell for Radko.” Already a goat was roasting on a spit and a large space
had been cleared for dancing. Layla called
to her brother, “Come with us, Dragan. We
need your help to carry things back”. I was happy that Dragan was
coming with us. His bright eyes seemed to dance as he spoke. “A party tonight; too bad Radko’s
going to miss it. He loved a good party,” he said. “His spirit will be with us,” said Layla.
“He was ready to move on.” “He gave Bora his viol,” I
blurted out, “and you should hear how well he plays it!” “We’ll hear him tonight,” said Layla.
“And we’ll dance.” In the village, everyone stared at Layla
and her brother. People always stared at them wherever they went. With
their shining eyes and jet-black hair they were a striking sight. But
it was more than just the way they looked; it was the way they moved,
easily and gracefully, almost dancing as they walked through the crowded
market place. Dragan walked
between Tanya and me linking one elbow with each of us. As we walked
along the cobbled street I heard the sound of hooves behind us. “Oh, no,” sighed Dragan, “It’s
him. He never leaves me alone.” “Him who?” I asked.
“Him.” Dragan flicked his head back to look over his shoulder and
rolled his eyes, “Dobro”. I turned and looked behind just as the horse got close
enough to nuzzle the back of Dragan’s neck.
“Well at least he can help us carry things back to camp,”
Dragan remarked with a grin. We filled our baskets with onions, fresh bread and earthenware
pots of pickled cabbage that the villagers prepare in the fall to last
until spring. We sat down by the fountain to rest a while before the
walk back to camp. I noticed Layla’s attention
was focused on the cheese stalls. I turned to see that she was watching
a young boy, a little older than Tanya and me. His light brown hair
brushed the collar of his brown felt jacket. He was talking to one of
the women selling cheese. “I need a taste before I buy. How do I know that your
cheese is any good?” I heard him say. The woman cut a small bit off the round of cheese. “There you go,” she said. “Mmm, not bad, not bad. I’ll think about
it.” He went to the next stall and said to the woman there, “Your neighbour’s
cheese is very good, but I have heard that yours is better.” “Here, have a taste,” she said,
cutting off a sliver of soft white cheese. “Make a little bigger so I can taste it!” he said. She gave him another piece, this time a bigger one. “Very, nice, very
nice. What about that other kind, that one there,” he pointed
to a large yellow wheel. The woman cut off a small slice and held it out to him.
“There you are,” she said, “why don’t you buy some of
each?” “Maybe I will,” said the boy as he ate the cheese, “maybe
I will.” As we watched he went back to the first woman. “Your neighbour’s cheese is very good. Let me have another
piece of yours so I can choose whose is best, and a piece of bread too
if you can spare it.” The woman hesitated, then cut him another piece and handed
him a chunk of heavy brown bread. “This is such a hard choice,” said the boy, “I’ll have
go away and give it some thought.” He turned and started to walk away from the cheese sellers.
Both of them started shouting at him, “Eh, boy - you
eat my cheese and buy nothing!” said one, “If everybody were like you
I would have no cheese to sell!” said the other. “Come on,” called Layla and
moved to follow the boy through the crowded square. He sensed that he was being followed and moved faster.
Dragan ran ahead and caught him by the arm.
He stiffened as if ready for a fight. As he turned they came face to
face and his muscles relaxed when saw the smile in Dragan’s
eyes. “Are you hungry?” Dragan asked
the boy. “Not so much anymore,” he said with a grin, “I’ve had
some cheese”. Layla said,
“Do you have a home?” “Not really,” his bright blue eyes clouded over for a
moment then the brave face returned, “I’m free. I come and go, do odd
jobs for food.” “We are camped in the forest not far from here. Tonight
we will have a celebration. Come with us and eat your fill,” Dragan said. “Why not?” said the boy. We skirted the village to return to camp, followed faithfully
by Dobro, his hoofs beating a rhythm on the
track. Chapter 9 Goran I watched the boy as we walked back to camp. He and Dragan walked ahead of us, with Dobro
following close on their heels. The boy was not as tall as Dragan
and had to walk faster to keep up with his graceful strides. “My name is Goran,” I heard
him telling Dragan. “I grew up in the next village but when my folks died
I came to live here with my uncle. He has no children of his own - but
if he did they would probably run away! It’s not that he is a bad man,
he just forgets things. You know, unimportant
things like feeding me! “He has a flock of sheep. The sheep he loves! They never
go to sleep hungry. He is out in the fields with them all day, talking
to them, playing them music on his flute. Sometimes he remembers to
come home and give me some supper, sometimes he doesn’t. So I do odd
jobs around the village, I fix fences, I help
the ladies beat the rugs - that’s one dusty job! But that way I get
enough to eat.” I was so intent on listening to the boy’s conversation
that I didn’t hear Layla‘s footsteps as she
came up behind Tanya and me. I was startled when she spoke. “What do you think?
Will this boy Goran join our band?” I looked at Layla and then
at the boy. He was still in animated conversation with Dragan.
“He certainly likes to talk!” I said. Tanya gazed at the boys as they walked and talked easily
together. “I think he’s been lonely” she commented. She ran up
to him and took his arm. “I’m Tanya,” she said. “Do you like animals?” “Animals…well, sure…well, I really don’t like sheep very
much…” he said with a grin. Layla put
her arm around my shoulder. Her familiar sent of lavender and straw
always calmed my over-active mind. All the questions that had been chasing
themselves around my in head - would Goran
join the band? Would he stay in our wagon?
Would Tanya be his friend and not mine? All the questions melted
away. None of them seemed important as Layla
and I walked together down the dusty trail carrying the provisions for
the night’s celebration. Another question eased into my mind. This one I would
ask. “Layla, why don’t we cry when
someone dies like they do in the villages? Instead we have a big party
and laugh and sing?” “We understand death in a different way. We don’t see
it as an end of a life, just as a pause, as a time lived in a different
world, for a while,” she said. “Like when we
dream?” I asked. “Sometimes when I wake up I feel like I’ve been on
a trip to a different world. It seems so real that when I wake up I’m
surprised to see that I’m in my bed on the wagon.” ”Yes, Milada,” said Layla, “It’s something like that.” “So why don’t the people in the village know it? Why
do they cry and feel sad when someone dies?” I asked. “Because they don’t remember,” she said. “Mmm, that smells good,” Dragan called to us over his shoulder. “Yes, it certainly does,” said Layla.
We had reached the campsite before I finished asking
my questions. I guess, really, I never finish asking questions. While we unpacked our baskets on the long wooden tables
that had been set up next to the unlit central fire I saw Dragan introducing Goran to Bora. I guessed that Goran would
stay in his wagon if he decided
to stay with us. I had a feeling that he would. The rest of the day was spent in preparation. Huge pots
were hung over the cooking fires. I helped chop the onions and carrots
that would go into the soup. Zora brought
some dried herbs from the wagon. When she crumbled them into the broth
a wonderful aroma filled the air. By the time the sun went down my tummy
was rumbling in anticipation of the wonderful meal we would soon enjoy.
We cleared the long tables and then lay them with saffron
cloths and placed several loaves of fresh bread at intervals along their
lengths. The women brought out the small silver salt pots that were
kept for feast days and placed them on the table as well. The men carved
the roast kid and filled the earthenware wine jugs from the large barrel
on the back of Marko’s wagon. The gypsies scattered to their wagons to change into
their festive clothes, richly embroidered in red and gold, and to bring
their own plates, cups and knives from their wagons. Tanya and I hurried
back to our wagon to dress. I loved to get dressed up! I put on a yellow
blouse and a full red skirt. Tanya wore a green dress with golden stars
embroidered over it. These clothes were not new. They were passed down
to us as older girls outgrew them. We would pass them on to the younger
girls in turn. Each girl added some embroidery, and made any needed
repairs. Some of the skirts were more patches than fabric, but the effect
was very colourful. I liked the thought that another little girl, long
grown up, or even the great-great-grandmother of one of the women in
the band, might have worn the very skirt that I would twirl in tonight.
We dressed quickly and were soon back
at the table. I put my plate, cup and knife in front of me. At first
I thought that it was strange that we each had to keep these things
in our wagon. At home my Grandma always set the table so it was ready
when we came. But, of course, I later realized, she had a cupboard to
keep things in, and many fewer people to feed. With the gypsies, even
the small children took care of their own things. That’s why we could
move camp so quickly. The fire had been lit. The Baron stood at the head of
the table. His black hair, a little silver at the sides, gleamed in
the light of the crackling fire. “Tonight we say “Farewell” to our good friend Radko. He had decided to leave us for time. May his journey
be a fruitful one. We drink to his success!”
We all lifted our cups and drank a toast to Radko. Bora took up his viol. He
played a happy tune as we all sat down to enjoy the feast. I sat between
Tanya and Zora. Goran
sat across from us on the other side of the table. I watched him polish
off a heaping plate of food before I even finished my soup. “That boy is really hungry,” I whispered to Tanya. “My name is Goran”. I felt
my cheeks flush red that he had heard my comment. “This is the best
food I’ve had in my life!” “Thanks to Zora’s herbs,” I
said. “My name is Milada.” “Pleased to meet you,” Goran
replied, “You were at the market today, too, weren’t you.” “Yes, I liked watching you with the cheese sellers!”
I said, with a straight face. “You saw that?” he said, uncertain of my reaction. Oh, oh...had I said too much? My cheeks felt even hotter.
“I really did plan to buy some cheese,” he added. “Yes, of course,” I said trying to sound sincere but
I couldn’t suppress a little giggle. I was happy to see Goran smile,
understanding that his antics amused me. While we ate, different musicians took turns playing.
As everyone finished the meal the volume and intensity of the music
grew. The men lifted the tables to the side of the clearing to make
room around the fire for dancing. I joined in with the women whirling
and twirling in our bright skirts. The men danced among us, taping their
heels into the earth. I noticed that Dragan
was a very good dancer, graceful, and for once without Dobro
looking over his shoulder. Goran sat by the fire, lost in thought. I sat down next to him to catch my breath. “Come and dance with us”. He turned to look at me. His eyes were far away. As I
watched they came into focus. “What were you thinking?” I asked him quietly. “I was thinking by what luck or twist of fate I am here
tonight among these people, people who dance at death, having eaten
the best food in my life, listening to the most beautiful music, feeling
accepted,” he said quietly. “Will you stay with us?” I asked. He paused for a moment before giving his answer. “If they will have me, yes, I will. I can’t think of
any reason not to,” he said. At that moment the music faded. Bora
began to play a haunting melody. The dancers formed a circle around
the dying fire. Everyone who was not dancing also joined the circle
and we all joined hands. Goran’s hand was
warm and rough. He held mine tightly as we all stood watching the embers
in silence. When the final notes of Bora’s
song faded into the night the men dropped hands and moved toward the
glowing coals. We watched as they shovelled them to one side and started
digging a hole. It didn’t take long to dig a pit long enough and wide
enough to hold a man. Radko’s body,
wrapped in a pale muslin shroud was laid into the hole. No words were
uttered. No tears were shed. The men quickly covered the body and patted
down the earth. They then replaced the still glowing embers of the fire.
Dragan came over to where Goran
and I stood. “We will move camp at first light, just as we always
do when someone dies. Goran, will you come
with us?” Dragan asked. Yes,” said Goran, “I would
be honoured to join you.”
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