by Dan Arnold
I don’t like to take advantage of a drunk. Bob was just too dangerous to take chances with. He was too big to fight. I would have had to kill him. The Romani certainly would have killed him.
I also don’t like to injure my hands. So, if I have to hit someone, I generally hit them in soft tissue, or bend my gun barrel over their head.
The Romani men gathered around.
“His nose is broken,” I said. “Make sure he doesn’t choke to death on his own blood. Throw him in a wagon, and drop him off at the doctor’s office.”
I told them where it was.
“Tell the doctor I did this to him. Tell him why.”
I walked out.
9.
As I walked back toward town, I noticed it had become cloudy, and the wind was picking up. The weather matched my mood. The horse races were over, and some folks with horses and buggies were headed east on the road, but I was part of a general migration back toward town. Now that all the festivities were over, people were going home.
I remembered the hotel clerk had mentioned the Governor would be staying out at the Bar C. I hadn’t seen the big fancy wagon go by. I figured it had probably left earlier to get out to the Bar C, before dark.
Somebody once wrote: “It matters little where we’ve been, or where we’re headed. It matters most, who we are.” Somebody else said: “It matters not what road we take, but who we become, on the journey.” I know the truth; the trail we choose, will greatly determine who we will become on the journey. The Christian life is a narrow trail and few there are who find it. One has to watch their step. Open roads are easy to find, and there is usually a lot of traffic. The road to hell is broad, well paved, and jammed with traffic. The narrow trail can be rough and lonely.
I had a lot to think about.
When I came to the Mexican quarter, I took my time and wandered around a bit. I heard beautiful guitar music coming from an old adobe building that had a fresh coat of whitewash. As I approached, I realized I had found the cantina. I listened to the guitar for a moment, but I didn’t go inside.
When I got back to the Marshal’s office, Tom was still there, alone. He said he hadn’t seen Jack, all afternoon. I started to fill him in on my experiences of the day, when the door opened. Jack came in, carrying a covered tray.
“I stopped at the Bon Ton and had an early supper. Here’s Rawlins grub,” he said nodding at the tray. “Looks like it’s gonna rain.”
Tom took the tray back into the jail, to give to Rawlins. When he came back out, Jack told him to go on home, and have supper with Becky. He indicated we would both be needed on the street after dark.
“This town is getting too big, to walk a patrol from one end to another, or be able to get across in an emergency. The city council has voted to pay for two more deputies. I sure would like it, if you would stick around here and be one of them,” Jack said, looking at me.
There was a knock on the front door, so Jack went over and opened it. Standing there was one of the Romani men. He had a big bruise started under one eye, and the eye was swelling shut. I recognized him as one of the two men who had tangled with Bob. He had his hat in his hand and he was fidgeting.
“What can I do for you?” Jack asked.
“Mr. Marshal, the doctor told me to come and tell you, Bob Maxwell will have to spend the night with him, for observation.” He blurted.
He was staring at me, the whole time.
“OK, thanks,” Jack said.
He started to ask a question, but the man turned and left, in a hurry.
Jack closed the door.
“I wonder what that was about,” he said.
I gave him a rough account of my two encounters with Bob.
“Wow.” Jack said. “That’s good work. Bob Maxwell is one tough teamster, and the best muleskinner I ever saw. He can handle an ox team like nobody’s business. That’s why he’s the foreman of the teamsters working for the Atwater Freight Company. He’s usually not a problem, but when he gets his drink loaded on, he gets mean and somebody always gets hurt. Never him though.”
He gave me an appraising look.
“I knew having that damn carnival in town was going to cause trouble. You just can’t trust those gypsies. We’ll have to run them out of town, tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’ll go back out there tonight, and ask them to move on,” I volunteered. “That way, there won’t be anyone to file charges against our Mr. Maxwell. He won’t be tempted to go back out there and start more trouble, either.”
Jack looked at me.
“I hate to ask you to do that. It might be dangerous.”
“Oh, I think I can handle it,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Yeah, you probably can at that.” He nodded. “OK, be careful. It’s Saturday night, and things can get rough on that side of town. I’ll stay here with our prisoner. When Tom gets back, I’ll have him hit the streets.”
By the time I got back out to the carnival site, all the tents and booths had been taken down and packed up. There were cooking fires going, and the wonderful smell made my stomach growl with anticipation. We would be feasting on the fatted calf, tonight
Matthew took me to his brightly painted wagon. It was much like a sheepherder’s wagon, only somewhat larger. It had a hard roof and walls, even windows with glass in them. There was a built in bed on each side that you could sit on, and a table with two chairs, even a small stove. The lamps were lit inside. It was getting dark because of the heavy cloud cover. We sat at his table and he brought out a bottle of wine. We talked and drank a little wine. We found common ground.
After a little while, he left. A moment later, a young man came into the wagon. It took me a moment to realize who he was. It was Nicolai, my son.
“Hello, sir,” he said, somewhat formally.
I couldn’t help myself; I got up from the table and embraced him
“Nicky, you’re a grown man!”
It was all I could think to say.
“Father, I am so glad to finally see you again.” He said, as though he were starting a well- rehearsed speech.
“Nicky, I couldn’t find you…” I interrupted.
We stared at each other, for a moment.
“Let’s sit down,” I suggested.
“I know you were looking for us, sir. When I was a very small child, I never thought about not having my father with us. You know how it is, we’re a tight community and we all raise the children as if each were our own. As I got older, I realized you were somewhere else. I heard stories about you, of course. Mother let me know who you were, and how proud I should be, to be your son. I know the things you have done for our people. For many years, we were with a different band of Romani. When we would occasionally see Grandmamma and Grand poppa, they told me stories of when you were a boy.
I smiled at the idea of calling Sasha and Kergi, by those childish informalities.
“Why wouldn’t anyone let me find you?”
“It is…complicated.”
He struggled for an appropriate word.
There are so many times when a single word, must be used to account for all the convoluted subtleties and brutal realities of a situation.
“I understand, some of it,” I said. “It’s partly my own fault. I left the family. I took your mother with me. I wasn’t born Roma. I…”
“It was thought it would be best, for everyone, sir,” He interrupted. “You must know, this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened. We are a nation of mixed blood. You are not the property of the Romani. You are not perfect. You are a man. You must do what it is, that God has put into you to do. Mother is not perfect. It is not your fault she could not stay away from our people, and it is not her fault, you could not stay with us. It is, what it is.”
I was amazed at his logic and that he had thought it through so well. I was overcome with pride in him, and humility at the fact I had nothing to do with how well he had turned out. I found myself wi
th tears rolling down my face.
He stood, as if to go.
“Wait,’ I croaked
I stood up quickly.
We embraced. This time he hugged me.
“Father, I want you to meet my fiancée.”
There were tears in his eyes, as well.
“What? You’re getting married? Well, you really are a grown man,” I grinned.
Her name was Rachel Tullosa, and she was a beauty. She had striking red hair and a dancer’s grace. It was good to see my son had excellent taste!
We all sat together to eat at a table set up outside. There was a campfire and eventually everyone gathered around it. Some of the children looked at me shyly, half hidden behind their mother’s skirts.
Soon the musicians began to play their violins, tambourines, balalaikas, guitars, castanets, drums and pipes. It was a magical time. For me it could not last long enough. This music was like the rhythm of my heart. It raced and danced in my blood. It spoke of joy and it spoke of sorrow. It spoke of inner strength and determination. It spoke of things long lost and things yet to be discovered. It was ancient and contemporary, this music of my soul.
As the mother’s began to gather the little children for bed, I knew it was time for me to address the things which needed to be said. I caught Matthew’s eye and he nodded. At the next break in the music, he stepped forward and motioned for the musicians to put down their instruments.
When I stood up, a hush fell over the people.
“I am, John Everett Sage, son of Kergi Alexiev Borostoya. I have the right to claim leadership of our people. After the death of my father, while I was gone, you chose Matthew to be your leader. That is good. He is a good man, and he has been a good father to my son.’
I looked at Matthew. He had his arms crossed and was looking into the fire.
“I am honored that you would even consider me for your leader, but I cannot leave this place. Not now. There is a thing I must do. I have asked Matthew to lead you, in my absence.”
I looked around the group. Many were nodding and I could see relief on Katya’s face.
“I cannot say when, or if, I will be able to return home to you. Matthew has agreed to lead, for as long as I am unable to. Upon my death, my son Nicolai will become the leader, as is his right as a direct descendent of his grandfather, my father, Kergi Alexiev Borostoya. This is my word and it is done.”
I looked over at Nicky where he was standing with Rachel. He looked shocked. I looked at Katya, and although she was smiling, she was also crying. So was Sasha.
“Enough talk. Let’s have some music.” I said, not knowing how to move on.
There was dead silence.
Matthew walked over to me, with his arms spread and we embraced. Lightening crackled in the mountains and thunder boomed down through the canyons.
Then the music started up again.
Sasha came to me and led me back to her wagon. This was the same wagon, where as a child, I had lived in, played under, and even played on top of. It seemed to get smaller, every time I saw it.
We went inside and talked about many things. When it was time for me to go, we held each other for a long time.
“My son, you must be careful, there is a storm coming.”
“I can see that mother, I’ll be fine.”
She clutched my hand and looked at me intently.
“No son, this storm is coming to you, in this place,” she said, waving her other hand in a circle. “There will be bad trouble, soon.”
“I’m a careful man, mother. Don’t worry about me. You take care, as well.
I hugged her again and went outside.
Matthew and Nicolai were waiting for me.
We started walking toward town.
10.
I’d stayed too long. It was late now and about to storm. The wind had picked up and thunder rumbled, much nearer now.
There is always a storm coming. There will always be trouble in this life. My mother’s warning was not prophetic, I thought, as we walked along. No tea leaves needed. No tarot cards or crystal ball, either. It doesn’t take a fortune teller, to tell you what you already know. The past is a memory, the future is a dream and we only live in the moment. It is how we live in the moment that matters. The future is not to be found in crystal balls or tarot cards. It is determined by the will of God and the choices we make.
We walked and talked for a while. Finally, as we neared the railroad tracks, Matthew turned to me.
“As you and I discussed earlier, we will leave tonight. We’ll go directly south from here, to avoid the town, and then work our way down to Denver, then on to New Mexico. I plan to take us all the way to California.” He looked at me. “John, if you need anything, anywhere, at any time…” He trailed off.
“Matthew, I can never thank you enough, or repay you, for the way you have cared for my family and our people. Go with God”
We shook hands, and he turned back toward the campsite, leaving Nicky and me alone.
Nicky and I walked on in silence, for a little while.
Presently, he spoke up.
“Dad, I have to go back now.”
“I know, son. Thank you for spending this time with me. Take care of your mother and grandmother for me.” I paused. “Nicky, I am very proud of you.” I rasped.
We were hugging, not far from the front door of the Ox Bow, when Tom walked up on us. The look on his face was priceless.
“I got worried about you.” Tom said. “Jack told me you were going back out to the gypsy camp. When I didn’t see you anywhere, I figured I’d better check on you. I was on my way over there, now.”
“Tom, I’d like you to meet my son, Nicky.” I said. I was immediately embarrassed, for having called him “Nicky.”
“Nicolai, this is my friend, Tom Smith.”
I saw Nicky looking at Tom’s badge, as they shook hands.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith. My friends call me Nick.” He said, looking at me.
I smiled and nodded. “Nick it is. Nick Sage. It has a nice ring to it.”
Tom smiled.
“It’s a small world, huh? Were you expecting to run into each other?”
Nick and I looked at each other, and grinned.
“…Not hardly,” I said. “I couldn’t have had a better surprise.”
“Well, it’s a night for surprises,” Tom said. “It’s been real quiet. There’s been no trouble at all. Maybe it’s because of the storm that’s coming, or maybe everybody has had enough fun for one day. Whatever the reason, it’s unusually quiet. I’m about ready to call it a night.”
Nicky took that as his cue to leave.
“I’ll say good night here then, Dad. You know where to find us. Don’t be gone so long, next time. Nice meeting you, Deputy Smith.” He started to walk off, but he turned and said. “Dad, be safe.” He held up a hand, in a kind of wave and turned back down the street. In a moment, he was gone.
I was struggling with many emotions, but one thing was clear. He had called me, Dad!
“He looks just like you,” Tom ventured. “Taller though,” He added, grinning.
Tom and I walked over into the Mexican section and swung by the cantina. There was soft guitar music, being played inside, and no other sound. We went in and drank some lukewarm beer, in the soft light of the lanterns, enjoying the peace and the quiet sound of the lone guitar.
“It’s almost eerie,” Tom observed. “It’s never this quiet on a Saturday night, or any other night on this side of town”
We left and walked back toward the square.
When we got to the square, we stopped and looked around. There was no one to be seen. The wind was blowing some trash around, and there was piano music coming from the Palace. It was subdued, popular music, and there was nothing else going on. It was apparent most people were sheltered from the storm.
“John, I’m gonna go home and go to bed. Will you do me a favor?” He asked.
“Sure. What is it?
” I asked.
“Well, we like to go to church as a family on Sunday morning, and Jack won’t leave the jail unattended, when we have prisoners. Would you hang out in the office, while we go to church?” He was very earnest.
“Of course, I’ll be happy to. What time should I be there?”
We decided since the church service was at nine o’clock, I should get to the office at about eight thirty, in the morning.
“What about Rawlins breakfast?” I asked.
“Jack will get him fed, at about eight o’clock,” Tom said.
We bid each other a good night.
I walked on down to the Marshal’s office. It was dark. There was faint lamplight from behind the shade in the window of Jack’s room. The front door was locked. It was starting to spit some rain. I went back to the hotel and found my bed.
I lay there thinking about the day.
Roma Law was developed as a system of self-governance. The Romani had started out in the Middle East or Asia, possibly northern India, and traveled throughout Europe. Because there was intermarriage, everywhere they traveled, perhaps the Romani were technically Eurasian. Over the centuries we had learned that laws changed with the national borders, even differing from town to town. We also learned, through horrible experience, travelers have no rights.
So, we have our own law.
I had only been with the Romani for a little over ten years, and there was far more about Roma Law I didn’t know, than there was that I did know.
I was in no way qualified to lead the Romani. Oh, I might have learned, as I went along. Sasha and the other elders would have counseled me, but it was not my place. If I had claimed my right to become leader, it might not have been just the leader of our little band of forty some people. A leader of the Romani has many duties and functions. Matthew would be a good leader. He had traveled with other bands and was well known and highly respected. He was qualified, in every way.
