The Gypsy

by Stephen Brust

  There was no mistaking the pattern the man traced on his face. It had to be Csucskari he referred to. Daniel simultaneously felt excitement and a heaviness inside him, as if his soul had turned to lead. His heart bid him follow Lore lei, but duty had ruled him too long. He had to go with this man, endure his questioning, no matter how he might be treated. A clever man could learn much from questions; it could not leave him farther from the Dove. He turned to Lore lei.

  "It's all right," he told her. "I have to go with him.And him.Andt go home, where you will be safe. But it will be all right. You'll see."

  The man on the floor suddenly got up and made a shambling rush for the door. No one moved to stop him, nor even commented on his passage. The waitress calmly crossed the room and started to right the chairs and tables.

  "But you're hurt!" Lore lei objected hopelessly The tears spilled now, tracking lines in the smeared makeup."Your head's bleeding! And it's all my fault. If I hadn't-"

  "He'll be okay. I'll take care of him," the big man said gruffly before Daniel could. "Look, Laurie. Tiffany's going to call you a cab, and you're going to go straight home. You came a gnat's ass away from big trouble tonight. If I didn't think this creep had kept you from really getting into it, I'd bust his head right here. So you just get yourself home and safe, and stay out of trouble. Okay?"

  "Oh, sure," cried Lore lei angrily. She rubbed her face, completing the ruin of her painted eyes. "Little Laurie should go home and be a good little girl. I know what will happen. I'll never see him again!"The last was a wail that cut Daniel's soul.

  "You will," Daniel promised, ignoring the policeman's dark glance. "I'll have to find you to get my fiddle back, won't I?" And he nodded to where the case was still propped in the booth they had shared.

  Lore lei's face lifted a little. "You promise?"

  "Little sparrow, I'd sooner part with a hand than my fiddle. For one without the other is no use at all.Iall.Icome for my fiddle." And for you, his eyes added,and he saw her hear the voice of his heart. She crossed the room and taking up the case, held it as lovingly as if it were his child.

  "Get moving," the cop told him gruffly and started him on his way with a push. Daniel didn't resist. This one couldn't know it, but he was taking him closer to the Dove and the task that must be finished. And when it was finished, he would trust his fiddle to call him back.

  "Ed?" It was the waitress, following them to the door. She was speaking softly. "You don't mind, I'm not going to call that cab right away. There's a few things I'd like to tell that little girl, before she goes any further. Sort of a payback to Mike, you know what I mean?"

  "I don't know anybody else who could tell her better, Tiffany Marie. I'm going to take this fellow to Mike now, and I'll let him know. Hey, you need some money for the cab?"

  "No. You just worry about what you've got to handle. But, uh, Ed, for what it's worth, it's true. That guy had his eyes on Laurie. That gypsy hadn't a stood up to him, he'd a taken her. For what it's worth."

  "Okay. I'll make sure Mike knows it. See ya, kid."The cop pushed the door open with one black-gloved hand, and pushed Daniel before him with the other.Thother.Thereig car at the curb, grey in the street lights. "Get into it," the old policeman told him."You've heard of protective custody? Well, I'm going to put you in protective handcuffs." When Daniel didn't speak, but merely got into the car, the other grunted. "Don't touch nothing, and for Christ's sake,don't bleed on the upholstery."

  16 NOV 19:48

  Leaping in the darkness,

  laughing in the wind;

  Look down, look down,

  look down, look down,

  See the stars again.

  "STARS OVERHEAD"

  Durand slowly lifted his eyes to meet Stepovich's."You ever do drugs?" he asked curiously.

  "No, god dammit! That's not what this was about!"Stepovich's voice rose enough to turn heads at the next table.

  Durand lifted his hands. "Hey, it was a joke. Guess it wasn't funny. Look, you'd been hit in the head.Thahead. That."

  "I hadn't been hit in the head when she was talking to me at her apartment."

  "Yeah. Well, maybe that was just weird gypsy shit,you know? Mystical stuff, give the gull a good show,and all that."

  "Maybe," Stepovich agreed grudgingly.

  "Yeah. So, maybe what we oughta do is go back to Madam Moria's place. If she's there, we talk, only this time we've got a little more leverage, because we're there legitimately." Durand stressed the last word ponderously. "We'd be looking into what went on this afternoon."

  "Makes sense," Stepovich said slowly. "But you can think what you like. I still think there's something to what I saw this afternoon. And to what she told me that night."

  Durand shrugged. "Suit yourself. Can't hurt to keep it in mind."

  "You know," said Stepovich, "there was a woman,a psychic, who got called in by Ashtabula County a few times for tough cases. County hired her to look at the scene of the crime and describe what had happened, and on a few missing persons cases."

  Durand looked skeptical. "Yeah? What came of it?"

  "Not a fucking thing," said Stepovich.

  Durand laughed. "One for you," he said, and drained his beer.

  Stepovich had just finished his and set the mug down when he saw Ed loom up behind Durand. It gave him a perverse pleasure to watch Durand jump when Ed laid a big hand on his shoulder.

  Ed leaned over the table, spoke to them both. "Got something for you. Outside. In my car."

  Neither one asked what it was. Ed's face was enough. They rose silently, Stepovich leaving money on the table. "The car's in back," Ed told them. "I didn't want to leave him out here under the lights. I had to cuff him. Hurry up. He looks like the type who'd do some damage left alone." Their breath made plumes in the air.

  But the gypsy was sitting quietly in the front seat,ignoring the handcuffs looped through the steering wheel. Even in the dim alley light, Stepovich could see he'd been roughed up. What was Ed mixed up in now? He grabbed him by the elbow, stepped him away from the car. "He's not the right one, Ed."

  "Yes, he is." Ed glanced over to where Durand was peering curiously in at the gypsy. The gypsy was staring straight ahead, ignoring them all. Light winked briefly on the key he tossed to Durand. "Un cuff him from the wheel and stick him in the backseat. But keep his hands cuffed behind him, okay?"

  Durand just looked at him, eyes wide. Ed sighed."Look, Randy, just do it, okay? I'll explain later. You won't get in trouble, I promise." As Durand moved grudgingly to obey, Ed turned back to Stepovich."Uh, Mike. There's something I got to tell you. I'm a little afraid that you're going to overreact. So, before I start, the first thing I want you to know is that Laurie isn't hurt, and she's probably on her way home by now."

  "What?" Stepovich's guts squeezed tight and cold,"What?"

  "Tiffany called me down to the diner. Said there was a guy in there with Laurie, and Laurie was all tarted up. So I went down there, right away and-"

  "You didn't call me?"

  "There wasn't time. Anyway. When I got there,there was a fight in progress. Some guy, um, wanted Laurie, and the guy in the car there, the gypsy, he was beating the shit out of him. Woulda killed him,probably, if I hadn't broke it up."

  The gypsy moved docilely from front seat to back.Durback.Durandand on the gypsy's head to push it down as he entered the car. He winced and hissed in pain. But he went in willingly enough. Durand slid in after him, pushing him into the corner.

  "Where's the other guy?" Stepovich felt murder building, his face reddening, the muscles in his arms and chest swelling.

  "He ran for it. I'm not as young as I used to be,Mike."

  "Bullshit!" Stepovich exploded.

  "True." Ed's voice went harder. "I let him go. I didn't think he deserved to die for hitting on a girl dressed like a whore, even if the girl was only fifteen.fifteen.NowI'm telling you true. Laurie was dressed to trick. And from what Tiffany told me, she was with the gypsy there when the other guy made
her an offer. But!" Ed gripped Mike's arm hard, forced him to meet his eyes. "But the gypsy wasn't selling her, he beat the other guy to a pulp for even asking, and he even mouthed off to me when I bawled Laurie out for acting like a chip pie. Listen, dammit! He's not a pimp,and I don't think he's a trick. He's some kind of street musician, and for what it's worth," Ed tightened his grip as Mike tried to shake him off a second time, "he protected her. And I don't think they did anythinganything.Hecked me up when I told her to go home.So,home.So you talk to him, think where Laurie would be right now if he hadn't been around."

  Both men stood silently. Stepovich could feel Ed's eyes on him as he, himself, stared at the gypsy. The gypsy stared back as if he knew every word passing between them.

  "You okay?" Ed asked.

  "Yeah," Stepovich said tightly. "Un cuff him. I just want to talk to him."

  "You can talk to him with the cuffs on. At my place.Heplace. He in the back of the head with something. I figure we'll take him there, let him clean up a little,and talk to him. Where it's quiet and private."

  "Un cuff him. I want to talk to him first. Right here."

  "I don't think so," Ed said slowly. "I think we'll leave him cuffed and go to my place."

  "Ed."

  "You're not the type to hit a man when he's cuffed.Acuffed.And I'm not protecting just him, I'm protecting you.Two you.Tworom brutality charges and from beating insensible someone who might be able to tell you something about this other gypsy thing."

  Stepovich strangled for a moment, cop warring with father. He reached inside himself for coldness, got a tentative grip on it. "Okay." He could wait. He'd hear it all first. And when he'd heard it all, then…He felt Ed's eyes on his face, forced the muscles to relax, his eyes to empty. "Okay. Your place. Let's go."

  MID-NOVEMBER, 1989

  There's no whiskey in the jar

  I'm so dry I need a drink

  I need a place to lay my head down

  I need to find some time to think.

  "HIDE MY TRACK"

  The horses were resting, now, content. Memories of them came back to him from a place he didn't know:Setal, who wouldn't stop moving, even in her stall; Sztrajktoro, who everyone else thought was bad-tempered, but who was only frightened; Madar, who was never really stubborn, just always had her own ideas of what she wanted to do: Nagyful, who listened so intently when he spoke. And the rest, down through the ages.

  Now they were resting, as was he. The only thing left was a nagging feeling of something left undone,but it was too late now. The coach had stopped at last, and he must climb down, though he had no passenger for whom to hold the door. He regretted very little, he decided. The brandy, there at the end, had been a mistake, but he had hurt so much. Too late now, though. A feeling like a blanket was creeping over him; he felt warm, comfortable, as if the pain was over and wouldn't be back. He could rest now,and that was what he wanted. He was drifting, ready to sleep, except that he couldn't, because, off in the distance, someone was making a noise. It wasn't loud, but it was there, and it wouldn't stop. He had not been aware of it at first, but it was growing more annoying by the instant.

  He was suddenly puzzled. He was dead, wasn't he? Why should there be a racket? Odd. What was it?A thump and a click-a-click, and a thump and slap.Likslap. Likebourines the gypsies had played.

  As this thought formed, he heard it louder, more insistent, more annoying. Damn those gypsies anyway. Ever since he'd met them they'd been nothing but trouble, and now they wouldn't even let him die.He tdie.Heo yell for it to stop, but his mouth didn't work. The noise stopped, however, and he saw a familiar face floating before him.

  Can't you leave me in peace? he cried, or tried to.

  Leave you in peace? Of course not. The other laughed.laughed.Which he? The Owl, yes of course. I am hardly going to leave you in peace, you have to drive us home when we're done.

  But I can't. They've killed me.

  Oh, yes, I know. And they've wrapped me in a cocoon of darkness, which I cannot leave. I cannot use my body,and yours is damaged, but I can still hear the songs of the ritmus ordog, can I not?

  I see the horses, he admitted.

  Well, there you are. Time to be up and about. I have something for my brother now, and I'll get it to him if he can find me before I die of the cold. I have a scarf the color of fire and smoke, but it may not be enough.

  But what can I do?

  The one who knows is dead; bring my brothers to the one who acts.

  It was all so damned confusing. He wished he had a drink. No, on the other hand, it was probably best that he didn't. All right. Where are you, then?

  Why, I have no idea, said the Owl. Tell them to listen for the tambourine.

  Very well. But what about me?

  Live.

  The damned gypsy seemed to be laughing now.The now.Then wondered why. Then, suddenly, he hurt too much to wonder about anything. The face vanished in a haze of bright lights and pain.

  AUTUMN NIGHT, HALF MOON RISING

  For as long I remember

  I've hated those red lights

  And hotel rooms with plaster walls

  And loud and lonely nights.

  "RED LIGHTS AND NEON"

  Csucskari the Gypsy hung back and let Madam Moria go up to see what the flashing lights meant. There were two police cars and an ambulance in the alley,and he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.stomach. When Madam Moria returned after an interminable five minutes, the look on her lined face matched this feeling.

  "Well?"

  "He was in an accident. He is alive, and they are bringing him to a hospital. I don't know-"

  She was interrupted by a siren. The ambulance turned around in the alley and sped away, Csucskari watched as it went by, spitting gravel, leaving a ringing in his ears. The ringing faded very slowly. Very slowly. He fancied he could hear, behind it, the ring of the zils of a tambourine. He listened, and it was still there. He looked at Madam Moria, and saw from the look on her face that she heard it, too. He started to speak but she held a hand up and motioned him to follow. He did so, the tap-tapping of her canes blending with the rhythm still faintly thrumming in his ears.

  THURSDAY NIGHT

  That old river keeps on rolling

  And Old Hannah won't go down.

  I can't give back what I ain't taken.

  I won't give up if I ain't found.

  "HIDE MY TRACK"

  Timothy stared into his bathroom mirror, willing Her to him. He thought of how beautiful She had been the first time he saw Her, tried to focus his mind on how Her eyes had warmed him. He tried to see Her in the mirror, but the glass stayed cold, hard to his fingers when he pressed his hand flat against it. All it showed him was on his own face, pale, his hair disheveled. Timmy hated the way he looked, so mussed and sickly. "Poor little Timmy," his mom would have said, and put him to bed and brought him a dish of warm milk spooned over soda crackerscrackers. Sheave scolded him, sadly, for getting into such a fight, and then she'd have called the police and complained about those neighborhood hooligans intimidating her son. But then his dad would have come home, and told him to get his ass out of bed and stop being such a sissy, why the hell don't you ever stand up for yourself, you little pussy.

  He slapped the mirror, flat-handed, and the force of the slap rattled the medicine cabinet and started the cut on his stomach trickling blood again. He snatched a handful of Kleenex and dabbed up the trickle before it could make another mess. He shook the last six Band-aids from the box and applied them in a row over the slash, gritting his teeth and whimpering softly.

  He moved slowly as he walked back to his dresser.dresser.Hearound the room. In spite of everything that had happened to him, and in spite of all the human filth around him, his room was clean. The old brown carpet was bare in places, and unraveling everywhere, but it was clean. The windows were clean,the white curtains were clean, his dresser was not only clean, but the top was clear, because everything was in its place. When you let thi
ngs pile up and get messy, then you get dirty, and then you're just an animal, and he was far from being an animal. He was more than a man, so he had the cleanest room anyone could have.

  He made it to the dresser and opened the second drawer, the tee shirt drawer, and looked through the carefully folded stack to find an older one. He almost wished he had one of those colored ones, black or dark blue, that wouldn't show the blood stains so much. But no, nothing looked as clean and nice as afresh white tee shirt. He tried to put one on, but couldn't lift his arms.

  He buttoned on a blue cotton-polyester shirt, and then almost cried at how much it hurt to tuck it in evenly. He went back to the mirror then, to stare, to comb his hair, to stare again, calling to Her as She had taught him. She didn't answer.

  He had to show Her. He went to the dresser,moved the careful stack of tee shirts again, and took out the gun, feeling the weight in his hand. He'd have to show Her, just like he'd showed his dad and mom.He tmom.He once of the look on his dad's face when Timothy had said, "I'll show you who's a pussy,"and pulled the trigger. But then he remembered his mom, and how she'd turned on him, how she'd screamed and run to the telephone, and started saying, "Hello, police, hello, police," and kept right on screaming it, even after he'd shot her twice. She'd turned her back on him. Just like the Lady.

  No. No, She wouldn't, he'd show Her, he'd takeout the old lady, and then he'd go after the Gypsy man, and She'd see. She'd be so proud. She wouldn't tease him and call him Little Timmy, She'd put Her long slender hands against his face and call him Her big, strong man, yes, and She'd kiss him with those full red lips, kiss the knife marks on his stomach,too…