“Nadyha’s fixing you some kind of tea, but she’s fixing me some coffee. You can’t have any,” Gage teased Denny. Then his eyes narrowed; close by them, the ground-sweeping willow leaves were stirring a bit. There was no breeze on the stifling afternoon air. Gage caught a single brief glimpse, he thought, of tawny gold behind the leaves.
“I don’t want any coffee anyway,” Denny sniffed. “This taste in my mouth, yech. Nadyha and Mirella have been making me chicory tea with honey. It’s good. And I’m kinda glad not to be drinking anisette all day long, too. It puts me to sleep, even if I just woke up.”
“It’s good for you, Billy Yank,” Gage said firmly. “Sleep’s the best thing—”
Anca poked her head through the willow leaves. Staring at Gage with her gleaming yellow unblinking eyes, for a moment she looked disembodied, as if her head was mounted on a green wall. Slowly she came through the willow-curtain and walked toward Denny and Gage, eyeing Gage all the time.
Gage scrambled to his feet and Denny muttered nervously, “What are you doing!”
“I’m thinking about running so maybe she’ll eat you first,” Gage retorted. He gave Nadyha a pleading look as she stood across the site at the campfire, but she merely crossed her arms and watched with amusement.
Anca padded up to Gage and stared up at his face, directly into his eyes, which made the hairs on Gage’s arms rise up in goosebumps. He stared back at her, his eyes wide and a dark royal blue.
Casually the cougar dropped her head and rubbed it on Gage’s leg. Then she took a step, rubbing against him as she passed, turned, and rubbed up against him again. She was just like a giant kitty-cat, one who arches its back and threads in between your legs. Gage stood stiff and stock-still, as if his entire body had suddenly frozen.
Nadyha’s expression changed to one of disbelief and she stamped over to them. “Anca! You lubni, you tromple! What are you doing?”
Anca ignored her and continued her walking caress of Gage’s leg. “What do I do?” he asked Nadyha helplessly.
“Pet her, dinili,” she said acidly. “Seems like it’s what she wants.” She sat down cross-legged on the ground, watching her cougar with disdain.
Gage reached down and tentatively stroked her massive head. She stopped and butted his hand with her head. He kept stroking her, then rubbed her ears. Just like a pleased kitten, she pushed her head against his hand. Slowly, and with relief, Gage sat down. Anca plopped down just beside him and gave Nadyha a stare that seemed to say, “So? You were saying?”
Nadyha muttered, “She doesn’t like anyone, especially men.”
“What’s a tromple?” Denny said blankly.
“It’s a—you know, the bad woman, the lubni, the loose woman,” Nadyha answered with an impatient wave of her hand.
Aside, Gage told Denny, “Maybe it’s like Gypsy for a trollop and a tramp.”
“Oh, yeah,” Denny said uncertainly. Then he asked Nadyha, “Ma’am, I gotta ask you, isn’t that cougar dangerous? You just said she doesn’t like people. Does that mean when she has a bad day she might decide to eat one of us?”
Nadyha visibly softened. “No, no, she would never, never do that. She’s not tame, like Boldo, but she wouldn’t attack anyone.”
“But why not?” Denny persisted. Gage was still stroking the cougar’s head and shoulders, marveling at the smooth muscles rippling under his hand.
“It’s hard to explain to a gaje,” Nadyha said. “It’s like Gypsies and horses, with Anca and me. Gypsies believe that horses are their brothers. Anca is my she’enedra, my sister of the heart. She—I found her, shot. She was about to give birth. She had two kits, one girl and one boy. The little girl one died, but the boy one lived. I helped Anca and the little boy cub, I stayed with her for three days and nights. Then she got better, and she was able to get up and move around. She followed me back here, but she didn’t stay, she came and went with the little boy one. Finally he left, and Anca came here to live. Not because I made her do it. Because she wants to. That’s why she wouldn’t attack anyone. She’s chosen to live with people.” Nadyha gave Anca another glance, her mouth twisted. “She tolerates Niçu, because he helped me with her at first. But I’ve never seen her get so dilo over anyone else.”
“Maybe it’s because of the boar,” Gage said, now smiling down at the cougar.
“Maybe,” Nadyha agreed reluctantly.
Feeling that she was in a talkative mood, Gage said, “So Baba Simza explained to me about Gypsies, where the word comes from, and why you don’t consider it an insult. But I’m still dying to know about the catfish.”
Now she smiled, and to Gage it seemed that her eyes changed from a smoky brownish-green to a deep emerald color. “Ah, yes, the cat, the dog, and the catfish! You probably won’t understand, gajo, but I’ll try to tell you. Gypsies believe that the world must be balanced, that people and things and animals must be in a—in tune, like music, yes? Certain animals are considered wuzho, pure, clean in the spirit. Horses are wuzho, vultures are wuzho.”
“Vultures?” Denny repeated in disbelief. He was petting Matchko in much the same way Gage was petting Anca.
“Yes, they keep the balance, because they clear the world of the unclean dead,” Nadyha said earnestly. “Tale, hawks, are neither wuzho nor mahrime, but Baba Simza likes Rai because he flies like the buzzard. But lots of animals are considered mahrime, unclean. The frog is the worst, because he is born in water and then creeps the earth.”
She spoke with such disgust and dread that Gage was reminded of a girl he’d known who literally fainted dead away at the sight of a spider. Of course, he couldn’t imagine Nadyha having the vapors over anything, but the look of horror on her face was the same as the girl’s had been. “‘Frog’ is one of our old names for the devil,” she continued. “Also mahrime are dogs. Foxes are very impure because they are both dog and cat, and neither. And cats are considered mahrime because they are supposed to walk the earth, but they still jump and climb and walk the trees. And so you see, Baba Simza would never eat a ‘cat-fish.’ That would be even worse than foxes,” Nadyha said, now her expressive face alight with amusement.
Gage said with surprise, “But she allows Anca and Matchko to live here with you?”
“Mm. Baba Simza isn’t as strict, as—um—Pharisee, as many Gypsies are. She doesn’t care much for Anca or Matchko, but she doesn’t mistreat them either. I think it’s been kind of a struggle for her, to put together our ancient beliefs with her Christian beliefs. When Anca first came, Baba Simza was very angry with me. But I reminded her of one of her Proverbs, the one about the lion, and so she says nothing else to me. She wanted to, though, as Anca stayed longer and longer I could tell Baba Simza was trying not to bursten!” she said with a low, throaty chuckle.
“I don’t know the thing, the proverb about the lion,” Denny said with interest. “What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know the Proverbs like Baba Simza, but I know this one,” Nadyha said mischievously. “There be three things which go well, yea, four are comely in going: A lion which is strongest among beasts, and turneth not away for any; a greyhound; an he goat also; and a king, against whom there is no rising up.”
“Poor Baba Simza,” Gage sighed. “Right there you have a cat and a dog.”
Nadyha nodded. “I know she’s dreading the day when I see some puppies. Anyway, while we’re talking about mahrime and wuzho, I did want to explain to you some things that we all do take seriously. About the washing, the cleaning of oneself and the clothes.” She waved at the lean-to, her tanned skin glowing in the dappled sunlight. “Today we wash. I’ll show you, there’s one pot for—” She stopped, placed her hands palm-upright at her waist, and brought them up to her neck. “For these parts. Another pot for”—she waved vaguely toward her legs—“those parts. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gage and Denny said solemnly.
“For bathing. Gypsies only bathe in running water,” she said sternly. “Usually on one da
y Baba Simza and I go to the spring, then Mirella and Niçu go the next, and they went this morning. If you want to go, Gage, you can go this afternoon.”
“I would like to have a good bath,” he said longingly. Then he said, “I’ll go through the whole spring, if I have to, to make sure there aren’t any more traps.”
Nadyha sighed, a deep, mournful sound. “We’ve been bathing at the spring for many, many years. Never before have we seen a trap anywhere near it. It was so strange, that trap. Baba Simza always wants to wash the—the—upper right in the spring, and then come down to the stream to finish. How many times has she stood right there . . . ?”
“Even though this is high ground, ma’am, it still gets waterlogged,” Gage said. “Maybe the rains just finally washed it on down into the pool.”
“Maybe,” Nadyha said almost dreamily. “Baba Simza said it was baxt, baksheesh. I thought she might be stupid from the pain, the shock, for her to say it was meant to be, even that it was a—a—good path laid before her.” Her green-glass eyes rested on Gage.
In a low voice, he said, “She’s a wise woman, Baba Simza. Maybe she knows something that we don’t.”
Nadyha, coming out of her reverie, rose and dusted off her skirt. “She knows a lot of things that we don’t,” she said crisply. “I’m tired of talking now. Go ask Baba Simza all of your questions. Niçu told me that no one has explained to you why we’re the Perrados Gypsies. Baba Simza will tell you that lil.”
Anca got up and followed her. Gage said dryly, “That’s exactly what women are always doing to me. They get tired of me and just jump up and walk away.”
Denny was in a brown study. “Gage? Explain to me again about the frogs. ’Cause all I could think of, when she was talking, was how good some fried frog legs would be.”
“I wouldn’t ask for that particular dish if I were you,” Gage warned him. “If you do, I bet we’d get kicked out of here real quick. And I wouldn’t like that.”
“Neither would I,” Denny said, lying back sleepily. “It’s kind of like being in another world, isn’t it? With them, and this place, and the animals, and all. I feel like we’re real lucky to be here.”
“Baksheesh,” Gage said half to himself. “A good path laid before you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gage and Denny slept, even though the lazy sun climbed up from the east and as always, one playful sunbeam danced right across Gage’s face.
Nadyha said, “Wake up, lazy gajo! Baba Simza says to tell you, a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep, and you’ll be poor and hungry and, I don’t know, something about wanteth and travelleth.”
Gage and Denny sat up, bleary-eyed, and Denny mumbled, “Huh? Whassat?”
Nadyha turned on her heel and went back to the campfire.
Gage yawned hugely. “It’s a Proverb. I’ll read it to you later.”
They could tell by the delicious aromas of fresh bread and strong coffee that breakfast was almost ready. Denny coughed, but his congestion was already much better. He got his whistle, took a deep breath, and blew as hard as he could. A loud screeching shrill note rent the air. Boldo started and looked scared to death. Rai flew off with an indignant flapping of wings. Anca looked at Denny with such temper that Denny got nervous and forgot to cough.
Nadyha jumped, then yelled, “That’s fine, Dennis! Forget about the whistle, ho-kay?”
He was already much better, it was plain. He had no fever and he ate almost as much breakfast as Gage did. They were all sitting cross-legged around the campfire, except for Baba Simza, who sat in her chaise. She looked up at the hot blue sky, and the enormous blinding sun-disk. A few tendrils of clouds floated slowly across it, coming from the south. “Hai. It storms this afternoon.”
Nadyha said with resignation, “I picked lots of herbs yesterday, my drying racks are full. I’ll have to put the covers on them.”
“I’ll help you, Miss Nadyha,” Gage offered. “I’d really like to see your garden.”
She stared at him quizzically. “You would? Why?”
“I dunno, I guess I’m just curious, I like to learn new things. I thought it was so interesting, about the Grains of Paradise, and the anisette. Also I’m kinda curious about where my horse is disappearing to all day, running around with Tinar and Saz. Every evening he comes back I’m afraid he’s going to be black and white with a long mane and tail and feathered hocks. He already thinks I’m just another dumb gaje.”
They all laughed. Nadyha said, “Well, he is a very smart horse, I’ve noticed.”
“Thanks a lot,” Gage said dryly. “What kind of horses are Tinar and Saz, anyway? I’ve never seen any quite like them. They’re very showy, their conformation is like Thoroughbreds, but they’re built so strong, like solid workhorses.”
The Gypsies exchanged sly glances. “The gaje call them Gypsy cobs,” Niçu answered disdainfully. “We’ve been breeding them for a long, long time. The Perrados, they let us breed our own stock. We were their horsemasters, you see, and they loved the high breeds, the Arabs and Thoroughbreds for saddle horses, and Percherons for draft horses. So we bred all of their horses, and for a hundred years the Perrados had the finest stables of all. He didn’t really know about the horses bred for ourselves, and he didn’t care. It was a Gypsy secret.”
“I haven’t heard about the Perrados yet,” Gage said. “So you worked for the family?”
“It’s a long story,” Nadyha said. “But maybe I’ll tell it to you when you come to the garden with me.” Baba Simza looked pleased, and Nadyha made a small face at her. Gage pretended not to see.
Nadyha was dressed in her usual gray skirt and shapeless blouse, with her knife at her side. She tucked her wealth of hair up into her wide-brimmed straw hat, and then took the path directly behind her wagon. After about a quarter of a mile of thick woods they came to a flat clearing. Gage was surprised at the size of it; he estimated it must be about two hundred feet square. Adding to his surprise, it was completely surrounded by a six-foot-high ornate black wrought-iron fence. Much of the garden was neat squares, with green and flowering shrubs and bushes and plants, but some of the beds were raised, surrounded by cypress stakes and with Spanish moss at the bottom of the bed. On one side were the drying racks, simple waist-high stands with corrugated tin tops, covered by cheesecloth so the drying herbs wouldn’t stick to the hot metal. All along the fence grew a breathtaking array of flowering vines: honeysuckle, trumpet vine, morning glory, jasmine, passion flower, and moonflower.
Pushing open the gate, Nadyha said matter-of-factly, “The fence is to keep out the deer and the raccoons. But I grow the vines for them to eat. And for Boldo, of course, silly old bear.” He had followed them, and now he nonchalantly took a step toward the open gate, but Nadyha said, “No, no, Boldo, you know you aren’t allowed in here. Go on, go get in the shade, I’ll bring you some habben.” Resignedly the bear went to the back of the garden and climbed an old oak tree, sitting on a branch about six feet from the ground overlooking the garden. His bear-face was filled with longing.
Nadyha, taking Gage at his word, started walking up and down the rows, naming the herbs growing. Standing by a thick rosemary bush, she said, “Pah! I weed all times, and here they are, the dandelions, this nutgrass, the thistle.” Falling to her knees, she started rooting in the dirt. Gage walked to the next plant, and they ended up crawling up and down the rows, finding devilish little weed sprouts everywhere. Down on his hands and knees, with his face close to the herbs, Gage was enchanted by the delicate, sweet, savory, spicy aromas.
The covers for the drying racks were stored underneath them, simple squares of two-by-fours with tin tops that set on top of the racks. When they finished they were hot and thirsty, for the sun still blazed in the sky, and the clouds were still weak little wisps. Nadyha said, “I’ll get Boldo’s treat, then we’ll sit in the shade of the trees.” With her knife she went to a large bush and cut several stems with big pinkish-white blooms. “Mallow,”
she told Gage. “It’s all edible: blooms, seed pods, leaves, stems, roots. The flowers have a sweet taste that Boldo loves.” Then she cut several long vines filled with honeysuckle flowers.
She led him around to the back of the fenced garden, and again Gage was surprised to see a stone bench, delicately carved, underneath the oak tree where Boldo was perched. He took his seat at one end and thirstily drank from his canteen. Nadyha handed the big bunch of flowers and some of the vines to Boldo, and happily he began munching. With a sidelong look at Gage, Nadyha pulled her skirt tightly around her and sat at the very end, on the very edge, of the bench. At his rueful look she said, “In the old days, if a woman’s skirt so much as brushed up against a man, the skirt was considered unclean.”
“In the old days,” Gage gravely repeated. “Do you believe that now?”
“No, of course not,” she said hastily, then settled back more comfortably on the bench. Taking her hat off, she shook her head so her hair fell in an ebony flow all around her shoulders. Then she began winding some of the honeysuckle vines around the crown of her hat.
“I wonder so much about you and your people,” Gage said. “Won’t you tell me about the Perrados? And about your vitsi?”
Nadyha told him the history of the Gypsies with the Perrados family, how they had been brought to New Orleans as slaves, but then Xavier Perrados freed them after her great-great-grandfather’s heroic saving of the horses. “After that we became part of the Perrados plantation, we had our own little settlement, our own houses and barn and stables. I suppose it’s the Gypsy blood,” she said with a small secret smile, “because over time some of the Romany left, some stayed to be Perrados Gypsies. By the time the Great War came, there were forty-two of us, and there were twenty-one Gypsy homes in our corner of the plantation.”
“But surely you don’t mean that you four are all that’s left.”
“No,” she said quietly. “The rest of our vitsi, they had to leave.” She hesitated, looking out through the deep, quiet woods surrounding them. Gage waited patiently; he sensed she would tell him when she found the words.
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