But Nadyha wasn’t paying attention to the traffic. Her gaze stayed riveted on the line of riverboats. They came to one enormous four-decker that loomed grandly over all. In gold that glinted dimly from the steamer’s deck lanterns they read: Queen of Bohemia. She had four decks, all of them lit with hundreds and hundreds of lanterns, even though no passengers were on the promenades around the decks. She was painted white with red and gold trim on the gingerbread tops of the deck railings. The pilothouse, a large glassed square right atop, was also heavily trimmed and topped by an octagonal cupola. The tall smokestacks were topped by golden crowns. Between them was suspended a chain and in the middle hung a shield with a medieval-looking lion, rampant, white on a red background, with a golden crown, a golden tongue, and huge golden claws. The Queen of Bohemia did look exactly like the large, luxurious steamboats had been nicknamed: floating palace.
“I’ve never seen one this huge before,” Nadyha said in a voice so low that Gage had to bend a little to catch it.
“I saw her a couple of times before the war,” Gage said. “I’m not sure, I’m no riverman, but I think she’s the biggest on the Mississippi. At least, she’s the biggest I’ve ever seen here.”
“I wonder, I wonder,” Nadyha said, “where she’s been, the things she’s seen, the places. I wonder what it’s like up there.” She pointed to the top deck, where the staterooms must have been large, indeed, for there were double French doors, instead of windows, lining the deck.
“I would imagine those would be some of the grandest, most luxurious rooms I’ve never seen,” Gage said.
They stared for awhile, then Nadyha resumed her walk, and as she had said, she allowed Gage to tag along. Gage asked, “Nadyha, there are a couple of things I’d like to ask you about. Would you allow me?”
To his surprise, she grinned up at him. “Gaje, they’re so prissy with ‘will you give me permission to say this,’ ‘will you allow me to say that.’ Romany men just say what they mean.”
“Okay, I can do that. Uh—er—I, uh—”
She chuckled, that low pleasing sound. Gage blurted out, “Would you mind if I stayed with y’all for a while?”
Now she looked nonplussed. “You mean, with us at the Market?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought this was your home. I thought—don’t you have any place to go?”
“Sure I do,” Gage answered, thinking that he could stay in a cheap flea-bitten flophouse for one night at least, with the money he had left. Or he could go back north of town and camp out again. He would never poor-mouth to anyone, however, so he went on, “I just want to stay with you, all of you I mean, at your camp. If you don’t mind, and if the others don’t.”
“Baba Simza probably wouldn’t let you leave anyway,” Nadyha said lightly. “And whatever Baba Simza says is what better happen.”
“You’re right about that. Okay, good. Now you’re not going to like the second thing I’m just going to come right out and say like a Rom Baro.” He turned to look in her face and said somberly, “Nadyha, you and Mirella are very beautiful women. And you are exotic, and even though I know that you aren’t trying to be—uh—attractive to men, you definitely are, and not all of those men have honorable intentions. You’ve just got to be more careful.” As he spoke, he saw with dread that Nadyha’s face grew darker and darker.
“Be more careful,” she repeated, biting off the words. “You mean, cover myself from head to toe with layers and layers of stupid, uncomfortable, smothering clothes; cover my arms; wear horrible uncomfortable shoes; never look up and around; never speak because I’m not acquainted with the good people of New Orleans; never sing; never dance. That’s what you mean.”
Unfortunately Gage thought that somehow that was what he’d been thinking of, though not in such stark terms. After all, that’s how respectable women behaved and how they dressed. With confusion he thought, But that’s not what makes them respectable. Properly dressed, perfectly mannered women can be just as wicked as any prostitute roaming the streets. It’s just that Gypsy women are so unorthodox, and such enticing-looking women. Even though I know very well that Mirella and Nadyha are virtuous and respectable, they don’t look like it or act like it, or at least, what we gajes think a virtuous woman should act like. It’s just begging, begging for trouble . . .
With difficulty Gage said, “It’s hard for you to understand, I know, Nadyha. But I swear, the only reason I’m saying this is because I’m worried about you. And Mirella, of course. These men,” he made a vague wave all around, “you don’t know how they think. You have no idea at all.”
“Oh, so you’re just trying to protect me,” she said gravely. “You don’t actually disapprove of me.”
“Of course not!”
“All right then. Please explain exactly what you want me to wear, what you want me to say, how often I may smile, show me how to dance, teach me how to sing.”
“Very funny.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
After a moment he made a wry face at her. “Don’t change a thing about yourself, Nadyha. It was just another dumb gaje going on and on about Gypsy stuff he doesn’t understand. The only thing I’ll ask is this: Please, please don’t go around town by yourself. Please allow me to—I mean, I really think I should be with you when you go out, like now, walking around the docks.”
She looked rebellious. “What about if Mirella and I want to go somewhere and we don’t want you?”
“Does Niçu allow Mirella to wander around without him?”
“Allow her? I’d like to see him try to tell her she’s not allowed to do something. But no, when Mirella wants to go somewhere Niçu usually goes with her. So, if I wander with Mirella, that means I’ll be wandering with Niçu. Will you allow me to do that?”
“Of course,” he said seriously, ignoring her sarcasm. “All I’m saying is that you ladies shouldn’t be out in this town without an escort.”
“I see women all the time without a man escorting them.”
“I know. But you’re different, Nadyha. Men look at Gypsy women differently. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“Yes, I understand, dinili gaje,” she said. “I won’t go wandering around alone.”
“Good. Now I want to ask you one more thing. You promised when we first met that you wouldn’t call me a gaje any more. How about that? Maybe I can at least score one thing here.”
“Score one thing? That’s funny. But you’re right, I had forgotten. No more calling you a dumb gaje.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Gage Kennon.”
NADYHA WOKE UP AT about three o’clock in the morning for the simple reason that it was when the vendors in the French Market started opening up their stalls. There was just as much racket now as there would be at one o’clock in the afternoon.
As she dressed she wondered how Gage Kennon had slept. He had put his blanket roll behind the wagons, at the base of the levee on dirt instead of the cobblestones. Then she wondered why she was wondering about it. What did she care how he’d slept?
She put on a skirt striped in blue, pink, green, and orange, with no petticoat. Romany women didn’t like full skirts, because they brushed up against men. Her mouth twisted with disdain, she thought of the gaje women with their ridiculous hoop skirts. What in the world was the purpose of those things? They looked so silly, with little women’s waist, shoulders and head, like a stump set on a huge bell. As for modesty, Romany women made their skirts out of fabric thick enough that one couldn’t see through them even in the brightest sunlight.
Her blouse, she decided, would be the peach-colored one trimmed with green ribbon, and she’d wear her green, blue, and yellow plaid diklo with the golden coins; her gold coin necklace; and thick, gold hoop earrings. Nadyha, Mirella, and Baba Simza never wore their diklos and jewelry in camp, except for sometimes when they felt like dressing up for dancing. But one must give the gaje what they want to see, she thou
ght acidly.
Everyone else was already up and about. The campfire was going, Mirella was just setting coffee on the grill next to breakfast stew, Gage and Niçu were waiting by Baba Simza’s chair. With resignation Nadyha joined them. All of her life they had begun the day by joining hands and saying the Lord’s Prayer, but in the last couple of years she had come to find it a tiresome, meaningless ritual. Buried very deep down in her heart, Nadyha knew that it wasn’t true, the fault lay with her, not the tradition. But she had become very successful in smothering these feelings, and so she did now.
It was very odd about Gage Kennon, she reflected. Soon after he’d come to their camp Baba Simza had invited him to join in their morning prayer, and he had obviously been pleased. But he intuitively understood that he couldn’t join their circle, for that would mean that he would have to hold one of the women’s hands. The first time he’d joined them, he’d stood behind Baba Simza’s chair, effectively isolating himself, took off his hat and held it in both hands, and bowed his head. So he did now. Nadyha furtively opened her eyes to look at him as they recited the prayer. His lips were moving, and she thought she could see that he was trying to form the Romany words. He really was an unusual man for a gajo.
The thought flustered her so she quickly went to attend to Anca and Boldo without saying anything to anyone. None of them spoke very much as they set up their goods for sale. They had folding tables to unload and position. And Baba Simza was extremely picky about how and where the wares were displayed. Nadyha, Niçu, and Mirella had no complaints about her endless directions to placement, from the largest baskets down to the smallest jar of herbs. She had a proven understanding of what would draw the gajes’ attention and how to sell the goods, for rarely did they return to camp with anything left in their inventory. It took them a couple of hours to set up and already people were starting to gather at the Gypsy Pavilion.
Nadyha forgot about Gage Kennon, forgot about the restlessness that was her constant companion these days, along with her resentment for the isolated and stultifying life she had led since they’d fled Perrados Plantation to hide in their camp three years ago. She was having fun. Going to the French Market and being in New Orleans was the most exciting thing in the world to her.
“Oh, yes, madame, that shawl looks very beautiful on you,” she said to a plain, dumpy, well-dressed woman. “And it is one-of-a-kind, everything we make is different from the other, so you won’t see this shawl on another woman when you promenade in the park, mm? And only three dollars. Yes, yes, I know, but look at the blue, how it matches your eyes! It’s truly exactly the same color, everyone must see your pretty blue eyes!” The woman’s husband grumpily handed Nadyha three silver dollars.
And so the day went. She realized that she had gotten very hungry, but she decided that they were simply too busy, business was much too brisk, the people were so eager to buy—and to talk to the Gypsies—that she wouldn’t stop to eat. Boldo earned many pennies for performing the miracle of eating muscadines. When the basket by him was empty, still with many people milling around, Nadyha said loudly, “Oh, poor Boldo! No more muscadines! Are you still hungry, little bear?”
He solemnly nodded his great bear head.
“All right then. You may eat your hat.” Boldo snatched off his hat and took a big bite of it, and the crowd laughed and laughed and some even gave extra pennies. Nadyha made his hats from sugarcane reeds. As soon as the crowd was renewed, she replaced the basket full of muscadines and set a new hat on his head. Soon the pennies started coming in again.
Any time Nadyha observed people getting too crowded on the side of the pavilion where Anca lay on her cushion, she got a little nervous. She wasn’t afraid that Anca would attack anyone; she felt as if she knew the cougar as well as she knew Mirella. But once a filthy, loud little boy had thrown a bottle at Anca, which hit her square on the head. Her eyes suddenly flaming, Anca had turned her head and growled at the boy. He had taken off at a dead run, and people had gotten scared and hurried away. Nadyha hadn’t cared so much about that, people always loved the Gypsy Pavilion. They would come back. But she did mind that Anca had been subjected to such treatment, and she would mind very much if they all got into some sort of trouble because of Anca.
Now, seeing a tight bunch of people around the brazier by Anca, talking loudly and starting to call out if they could pet her, Nadyha went to kneel by the mountain lion. “I’ll ask if she’ll let you pet her,” she told the crowd. Anca sat up alertly, looking directly into Nadyha’s eyes. “Anca, my queen, are you receiving vistors today?” she asked in a low hypnotic voice, then reached into the pocket of her skirt. If a cougar can look slightly amused, Anca did, and obligingly opened her mouth wide, fangs bared, and roared. The crowd flinched and some started backing up. After slipping the treat to Anca, Nadyha called to them, “She is receiving, and she says you may stroke her head once for ten dollars.” At that they relaxed and started laughing. Nadyha halfway wished someone rich would take her up on it. Anca would allow it, she was sure, but she wasn’t about to let any spoiled children with a penny come pawing on Anca. Boldo was different.
Once during the hustle and bustle, she saw Dennis Wainwright climbing out of a fine carriage that had pulled up, and Cayenne was hitched up behind the carriage. She had forgotten about Denny, and now she thought dryly that Gage must be a generous friend since Denny had stolen his horse and disappeared, and Gage hadn’t even commented on it. Denny came into the pavilion, first going to pay his respects to Baba Simza, then speaking to Mirella and Niçu. Hurrying to Nadyha, he bowed and said, “Miss Nadyha, I see you’re in the middle of a selling boom, but I just wanted to pay my respects and tell you hello.”
She looked him up and down. He was wearing a cream-colored morning suit with a tight-fitting waistcoat and a pocketwatch with a glittering gold chain. The clothes were finely tailored, obviously expensive. “Hello, Dennis. You look well. Not like a horse thief at all.”
He waved one hand dismissively, and she saw he now had on a gold pinky ring with a small square glittering diamond. “Aw, ol’ Gage told me I could take Cayenne to go see my Uncle Zeke. Besides, I am returning the horse, so I guess that’d make me a pretty sorry horse thief.”
“True. I wouldn’t consider trying it for a living, Dennis,” Nadyha said. Seeing a lady starting to pick up bottles and tins of herbs and setting them back down any which way, she said hurriedly, “Excuse me,” and went to the table.
Behind her Denny said, “But—but ma’am—”
Nadyha looked back and said, “Sorry. Business first.” Denny went to sit with Gage on the steps of Nadyha’s wagon. Matchko, spotting Denny sitting down, crawled up in his lap and started rubbing his gnarled head against his chest, leaving black fur all over his creamy suit.
Some time later Nadyha became aware that Gage was standing sort of beside and behind her, waiting. Nadyha finished with the sale and turned to him. He was grinning like a little boy. “It’s time to take a break. You’ve been working for hours. C’mon, come sit down for a few minutes—and wait ’til you taste this.” He was holding a glass full of pale orange ice shavings, and a fresh slice of peach was perched on top. “Peach ice. Manna from heaven.”
Nadyha licked her lips and looked around. Baba Simza, Mirella, and Niçu all had peach ices. Baba Simza waved at her imperiously and said in Romany, “Go sit, rest. I’ll sell.”
Nadyha gratefully took a seat on her wagon steps, and Gage sat down below her. She took a big spoonful of the ice, closed her eyes, and let it melt in her mouth. It was absolutely delicious. “Mm, did you buy these, Gage?”
“Sure did. Do you like it?”
“No, I absolutely love it. Thank you so much.”
“Uh—don’t thank me yet. ’Cause it’s not exactly a gift, it’s kinda like a—a bribe.”
“What’s a bribe?”
“That’s where I pay you to do something that you don’t want to do. Or maybe you will want to do it, in which case it would be a gift,
not a bribe,” he said brightly.
“Talk sense, not like a dilio—I mean, talk sense, Gage.”
“Ho-kay. Y’all are going to dance and sing tonight, right?”
“Ye-es,” Nadyha said warily.
Gage took a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and unfolded it slowly. “Would you consider sort of adding to your—your show? Aw, forget this! Denny asked me to try to talk you into memorizing this and saying it while you do the thing, you know the deal, with Anca, circling the campfire and making her growl and stuff. I told Denny that I couldn’t talk you into breathing if you didn’t want to, and if you do want to do something I couldn’t talk you out of it for love or money. But he says that it’s really important, if you’d do this at about nine o’clock tonight.”
Nadyha took the paper, glanced at it, and stared at Gage. “Why?”
“Don’t have any idea.”
She looked down again at the paper, reading it slowly. A small smile turned up the corner of her mouth. “Ho-kay.”
“What?”
“Anca and I will do this,” she said, popping another mouthful of peach ice into her mouth.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s—that’s good.” Gage stood up. “Just sit for awhile, Nadyha, and finish your ice. I see those kids over there are gonna bust unless they feed Boldo some grapes. I’ll take care of it.”
Though it rarely came all the way to the forefront of Nadyha’s mind while she was selling, she was always aware of the sounds of the steamboats behind her. She loved the blaring of the steam whistles as the boats came in, and the sonorous gongs of the big bells. Late that afternoon she heard a small steamer’s whistle right at the levee entrance by their pavilion. Nadyha knew very well the difference between the small and mid-sized steamers and the big ones. The smaller ones’ whistles were shrill, in a high-pitched range, and the huge floating palaces were deep and hoarse. She never paid attention to passengers disembarking from the ships, however, because most of them were hurrying home from their travels, not stopping to shop. The passengers started coming through the levee entrance, and Nadyha barely glanced at them.
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