She realized that she was too old to play with dolls, but she secretly dressed one in seven skirts, each of a different colour. She thought that Grandma must have prayed to Saint Sara, the saint who understands a woman’s heart. Every few days, she made a tiny wreath of fresh wild daisies and placed it like a halo on the doll’s head. She prayed to her effigy of Saint Sara, pleading for Lorca’s recovery. But still, no sign on the post.
Saint Sara’s days, May 24 and 25, came and went. The whole country celebrated Tito’s birthday on May 25, the baton carried by youthful runners from one end of the country to another, ending in Belgrade. Parades and other festivities saturated the town of Obrenovac and the surrounding towns and villages. And still no sign.
It was now June. The tightly-wrapped peony buds unfurled, burgundy and pink and pure white, their heavy, rumpled blossoms and musky scent. The school year-end was approaching.
Disheartened at the thought of a long summer with no news about Lorca and no gypsy caravans, Kata spent her spare time reading Dostoyevsky – sometimes enthralled by the rhythm of thoughts and events, and other times disenchanted by the futility of all human actions and aspirations. As June advanced, utter despair and fear gripped her heart. She realized that her hopes for Lorca’s recovery were unrealistic. She saw her optimism as delusional as a single glass of liquor to an alcoholic, pacifying one’s fears only to reveal them the following minute, more dismal and hopeless than the hour before.
She withdrew from everyone, staying in Grandma’s room, which her mother kept threatening to redecorate. She hid from the warm, glorious days and the sun-dipped green leaves and the twittering swallows darting about, stuffing bugs into webbed pink beaks poking out of mud nests.
She thought of her birthday, a few weeks away. She hoped the day would be rainy. She could not face a day of sunshine. It would be too sad to think of all the people she’d loved and lost, some forever and some most likely forever. Far too much to bear on a hot summer day when surrounding fields turn into Van Gogh canvasses, into a mélange of gold.
It was the last day of June. She had risen early, waking from a vivid dream of the day she stumbled on a rock and broken a pitcher. She had dreamed the face of the gypsy woman who had taken her hand and lifted her off the ground, the woman whose voice had been sleeping in Kata’s consciousness all the years since. Had she seen this woman again? Heard her voice? Seen her face and flaming hair? But the sun had all vision that day, and Kata had retained only the deep eyes and a halo of auburn tresses – and a strand of that comforting voice.
The day the bear danced seemed long ago, yet the identity of this woman was a missing piece of a puzzle that had to be pressed into place for the full picture. Kata felt as if a part of her was missing with it.
She realized it was too late. Too much time had passed for the feared triangle or the hoped-for circle. The only possibility left was the one needing no sign, the one that had drained Jasmine’s eyes of all optimism.
Kata went to Grandma’s dresser, picked up the pink cookie heart necklace, and for the first time since Jasmine’s wedding hung it around her neck. And then she heard the voice from her memory harmonizing with the one from her dream.
“Give me your hand,” a woman leaning over her beckoned. Kata tried to look up but blinded by the sun could only squint. Two large, almond-shaped eyes and a halo of reddish-brown hair framed by the sun loomed over her, a flowered skirt kneeling in the dust. Kata placed her hand into the warm grip. “You have a strong hand, little girl … sign of strong character. You will have many adventures.” That compassionate, drawn-out speech enunciating each word slowly and carefully, as if to engrave them upon Kata’s memory.
“Jasmine! It was Jasmine!” Kata cheered in the childish voice she’d left behind on the day the bear danced. She felt as if the million pieces of a broken puzzle, like the shattered fragments of a pitcher smashed in the dust, were suddenly reassembling themselves into a meaningful whole. She ran to the front gate and stared at the post. A circle had been drawn in charcoal. A sprig of jasmine with plump white flowers and yellow centres covered in dew sat atop the post.
Kata opened the gate expertly, without any squeaking, and left. Her vision rested on the expansive landscape ahead, irresistibly drawn into the distance by the diminishing columns of trees, the well worn-path paved with ridged dry earth, broad, wavering slightly off centre, the receding plane balanced by the horizontal grids of the fields – Meyndert Hobbema’s The Avenue. She smiled to herself, pleased that she so easily recalled the synopsis of the painting.
The sun rises every day, echoed Grandma’s voice.
God was all around, watching, listening …
The dancing bear turned and smiled, playing the charmed flute, beckoning her to follow, to follow the wind swirling in the wheat fields and the swallow darting high in the sky.
Acknowledgements
An excerpt from Chapter XIII was published in the anthology, Gathered Streams, Hidden Brook Press, 2010.
The stanzas quoted in Chapters XIX and XXVIII are from Federico Garcia Lorca’s Romancero gitano, translated, Gypsy Ballads by Robert G. Havard, Aris & Phillips Ltd., Wiltshire, 1990.
Although Summer of the Dancing Bear is a work of fiction, the inspiration stems from my childhood experiences growing up in the former Yugoslavia. During the harvest, gypsies often worked on my grandmother’s farm. On many evenings I was privileged to listen to their music and watch them dancing around the campfire and sometimes even join the children dancing among the adults – some of the best memories of my childhood.
Regarding this work, the following contributed to my knowledge of Roma traditions and history and offered anecdotes and insights: David Crowe and John Kolsti, editors, The Gypsies of Eastern Europe (M.E. Sharpe, Inc., 1991); Patrick “Jasper” Lee of the Purrum clan, We Borrow the Earth: An Intimate Portrait of the Gypsy Shamanic Tradition (Thorsons, 2000); Robert G. Havard, translator, Gypsy Ballads, Romancero gitano by Federico Garcia Lorca (Aris & Phillips Ltd., 1990); Carl W. Cobb, Lorca’s Romancero gitano: A Ballad Translation and Critical Study (UP of Mississippi, 1983); Dieter W. Halwachs, Burgenland-Romani (Lincom Europa, 2002); Jan Yoors and Andre A. Lopez, The Gypsies of Spain (Macmillan Publishing Co. Inc., 1974); Rupert C. Allen, The Symbolic World of Federico Garcia Lorca (U of New Mexico, 1972). A number of stalwart classics offered broader insight into customs and religion: Irving Brown’s Nights and Days on the Gypsy Trail (Harper & Brothers Publishers, 1922); Juliette De Bairacli Levy’s As Gypsies Wander: being an account of life with the Gypsies in England, Provence, Spain, Turkey, and North Africa, (Faber & Faber Limited, 1962).
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My heartfelt thanks to my family for their love and unwavering support: to Mirko, Adrian, Sarah, Austin, Michelle and Marijan. To my siblings for sharing the history of the family that bends reality – whose untold story has been an inspiration – and the history of the country that no longer exists. To Svetlana, Mile, Goga, Anita and Izidora. To Ratko, Ceca, Marko and Gabrijela. To Vladan, Dragica, Stefan and Predrag. To my friends Vesna Lopičić, Albert Dumont and Silvia for their encouragement when I needed it most. To friendships not forgotten, Pat, Ed, Tanya, and Matt. To Antonio D’Alfonso. I would also like to thank my colleagues at the Canadian Authors Association, Bloorwestwriters, Toronto Writers Co-op, Writers and Editors, the Algonquin Square Table, and all those who have read my work and provided valuable comments. My thanks to the staff at the Toronto Reference Library, the U of T Library, and York U Library for assisting me with research on Roma history. My special thanks to my friend Jackie for her encouragement. Many thanks to Paul Butler and Elizabeth Abbott for their enthusiastic support.
My gracious thanks to my editor Lindsay Brown and my Editor-in-Chief and publisher Michael Mirolla not just for believing in me but also for their vision in taking me to the “finish line,” and for some of the best editorial advice and encouragement a writer could hope for, and to Connie McParland for her support and guidance, and to all for welcomin
g me to the family of writers at Guernica Editions, a staunch proponent of multicultural voices for over 30 years.
Author Bio/Previous Publications
Bianca Lakoseljac is an author and educator with a special interest in women’s issues, the environment, and social justice. She holds a BA and MA in English literature from York University, and is the recipient of the Matthew Ahern Memorial Award in Literature. Bianca taught communication courses at Ryerson University and Humber College.
She has served as judge for literary contests such as the National Capital Writing Contest, the Dr. Drummond Poetry Contest, the Canadian Aid Literary Award Contest, as well as contests of the League of Canadian Poets and the Writers Union of Canada.
She is past president and special project chair of the Canadian Authors Association, Toronto Branch; a board member of the Book and Periodical Council and the League of Canadian Poets; a member of the Writers Union of Canada, and PEN Canada, among others.
Bridge in the Rain, a collection of stories linked by an inscription on a bench in Toronto’s High Park, was published in 2010 by Guernica Editions in Toronto.
Memoirs of a Praying Mantis, a collection of poetry exploring environmental issues, horrors of war, and legends of High Park, was published in 2009 by Turtle Moons Press in Ottawa.
Summer of the Dancing Bear, a novel set in the former Yugoslavia and exploring the rite of passage of a fourteen year old girl befriended by a gypsy clan, published by Guernica Editions in 2012, is Bianca’s first novel.
Flower Power, a historical novel inspired by the 1967 Art Symposium in Toronto, is her work in progress. She is also working on a sequel to Summer of the Dancing Bear.
Her short stories and poems have been published in journals and anthologies such as: Canadian Woman Studies, Inanna Publications and Education, York University, 2007; Canadian Voices, BookLand Press, 2009; Gathered Streams, Hidden Brook Press, 2010; Migrating Memories: Central Europe in Canada, Central European Association for Canadian Studies, 2010, among others.
Bianca was born in Obrenovac in the former Yugoslavia, and has lived in Canada since the age of 19. She divides her time between Toronto and Woodland Beach on Georgian Bay and has been an environmentalist all her life.
Also featured in Guernica’s Essential Prose series:
THE TENANTS OF THE HÔTEL BIRON
Laura Marello’s novel “brings us a perceptive and unique understanding of the people whose lives crossed in the Hôtel Biron: Rodin, Claudel, Picasso, Satie, Matisse and other fascinating characters from that time. This is a compelling story on a real and imagined Paris – the ravishing bohemian Paris of the early 1900s.” – Award-winning writer Jennifer Clement.
LEPER TANGO
Leper Tango recounts the lunar trajectory of Franck Robinson – a self-confessed member of “the despised and despicable sub-species of skirt-chaser known as the john”. During one of Franck’s regular free-falls into the Parisian night, he meets Sheba, who moves from being Franck’s favourite hooker to being Franck’s obsession. Leper Tango is a confession of an unrepentant man whose stated life aim is to screw an entire city. The author, David MacKinnon, presumably the alter ego of Franck, is also a jack-of-all-trades and vagabond spirit.
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