by E. S. Mercer
I could feel her start to melt in my arms.
“Help me and let me leave,” I continued. “But don’t keep me here so that you can hope to get from me what you try to get from them.”
“It’s, it’s not like that,” she stuttered.
“Then help me,” I said again. I turned to walk away, noticing a tear desperately trying to escape the corner of her eye. She saw that I noticed it and tried to buck up and change her attitude quickly.
“Give me fifteen to twenty and I will be down to help you,” she told me as she went over and climbed on the woman in the chair. “Meet me at the dinner table and we will figure things out.”
I don’t know how I could feel the turmoil inside her, but I could; very, very strongly. It was almost as if I could hear the fight between her head and her heart. When I touched her, I could feel those feelings flow through me, giving me the momentary illusion that those feelings were my own and were at that point easy to understand.
I could feel the draw towards the same sex as she felt it, yearning for a closeness only another woman could give. It wasn’t a biological craving for the fairer sex, but more of a psychological appetite for something a man could not give her; or what she would not allow them to give her. I could feel the hunger for a connection that in spite of it all, could never be found, but momentarily forgotten with each sexual act she performed.
I had to keep telling myself as I walked towards the dinner table, that these weren’t my feelings. They weren’t how I felt about anything. Even when I sat down next to the father I hadn’t quite met yet, feeding his talkative toddler the goulash she didn’t want to eat, I could feel the frustration as he felt it. The strength of what he felt played tug of war with the feelings of the single woman who sat across from me. A woman who lacked the beauty needed to procreate in their culture and would most likely find herself perpetually alone. Somber and cast aside, her thoughts spoke of finding a way to move past the idea that she was forever alone. She swore that she would love herself in a way that no other could. It is the only way she knew she could survive.
Then suddenly, voices and thoughts that were not my own, from each person sitting at the long farm tables, overwhelmed what was left of my fragile psyche.
Each one of their subconscious thoughts started screaming at me, realizing now that I could hear them. All the while, their unsuspecting hands scooped spoons full of goulash into their silent mouths.
I plugged my ears, banged at my head and even rubbed my eyes over and over to try to get them to stop, but nothing seemed to work. Soon, I gave into it as I plopped my head into my hand while I built food mountains with my spoon, scraping against my metal plate. Maybe, just maybe, the sound of metal on metal would drown them out.
“That couldn’t be any more annoying if you tried,” a soft little voice said over the chaos in my head.
“Huh?” I asked, looking over to see Zara, the cook’s daughter.
She sat down beside me.
“What are you doin’?” she asked, pointing at my plate. “My Papa is a grumpy old man, but I didn’t think his cooking was all that bad.”
“Oh, no, his cooking is fine,” I answered, tossing my spoon down. “I just have a really bad headache.” I grunted and rubbed my eyes again, getting up from the table. I needed to find a shut off button for this because it was literally making the gray matter in my brain hurt.
“It’s ok,” she said pulling me back to my seat. “You can tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I asked.
“What is causing the headache,” she said with a smile. “Sometin’ has got you going.”
“Besides the fact that Ksenia was supposed to come find me at dinner and hasn’t yet?” I asked banging my head on the table.
“She’ll be ‘long,” Zara said hopefully. “I tink.” She sat with me as the tables cleared, talking to me about this wonderful new annoyance I now had. I explained to her when it started, the voices were loud and that now, I didn’t hear them at all.
“When was dat?” she asked.
“Shortly after you sat down,” I responded.
“Oh, well you’re welcome!” she said, as she winked at me. I chuckled as I looked around and saw no sign of Ksenia. “She is not coming,” I announced as I looked over at Zara. She had gotten so caught up in the conversation that she forgot where she was supposed to be. “Zara!” Cappi howled from the kitchen. “Unde esti1? Unde esti?”
“Um, I gotta go,” she stuttered as she stood up.
“What is he saying?” I asked, as he kept repeating himself.
“He wants to know where I am,” she said, pulling empty plates into her hands. “I lost track of time. I’s supposed to be working.”
“It’s ok,” I said, helping her collect the plates. “I’ll say it is my fault. I’ll take the blame.”
“No, no,” she said, grabbing the plates out of my hand. “He won’t accept that.”
She scurried towards the kitchen tent.
“Well, he is going to have to,” I said, following her.
“Just wait,” she said turning to block me. “Papa really, really doesn’t like strangers.” I pushed passed her and into the tent. I had only seen the man from a distance, as he never came out of his domain. But now, up close, I was starting to question my decision to help my new friend.
“Who’s dis?” he asked, in a thick Romanian accent. “What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?” I hesitated to speak, as I stared at the leathery old man who stood shaking a large knife. I could feel him, as I did the others at the table. I wasn’t sure why everyone was so afraid of him. I felt pain and heartache from the man. He was only loud to avoid people from seeing it.
“I have assigned her to you,” Ksenia said from behind us. “She has been bored, so I thought the kitchen was the best place for her.”
I looked over at Ksenia and gave her a look everyone could feel. “That is not what I had in mind,” I whispered as I grabbed her arm.
1 Unde esti? – Where are you? “It’s just temporary,” she said, nodding towards the cook. “Just work with me here and we’ll get out of here unscathed.”
“Yes, Papa.” Zara said. “Our Lady, thought we could have more help in the kitchen." I looked over to see Cappi slowly coming towards me, with a look of disgust and rage on his face. It wasn’t until he started to sniff around me that I could feel him start to calm down. He circled around me a couple times, still sniffing at me like a dog. Then he paused, looking me up and down. “I accept,” he said quietly as he handed me the dirty knife.
“I take your offer to have her,” he said to Ksenia. “She is mine now.”
“Um,” I said waving at everyone. “I am no one’s. I agree to help in the kitchen. I will help Zara.”
“She is yours,” Ksenia said walking out of the tent.
“Oh, hell no,” I mumbled as I chased Ksenia out the door. She ignored me as she continued walking.
“Hey,” I yelled, pulling at her shirt. “Now you are giving me to people?”
“I guarantee you’ll not be bored,” she chuckled as she stopped. “Work in the kitchen for a while. You’ll be fine.”
“But he accepted your offer to have me!” I exclaimed. “That doesn’t sound like accepting help, it sounds like he is accepting another wife.” “Just appease the old man until I figure out what to do with you,” she said, pulling my hand off her arm. “He’s not gonna wife you. He can’t handle another wife.”
“Ugh,” I cried as I stopped in my tracks. “Why are you absolutely impossible to deal with?” I yelled. “Why can’t you just accept my help and deal with it?” she yelled, coming back at me. She was in my face again, breathing heavily, switching between rage and what felt a little like lust.
“Why do you feel it is so important to help me?” I asked, breathing back at her.
Neither one of us spoke for a moment as both of us stood our ground. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” she started, pulling at her hair. “You weren’t
supposed to reject your life. Now everything is screwed up. Everything they had set in place is worthless.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. “You invited me here!”
“Not here in the camp!” she responded. “You were Melody. You were supposed to stay Melody.” I saw her demeanor changed as she looked past me, quickly changing the subject. I turned around to see what she was looking at and to see Constantine staring at us with fear in his eyes.
“Ksenia,” he chided, as he came up to us. “I think it is timed to end this conversation.
“No,” I exclaimed grabbing at her arm again. “What were you trying to say?”
“She’s already said too much,” Constantine interrupted.
“Musca-ma2” she snapped at her father in Romanian. “Let’s just go.” I stood in silence for a moment, completely bewildered by her comment. I had no idea what she meant by it, but I knew that it solidified the feeling I had that I didn’t belong here.
“I think I just need to pack my bags and go,” I said to myself, as I walked towards my camper.
“Maybe I have overstayed my welcome.” I packed up what little I had and then made my way over to the fully stocked bar in my caravan so I could down a couple of shots of whiskey while I collected my thoughts. Before I knew it, I had downed about four and found myself too tired to go anywhere. So, I decided to lay down, just for a moment to rest. As I did, I felt someone lay down and wrap their arms around me. At first I thought it was Ksenia, but I couldn’t smell her signature perfume. A bit panicked, I rolled over and tried to figure out who it was, but when I did, there was no one there. I rolled back onto my side and snuggled into the soft bed that I knew I was going to miss when I felt them again.
2 Musca-ma – Bite me
“What the hell?” I gasped. I could feel their breath on my neck and it was making me more and more nervous. “Whoever you are, please tell me what you are doing here.” Of course, there was no answer, but I felt like I had to try to get one. “Who are you?” The only answer I got was a tighter squeeze and the sounds of a satisfied sigh.
The knock at the door that came next hadn’t come soon enough and I was more than happy to ask whoever was on the other side to come in.
“It’s Zara, I was hoping I could come in and talk,” she said as she opened the door before getting a response. The next thing I know, the invisible force released me, leaping up off the bed. I turned quickly to see if I could see anything as a vision of a man manifested in front of both of us. He flickered in and out, trying to say something as he bolted towards the poor girl waiting near the door. She tried to put her hand on the frame of the doorway, to push herself back out of the caravan, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her from going anywhere.
“Find me,” he cried inaudibly. Her only response was a stifled cry and the quiver of her already uneasy knees. Then as quickly as he appeared he was gone, leaving us both in silence – for a moment.
“You saw that right?” I asked her. I prayed that she did and I wasn’t imagining it.
“I did,” she said, still visibly shaken. “And as superstitious as we Gypsies are, I don’t know if I buy dat being a ghost.”
She came up to the bed and sat next to me. “Can we talk about what that was?” she asked.
“If I knew, I would tell you,” I responded. Zara got up from the bed and shrugged her shoulders, looking down at the bag I had packed and back at me. “Were you planning on goin’ somewhere?”
“Yeah,” I said, still a bit loopy from the liquor. “I think it is time for me to get out of here.”
“But why?” she asked pouring herself a drink. “What do you have out ‘dere waiting for you?”
“Nothing, but I don’t really feel like staying here and becoming a grumpy old man’s seventh wife.” For a moment, I forgot who I was talking to.
“Oh God, sorry,” I said kicking my feet over the side of the bed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s ok,” she said, sitting down next to me. “I don’t feel like sticking around bein’ his only loyal child. I really want to get out of here.”
“Why?” I asked, as if she hadn’t just given me a reason. “Is your father that bad?”
“Yes and no,” she answered. “He isn’t a reason to stay dat I can tell you.” She explained that she and her mother had planned to leave many times before, but something always held them back or made them return after a short time. “When you spend so much time wit people, you either adapt to ‘der ways or find out you were not meant to be wit dem.”
She told me how there was more to the camp than I could ever imagine. Traditions and rules that went as far back as the early days of the Romanian empire, things that couldn’t be explained in just one night.
“So, tell me some of them,” I inquired. “I can’t,” she said sheepishly. “If I tell you dat, I will have to divulge secrets I cannot tell outsiders.”
“I am now a ward of the Gypsy kitchen and ordered to stay in the camp by the almighty Ksenia, and I am still considered an outsider?” I asked. “That sucks.”
“Let’s put it dis way,” she said. “None of us are what we seem, not even me.” We both settled into the bed as she handed me another drink. “Just do me a favor and stay a little bit longer,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s been a very long time since I have had a friend to talk to and I am not ready to let that go.”
I laid my head on her shoulder. I don’t know why, but I felt a connection to her that gave me a sense of serenity. And every time she was around, the voices in my head seemed to disappear. “How about we find a way to leave together. Where ever I go, you can go with me.”
“Sounds like a deal,” she said, grabbing my free hand. “But we can’t leave just yet, we need to come up with a plan.”
“Fair enough,” I said, between yawns.
We sat in silence for the rest of the night, sipping on our drinks and thinking of a way to get out of camp.
***** My duties in the kitchen kept me very close to my new best friend; a girl I bonded so quickly with, I knew immediately she was going to be more like a sister than a friend. Day and night, we would find silly things to get into, like throwing suds at each other rather than washing the dishes I was always tasked to do. It was a way for us to keep things light and find joy in our friendship.
It also kept me from going crazy, as Cappi found a need to test me with the grunt work. He wanted to see just how capable I truly was, to work in his kitchen. All the while eyeing me up like a farmer looking for his next prized calf.
“You are not quite ready, but you will learn,” he said to me one morning, after trying to direct me towards a bushel of apples he wanted me to peel. I ignored his not so subtle request and started filling the large wash basin with boiling water from the stove. Peeling the apples didn’t exactly come with a deadline and I knew I had to get the dishes done before lunch.
“Ready for what?” I asked, avoiding eye contact.
“Tata3,” Zara whispered, knowing exactly what he meant. “She is not going to be your next wife. Quit pestering her now!”
He grunted loudly, as he started walk away, muttering, “vom vedea4.”
“I’m sorry about Papa,” she said, brushing the hair behind my ear as she walked by. “His focus will change as soon as he gets bored with you.”
“Yeah, but it’s kinda creepy,” I responded, plopping the dishes into the soapy water, splashing hot suds all over my face.
If it weren’t for the fact that Zara and I were laughing at my mishap, I would have seen the glaring look I now received from her annoyed father. “These need to be done now!” he exclaimed as he threw an apple in my direction. His aim, as poor as his eyesight, caused the apple to nearly smash Zara in the face. But, somehow, with reflexes I didn’t know I had, I reached up and grabbed that apple millimeters before it touched her face. In fact, the back of my hand felt the silky tip of her nose and the panicked breath that escaped it. I turned to see if she was ok,
when I realized that I was now all alone. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even in the cook’s tent anymore.
“Zara?” I called out, looking around. “Where the hell am I?”
But it wasn’t Zara that answered.
“You have a choice Evangeline,” a male voice said. “Bite into that apple and remember everything or go on with the idea that your father knows 3 Tata - Father 4 Vom Vedea – We will see.
what is best for you.” I looked over to see a man who looked nearly my age fixing his white muslin robe, as he waited for an answer. “Are you talking to me?” I asked, stroking the red apple in my hands. “Cause my name is Anessa. Not Evangeline.
He ignored my question as he started walking towards a scene that began to set itself before me. Out of nowhere, an ancient apple tree began to sprout from the ground, limbs spread up and out, as if to announce its arrival to the world. The grandfather tree, ripe with fruit, shook its leaves before settling down, awaiting what came next.
The regal man plucked a piece of fruit from the hunchbacked limbs, taking a bite out of the crisp red orb.
“Metaphorically that is,” he continued, between bites. “Chew on the knowledge I can offer you. Take control of your destiny.”
“What knowledge?” I asked, still getting no answer. “Seriously, are you talking to me?”
He was looking right at me or right through me. I couldn’t tell which.
“Leave it alone father,” a man looking almost twice his age barked as he came from behind the tree. “You can’t keep doing this to her.”
“Michael,” the other man responded. “Son, you are interfering with things you don’t understand.” The man who came to my rescue, wearing a muslin robe open enough to bare his silky tan torso and matching muslin trousers, towered over the younger looking man.
“No Samiel, what you are doing is wrong. You cannot use her as a pawn in the fight against her father. Both of you are completely wrong for this.”
