by J. F. Collen
The Romani woman stared at Amanda’s face for a few seconds. She saw her, really saw her—not in the way her friends at home ran up to her when she walked into a room, not in the way her mother looked at her when she stumbled into the house covered with mud, and not even the way her father looked at her with pride during his visitations. The intensity was greater than any of that.
Amanda shifted her feet, but she didn’t avert her eyes.
Finally, the woman spoke. “I get a good vibe off of you.”
“A vibe? You mean psychic powers or you like my smile?”
“I can sense you’re a good person. I don’t usually feel that from....” She stopped and stuck out her hand. “My name is Jolan.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Amanda Smith.”
“That’s not a Hungarian name.”
“My mom’s maiden name was Kantor. Grandpapa moved to America a long time ago.”
Jolan looked past Amanda towards the door. “Can we get out of here? I’d rather not stay where I’m not wanted.”
The library. She had to do so much research; there was so much she wanted to learn about Grandpapa. She had wasted a week sightseeing and was running out of time... but Jolan promised friendship, and she was a Gypsy. Opportunities for outsiders to know someone from this mysterious race were rare, and Jolan sparked something inside her—as though they’d known each other for a lifetime.
Amanda looped her arm through Jolan’s. In the short time she had been there, strangers often regarded her displays of affection with caution, but Jolan easily fell in step beside her.
“How about some coffee?” Amanda asked.
“What I need is a beer.”
At that time in the afternoon, the café had few patrons. The women sat at the bar and ordered their drinks.
“My brother has talked about you since our performance.” Jolan lifted the bottle to her lips and swallowed a big gulp.
“What has he said?”
“You remind him of our sister.”
Amanda frowned. In her country, that usually wasn’t considered a compliment. “I’m sure I don’t look anything like her.”
“Talaitha is light-skinned, like our mom, but her nose is longer than yours, and she’s not a blonde.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s not your looks. It’s your attitude. You jumped right into the dance without thought. My sister would have done the same.”
“Would have done?”
“She’s also curious like you. I think you two would become good friends. I’ve never invited a gaji before, but I would like you to visit our house for lunch tomorrow.”
Lunch with a Romani family? Amanda shook aside her grandpapa’s warnings. “Now you’ll have to tell me what a gaji is.”
“Non-Romani female. Non-Romani men are called gajo. Don’t worry. My family respects my insights. You’ll be fine.”
Amanda accepted the invitation, but she had no idea what Jolan meant by insights and why she would worry about not being fine. Surely, a Romani wouldn’t be warning a gaji against her own family? She opened her mouth to ask, but quickly shut it, remembering her mother’s admonition against asking too many questions and how it would appear rude.
After her first beer, she shut off her family’s nagging voices in her mind. “It’s so strange. I’ve heard so much about your people, but I really know nothing about you.”
“What do you want to know?” Jolan asked.
“Everything.”
They chatted for the next hour about their lives and the political differences between their two countries. Jolan asked several questions about American race relations and an African-American president. Amanda tried dodging her questions, preferring to discuss Romani culture instead, but Jolan couldn’t be deterred.
She slammed her bottle down and asked for two more beers for her and her friend. She clinked her bottle against Amanda’s and said, “To the black people of your country.”
The drive to an area south of Pécs took Amanda down narrow, winding streets and past dilapidated houses and yards that were in direct contrast to the well-kept beauty of the rest of the city. Agreeing to the invitation was foolish. The further she went, the more she realized this. She thought of the talent the Romani family displayed and her conversation with Jolan. There was clearly more to them than what she’d been told about their people all her life. Her curiosity about this strangely wonderful group chased all sensible warnings out of her head.
After a couple of missed turns, she found herself on a rural stretch of road, driving past dark-skinned people outside homes with rotted-out frames and missing shingles. She slowed down when she caught sight of a young girl in a tattered skirt. The girl’s eyes looked hungry as they followed the car. If only I had brought food, Amanda thought, but her regret deepened when she realized she couldn’t feed an entire community.
Amanda pulled into the driveway beside an old, yellow Citroën. Three dogs ran off in two different directions. A little boy with a mess of hair covering his eyes sat on the porch, poking a stick through the holes in the wood. Jolan stepped out of the house with a toddler close behind.
With one hand gripped around the neck of a wine bottle, Amanda waved with the other as she jumped out of her rental. She hugged her new friend and kissed both cheeks in the custom of Hungarian greetings. “It’s great to see you again. Who are these little men?” She indicated the two boys.
“Ferka.” Jolan indicated the smaller one at her side. “And Tobar. My two sons.”
Ferka gave a shy smile while Tobar stabbed ants with his stick.
“Why do I have to wear clothes?” Tobar asked.
“Because we have company,” Jolan said. “Get up. We’re going to eat.”
Several mattresses supported by crates littered a dark living room that smelled like rotten cabbage. With no direct light, except what came through the windows, it took a minute for Amanda to adjust to the darkness. When she did, she noticed something that made her heart crumble. The dancer sat beside a thin woman with his arm slipped around behind her to prop her up. Her delicate, beautiful features were covered by a rash.
Amanda had seen poverty in America. She had once visited a friend and her boyfriend’s singlewide trailer. The carpet had been worn in parts, and the windows hadn’t sealed properly. The couple slept on a threadbare mattress with sheets that didn’t quite fit because the elastic had worn out. But they could at least afford to live by themselves and in their own bedroom.
“You know my brother Luca, and this is the person I wanted you to meet.” Jolan made introductions. “This is my sister. Talaitha, this is Amanda, the American I told you about.”
Amanda gave Talaitha a small smile, but looked away quickly to hide the trace of emotions that threatened to blind her.
A thin stream of smoke filtered into the room, followed by the accordion player from before. He drew on his cigarette as he observed every individual in the room. Finally, his sight landed on Jolan. “Modern woman with modern ideas brings a stranger into my home. I refuse to live where people tell me to go, so you bring people here.”
“She has nothing to do with the government, Dad,” Jolan said.
He pointed his cigarette at Amanda. “So she says.”
Amanda wiped the moisture off the palm of her hand and presented it to the older man. “Good afternoon. My name is Amanda Smith. I assure you I’m not with the government. I’m an American.”
“That’s worse. Ah, but at least you wiped the filth off before you shake my hand rather than after. I apologize for my daughter being so presumptuous.”
“Excuse me, Sir?” Amanda said.
“Please don’t call me sir. I don’t like it. My name is Horváth György.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. György.”
His eyes crinkled as he tightened his lips.
Amanda glanced at Jolan and shrugged. Jolan pulled her aside and explained. “His Christian name is György. With each other and Hungarians, we introduce ourselves with our family
name first. We never do that with foreigners.”
“Why did he do that with me?” Amanda asked.
“He either respects you or he did it to make fun of you.”
“Which one is it?”
Jolan shook her head. “With my dad, it could be either... or both.”
György stubbed out his cigarette. “If you insist on eating with us, the back patio is a good place. It’s just off the kitchen. We’ll prop the door open.”
“Dad!” Jolan gasped. “You can’t make a guest eat outside.”
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to. Since you brought that gaje into our home, you can eat outside with her.” He then turned to Amanda. “Don’t ever let it be said I’m not a good host. I’d hate for you to eat alone.”
“Maybe I should just leave.” Amanda took a step back. The air in the room made a sudden change—cold then hot—a stifling heat, making it difficult to breathe.
“No.” Jolan grasped her hand and gave her a pleading look. “I’m sorry. Please stay.”
Amanda nodded. The mixing of air pressure left her head in a fog. She barely understood what she agreed to.
A towel lay on the seat for Amanda to sit on, and while the family ate from stone dishes inside the house, Amanda used a paper plate on a small wooden table outside.
Jolan sat across from her while her husband stayed inside. He was a gaunt man with sharp cheekbones. He wasn’t just her opposite in looks, but his stone façade proved a perfect foil to her gregarious nature.
The teenage drummer, the one who had talked about stealing from Amanda, insisted on eating outside as well, even though the table barely held two. Several times, she caught him staring, but many times what he focused on wasn’t her face but an area slightly south. She didn’t wear revealing clothes, but she found herself hunching her shoulders in a protective manner anyway.
As the meal progressed, György and his wife, Dika, fought over the latest dog that had crept onto their property.
“I don’t know where these animals are coming from,” Dika yelled, even though she sat next to her husband.
“You must be doing something to attract them,” György yelled back.
Luca slammed his hand on the table. “That’s enough, Dad. She’s not feeding scraps to the animals.”
The yelling continued as the family ate. No one seemed angry; they just threw loud accusations and pronouncements flying across a crowded table as they talked over each other.
Amanda kept quiet while eating just outside the door of the kitchen so she could take in every word and gesture. This is very much like having a picnic and watching live theater, she thought.
After lunch, Talaitha invited Amanda to walk with her. Talaitha clung to Luca with her right arm while Amanda stayed close to her other side.
The Romani woman’s skirt hung loosely on her hips and the hem brushed through the grass. The patterned skirt had many bold colored flowers, which made a nice contrast with her simple white blouse. She dressed like her mother, except she didn’t pair clothing as though she were colorblind.
Talaitha held tighter to her brother as they walked up a slope. Such a climb proved easy for Amanda, whose breathing never changed, but the sick woman panted and beads of sweat lined her upper lip. Every step Talaitha took seemed slower and more difficult than the last.
Amanda looked back at the house and noted the distance. This couldn’t be safe.
Talaitha looked off to her right and Amanda followed her gaze. The valley came into full view. Small rivers and streams cut through the greenery and the gray of rock ledges. She could even make out tiny rows of what she assumed were grape vines. “It’s breathtaking.”
“And worth every bit of exertion.” Talaitha leaned forward, resting her palms on her thighs while Luca rubbed her back.
She took a shaky but deep breath and straightened to observe the valley. Luca knitted his brow with concern, but Talaitha’s face opened to the beauty of creation and didn’t seem to notice him at all.
Amanda did. She studied his hands—browned by the sun and his heritage. They were also scarred and rough, having the look of one who wrangled horses for a living, but they tended to his sister with gentleness as if she would shatter from one careless move.
“Why do you climb the hill every day when it wears you out?” Amanda asked.
“Why do falcons soar higher than their food or wolves play chase with each other?” Talaitha scanned the horizon as she spoke; then she lifted her chin to point out a bird of prey. “That’s what they do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They do those things because that’s what they do.”
“And you climb a hill to stare at a valley because that’s what you do.”
Talaitha smiled. “Precisely.”
After a few minutes of silence, the three began walking past a grove of trees toward a stone wall covered in vines.
“What part of America do you live in?” Talaitha asked.
“Texas.”
Talaitha brightened, but Luca beat her to the question. “Is Texas still run by cowboys?”
Amanda laughed. “It might have been fun to live in those days, but no. There are some ranchers in the more...” she searched for the Hungarian word without success, “where there’s more land, but we have large cities with tall buildings, just like everywhere else.”
When Amanda got closer to the wall, she recognized the leaves as belonging to a grapevine. The thick trunk twisted and curved as it climbed the wall. Weeds entwined with the plant, which produced no fruit. She read that southwest Hungary was known for its wine, but this row of plants reminded her of the mustang grapevines that grew wild at home.
Behind her, an agitated bird chirped. Both women turned around to see what had upset it, but Talaitha noticed first.
“The baby fell.” She held onto Luca’s arm for support as she stooped in front of the fledgling. His feathers were scanty, and he was too young to have full strength in his wings. Talaitha scooped him into her hands as the mother chirped louder and more frantically.
Amanda squatted beside her. “Do you think it’s wise to touch it?”
“Why do you ask?”
“What if the mother won’t have anything to do with him now that he has the scent of a human on him?”
“Is that an American myth?” Luca asked.
It never occurred to her that it was a myth. It also seemed as though everything she said today was wrong. “I think we should we put him back into the nest.”
“No, he might hop out again. He’s surrounded by trees, and he’s close to the grape vines in case he needs more protection,” Talaitha said.
The fledgling stayed very still and stared straight ahead as though in fear of being crushed if he moved. Talaitha stroked his head with a slight touch before placing him back on the ground. “Sometimes the best protection you can give is letting the person go.”
Luca and Amanda helped Talaitha back down the hill to the house. No one spoke, which Amanda found unsettling. She loved to talk and fill the air with sounds, but she remembered something her grandpapa said. “Too often words were used to fill the air in order to drive out the unease of loneliness. Idle chatter of nothingness gets bantered to drive out fear.” Silence was a sign acceptance.
Once in sight of the house, Amanda spotted Pali darting around to the back of the house. He shoved something in a wooden box, and ran back to the front.
“What’s he doing?” she asked.
Luca stopped. His face turned into a mask of stone as he instructed Amanda to take his sister to the house. “Use the back door.”
Luca sprinted the rest of the way and around the side of the house where Pali had gone. Amanda looked to Talaitha, hoping to find answers. Instead, she sighed and whispered, “Pali.”
Jolan ran up to them, intercepting them before they could reach the house. “I’m so sorry. I was watching the children. I didn’t see what he was doing.”
Amanda glanced between
Jolan and Talaitha. They both knew something. “Who are you talking about? Pali?”
Jolan nodded. A mixture of fear and pleading lingered in her eyes, but she kept her mouth in a tight thin line.
Talaitha whispered to Jolan, but Amanda heard anyway. “He can’t do this. She doesn’t understand.”
Luca came back around the corner and stopped when he saw Amanda. His chest heaved as he took in a deep breath. “The three of you need to go back inside.”
Amanda shook her head and tried to run past Luca.
He grabbed her shoulders.
Amanda struggled against his strength. “Let go! Let me go!” When he did not release her she slammed an elbow into his gut and ran.
The driver’s side door to her car was open. She felt certain she had locked it.
Wires hung where the radio used to be. She fell into the driver’s seat to check for further damage. She opened the glove box before checking the backseat. Something else was missing, but what? She jumped out and slammed the door. “This is a rental. It’s not even my car.” What she hadn’t notice before finally registered. She opened the door again to check. “He even took the floor mats?”
“I can fix it,” Luca said.
“Maybe Grandpapa was right about you people.” She turned to Jolan. “There’s a lot of people in that small house and no one noticed that my car was being broken into!”
György stood on the porch. “Nobody is at fault except Pali.”
“Are you sure about that? How do I know you didn’t put him up to it?”
“I have accepted you into my home. My hospitality should be proof enough of my innocence.”
Amanda raised her arms to argue with him but let them fall to her side. Jolan already said she was watching both of her sons. “What about Jolan’s husband? Are you telling me no one noticed what Pali was doing?”
“I can fix it,” Luca repeated.
Amanda sat on the porch and folded her arms, glaring at the car.
“Come inside. My wife would like the company.” György opened the door.
After having been forced to eat on the porch, she distrusted his invitation. “I’m not leaving the car alone.”
