by G S Eli
“Jack, is any of that true?” a voice asked.
Mila scanned the group and spotted a young, beautiful American student standing beside a tall boy in a camouflage jacket. Mila found himself drawn in by her dark shiny locks, cut to chin length, and her enchanting blue eyes, which were both dazzling and gentle. He stopped and listened a moment more even as Rosa tried to pull him into the station.
“I don’t think so,” Jack replied.
Mr. Garson gestured toward Mila and Rosa. “There are two of them just behind us. They were trying to deal drugs to Tyler,” he said. Half the class turned back to gawk at Mila and Rosa.
“Gee, I really hope those people don’t speak English,” she said to her friend Jack.
“We do!” Rosa blurted out loudly. Mila noticed the gadji girl’s cheeks turn red with embarrassment. She put up her hand to cover her mouth. Her friend Jack had an equally regretful look on his face.
Mila and Rosa kept on walking and entered the station with the group of American students close behind.
“I thought it was legal over here?” they heard Tyler mutter.
“That’s Amsterdam, dumbass,” Jack replied.
As he and Rosa stepped onto an escalator that led to the subway line below, Mila felt compelled to glance back at the girl with the kind blue eyes and the pretty white summer shorts. He didn’t know why he had to look back at her: perhaps it was her sympathy, or maybe just because she was beautiful. He turned and spotted her as the escalator carried him down.
To his surprise the girl was staring right at him with a pitiful frown. She mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” Again, Mila was taken by the gentleness in her beautiful blue eyes. Normally, tourist girls didn’t appeal to him at all, but in this case her gesture felt right. When he and Rosa reached the bottom of the escalator, he looked back again, but the girl had disappeared from view.
Rosa was mumbling something, but he wasn’t paying any attention. His thoughts were still with the blue-eyed girl. Mila was torn as he had never been before: happy and hopeless, both at the same time. This girl drew a totally different reaction from him than the girls at Schmidt’s could ever evoke. He felt something deep within his belly—a pain that wasn’t hunger.
“Mila!” Rosa yelled, waving her hand in front of his face and pulling him out of his thoughts.
“What?” he yelled back, startled.
“Look over at the painting! There are no police guarding it,” Rosa pointed out.
Mila looked over and saw The Proclamation. It was massive, a full-sized reproduction of the famous painting, made to advertise an art exhibition coming in summer, 2007, to the Berlinische Galerie art museum.
The artwork was protected by a Plexiglass shield, which was now marred with graffiti. Despite the shroud of vandalism, the basic scene could still be made out. It depicted a regal-looking woman bedecked with jewels and wearing an elegant gown. The woman wore a crown, but in one of her pale, delicate hands she held a curious-looking royal scepter. Her other hand was extended to offer a rolled-up scroll to a kneeling soldier. Behind the two figures stood a cluster of simply dressed, olive-skinned women, all with frightened expressions on their faces and fear in their dark eyes. The dark women were clearly Gypsy slaves. That is what offended many of the local Rom, especially considering what they knew about the history of the event the painting portrayed, what was written on the scroll, and what it had meant to their people.
Mila knew what was written on that scroll. He’d heard it whispered in the camp, for the older Rom said it was a proclamation too wicked to speak of aloud. And Nasta? She would go even further. Nasta insisted that the words of the proclamation were pure evil. Naturally the scroll itself was a popular target for the Rom’s vandalism, but the woman’s unusually shaped scepter received equal attention.
“That’s weird,” said Mila. The Rom had been vandalizing the painting, so the police had started guarding it day and night. “I wonder what’s going on,” Mila said, puzzled about why the painting wasn’t being guarded.
“They might be taking it down,” whispered Rosa. “Here’s our chance!” She took Mila’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go find Stephan and the twins.”
Mila and Rosa hurried through the underground station. The historic nature of this part of the building was a stark contrast to the hyper-modern glass structure above. It was a grand and nostalgic place; some might say it exuded the essence of Old Europe. The ornate light fixtures were solid brass, and in the center of the palatial main hall stood a huge clock that appeared to be made entirely of gold. Four large pillars held up the hall’s arched ceiling. For the Roma, the corners where the pillars stood held a secret purpose. The acoustics in the grand hall were the work of an architectural genius. From the center of the hall, the echo of a shout could be heard throughout the space. But if you stood in any of the four corners right next to one of the pillars and whispered, your words would travel perfectly up the arch and back down again, all the way to the opposite corner. The Roma frequently used their knowledge of this acoustical marvel to warn each other about police or point out where the most generous tourists were headed. They could even listen while staying relatively hidden, thanks to the large garbage and recycling bins the station had placed right in front of the pillars.
Mila spotted Stephan and his twin cousins, Korey and Petre, next to the pillar in the far-right corner. Another of his cousins was with them, a boy Stephan’s age named Jolly. They looked like they were having an intense conversation.
“Hey guys! What’s going on?” asked Mila.
Stephen, Jolly, and the twins cut their conversation abruptly. They just stared at Mila in silence.
“Did you guys see?” Rosa asked. “There are no police at the painting! Are they taking it down?”
She didn’t get any response, either. Stephan gave them both an awkward look. Jolly studied his shoes.
“OK,” said Mila. “What’s going on?”
“All the police are in the metro looking for you, Mila!” Petre shouted.
Mila was shocked. “What? Me? Why?” he asked.
“Because of Simon,” Stephan answered.
Mila stood in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly was happening.
“Simon has had the whole Berlin police department in an uproar since he and his gang arrived from Romania,” Jolly put in.
“Simon is in trouble with the police? What else is new?” Mila replied in a sarcastic tone. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“They think you helped him rob that poor old woman,” Korey said.
“What?” Rosa and Mila shouted in unison.
“That’s crazy! I did not help him!” Mila said. “I was at camp the whole day, working on my bike! I would never do something like that!”
“We know that, Mila,” said Stephan. “But the police saw you help Simon escape, Now the police are out for blood. They know you come here to work, to sing on the trains for tips. They’re looking all over the metro for you and Simon. They’re looking on the trains, too.”
“This is terrible!” said Rosa. “Mila, you’d better get out of here, now.”
“That’s not all,” said Stephan. “There is a kris tonight at the camp.”
Mila’s heart sank. A kris was bad news. It was like a tribunal, a gathering of Rom elders to investigate wrongdoing and hand out punishment to the guilty parties.
“The elders are gathering to tell Simon and his family that they must leave or we will get evicted for sure,” said Jolly. “The elders also want to talk to you about your involvement. They are very unhappy with the situation, and they’re demanding answers. They don’t want any more trouble with the police, so they gave strict orders that you are not allowed to return to camp until after dark, when it’s time for the kris.”
Mila was paralyzed with fear and overcome with regret. He stood in stunned silence,
trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was being hunted by the police and, worst of all, that he had caused trouble for the camp.
“I am really sorry, Mila,” said Stephan. “We all know you were just trying to help Simon.”
“I’m flat broke, and I only have enough gas in my tank to get back to camp. If I can’t go until tonight, what am I supposed to do until then?” Mila asked the group.
“Don’t worry, Mila” said Stephan.
“Yeah, Mila, don’t worry!” Korey and Petre chimed in.
“And until then?” asked Mila.
“Come read palms with me,” said Rosa. “Everyone knows you sing on the trains to earn money, so that’s where the police will be looking for you. They won’t be looking for a palm reader.”
“No way! That’s for girls!” said Mila.
“Relax,” said Rosa. “You don’t have to actually do any readings. Just help me scope out the best prospects.”
“And if the police show up?” asked Mila, exasperated. He knew Rosa’s plan wasn’t very good, but he couldn’t think of anything better.
“If the police show up, just head to the nearest exit!” Rosa said.
“Oh yeah? And where would that be? The subway tunnel?” Mila asked sarcastically.
The two groups split up. Stephan, Jolly, Korey, and Petre headed for the trains to sing, and Mila and Rosa walked back to The Proclamation. Rosa picked out a spot near the painting to do palm readings.
“Lay low, Mila. I have an idea that will guarantee you will not be caught,” Rosa said. Mila felt alone and vulnerable. His stomach was sick from nerves. I need to leave the station, he thought. Staying here is too much of a risk.
As he stood up to leave, Mila saw the American girl, the one with the dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. She was standing alone in front of the painting. She seemed fixated on the vandalized advertisement. Maybe she’s thinking about visiting that museum today, Mila thought.
Suddenly, the girl opened her bag and pulled out an expensive-looking leather book and a pencil. She started to write in it, or at least that’s what it looked like to Mila.
Mila didn’t know why, but he felt intrigued as to what she was writing. Slowly, Mila began to walk toward the beautiful girl. Why is she alone? Where is the rest of the group? Mila thought as he approached, feeling a bit unnerved by her interest in the painting. As he got closer, he could see that she was sketching the painting. She had started with the scepter, quickly penciling its likeness in great detail. Mila was impressed, even more drawn to her than before. He found himself a foot or two behind her, watching her work. But she was too engrossed in her artistry to notice him. In no time, she had skillfully sketched out an exact depiction of the intricate scepter, except for a few markings hidden beneath the black spray-paint graffiti.
“It’s called The Proclamation,” Mila heard himself say. The girl jumped back, startled by his sudden intrusion, and dropped her sketchbook. It fell to the ground, pages face down on the dirty floor. They both knelt to pick it up.
“Now I’m sorry,” Mila said, grabbing the book and rising. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The book was still open to the page the girl had been working on. Mila looked down and saw a skillful sketch of the scepter and, holding it, was one of his favorite comic book characters: Liza Carver, from Whistleblower.
“Liza from Whistleblower! That’s really good!” Mila said.
“Thank you. So I have been told,” she said with a shy smile.
Mila took a second look at the young girl’s skillful drawing. Something about the image felt familiar to him, but he didn’t know why.
She held out her hand. “Would you mind giving me my book back?”
“Oh! Sorry!” said Mila, breaking his gaze. “Of course!” He handed the book back to her.
“You speak English?” she asked.
“Yes, I learned mostly from American music and movies, and comics.” There was a moment of awkward silence. Mila didn’t want the conversation to end. “So … why do you like this painting? No one else does.”
“I see that,” the girl replied, looking up at The Proclamation. “It’s all covered in graffiti. Are those rotten eggs on her face?” she asked.
“Yes. My friends are spending a lot of time making sure it gets messed up real good.”
“Why?” the girl asked with a shocked expression.
“It’s complicated,” Mila answered. For a moment, they both stared at the painting. Mila peeked from the comer of his eye to steal another glance at her. He was surprised to see that she was doing the same thing. He could not help but smile. The girl giggled in embarrassment.
“I’m really sorry about what our teacher said earlier,” the girl said, still embarrassed. “I want you to know that not all Americans are jerks.”
“Of course not,” said Mila. “And not all Gypsies are thieves.” He gave her a wry smile and shot her a quick wink. She giggled at that, too.
“Hi. Is everything OK?”
Mila turned to see the girl’s companion.
“Oh! Yeah!” answered the girl. “Jack, this is my new friend …”
“Mila.”
The boy held his hand out to Mila. “Nice to meet you, Mila.”
Mila shook Jack’s hand. It was a firm grip, maybe a bit too firm. And though there was an undeniable kindness in Jack’s eyes, Mila also detected coldness, a warning perhaps. This guy is definitely her boyfriend, thought Mila. Or at least he wants to be.
“And this is Casey,” Jack said.
Mila turned to Casey. “Nice to meet you, Casey,” Mila said.
“Likewise,” Casey said. She smiled again. “Mila—isn’t that a girl’s name?”
“No … I mean, kind of, but not really … it’s also complicated,” Mila finally said.
Casey laughed again and smiled at Mila sweetly.
“I got the tickets,” Jack said to Casey. “The next train’s only a few minutes away. Nice meeting you, Mila.”
Mila just nodded. Casey waved to him, and she and Jack turned away.
Suddenly, Casey pulled Jack back. “Jack, wait a sec!” She then opened her bag and pulled out one of the new iPhones the world was raving about. She pointed it at the painting and snapped a few photos. For some reason, fear filled Mila’s chest.
“What did you do that for?” Mila asked.
“Oh, I want to finish sketching this painting, especially the scepter,” Casey said.
Jack and Casey turned and walked toward the subway platform. Something about what she had said worried him, or perhaps he feared he would never see her again. He watched them standing on the platform, hoping she would turn around to look at him again. But she didn’t. Instead, the train pulled up and Jack gently grabbed Casey’s hand, kissed her on the cheek, and pulled her into the subway car, verifying Mila’s fear that the beautiful girl was taken.
“She is rich,” a voice said from behind his shoulder. Mila knew the voice.
“You’re a real Sherlock Holmes, Simon,” Mila answered, without turning around to look at the guy who was the cause of all his troubles.
“A regular who?” Simon asked.
“Never mind,” Mila said. “What do you want?”
Simon walked around to face Mila. “Well, for starters, that girl you are scoping. She is a good one. Not your typical rich girl.”
Mila watched as Jack and Casey walked to the platform. They stood close together, forty feet down from Simon and Mila, waiting for their train to arrive. It was getting late. There was no one else nearby except a bum passed out in a corner and a couple of teenagers making out on a bench near the far wall.
“What the hell are you talking about, Simon?” Mila asked.
“I mean she’s not just rich, Mila. She is what they call wealthy. You see her bag? You see her clothes?”
&nbs
p; “Yes. She’s wearing clothes. She has a bag. So?”
Simon laughed and rolled his eyes. “You see, but you don’t really see, Mila. So, let me explain. Everything about that girl is top shelf: her clothes, her bag, her jewelry. But you wouldn’t know it unless you understood exactly what to look for. You see, rich girls flash their money with popular designer handbags and luxury brand logos stamped on their clothes and luggage for all the world to see. Not this girl. No Louis V for her. She is trying to hide her wealth. And that’s how you know she’s really rich!” Simon explained.
“I don’t have time for this, Simon,” Mila said, trying to contain his anger. “The cops are out looking for me, and you, too.”
“They don’t scare me. I know how to handle them. Besides, I’ve got a little more work to do. Then I’m going to the park to fence the goodies I got today. Maybe you could help me out? Give me a lift on your bike?”
Mila tried to walk away, but Simon grabbed his arm.
“That girl is a good score, Mila!” Simon whispered in his ear. “Did you find out where she’s staying?”
Mila yanked his arm away from Simon. “You stay away from her!” he said, trying to keep his voice down. He could feel the heat rising in his neck and face. “And stay away from me, too, Simon!”
“Fine. Have it your way.” Simon stomped away, then headed up the escalators.
“Here you go!” It was Rosa, back from her trip upstairs. She held out a ridiculous baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses, and an over-sized backpack that read Berlin is for Lovers.
