by G S Eli
“No, it’s not, and it won’t even work,” Casey exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice low. “It’s not Belz we need to worry about. It’s whoever’s responsible for all the hitmen! I know how powerful people think. They won’t let anyone get in their way. Not us, not our friends, not our families. They’ll kill every last one of us, Gypsy or not, if that’s what it takes to get what they want.”
The sun began to set, and the shadows of the trees slowly lengthened around the three teens.
“It’s the scepter they want, right?” Casey asked.
“It’s a nail!” responded Mila.
“Why would they kill for this nail? What’s so special about it?” Casey asked.
Jack pulled the golden spike out of his pocket for them to examine. “I mean, obviously there’s things we’ve seen it do, or I think we’ve seen it do,” he said.
“But how? Why? What exactly is this thing?” Casey asked.
“I think I might know,” Mila said.
Mila grimaced, then sat down on a crate and paused for a moment. To Jack and Casey, this seemed as if it was for dramatic effect, but Mila was in fact considering if he should reveal more Romani lore to these gadje.
“Every Gypsy knows the legend of the nail,” he began. “Most of us think of it as just a myth…a fairy tale.”
“What’s the myth?” Casey asked.
“Well, there are many versions …” Mila said slowly. His voice took on the hypnotic tone of a master storyteller, almost is if her were channeling Nasta. Jack and Casey listened intently. Even the dog seemed to be paying attention.
“… Some say the nail is a curse, others a blessing. Some say a Gypsy blacksmith made the nail; others say he just stole it. In one story, the nail chases Gypsies all over the world, always pursuing us, never letting us settle. Others say it gives us power, knowledge. Some even say it’s a sign of God’s permission for us to steal without it being a sin.”
Mila noticed a judgmental look in Jack’s and Casey’s eyes.
“I think that one’s bullshit,” he quickly explained. “In all the stories, the nail comes from the crucifixion of Jesus. There were four nails made for the crucifixion, not three, as most people think. One nail was for his feet, and two were for his hands. The fourth was meant to enter his heart. A Gypsy stole the Fourth Nail from a Roman soldier. Now, some people will tell you that taking the nail prolonged Christ’s suffering and that is why the nail is cursed, because a Gypsy made the Lord suffer worse. Then others will say that’s why it’s blessed, because without suffering, Christ couldn’t have forgiven our sins. That much of the story, anyone can tell you. You could even find it on the Web if you just Google it.”
By now, Casey and Jack were hanging on Mila’s every word. Jack had stopped glancing at the scepter. Mila knew he had built up the story enough. It was time to reveal what he and his Gypsy cousins had been raised to believe: a truth they felt deep in their hearts.
“But what I’m telling you now is not found on any website or in any book,” Mila continued. “It’s what my great-aunt Nasta would tell me about the Fourth Nail when I was little. It’s the one true story. It’s true that the Romans hired a Gypsy to forge the nails for the crucifixion, and it’s true that he forged four, one for each palm, one for both feet, and one for the heart…”
Gypsies were known for so many evil things throughout the world, and Mila knew that Casey and Jack were aware of this. It gave him no pleasure to let them know that his people would be responsible for such an evil deed. At that moment, they heard a rustling in the distance. The dog stood at attention, staring off toward the noise. Everyone went silent for a moment. Then they spotted a squirrel hopping through the bushes and gave a collective sigh of relief.
“So why was one nail made for the heart?” Casey whispered.
“Well, the story goes that the Fourth Nail was cursed, evil. If the nail would’ve entered his heart, it would’ve pierced his soul and thus halted the resurrection,” Mila whispered in return. “Fortunately, God commanded the Gypsy to steal the Fourth Nail, hide it from the Roman soldiers, and flee Jerusalem.”
“So, did the Gypsy get away? And what happened to the nail?” Casey asked.
“I’m pretty sure Jack’s holding it,” Mila said.
“Oh, right,” Jack replied. He was so caught up in the story, he’d forgotten why Mila was telling it in the first place. Suddenly, it all dawned on Jack. He looked down at the item in his hand. “Wait—so this scepter I’m holding is actually a cursed, evil nail that was supposed to kill Jesus?” Jack said, trying to sound sarcastic but actually scared beyond belief.
“Pretty much,” Mila replied.
“Oh, shit!” Jack shouted, impulsively throwing the nail away as hard as he could.
The nail spun in the air and landed point down, sticking straight up from the dirt. The dog trotted over to the nail, picked it up as if fetching a stick, and took it to Casey. Without thinking, she reached for the golden scepter. Rather than start a typical tug of war, the dog let go, walked to her heels, and sat by her protectively.
Casey examined the beautiful artifact again. As she ran her fingers across the cold metal surface, strange, foreign thoughts began to creep into her mind. I need this nail, she thought. I’ve seen this before, but where? She strained to remember. Whatever happens, I can’t let it out of my sight. She slid the nail into her purse. “So, what now?” she asked. “What should we do?”
“Well, I’m trying to put the pieces together. My great-aunt was the only one who I think knew about this stuff, but she’s gone,” Mila said sadly.
Jack looked over at Casey as she scratched the dog’s ears. She had tears in her eyes, and he could tell she was afraid and confused. I must do something, he thought. And then suddenly a memory came into his mind. “Siegfried!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” Casey and Mila said.
“Oh, sorry,” he whispered. “Don’t you remember? From the hospital? He said there was a professor at the castle who knew how the nail worked.”
That reminded Mila not only of the hospital but also of the things Siegfried had said in the back of the police van. The man certainly knew something—something that terrified him. Mila wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that was.
Overwhelmed, Casey tried to lighten the seriousness of the scene by playfully teasing the dog. The animal lovingly played along. Meanwhile, Jack gave Mila a serious look. “Let’s see if the coast is clear,” Jack said.
Mila didn’t have to be a mind reader to guess that Jack wanted to talk to him alone. They asked Casey to wait before heading down the trail back to the statue. The sun had almost set. Its last few golden rays gleamed off the statue, giving it an almost angelic quality.
“Something is wrong with her,” Jack said to Mila. “Did you see her with the gun? She was worse back at the hospital after you left. She…she…It’s hard to explain…”
“Well, try!” Mila pleaded.
“Impete,” Jack replied.
“What?”
“It means ‘attack!’ in Latin.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Like I said, it’s hard to explain. Back at the hospital, the room was in chaos, and we were in definite danger, and then…and then…” Jack struggled to find the words, not quite comprehending it himself.
“And then what?” Mila demanded.
“Casey gave the order, and a wild dog burst through the window and attacked the inspector. Mila, I’m pretty sure Casey doesn’t speak Latin.”
The two boys fell silent. Jack whispered, “We’ve got to do something, right?”
Mila realized Jack was right. But should he try to help or just go meet up with his family and forget this whole crazy situation?
He glanced back toward the clearing. He saw Casey stepping out from the path with the dog following behind. She looked so play
ful and innocent. Their eyes met, and she gave Mila a soft look like the one she’d given him when their eyes met at the train station.
“Professor Hermann,” he said, as if he’d made his decision to assist in this crazy crusade.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Casey asked.
“When you were unconscious, the guy they sent after you, named Siegfried—he mentioned Professor Hermann,” Mila explained.
And the castle. Deborah knew about the castle, too. They said some sort of Nazi cult met there,” Jack said, trying to put the puzzle together.
“Wewelsburg Castle, that’s the one they mentioned,” Mila said.
“We’ve got to go there. Maybe we can find this Professor Hermann,” Jack said.
“If there’s someone there who can explain what this nail is doing to me, I want to go,” Casey said.
“But we don’t even know this guy,” Jack pointed out.
“I hate to break it to you, but aside from him, we’re on our own. Nobody is going to believe this supernatural shit, except maybe this Professor Hermann.”
“Well …” said Jack, mulling it over. “A long shot’s better than no shot, that’s what my dad always said. I’m in.”
“You sure about that?” Mila asked. “We’ve got cops and Nazis chasing us. It ain’t gonna be easy. Do you even have any money?”
Casey checked her purse. “I have … six euros,” she said, counting, “… and a Metro card. Oh wait—it’s for New York, and it’s expired. I’ve got a credit card, though.”
“I’m sure the police are tracking it by now,” Jack said.
Mila thought for a minute. “I’ve got it! Some of the shadier Roma meet here under this statue when it gets dark to divvy up their earnings. They should be here tonight, if they didn’t leave for Romania yet. If I know these guys, they’ll spend one more night ripping off tourists before skipping town. I can try to get some money and help from them. When they get here no one mention the nail. These guys are greedy as hell. If they hear we have golden treasure they might just turn on us.”
Casey inched closer to Mila and stared into his eyes. Once again, Mila could sense her characteristic empathy and compassion.
“Mila, I just realized, you’re the one who could run,” she said. “Your people live all over Europe, right? You could just disappear, hide among them and let Jack and I worry about the rest of this.”
“No way! Look, whatever’s up with this nail, I need to find out,” Mila declared. “I have to. I can’t let them get away with this… They killed my little cousin right there in…” he stopped, choked with sadness. He caught his breath. “For all I know, they killed them all.”
At that moment, Mila realized why he was doing this. He walked over to the edge of the statue, sat back, and waited. He hoped Simon showed up.
At least then I can get them to Wewelsburg, and maybe when this is all over, I can get vengeance for my family, no not vengeance…
“Justice,” he whispered.
XVII
Escape from Berlin
Simon Roarlock hustled the city of Berlin the entire day. The night had finally come, and it was safe now to go to the park and meet up with his cousins to barter the day’s earnings. It was fun to barter. Sometimes you would steal a cell phone or a piece of jewelry, but instead of spending the next few days trying to resell it, you met up with your family or friends and barter it for something you wanted or needed.
He started to make his way to the park where he and his friends usually met up to barter. The rule was to trade only in the dark of night. That way you could avoid the police.
He began to feel strange walking alone. Normally, he would never do that to hustle the city: that was asking for trouble. You always needed a partner or an accomplice for obvious reasons. He’d lucked out and avoided trouble. The day’s earnings were successful. That morning he’d snatched a purse from a woman who was tending to her child. It was full of money: almost two hundred euros. She also had the new iPhone and a heavy solid-gold bracelet. Then, later that afternoon in the train station, he had managed to strike up a conversation about football star David Beckham with a grungy-looking American teen boy en route to Vienna. He succeeded in slyly picking the boy’s pocket while showing him the latest field moves. Unfortunately, all he got from the teen was a small bag of weed.
Oh well, he thought. Maybe I can trade it tonight at the statue. It was just a few short blocks from where he worked in the old quarter of the city. He didn’t particularly like Berlin, but he would admit to himself and to his friends that the money was good there. After all, the tourists were just as rich as the ones in Paris and Rome. Best of all, in Berlin the number of Gypsies who stole for a living was much smaller than in other large European cities that were magnets for tourists. “So, the gadje aren’t on their toes,” he’d explain.
As Simon slipped through the iron gate of the park with only his thoughts to keep him company, his mind wandered to the events earlier that morning. Everyone at the camp had been too upset by the death of Nasta and the demolition of Buildings A and B to enforce the kris’s punishment. These Berlin Gypsies have it too easy, he thought. No matter. Once they get to Romania, they’ll realize how easy they had it here in Germany.
Simon left the park’s gravel path and headed into the grassy woods, still trying to avoid the police. His thoughts drifted to the past, to the night he fled Romania. He remembered the acrid scent of burning plastic from the garbage-bag roofs, the screams of Roma men, women, and children being burned, and the sight of his wife Layla clutching little Sophia, their skin chalk-white, dead from smoke inhalation. That night had left him with an unquenchable burning pain inside, a pain that screamed for justice that he could never seem to find.
At least the Berliners had the grace to warn the Rom of the eviction. They didn’t burn the village down in the middle of the night when everyone was sleeping, he thought.
Resentful musings continued to ramble through his mind as he crossed the park. There in the dark woods, a sudden feeling of guilt fell on him. Maybe I should’ve stayed and helped after the eviction, instead of being greedy and going out to hustle the city.
“But I just couldn’t,” he mumbled to himself.
His words startled a young couple next to a tree, making out in the dark. Simon chuckled for a moment at their fearful reactions. Seeing them breaking from a passionate kiss in pure surprise put a smile on his face. For an instant, he forgot the pain in his heart.
“Sorry,” he whispered as he passed them.
He was grateful for the couple’s embarrassment: it had distracted him for a few moments.
Soon, he arrived at the massive old tree where he usually hid and waited, staking out the statue before he approached it. You never knew when the cops might be around. Always approach with caution: this is what you’d learn if you grew up like Simon.
Before he made his way toward the structure, he strategically peeked around the tree to get a better look. He could make out a shadowy figure next to the statue but couldn’t be sure who it was. It could be Rom, tourists, police—anybody, so he paused for a signal of some sort.
He heard whispering near the base of the statue. Whoever it was, they were definitely not Gypsies. They spoke English, which also ruled out any German police. Then he heard the bark of a dog. The animal sounded vicious. He was not sure who these people were, but he didn’t want to find out.
He stayed in his hiding place behind the tree, took a deep breath, and held it. He had to make a plan. He looked in the direction of the park exits and frantically calculated his route of escape. The dog’s bark rang out again, loud and terrifying. Just as he was about to make a run for it, he heard a voice over the dog’s bark.
“Kon san?” the voice said loudly. It was Romani for “Who are you?” Simon wasn’t quite sure, but it sounded like Mila from Building A.
“It’s me! Simon! Is that you, Mila?” Simon yelled back in Romani.
“Yes, it’s me!” Mila called back, this time in English.
Strange, Simon thought. But after all, Mila was still his kin. He peered out from around the dark tree. He could recognize Mila now, but there were two other shadows with him, as well as a barking dog. One of the shadowy figures was near the animal, speaking softly to it as if trying to quiet it down.
“Come on, don’t worry! They’re my friends,” Mila shouted.
Simon began to approach with caution. When he got closer, he realized that the shadowy figures were two young gadje. Things began to become clear to him. These are the two Americans from the train station. But what were they doing here?
As he approached, he could just barely hear the boy whisper, “Seriously, this guy again?”
“What have you got yourself into now, Mila?” Simon asked as he made his way over. “Aren’t we in enough trouble with the elders already for getting involved with these Americans?” he added with a hint of arrogance.
However, when he met Mila face to face, his sense of superiority faded. There was a hopeless look in Mila’s eyes. It was clear that there was more weighing on him than the eviction or the passing of one old lady.
“You were right not to listen to Father Leichman,” Mila said with despair. And before Simon had the chance to blurt out a prideful “I knew it” or perhaps an exultant “I told you so,” Mila tearfully added, “He killed Korey.” Mila wiped away a tear with the sleeve of his shirt.
“What? How? When…?” Simon asked, his questions getting tangled up.
“It’s true. I saw it,” Jack put in, stepping out of the shadows.
“This is Gypsy business,” Simon said with irritation. He gestured to Jack to stay out of the conversation, but Jack would not back down.
“Hey, I’m not the bad guy here! You’re the one who got us into this mess! If you hadn’t attacked us at—” he snapped back.
“I don’t got to explain nothin’ to you,” Simon interrupted.
