Chapter Two-May 18
Sometimes it seems that all life consists of the mechanics of the mundane. I've heard that there are poems and songs that glamorize the Gypsy lifestyle, that there are tales of the magic and wonders of the lungo drom, the road that has no end. The reality is almost too boring to recount, and my mind grows weary of dwelling on the perpetual cycle of cooking and cleaning and caring for children. Suffice it to say that I was elated two days after we arrived at Marlinspike, when Tintin returned to our camp to check in. Most of the others hung back, unwilling to show too much interest in the gadjo, but I was not one of them. I had spoken to very few non-Romany people in my life, and decided that I was eager to learn all that I could about this stranger.
He was speaking with Peter on the edge of the circle of the tabor, the wagon train that housed everyone in our family. Not wanting to Peter to realize my intentions, I led Felix next to them on the pretense of taking him to the creek to be watered. The headman glanced our way as we passed, but said nothing to me, instead shaking his head to the stranger.
"No. We need nothing from the village, and if we did, we'd get it ourselves. We Rom take care of our own. I hope that you can understand, gadjo."
"I certainly can," Tintin replied evenly. "I was just checking, since I'm going anyway to fetch the Captain's wheelchair." With that he and the little dog turned back for the house, and I continued to lead Felix. At this point, I was unsure as to what to do; I was eager to speak more with the stranger, but the customs of my people are very strict when it comes to mingling with those who are foreign to us. I cast a furtive glance back at Peter, who was already absorbed into the tabor, and my mind was made up. The moment I was out of sight of the camp, I swung myself onto Felix's back and urged him on towards the house. There! The stranger was lingering at the edge of the garden, as though fascinated by a blooming rosebush. I slowed Felix to a walk, and halted beside the bright crimson flowers.
"Hello again, Miranda called Mira," he said. Felix lowered his head to nose at the little dog, who sniffed back just as cautiously, his tail moving slowly into a wag.
"Hello, Tintin," I replied, feeling some of my bravado slip away so close to the intimidating house. The roses were in bloom, and the scent was heady, almost overpowering in the heat of the afternoon. We stood for a moment in silence before he spoke again; his words sounding like he had thought carefully about what he was going to say-which is usually not something that I manage to do.
"I'm going to the village, as you may have heard. Your headman said that your tabor didn't need any supplies-but if you would like anything, I can bring it back for you. Unless you think that Felix might like to stretch his legs?"
A thrill shot through me at the idea of going off with a gadjo, unaccompanied by anyone in my family. And why not? I thought, It's not as if a little thing like this could add to my pollution."Actually," I said primly, "I was going to offer you the pleasure of my company for such a journey. Also, Ana mentioned that she could use some....sugar." I was not sure where the lie had come from; my sister had never said anything of the kind, and I had no money on me anyway. But even so, I could not bring myself to say otherwise, and when he smiled at me again, well.....
I am not so strong, after all.
We set off down the long driveway that lead up to the Hall, me on Felix, the stranger on foot with his little white dog trotting ahead. I wondered if he would dare to ask for a ride, which he didn't, instead he asked about Miarka.
"Yes, she's my niece. My sister Ana has her hands full with Miarka and her brother, Tomas, especially with Rumen being so ill."
"Is he the reason the police would not allow you to camp anywhere but the rubbish dump?"
We passed the front gate and began to walk on the curving dirt road that lead to the village. I smoothed down a stray hair on Felix's mane as I replied. "One of the reasons, I suppose. We're not very popular wherever we go, though that may come as a shock to a gadjo like you." At this he turned to me in surprise, then chuckled when he saw my grin. "Enough about my boring life. What about you? Why does your rich friend need a chair with wheels? He seemed as though he could walk fine the other day."
"The Captain's had a bit of bad luck lately," he replied with a sigh. "He has a nasty sprain, and can't even stand on his own. Unless I bring the chair for him, he'll be trapped indoors until he's healed." I felt my skin crawl with the mention of being trapped, and gave an involuntary shiver. We walked for a few moments in silence before he spoke again. "Which do you prefer? Mira, or Miranda?"
"Only my family can call me Mira," I said immediately, and he shook his head.
"Yes, but which name do you want to be known by?"
It was an odd question, and I found myself having to think for a moment. "Actually, I think I like my full name better. It was the name that my parents gave me, so I suppose it is special." I scowled as I felt my cheeks redden, and so reacted as I always did. "What kind of name is Tintin, anyway? Is it a nickname as well?"
At this he laughed. "Of a sort. It's not the name I was given as a child, it's a name I gave myself after I left the orphanage. A new name, a new beginning."
The road curved again, and ahead I could make out the tips of the church spires that signaled the edge of the village. Something he had said perplexed me, and I turned it over in my mind a few times before asking. "I've never heard of an orphanage....it sounds unpleasant."
"The one I grew up in was, though I'm told that most of them are better. It's a place where children are sent to live who have no parents to care for them." As he spoke, his gaze seemed to follow a different road than the one we walked on, one that was not visible to any but himself.
I furrowed my brow. The concept was truly foreign to me, and I winced inwardly at the idea of being alone in the world. "But what of the rest of your family? Did you not have any aunts or uncles willing to take you in?"
"None at the time," was all he said on that score, and we walked for a few minutes in silence before I spoke again.
"Is it large?" He looked perplexed, and I laughed. "The village, is it a large one?"
"Not really," he replied, picking up a stick to toss to Snowy. His throw was strong; the little dog dashed off to chase it down. "Sometimes it gets a little crowded with tourists and such, but usually it's quiet. Where is your family coming from, now?"
"North, near the coast," I said. "Peter has a great love of the sea, so we spend a lot of time there." The memory of salt air and the crash of waves filled my mind. "I like it, too." We walked in silence a while longer, as Tintin and Snowy continued their game of fetch. A thought occurred to me. "Is there a record store, in your village?"
"Not that I've seen. Sometimes the general store will have a few records for sale, but for a really good selection, you need to go to Brussels." He regarded me. "How do you listen to records on the road?"
I shook my head. "I don't. But the stores usually have a place to listen to music before you buy it, so sometimes I like to just listen for a while-I pay them for it, mind you-but I can't really drag a record player around with me, though I wish that I could. I want to be a musician, one day."
He smiled. "That's wonderful! What do you play?"
"Guitar, mostly, though I can find my way around a violin as well. My father was very musical, and taught me everything he knew, before...."
"Ah," he said, looking at his feet. "Before he died?"
"How did you know?"
"I could hear it in your voice," he replied. "You sounded, well, like someone who had lost her father."
"It was the flu," I said after a moment. "Him and my mother, a week apart. About five years ago, now."
"I'm sorry." He was silent for a minute or so. "My parents are gone, too. Though I don't really remember them."
"It still hurts," I said, looking down at my hands but seeing my mother's smile in my mind's eye. "I don't think it will ever stop hurting."
"I know." he replied, and we made the rest of the trip in silence.
