Chapter 4. Mirela (Fabiola).

The guard falls and I see blood spilling around him. I am in shock, I can't move, I am paralyzed from head to toes.

Then I see my savior.

Probably I expected to see a prince in a shining armor, but instead I see a girl, a Romani. I saw them on the city streets quite often. Though somebody may accuse them of sorcery and dark magic, no one denies they can make a stunning performance, with dances and fire.

The girl can't be much taller than I am. Her skin is tanned, but not sun burnt. Her hair would probably make every girl in Rome jealous: a thick braid comes down to her hips. She is barefoot and wearing a long skirt and a top, tied under her chest, with sleeves coming to her elbows.

She spits on the guard and says, 'That's what you get for harassing people in my district'. I can see another guard approaching, but he doesn't seem to plan an attack. He eyes the girl and then just turns away.

'If I hear about something like this then our pact will be broken', she shouts. Then she turns to me and gestures me to stand up. She speaks fast, but I manage to make out words 'Hurry up!'

But I am still shocked. She sighs, grabs my forearm, helps me up and almost forcefully leads me somewhere. I don't resist.

We arrive at what appears to be a Romani quarter. I can see a couple of low houses – though you can hardly call it 'a house' – several carriages and fires. Fires everywhere. Romani are sitting around those fires, laughing, chatting. Someone notices the girl and waves her a hand. She smiles in answer and runs forward, sits down – for a second I thought she stumbled and fell down – and takes an apple and a slice of bread. I follow her, but don't come close. Instead I lean on a carriage and slowly slide down.

She talks and talks and then suddenly turns around, looks at me and says, gesturing me to come closer, 'Do you need a personal invitation? Come!'

I do come closer and sit down, a little bit behind her. She passes me bread, a cup of water and a fruit.

'Thank you, uh…'

She answers something incoherent with her mouth full. She swallows and names herself again. 'Mirela Djuric'.

'I am…' I pause for a second and then introduce myself. 'Fabiola Cavazza'.

Cavazza.

'Nice to meet you, Fabiola. Now eat before I force all of this down your throat!'

I take a bite of the fruit – it is a mango – and listen to her speaking loudly.

'Those guards are out of control! One day we make a pact of them doing nothing, nothing in our district in exchange for their lives, and the second day they harass girls here!' I see another girl, with red braids, nodding.

Mirela continues her tirade and I say nothing, just chew slowly and take small sips of water. It is a humble food but it tastes better than everything I've eaten while being 'a wife'. And I am thankful to Mirela, to all Romani here for sharing their food.

Darkness falls fast, but Romani don't seem to be tired. Some of them are dancing around the fire, while three or four girls are singing. Mirela watches all of this, clapping her hands to the rhythm of the song and the dance. I stay silent but can't help but smile.

'You have anywhere to go?'

Mirela doesn't turns to face me, but I know she is speaking to me. To her people, she speaks in their language. To me – in Italian.

I shake my head.

'Well, you can stay here. Don't worry, no one will do you any harm', she adds, watching my eyes widen. 'They value their lives far too much for this'.

'It would be very interesting to listen to how you ended up, well, here', she says standing up and stretching her arms, 'but I feel like it is a long story which must be heard in daylight. If, of course, you know how to speak'

'Of course I know how to speak!', I say and Mirela is laughing. I know it was just a joke and just because I was silent the whole evening.

Mirela points me to her carriage, indicating where I can sleep. I silently thank her and move there.

In the carriage I take something to sleep on, something to cover – mosquitoes! – and something that at least resembles a pillow. I lie down on floor, not wanting to be a nuisance to those who kindly helped me.

After those years lived in luxury I thought I won't be able to fall asleep. You get used to good thing way too quickly. Bur sleep welcomes me gladly and I manage only one thought.

I am Cavazza again. I am free.