Chapter 8: Sigils
"Father Dietrich always tells me that God made me like this as a message. Sometimes I get tired of being a messenger."
Margali ripped the paper off the door and crumpled it in her hands. "Not another one." She said.
"What are they" Kurt asked, gently taking the paper from her and unfolding it. There was a picture on it, just a simple line drawing, like a scribble but more orderly.
"They're just pictures Kurt." Margali said. "Throw it away."
But Kurt didn't throw it away. When Margali wasn't looking he smoothed the paper out and put it under his pillow with the rest of the drawings they had found tacked to their door since Margali's relatives arrived. He still didn't know what they were and they seemed to make Margali angry, but he thought they were beautiful. He climbed into his bed and, laying on his stomach with his tail curled above him like a giant question mark, pulled a few of the others out and looked at them in the dim light. Margali turned around and he quickly shoved them back under his pillow.
"How long are your sister and her family staying" Kurt asked.
"Not for very much longer I hope." Margali said, glaring at them through the front windshield.
Kurt said nothing since it didn't seem polite to tell her that he didn't like her relatives either. Martuska Szardos and her family were true gypsies, traveling around Europe, settling in one place for as little as a week or as long as a year. Martuska had married a Spaniard, another Rom named Franco. They had several children and with the addition of Franco's two brothers, their wives, and children, they were nearly a traveling village.
When they had first arrived Kurt had been excited. He'd never met any of Margali's family before. Unfortunately, whereas Margali had found her mother's expulsion from the tribe liberating, her sister did not. She clearly was bitter over her mother's transgression and appeared to blame Margali as well. Kurt, it seemed was the last straw. Neither Martuska, nor her family would look at him; instead they called him "beng", hissed at him, and made shooing motions with their hands whenever he walked past.
"They're the one's putting the pictures on the door." Kurt said.
Margali sighed and leaned against the bed, her chin on folded arms. Then she slid one hand under the pillow and pulled out the slightly crumpled papers.
"I like them." Kurt said sheepishly and was surprised when Margali started laughing.
"Oh, the irony." Margali said in response to his questioning look. "They're sigils, Kurt. Magical symbols that are supposed to call down angels from heaven."
Kurt took one of the pages out of her hand and stared at it. "Do they really work" he asked.
Margali shrugged. Her magic didn't involve angels or rituals. She glanced at the crucifix hung above Kurt's bed. His did though.
"Why are they on our door then" he asked.
"Because of you." Margali said after a long pause.
"They're afraid of me." Kurt said quietly.
Margali opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. There was so much she could have said, but even she couldn't untangle the thoughts in her head. It galled her that members of her family, who had been persecuted for generations, could be so closed minded, so superstitious. She had managed to keep Kurt within the protective circle of the circus and a few trusted friends for 13 years. He'd hardly known prejudice; the other performers treated him as an equal and every night he performed in front of hundreds of people. His uniqueness had been celebrated instead of scorned. But she couldn't protect him forever.
Margali reached out and smoothed his hair. "I think they're afraid of both of us. The sigils on the door are supposed to scare you away and stop me from conjuring any more demons."
Kurt took the rest of papers back. "But you didn't conjure me."
Margali laughed. "It has to do with the magic of my mother that she passed down to me. My sister has come to believe it is demon magic destined to cover the lands in evil." She rolled her eyes. "Apparently she found Christianity and so now anybody who believes anything else is evil. Stupid." Margali practically spit the last word out.
Kurt frowned and moved away from her. Margali looked stricken. "Kurt, I'm sorry. That was unkind of me." She said.
"Do you think I believe that?" He asked.
"Of course not. You wouldn't want to stay here if you did. If my sister believed in your God, I don't think she'd be so eager to drive you away."
"Maybe if you told her about my…" Kurt began.
"I tried," Margali said with a deep sigh, "She's just an angry woman. She can't see past your appearance because she doesn't want to. One of the unfortunate side effects of being different is that some people will refuse to understand." She looked at her son, sitting on a blanket that was almost as brightly colored as he was. His clothes, most of which were made for him by the Lysette, who had since retired as a performer and now made all of their costumes, were cut from the leftover fabric. Even in the dimness of his bunk, it was hard to imagine anyone so colorful appearing the least bit threatening.
"I wish I could show people." Kurt said.
Margali smiled. "You do. Every night."
"That's true." Kurt said, turning over onto his back. He played Nightcrawler as a sort of naughty, but ultimately harmless demon imp. Audiences had never been anything but appreciative, particularly when he did something to try to trip up the other performers. Then again when the show was over it was as though their appreciation faded. It was not unusual for folks to hang around after the show to chat with the performers. Kurt always enjoyed it, but he couldn't help noticing that they always seemed a little shyer around him than anyone else. It made him wish that just once he could spend an hour looking like everyone else to see how they would really react to him.
Kurt stretched, putting his hands over his head and lengthening his spine to the tip of his tail. "Father Dietrich always tells me that God made me like this as a message." He said. Finishing his stretch he sat up and dangled his legs off the edge of the bed. "Sometimes I get tired of being a messenger."
Margali took another glance out the window at the tiny enclave of cars and tents that defined her sister's area of the camp. "I know you are Kurt." She said. But it's only going to get worse, she added silently.
