Chapter 15: Negotiations

Someone once asked me why women don't gamble as much as men do and I gave the commonsensical reply that we don't have as much money. That was a true but incomplete answer. In fact, women's total instinct for gambling is satisfied by marriage. - Gloria Steinem

The next morning was a grand rush of activity, the packing up of the camp when having made stay not on a nameless road site but in dignity, in shelter, visiting a friend.

Apriliya's site was made as much as possible just as it was. The ruts and the ash pit would heal by themselves, but the great fire purifying the site made it sweet and proper for the next visitor.

Zere’maya went around the farm doing Apriliya's will, newing and making minor repairs. By morning the dull ache inside her had become a sharp pain and she needed to burn off magic for her own safe existence. Magic here was still slow and slipshod; Zere’maya wished she had leaned up against the barn the night before and thrown her magic into a newing of the whitewash -- her pain made the problem worse rather than better.

The gypsies were enjoying themselves famously. They would rather be between one place and another. Camping was good -- staying was sticky. Some of the farmhands wanted to come along, which Mother Faa allowed with good humor -- all would be expected to return quickly to the farm. That was how it was and how it always would be -- young people might like a gypsy flavor but the difference between a bit of and a whole life of was clear most often before they could reach the next town. If anything Apriliya was grateful. That would give her time to go in and clean up their rooms.

The combined material, imaginary, and symbolic presence of the gypsies in society outside them didn't have much effect on the life inside of the gypsy camp. The children never dressed up for fun to be Georgios, didn't find escaping to Georgio society to be a play of fantasy. There was intense curiosity, of course, but about as much of a wish to "go over" as any farmer, as much as she might love her cows, might wish to swing a leg over and join the contented crowd on the other side.

Cows, on the other hand, do try to break out. To the gypsy children it was perfectly obvious. Zere’maya chuckled to herself.

Zere’maya could hear Zash coming up alongside her. It had been only a matter of time; solitariness was almost unknown among the gypsies and Zash, having been silently in love with Karl for who knew how long, wanted to at least be Zere’maya's sister. Zash laid her head on Zere’maya's shoulder.

"Why, do you think, did my mother go back and not bring me?" asked Zere’maya. Zash laughed. "That's not a Gypsy question!"

There seemed to be some sort of answer in that question, somehow, and the two women looked down the hill at the camp.

"Do you think you'll have any gain to make Karl bleed?" asked Zash. A wicked look ran through her eyes "So maybe I can bleed a little, too!"

Zere’maya shoved Zash. "I supposed you are forgetting that you would be only a little sister to me?''

Zash shrugged. "Inevitable. So, don't worry about it."

"I suppose you are forgetting that he's not even a human being?" asked Zere’maya.

Zash shrugged again. "Once you're dilldillo enough to want a Georgio, that would hardly make it any worse." Zere’maya had to give her a point for that.

"I suppose that it doesn't matter to you that he doesn't even own the clothes he's wearing?" said Zere’maya. Zash grinned.

"Actually, he'll own you, and you will make him rich. Problem? No problem. You are my solution." she said proudly.

"Zash -- you didn't put him up to asking me, did you?" asked Zere’maya, scandalized. Zash shook her head seriously.

"It's more like I have been talking him out of asking you so far. It's been wonderful seeing him so happy." said Zash. Zere’maya was stunned -- Karl still seemed pretty miserable to her.

"How unhappy was he?" asked Zere’maya.

"Another not a Gypsy question. People are what they are and always will be. Unless, of course, they change. Then they are different. Until, of course, they change back, or to something else." said Zash.

"I believe you also have desire to take Mother Faa's place." said Zere’maya.

"It will be, or maybe not. It's not here and may never be. Karl is here, and he's beautiful, and he would make a fine Rom, and that's that. Really and truly, and you wouldn't interfere with me for wanting him. I know who you are, and what you stand for. You're to make things right, as should be done. Why shouldn't I want such a sister, now? What a grand thing, to have an evil big sister."

Zash looked at her, and Zere’maya could have melted in her eyes. "I want to see your world. I don't want to leave my people, but I want to take our road out where you are. I want to wander far. To me, after meeting you" Zash sighed. "To wander only on this world now that I know that there are others seems almost like being pegged down to just one spot. I almost wish I didn't know."

Zere’maya hugged Zash. "Look, you don't have to leave a world to enter a world. There are so many people right here. It may be your job to lead your caravan somewhere else, but I don't know about off world, and I don't know if it's needed."

"I'm glad that when I leave there may be you to take care of Karl, if he can be a Rom, anyway. There's so much we both don't know about this world it hardly seems worth it to go to another. So much I really need to begin to learn."

Zash frowned at Zere’maya. "I made that charm for you so you could be one of us. You could be happy, as a wife maybe, but as at least a diddikai should be able to be. Part of you is of us and I will tie the cords around you and Karl, if you can only find a way to break him, to chav him."

"You really want Karl." said Zere’maya. Zash nodded.

"Mother Faa can't be happy." said Zere’maya. Zash shrugged.

Karl came bounding up the hill. Both the women stopped talking.

"Did you tell her?" he asked Zere’maya accusingly. Zash laughed; Zere’maya threw up her hands.

"I think the whole caravan knew before you did. There's no such thing as privacy in this way of life. I'm not even sure if there's such a thing as a private thought."

Karl smiled. "Well, you'll be happy to know that we're all charcoaled up. We were able to completely load up all we could carry from the farm. We may be hungry, we may have troubles, but I really don't think anyone will be cold."

"Next time I am going to try to find a place to be with a halfway livable climate." groaned Zere’maya. "At least each of the big wagons has a charcoal burning stove and we have plenty of charcoal."

Zere’maya was as glad as might be to not be involved in the charcoal making. She was also glad she was not involved in the smoking and processing of meats that had been done here. Mummified meat didn't taste good to her, especially since she had been making it every year she could stand, all through her childhood.

Zere’maya shuddered at the memory. She could easily live the rest of her life without seeing steaming guts fall out of a pig stomach and that went twice if the person who made them drop out was her. And triple if she had to catch the falling guts rather than cut.

She wondered what Apriliya got in return for the massive amount of materials that the Rom were taking with them, but Zere’maya also knew that it wasn't her job to bargain. And, since no one had known that Zere’maya was coming any gifts she had brought with her had not been in the original bargain.

Zere’maya started to laugh. Apriliya was coming up the hill, wearing the dress Zere’maya had 'fixed'. The fabric around the chest bagged out.

"Your dress misses me." smiled Zere’maya.

"No worries. My daughters will take it in. And maybe I'll be able to put in a pair of patch pockets." said Apriliya. "I'm going to miss you, farm girl."

Zere’maya hugged her. "Shhh about the farm girl, everyone in the caravan thinks I'm a gypsy." Apriliya kissed her.

Zere’maya walked along, looking at each very different vardo, all richly decorated. She swung up onto her own and got ready to make the fast march, riding past the walled town and its strange temple, up to the mountain of the dragons and -- it would seem -- to winter camp with Mother Faa's caravan.

She would winter in the vardo, it would seem. It was built for severe weather. The outside was brightly painted canvass, not actually touching the outer canvass roll top shell, and between the walls were at least two and probably three thick, felted wool inner walls, each with their own supports of delicate steel. The top was much wider than the bottom, and the entire thing was built not with wood, but with fancy enameled ironwork, like riding in a canopy iron bed. Her featherbed was backed with beautiful mirror work, held in place with metal framing. With the wood this never got too cold. The metal framing itself was connected to the charcoal stove where she could warm herself and cook meals when need be. The inside lining showing between the ironwork looked like wallpaper, almost -- the inner canvas was painted with cabbage roses like gaudy French sheets, blue and green and cheerful.

When the weather was very hot there was a note of sheepy smell from the wool insulation but most of the time all she could smell was sandalwood, faint smoke from the charcoal stove, and a great deal of "eau de Karl".

The pan box was where it should be, outside and to the back. Getting food requires going outside, just getting heat or tea could be done from within.

Zere’maya didn't know why the vardo was made of metal here -- for that matter she didn't know if the gypsies here knew that on her world the elaborate carvings would be made from local wood, carved as they went. The end effect was the same -- houses that looked as if the would be sweet if licked, as if made of sugar candy.

In her time the people designed their own house-car bodies made of wood, fiber board, metal, or canvas and placed them on new or used automobile chassis. Some of them were cabin trucks, some of them reminded Zere’maya of pictures she had seen of double-decker busses.

Zere’maya's gypsies lived between hippie culture and mainstream America, respecting the easy order of things and the individual's place in it -- no feeling of human beings being outside of nature. They would have distained the idea along with the encroachments that people in areas they traveled through tried to make for what they saw were the Gypsie's best interests. Many worked with their hands: artists, silversmiths, jewelry makers, leather workers, gem cutters, and other craftspeople were among the many occupants of cabin trucks.

Zere’maya's mother, in fact, had repaired computers -- that was how Zere’maya had been able to find her. The maintaining of systems fit in fine with the values

Her community had plainer looking vans, at least on the inside, but on the outside -- if anything -- they made up for the external simple appearance.

The change had made sense to Zere’maya at the time. For these travelers their own houses were billboards, bringing a taste of the community outside.

For the RV riding people their homes were more like spaceships -- no one to look until the end of the journey, a home inside an eggshell, traveling through space, like Hienlien's The Rolling Stones still grounded to the planet, like submarines of the asphalt rivers that bound together towns, villages, cities.

The next few overnights would be boon docking -- just like in the Bible. Even back then you had to bring a tool, go away from people, dig a hole and cover it back up. Nor did either these people nor the ancient Hebrews carry rolls of Charmin, though the Temple and the public bathroom at the center of town had had these items, and very nice for that matter.

If that was not bad enough, at least one of those nights would be walking through the night, cutting though the least hostile territory at the time least likely to cause a confrontation. In areas like this the toilets were the first items to be put out, all the contents came along for the ride, and no cooking outside was allowed.

The problem extended back a generation, when the parents of this caravan were stopping here for a while. Their parents were asked to enroll them in the school; the gypsies had complied. The locals, one family at a time had pulled out their own students. Then with only the gypsy children going, the gypsies had tried to spend the winter here, as they had been welcomed to do.

The children of the local community, unlike those of the gypsies, had nothing to do and no one to mind them and no culture of how to take care of each other and themselves. There were accidents. There were visits to the camp by the children of the community, including one tearful midnight removal by a child who was hiding from her parents. Words were said as to why a girl would want to stay the night, away from home.

After weeks more of uneasy comments, silence, and minor events the school's doors had been barred and the school set on fire. The Gypsy children had torn open the side of the building and run for their lives, sure (and correctly) that they would be blamed for burning the building themselves. Though the invitation had been made by the elders for them to stay no one had consulted the children, and those children now ran the town.

The old people of the town, those who knew that the building had not been burned by the gypsies, who knew that the parents had removed their children, who knew that the schoolmistress had survived rather than burned alive if the building were very old or already dead. It was a dreaded crossing.

Zere’maya knew that feeling every day in school, not knowing what it was until in third grade her teacher had remarked to the class that she was "Sara Cornsilk, queen of book thieves".

Home was safe, even without her mother there. She was happy there. How badly she had wanted not to go to school -- it had physically hurt her.

Quietly, in her own mind, she wondered why her mother had left her there to deal all on her own with being gypsy in a community like that.

Everyone knew but Zere’maya, but no matter how many times they told her she simply did not have the ability to understand.