The Fortune Teller(51)

Aishe closed up Dinka’s chest and put it back in the wagon in its special spot. She kissed her grandmother’s forehead and went off to meet her two cousins for their special outing. Every Eve of Saint George, the elder girls would let Aishe join in their secret ritual.

The ritual was quite simple. They carried fried fish and brandy to a place where two roads crossed. They would lay their offerings out and sit in the middle of the crossroad and wait for the apparitions of their future husbands to appear. Legend said that if a male figure appeared and ate the fish, it was a sign for a good marriage. If he drank the brandy, that was a very bad sign. And if he touched neither, then the bride and groom would both die within the year. The cousins never saw any apparitions, but every year they continued to try.

Sometimes they would strip naked at midnight by the nearest body of water—a lake or a river—and stare into its pool to see the reflection of their future husbands. When that didn’t work, they stood naked on top of a dunghill at midnight with a piece of cake in their mouths and waited for a dog to bark. The direction the sound came from was supposedly the direction where their future husband lived.

While her cousins were busy, Aishe would lie back in the grass with her eyes closed and dream about what her husband would look like. She never imagined him as a Rom, but she kept that secret to herself.

*

Only in winter did Simza and Aishe’s band quit their travels. Every year they settled in Styria, a small town in Austria, where they made their living in a variety of trades: metalworking, carpentry, basket weaving, and blacksmithing. Many of the men were also musicians—masters of the violin, flute, and zimbles—and often played for money. Aishe was a gifted harp player. She was also quite clever, which is how all the trouble began.

Aishe befriended a sweet Austrian girl named Kitti, whose family owned a small farm. Aishe wanted nothing more than to learn how to read like Kitti, who always had storybooks with her. Aishe had never seen books up close, for no Rom knew how to read or write. Her people carried their history through songs and the stories the elders told every night around the fire. When Aishe offered Kitti a necklace to teach her to read and speak German, Kitti agreed.

Aishe snuck into her family’s wagon to retrieve it; the necklace she found in Dinka’s chest was one of countless others. She assured herself no one would notice if it went missing. Her grandmother could barely see anymore and there were plenty left.

The girls met almost every day for several winters, and by the end of the past winter, Aishe had mastered the language. She and Kitti had also become friends.

Kitti began to lend her books, which Aishe took special care to hide. If she was ever caught with a book she would be beaten. The Rom were not allowed to pollute their mind with the gadjes’ words.

One day Aishe came home from Kitti’s and found the camp in an uproar. Her father had found the books.

“What are these?” He threw Kitti’s books at her feet and stomped on them. Then he grabbed Aishe by the hair and dragged her to the campfire.

“Papa, no! I’m sorry!”

Enraged, he took a leather cord and whipped her back repeatedly. “You! Are! Not! My! Daughter!” he yelled. With each word he cracked the strap harder.

Deaf to her screams, he reached for the branding iron in the fire.

Her mother grabbed his arm, “Stop! Stop it!”

She barely managed to keep him from maiming their daughter’s face. He took the rod to Aishe’s hand instead and held it until it seared off her skin.

Aishe shrieked and fell back, clutching her hand.

“So you’ll never forget.” He raised the rod, ready to burn her again.

Hysterical, her mother screamed to Aishe’s eldest cousin. “Take her! Niko! Take her!”

By now Simza and all the elders in the camp were yelling the same. Niko picked Aishe up and ran off with her into the forest. They found a faraway place to hide, and Niko brought Aishe water from a nearby stream to soak her hand.

“What were you thinking?” he scoffed. “Reading words. Bringing books here. Everyone knows they’re tainted.”

“They’re not. They’re beautiful.” Aishe wept, cradling her maimed hand. “One day we will have our own books.”

“That’s absurd,” Niko said, turning his back on her.

That evening Simza came to find them. She appeared beside Aishe in the dark and lifted her chin. Aishe stared back at her with tears glistening in her eyes.

“It is done” was all Simza said. Then she led her back to camp.

Her father had gone off to drink away his anger. Aishe lay down in her family’s wagon and let Simza tend her wound with one of her special salves. All the while Simza sang a song Aishe had never heard before, a sad melody about a daughter leaving her family and never seeing them again.

“What is that song, Grandmother?” Aishe whispered.

“One you know well,” Simza said.

Before Aishe could ask Simza to explain, her mother came inside.

Her mother hesitated, something she never did. Aishe had never her seen her look so solemn.

“You must marry,” she finally said.

Aishe could not believe it. “Who?”

“Milosh Badi.”

Tears sprang to Aishe’s eyes. “But Milosh Badi is Grandmother’s age.”

“You will marry him,” her mother said. “You’re sixteen.”