Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves(9)

He directed his attention back to the gypsy. “How opportunistic of you to swipe the very clothes Irina wore – and her identity.”

“Opportunistic?!”

“You know, cunning. The kind that takes advantage of other people. The kind that prey on their weaknesses. Thieves.” The coach lurched into motion as the train chugged away from the platform.

“Cunning?!” the harpy screeched.

All right, maybe not a harpy, exactly. Her features were fairly pleasant. In fact, she reminded him of Toulouse-Lautrec’s, The Gypsy. It captured this bohemian girl’s capriciousness and vibrancy. But a thief, most assuredly.

“Thieves?!” she demanded, her eyes a livid green. “Ye, a shyster lawyer, who defends those scum of the earth Nazis sympathizers, dare to call me cunning and a thief – ye, ye piss stain!”

He raised an imperious brow. “My obligation as a representative of the accused is to defend them impartially and unbiasedly. And while we are tossing around accusations, I might remind you that you are an imposter, posing as my – ”

“Imposter?” Her nose wrinkled the freckles sprinkled across it. “I would wager yuir name isn’t even Gunter, ye slimebucket.”

He winced as if she had actually struck a blow. Perhaps she was psychic. Not that he lent credit to gypsies’ nefarious schemes to part the gullible from their money.

Granted, as a rag merchant’s son, he was ambitious. He had worked alongside his father, plus a second job, to put himself through Humboldt University’s law school, had mastered French and English to perfect his delivery, and had studied the mannerisms and dress of the wealthy.

But when the Nazis required on ID cards, which all Germans carried, the special identifying mark of those who were Jewish – the stamped red “J” – Gideon deduced the time was not far off before the rest of his rights would gradually be stripped away.

When the Minister of the Interior decreed the prohibition on sexual relations or marriage between people who could produce "racially suspect" offspring – meaning Germans with Jews, Germans with Gypsies, or Germans with the deformed – Gideon started making back up plans.

And when the right to practice law was denied Jews, he knew it was time to go underground as Gunter Wagner. After he had done so, his Nazi clientele escalated in astounding proportion to the legal cases his analyzing powers continued to win.

The Nazi vision of a new Germany placed Aryans at the top of the hierarchy of races and ranked Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, and Negroes as racial inferiors. Well, inferior was a relegation for which he would never settle.

The train would not reach the Berlin stop for another nineteen minutes, but he meant to transfer long before then. Like now. Before the German Reich’s hired thugs could install themselves in his coach.

He stood and executed a swift bow. “Your acquaintance has been an exceedingly diverting one, Romy Sonnenschein – and, praises to Yahweh, a short one.”

Her sloe eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “Where are ye going?”

He ignored her and steadied his gait toward the back of their vibrating passenger car. The train had picked up speed. Outside, on the vestibule’s coupling platform, he balanced his weight, and with his fingers forcibly pried open the doors. The wind roared around him.

The forest flashing past was not reassuring. Many an Alpine skier had lost their lives when careening into an embankment of trees. Was an instant death better than prolonged torture?

He swallowed hard. Which was the greater risk? With life, there was always hope, marginal though it seemed at times.

The train’s amplified rattling muted the approach of the person behind him. At the yank on his tweed jacket sleeve, he whirled.

That wrath of a woman with a Cheshire grin demanded his attention. “Circus tumblers!” she yelled above the train’s deafening, clacking noise.

“What?”

“Duck yuir chin. Roll. Feet and knees together.”

“You are aware,” he shouted, “that one shouldn’t change horses in mid– ”

“ – change horses until they stop running,” she yelled back. “But what the hell!”

She nudged him aside, and his jaw dropped as, without another wasted second, she tumbled her elfin body into eternal space.





§ CHAPTER THREE §



Berlin’s Jewish quarter, Grosser Judenhof, was one of those areas any self-respecting citizen would not want to be wandering through at night.

But then Gypsies had never been accused of being self-respecting. And it was not yet night, although the setting sun cast the narrow, building-lined street in depressing, drab shadows.

However, the Irish Traveler part of Romy considered wandering in the grimy and sooty ghetto’s shadows ádh mór -- very good luck – given that she looked much the worse for wear, after rolling on gravel, crashing into underbrush, and hiking five torturous miles on Irina Klockner’s stilts before a lorry loaded with asparagus gave a lift to Romy and her maggot of a companion.

Once again, her ankle twisted, this time on a cobblestone. “Scheiss!” Keeping up with Gunter’s killing pace was killing her.

“Your voluminous lexicon of curses indicates a brain sadly deficient in neurolinguistic ability.”

She wasn’t sure what he just said, but she knew it wasn’t complimentary. “Dingleberry!”