Blitzed (43 page)

W
ith a real meal
sitting in her belly for the first time in days, Jordan fell asleep on the couch soon after the last of the food was eaten. Syeira was just about to go help with dishes before I stopped her. "Please, wait and talk with me."

She nodded, and I led her outside where we could talk quietly. "How are you doing?"

"Today was better than yesterday," she said quietly. She wasn’t a broken woman, her spirit was too strong for that, but she was severely beaten down. Even though it wasn't her fault, I thought it wasn’t too great a punishment for Syeira to bear for what she did to my mother. “Some day are worse than others. Your mother has been helpful."

"I know, and I’m grateful for her help," I said. "Syeira, I can’t imagine your pain. I know that I can’t replace my brother, but I just want you to know, I consider you my mother too. Will you help me as you helped Felix?”

It was true, I'd need her advice. She'd been the crown princess for all her life and knew more about how to keep up with the political side of Romani life than anyone. She thought, and nodded. "For a while, until you get settled. I just hope you and Jordan make me a grandmother. Maybe that’ll bring some joy back into my life."

I smiled. If I decided to let her live that long, she wouldn’t be spending much time with her grandchildren, that was for sure. As mean as the thought was, I had a deep resentment not only for Felix, but for his mother as well. “One thing at a time, Syeira. One thing at a time." It was weird having these hateful thoughts at the forefront of my mind. The resentment had always been there, but I’d suppressed it for all my life.

Later that night, as the moon was high and everyone else was sleeping, I got out of my bed. While I wished that Jordan could have slept with me, my mother was insistent that she spend the next few nights in a private bed. "The girl needs to recover her strength," Mom told me. "Not expend it in amorous pursuits with you. Give her a little time.”

So I walked through the house well after midnight, listening to my mother and her sister snore in Charani's bedroom, sharing a bed like they did forty years earlier as little girls. Jordan was in Syeira's bed, the moonlight streaming through the window to light up her face. In the pale illumination, she looked both ethereally beautiful and fragile. She didn't really have a grasp of how much weight she'd lost during the five days she'd been inconsolable, and her cheekbones still stood out ghastly underneath her sunken eyes.

I watched her, inside knowing that I had to just keep up the charade for a few more days. Not the charade about the stress of the ascension, that was no lie at all. But still, I had to make sure that Jordan, Syeira and Charani all thought that I was broken up about Felix's supposed death. And if I was honest with myself, I was a little bit, but I had to do what I had to do.

I wondered, as the light shifted and Jordan rolled over, her face tense as another dream passed through her mind, if they would ever want to know what really happened to him. Then again, I wondered if I wanted to know what really happened to my brother myself. Despite having a deep jealous resentment for him, I still couldn’t help but have some feelings for him.

In her sleep, Jordan moaned, not in passion but in sadness. "Felix . . .” she said in a low, lost little girl's voice. "Don't go . . .”

I could have been angered, but I wasn't. Ghosts can’t hurt me, regardless of what superstitions people have. I turned and left her to her dream. Time would heal her wound, and she would be mine. Mine alone.

* * *

T
he rented room
wasn't exactly spacious, but our town didn't have a lot of rentable conference rooms. Valence isn’t like New York, where nearly every hotel and motel has large conference rooms available for rent. Valence was more old-fashioned European, with inns and hotels that were just that, nothing more. And by Romani tradition, the men in the room wouldn’t go onto my family's property until the decision was made.

I looked around the room, noting that even with the passage of a few years, I was still the youngest family leader in the room. The men looking back at me were all in their forties and fifties, and all of them had children of their own already.

"As I said yesterday, I understand your concerns and have thought long and hard about them," I said in Romani. "To that end, I spoke with my mother and her sister. They have agreed to act as my counselors and advisors, in a role similar to what they did for my brother."

I looked around the room and continued. "For the past few years, since my grandfather became too ill, my brother acted first unofficially and then later officially as the leader of our tribe. And in those years, despite the challenges to our home nations, our tribe has flourished. We're in a more secure position economically, politically, and even culturally than we were when Felix took over."

The discussion lasted for another few hours, but as time passed, I could tell I'd made the proper points. It was time. “Gentlemen, it’s time to make your decision. If you want me to be your leader, then take the oath."

The oath is perhaps the only thing that really separates a Gypsy King from any other respected family leader. We don't carry a crown, we don't have security details or Secret Service or anything like that. There’s no money to it, my grandfather had a few years where he was as poor as any other member of the family.

The oath, on the other hand . . . that was special. It was a blood oath, the strongest there is in Romani culture, that the family leader, and, therefore, the family, would agree to the decisions of the King. It was irrevocable, with dire consequences if broken. The only way an oath could be nullified was if the King died or was deposed, and that had never happened in the history of our tribe.

The room was silent, each man looking to the other, wondering who would stand first, if any would stand at all.

Finally, one brave man stood. "I will take the oath."

With the dam broken, one by one all of the other family members stood, until I was the only one left seated. After giving anyone who wanted a chance to change their minds, I stood as well. "I accept."

"
B
ut why the markings
?" I asked that night after Francois had gone to the barn to mentally prepare himself. His coronation, which would be another public declaration of loyalty, would take place at dawn the next day. Before swearing the oath, each family leader would be allowed four very carefully placed blows with a whip or a rod on Francois's back. "Why the need for the pain?"

"In the old days, there was no concept of jail in our culture," Charani said, sitting quietly, pensive. She knew what faced her son the next morning, having seen it once before. "There were three forms of punishment. You could warn, a scolding if you would. The next was corporal punishment. The third, of course, was banishment or death. The marks are to show that Francois has already paid for the mistakes he’ll make when he is King."

I nodded. An interesting concept. "I wonder how many people would sign up to be politicians if we did that in the United States."

"You mean Canada?" Charani chided in good humor. She had regained a small sense of it, using it to keep me and Syeira out of the worst of the black depths of our depression.

“On a more serious note, though, Francois is going to have a difficult next few days. He’s going to need you for support. Not only does he have the stress of becoming our new leader, but we have the ceremony for Felix."

I felt the tightening in my chest seize for second before unclenching. "I know. I’m thinking of how I will memorialize him."

Charani nodded. She brushed off her pants and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "Then I will let you think. Good night, Jordan."

* * *

T
he ceremony
itself took place in the backyard of the house. Two ropes had been strung from the post above the door to the barn, and two of the family leaders tied Francois up, his arms out at an angle to create a gigantic Y-shape. I winced when they lifted him into the air until his body hung two feet off the ground, his back muscles stretched painfully as he waited for his coronation
gift
.

Each of the leaders, sixteen in all, lined up in two lines of eight. One by one they approached and said something I couldn't understand in Romani before taking long wooden rods, maybe four feet long and about as thick around as two of my fingers. They then hit Francois across the back, taking turns to create the X-shape that I knew so well from Felix's back. Tears came to my eyes and I wanted to reach for him, but Charani laid a hand on my shoulder, shaking her head. There would be no interruption.

Francois's skin resisted the blows until the third pair, not rupturing until the man on his left swung so hard that his rod cracked in half with his blow. The ceremony didn't pause, but intensified, with each of the following pairs of men striving to open those wounds wider, the blood sheeting down Francois's back and staining his pants by the end. Tears rolled down my cheeks just as much, but still his head was held high, his eyes turned toward the sky, and I could see his eyes open and looking into the dimness of the barn.

Finally, the last blow was struck, and all sixteen men stood back, surveying their handiwork. One of them raised his hand, and in a single voice, they said something else in Romani. The man lowered his hand, and two more men ran forward, lowering Francois to the waiting arms of two more of the men. They carried him into the house, where one of them checked his wounds. He turned to Charani and spoke in Romani, her face impassive the whole time. She whispered out of the side of her mouth as the man took a bottle from what looked like an old-fashioned doctor's bag and started daubing fluid on the wounds. "He says that the wounds are deep, but that they’re just in the skin. The underlying muscles weren’t torn. For the Romani, this is good, as the scars will be wide and strong, unbroken. They’ll be a good sign of his position and the respect he deserves.”

I sighed in relief, then glanced at Charani. "Can I go see him now?"

“You can, but I’m not sure he’ll be conscious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t passed out already from all the pain.”

I went over to Francois and knelt by his shoulder. His eyes were closed, but his face was still a rictus of pain. "Francois?"

"I . . . I’m okay," he grunted in a low voice. "I will recover."

"Then sleep for now, my love," I said, kissing his temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He drifted off. I don't know if it was into sleep or a pain-induced delirium, and the other leaders of the Romani families paid their respects and left.

I checked on Syeira and Charani and retreated to Felix's room, looking around. It still seemed surreal, that the very next day I'd be saying goodbye to him. I could smell him in the air still, and my mind played back memories of our times together. In the silence and solitude, I was able to admit to myself the truth that had haunted me since Francois came in saying that Felix had been killed. I may have been with Francois first, but Felix was the one who truly had my heart. I picked up his pillow and held it to my face, sobbing as I thought of going through the rest of my life without him. Even with Francois, Felix had been the perfect man for me. That he was generous enough to share me with his brother just made him even more perfect.

Somehow, in that sadness, I felt something bloom inside me. Perhaps it was just an insane hope, but I felt his presence, his spirit with me. My tears trickled off and my eyes cleared, and I looked around the room. If I was to say goodbye to Felix, how was I going to do it?

Guided by the spirit that was touching me, I looked, and saw on the dresser the violin case. Unlatching it, I opened the cover to reveal the deeply stained spruce of the front of the instrument. For the first time in years, I reached out and touched the neck without feeling the slightest turn in my belly of fear. Instead, love and sadness mixed, compelling me to pick up the instrument and pluck the strings, one after another, adjusting the tune as needed until I found the perfect tension. Sealing the case back up, I picked it up and slid the shoulder strap over my head, leaving it on my back.

I found Charani in the main room of the house, tending to the preparations for a light lunch. "I'm going out," I said, causing her to look up. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw what was on my back, then she nodded in understanding. “I’ll be back when I’m ready."

"Let your heart say what it needs to say," she advised me. "That’s all you need to do."

I left and thought about it for a moment, before heading down toward the river. It wasn't the ocean, but it would do. I needed quiet, and I needed water. It’d always been my muse when I searched for the right notes to convey my emotions.