Fires in the Dark Read online

  Tekla was watching their approach. She nodded at Emil, tripping happily along beside his mother. ‘You have had luck …’

  Anna nodded. ‘You?’ she asked, and instantly regretted the question. She should have been able to tell from Tekla’s demeanour that she had had no luck at all.

  Tekla made a small tsk sound between her teeth and spat on the ground. ‘What luck am I likely to have? We need more children to take along. No one is interested. It is stupid that Božena takes all her girls. You should have backed me up.’

  Božena’s performance to the gadjis involved displaying her daughters in descending rank and pointing out how many mouths she had to feed. With Zdenka and the baby gone, the ranks had been diminished. When Tekla had asked if she could take one of the girls door-to-door, Božena had raged at her for being so cruel as to deprive her of another child – and Tekla had pointed out that it was cruel to deprive her and the Little One of the food she might be able to acquire. It had been a bitter scene.

  Anna sighed, remembering the bread she had swallowed almost whole. If she had produced a decent-sized family then the dispute would not have arisen. ‘Take Emil with you tomorrow,’ she said, grudgingly. Tekla did not reply. Emil was swinging from a low branch of a nearby tree, his shirt riding up from his breeches to expose a white, flat patch of skin. It made Anna shiver just to look at him.

  As they waited, a family of peasants passed by; a broad-shouldered farmer and his equally broad wife, three children who stared across the road in honest curiosity while their parents averted their gazes.

  Emil dropped from the branch and stood staring back, offering mute solidarity. The children continued to gaze behind them as they entered the village.

  ‘Dalé …’ Emil said, still staring after the family.

  Anna did not reply. She was leaning in the shelter of the tree.

  ‘Dalé …’ Emil turned and wandered over to her. ‘Dalé, why are the gadje all so ugly? Their faces, they are white and pudgy, and they have big noses and ears, and they’re so clumsy when they walk. They are like cows.’

  ‘They can’t help being ugly,’ Anna responded listlessly. ‘They are born that way. You musn’t be unkind about their faces. It’s not their fault.’

  ‘They can help being dirty,’ said Tekla. ‘That is their fault.’

  ‘Do they ever wash?’ Emil asked. Like all children, the thought of dirt fascinated him – the forbidden and disgusting, the opportunity to give a melodramatic squirm. He started wriggling in front of his mother and aunt, wanting them to join in the joke.

  ‘They call it washing,’ Tekla replied, squatting on the ground and beckoning Emil to her. ‘But what they do is put water into a huge copper tub, then lower themselves into it, completely … unclothed. The dirt floats off their skin and dissolves into the water. Then they lie there in the water for hours and hours, soaking themselves in their own filth.’

  Emil and Tekla pulled faces at each other and made disgusted noises. Emil was jumping up and down.

  ‘And do they really sleep with their animals, Tekla?’ He flung himself forward, his arms around Tekla’s neck, knocking her backwards.

  ‘Emil!’ declared Anna in shock, ‘Who has been talking to you of such things?’

  Tekla and Emil were picking themselves up from the ground, grinning. ‘Pavla,’ said Emil happily. ‘She said that the gadje have cats and dogs and rabbits in their beds at night and that they love their cats and dogs and rabbits more than their own children. They make their children go to school so that they can spend more time with the animals.’

  ‘Well, it’s true they let animals into their houses,’ Tekla said, pulling Emil towards her by the arm and brushing at his coat. ‘They let them just walk across the door like guests and wander around and sit in chairs, animals that do nothing to earn their keep. Especially cats.’

  ‘Pavla said she was in a house once and the gadji had a cat on her lap and she was stroking it and eating at the same time and the cat was licking itself and swallowing its own dirt and …’

  Anna stepped forward, grabbed Emil’s other arm and pulled him away from Tekla, then dealt him a swift, vicious cuff across the head, hard enough to make him stumble. ‘František!’ She always used his gadje name to reprimand him. ‘You will not talk of such things in my presence. You are old enough to know better. It is disgusting. The filthy things the gadje do. It is better not to even think of these things.’

  ‘Sorry, Dalé …’ Emil mumbled, rubbing his head where she had struck him.

  ‘And you, Tekla,’ Anna turned on her. ‘You should know better than to encourage him in such talk. How am I supposed to raise my boy?’ She had not meant to place an emphasis on the word my. She had made an effort not to do so. But it had been there, nonetheless, as slight as a breeze but just as unmistakable. Tekla turned away, her arms crossed, and leant against the tree, her back to them.

  Anna sighed, closing her eyes briefly, then turned away herself, leaving Emil to stand confused between them, rubbing his head and looking from his mother to his aunt.

  This bitter winter, Anna thought. When will it end?

  *

  As Josef approached the two women, he saw at once that there was discord between them. They stood leaning against the tree-trunk, half-turned from each other. Emil was squatting between them, a small spirit between two stone statues, chin in hands and lips moving as he sung soundlessly to himself.

  The boy jumped to his feet and ran gratefully to the wagon. ‘Can I ride up with you, Dad? Please? Please?’ he begged as he scrambled up beside Josef.

  Josef pulled him on to his lap, ruffled his hair and said, ‘No, Emil, it is too cold. In the back, it is late. It will be dark soon. The others will be waiting for us. Go.’ He pushed the boy behind him.

  Anna and Tekla were wandering slowly to the back of the wagon. Neither of than greeted him. He rolled his eyes and sighed, waited until he heard the thud of their feet inside, then flicked the reins.

  *

  The journey back to Třebič was tortuously slow, the single horse clumping painfully between the shafts, as if her hooves were made of lead. Josef lifted the reins half-heartedly every now and then, his head drooping, thinking grimly about how he was cold and tired and hungry and fed up with being cold and tired and hungry as well. Never had a journey seemed so long.

  They were about an hour from the Black Huts when the mare plodded to a halt. Josef raised his head, wondering if he had dozed off. He flicked the reins, but the horse did not move. He sat up and looked around. The road was long and empty, with open fields either side. They were later than they had meant to be – the gloom was gathering. It is hardly light these days, Josef thought, as if the darkness waits behind each turn in the road, each tree, waiting for its chance to gather and swallow us. They were level with a small cluster of trees on the left of the track, a dark blur in the gathering dusk. Horses could see ghosts. A horse would not advance if there was a spirit in the road before it.

  Josef glanced over at the group of trees, set back slightly from the road. He saw that there were dark shapes on the barren ground between the trees; tents, three small ones, huddled close together. They could hardly be called tents, more loose constructs of branches and twigs with blankets and rugs thrown over them in layers. They sagged, the middle one hanging dangerously to the left.

  The horse gave a whinny, shook her head and trotted forward. Josef pulled on the reins and she halted.

  On either side of the track, the wide expanses of field were brown and lumpen with a light covering of snow. The area around the trees had some scrubby, dead undergrowth and a small ditch through which, Josef guessed, must run a tiny, frozen stream. Why else camp in this forgotten space, with the town less than an hour away? Unless, of course, you could go no further.

  A wind moaned across the deserted flatlands, rising and falling with unnatural monotony. The black branches of the trees bent slowly, unevenly. The barren fields were darkening. The tents were probably
derelict, Josef told himself. There was no reason to stop. He held the reins loosely, fingering them.

  It was the crows. There were half a dozen of them, huge crows waiting in the trees, in a row on an upper branch, motionless but for the one on the end which flapped its wings and worked its feet sideways along the branch impatiently. On the ground nearby, a couple of magpies were pecking fruitlessly at the frozen earth, waiting at a respectful distance.

  Tekla stuck her head out of the wagon. Josef handed the reins back to her and said, ‘Wait here.’ Then he threw the blanket from his shoulders and jumped down.

  His feet were numb. When he reached the ground he stumbled. He fell on the palm of one hand and cursed, shaking the hand as he hobbled towards the tents. In front of them, he paused and called out a greeting. The magpies rose from the ground in alarm, wheeled once in the air, then settled again. The crows did not move.

  He heard his name and turned to see that Anna had followed him, her hands wrapped in her shawl, lips pursed against the chill wind. ‘What is it?’ she asked as she drew level with him, panting.

  He indicated the tents.

  They hesitated for a moment, a pause to gather their strength, then walked carefully over the frozen mud. As they approached, the wind changed and there was a sudden smell, strong and sweet. They halted. Josef called out again.

  The entrance to the left-hand tent flapped open and a crow emerged backwards, with something in its beak.

  ‘God preserve us …’ said Josef, crossing himself, and Anna drew breath.

  From the middle tent, there came a low groan. They exchanged a look and approached.

  The tent was no higher than Josef’s waist. He bent to the entrance, and lifted a flap of dark grey blanket, dampened recently and now frozen stiff. At first, he could see nothing, then, a glistening gaze.

  He lifted up the flap and flung it back over the side of the tent.

  An old man lay inside, a grey bundle in the gloom. He was tiny but nearly filled the tent, which stank of urine. He was wrapped in tattered blankets. All that was visible was his pale face and shiny head, completely bald. As Josef’s eyes adjusted he saw that a white moustache drooped over the old man’s slack mouth and there was a little rough white stubble on his chin.

  For a while, he seemed to be staring through them. Josef wondered if he was blind. Then he saw the old man’s eyes focus on the buttons on his coat. Josef’s silver had been sold long ago, but he had made some pewter buttons as replacements and polished them to a dull sheen.

  ‘Wallach …’ the old man said huskily. His Romani was heavily accented, difficult to understand. ‘Go back where you belong. It’s bad enough without you nomads. They don’t care about us. It’s you that have caused all the trouble. Thieves. You’ve spoiled everything …’ His voice became an incomprehensible mutter.

  ‘What is your name?’ Josef asked, edging forward as much as the restricted space in the tent would allow. The old man’s breathing was effortful, his chest rising and falling in huge, swift curves. He was very close to death.

  The old man shook his head. ‘I was the fastest man in the village. I pulled more water than the lot of you. That Helka was a cold bitch.’ He paused and coughed, shuddering his chest cavity so furiously he looked as if he might fall to pieces if the blankets weren’t holding him together. ‘I fought …’ he said. ‘I still have my Iron Cross …’

  Josef reached inside his coat and brought out his water bottle. He leaned forward awkwardly, and with his arm full stretch, managed to get a hand underneath the old man’s head. The old man wet his lips on the water but did not swallow. Josef lowered the head and put the water bottle back inside his coat. He stared at the old man. A man who could not swallow was close to the end. The old man stared back.

  ‘Where are your people?’ Josef began to say, but the old man interrupted.

  ‘Take me outside,’ he spat, his voice husky, barely audible. ‘I want to die in the open like a proper Rom.’

  Josef nodded. He backed out of the tent on his hands and knees.

  Anna was standing a few feet away. She had her shawl pressed against her mouth.

  ‘It’s an old man,’ Josef said. ‘He’s dying.’

  It was easier to dismantle the tent than to drag the old man out, so together they lifted the stiff, frozen layers of muddy blanket and pushed away the branches, until he lay exposed to the open sky beneath the overhead lattice of trees.

  ‘You’ll freeze,’ Josef said, kneeling beside the man and trying to tighten the blanket around him.

  ‘Can’t feel the cold any more,’ the old man whispered. His face was completely white, the eyes sunken and unnaturally dark. His mouth hung slack when he was not speaking, a downturned gash dividing the lower half of his face from the upper.

  ‘I thought I was going to die in the tent,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I couldn’t get out. The stars.’

  ‘You will die in the open,’ Josef promised him.

  ‘Put stones over my face, so they won’t get my eyes.’ His empty gaze lifted to the trees, where the crows waited.

  ‘We will bury you,’ Josef said firmly.

  The old man exhaled, a hoarse, huffing sound. ‘Not in this ground. Put stones on my eyes and my mouth, and don’t … and don’t … ‘He was unable to finish the sentence, although his mouth moved as if he was still trying to speak, gaping open and shut, as if he was a fish.

  Josef knelt by the man and began praying. He had scarcely begun the second prayer when the old man died.

  The light was almost gone.

  Anna had not moved, standing a few feet away with her shawl still wrapped tightly around the lower half of her face. She stayed there while Josef looked around for some heavy stones and heaped them, one by one, over the man’s face.

  ‘Yakali and I can come back with the pickaxes and try to bury him tomorrow,’ he said as he stood, clapping his hands together to brush the dirt off his gloves, ‘what’s left of him.’

  Anna had not spoken a word while they waited.

  He stared at her. ‘The other tents?’ he asked eventually.

  Anna nodded, and he saw that her eyes were full, her gaze dark. ‘That one is empty,’ she said, breathing in deeply, her breath a shudder.

  Josef looked at the other.

  ‘Two children. Girls. They are still warm,’ she said.

  He bent to pick up more stones but she stepped forward and placed a hand on his forearm. ‘It is too late.’

  They walked back to the wagon, where Tekla was peering anxiously for them in the near-dusk. Behind them, the crows descended from the trees.

  *

  That night, as Josef and Anna lay on their bed, Emil dozing between them, Anna thought of the bodies of the old man and the little girls, lying out there in the dark. She thought of the crows. Crows knew how to fly around until they found dogs to lead back to an injured animal. The dogs would then make the kill and begin the dismemberment with their teeth. The crows would take over when the dogs were sated.

  How close we all are, she thought, how nearly we walk the edge of that precipice. Our lives have been precarious ever since the winter set in, when they closed the barrel factory. It could happen in a moment. Josef could fall from a horse and be injured. A new disease could come. The townspeople could turn us from the Black Huts. Another law. All it takes is a moment, and suddenly we are tumbling, the end a cluster of trees by the side of the road and a tent so derelict that nobody even bothers to stop and take a look at what is inside. The crows are waiting.

  How close they were. Another month without work and everything of value would be sold – the horses, maybe even the wagons themselves. What would happen to them then? They would be trapped in the Black Huts, with no way of moving or earning a living. In the spring, they would have to try and get back to Bohemia on foot. The crows.

  Josef was motionless beside her but she could tell by his silence he was still awake. She knew he was thinking of the old man, of what was happening in the dark as
they lay together with their child between them and the other members of their family breathing warmly in concert at the far end of the wagon.

  She felt him reach out a hand to touch her shoulder. Then he asked softly, ‘Was it a good day, today?’

  Anna knew what he was asking. Has my son eaten?

  They never told Josef about the food Emil was given by the village women. Emil was taught not to mention it. It would not be fair on Josef, to let him know that his son came home Unclean each day because his father could not provide.

  All the same, he knew. How could he not know? Emil was still weak after his illness but he had yet to acquire the listlessness of the truly starving child. He was always hungry of course, but each day they found a little something for him. Josef knew.

  ‘Yes,’ Anna whispered. ‘A good day.’

  Josef drew breath as if he was about to ask a question. Anna knew what it would be. He had asked it of her many times. Promise me I will die in the open, so that my soul can leave my body. Promise me you will put coins on my eyes and mouth so that my ghost cannot return to my dead body. Promise me this. It was his one great fear, that his soul would be trapped in his corpse after death and he would spend Eternity screaming for release. Her reply was always the same. You will die in the open if I have to tear away the roof of our wagon with my bare hands.

  Josef released his breath and Anna knew he did not want to refer to what they had seen. It was bad luck.

  He withdrew his hand from her shoulder, settled himself to sleep.

  It had been a good day, Anna thought, despite that terrible discovery. Emil had eaten strong soup. Whatever else happened, she could repeat that like a chant. My son has eaten today. Yenko has eaten. No other failure, no amount of burning wind could take that victory from her. The main object of the day had been achieved – and if tomorrow it took all day to achieve it, then so be it.

  She would see her son through this winter, and the child inside her would grow somehow, even if it had to feed on the marrow in her bones. It was simply a matter of being fierce enough, and her store of ferocity was a bottomless well, deeply dark and infinite.