Sabledrake Magazine
August, 2004
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Marhime
Copyright © 2004 Lawrence Barker
(1)
Vesh emerged from the forest and waited at the clearing's edge. His Uncle Gunari, the old man's face a leather map of his travels, stamped a booted foot in the dust beside the wagon.
"Vesh! You have deserted another master? Curse you, boy!" he bellowed. The old man's gray drooping mustache quivered. "You are nothing but an affliction!" he roared. "May Beng, the Evil One, take you and your running away!"
Aunt Lyuba, Uncle Gunari's wife, adjusted her spotted diklo kerchief. She cringed, but continued tending the horses. The horses lowered their heads. Their braided tails darted, shooing the biting flies. The bells on the horses' harnesses jingled, contrasting with Uncle Gunari's roar.
Uncle Gunari clenched his fists. He scowled as his left index finger, use lost long ago in a knife fight, remained immobile. "Have you nothing to say?"
Vesh shrugged. He brushed the road's red dust, gritty and sharp, from his wide collared blouse. He wiped the nearby winding stream's mud from his shoes and adjusted his narrow brimmed hat. "Honko Vedel cheats Rom and Gadjo alike when he treats their sick horses. Would you have me learn from him?" Vesh turned his head.
What use telling Uncle Gunari that Honko Vedel's wagon, even more than the other masters', had simply felt to Vesh as though he did not belong there?
Uncle Gunari let out another roar. He reached for an iron headed hammer that lay beside the ashes of last night's fire, its handle carved from lightning struck oak. At the last instant, he abandoned the hammer, probably because iron and oak often take offense if misused.
Instead, Uncle Gunari threw a tin bucket at Vesh. Vesh ducked. The bucket struck a tree, ringing like the highest bell in the Great Cathedral in the city of Czyssa. The bucket bounced back, its side now dented.
"See what you have caused!" Uncle Gunari raged. "Now I must take the bucket to that crooked Yoska Faw. He will charge double, once for the repair and again because you broke your apprentice's contract and would not learn tinsmithing from him!"
Vesh glanced at Aunt Lyuba. Aunt Lyuba could have mentioned how she, not Uncle Gunari, would have the bucket repaired. She could have said that she, not Uncle Gunari, would pay. She could have said that Uncle Gunari avoided Yoska Faw due to Uncle Gunari's unpaid debt to Yoska. She did not. Instead, she simply gave the horses extra oats.
Of course Aunt Lyuba had years of practice at ignoring Uncle Gunari's temper. Vesh had joined Aunt Lyuba and Uncle Gunari after the Gadje had hanged Vesh's father, Aunt Lyuba's brother. While Aunt Lyuba might hold her tongue, Vesh would not suffer in silence.
"Why do I need a trade?" Vesh's eyes, dark and intense even for a Rom, flashed. He steadied his hat as though it were a crown. "King Sigisimund has none."
Uncle Gunari placed his hands on his broad hips. "You name yourself royalty?" He mockingly bowed. "How will His Majesty Vesh the Runaway feed himself once he can no longer suck his Uncle's lifeblood?"
Vesh wrinkled his nostrils as though he smelled something far more pungent than the horses' beetle covered droppings. He stuck his tongue through the gap in his broken incisors. "I'll manage. Don't you survive on what your wife gets for studying palms and telling pleasant lies?"
Uncle Gunari howled. He picked up the hammer and, despite the risk of offending the precious tool, pounded the ground, raising choking clouds of dust. "Enough! I have apprenticed this ungrateful boy to a tinsmith, a farrier, a huntsman, and a wagonwright. Perhaps I will sell him as a slave!"
"Gunari!" Aunt Lyuba cautioned.
Gunari shot Aunt Lyuba a scowl. "If nothing will do you but having the boy apprenticed, then only one master remains." He turned and stared into the forest, raising his first and last fingers to avert the evil eye. "I hear that master seeks a new apprentice. I can't think of anyone better suited than our Vesh."
Aunt Lyuba inhaled sharply. She sat down the oats, just beyond the horses' reach. "Gunari! No! Vesh is of my blood. I can not allow this of which you speak."
Uncle Gunari dropped the hammer. He turned and slapped Aunt Lyuba, his hand thundering against her cheek. "Allow?" Uncle Gunari's chest puffed as though he numbered among King Sigisimund's generals, dressed in crimson satin and black bear's fur. "Men of Arben, the Clan of my Fathers, do not ask women's permission." He struck her again. Aunt Lyuba went down, sobbing.
Vesh's hands clenched. For an instant, Vesh considered picking up the hammer. It could strike the cursed old man quickly dead, more than he deserved. Vesh stopped. Gunari was too strong. Vesh could only hope to fell Gunari from behind.
For one Rom to kill another outside a fair fight rendered the killer marhime, unclean.
To slay a kinsman, fairly or no, made one doubly marhime.
Vesh recalled what had happened after his father had broken the ancient laws against touching an unmarried woman's bare knee. Why, had the Elders not expelled his father from the tribe, the other Rom might even have found a way to spare him the noose.
No, Vesh would not kill Gunari ... no matter how many times over the old swine had earned death.
Gunari stopped snarling. He turned and beckoned to Vesh. "Come here, boy." A vein of ice seemed to fill Gunari's anger.
Vesh grimaced, but approached. Aunt Lyuba moaned and hid her face from her nephew. Gunari cracked his knuckles, making a sound like the spring thaw freeing the Vistula River from winter's icy shackles.
"The master to whom I shall apprentice you is less forgiving than the others." Gunari laughed. The sound resembled a mixture of loose phlegm in a dying chest and raindrops on a caravan's roof. "If you run, your new master will most certainly put you through a devilishly difficult time."
(2)
The stiff ladder-back chair's rungs tortured Vesh's spine. The house in the forest smelled faintly of violets and honey, as though the owner had scented each room. The thimble of wine that the tall, pale, clean-shaven Gadjo sitting at the table with Uncle Gunari had offered Vesh tasted of crisp apples and warm spices. This place seemed a world removed from the familiar earthy smell of horses and wagons, the drink equally far from the familiar taste of cool spring water.
Vesh nervously tapped the table's polished surface. Could he bear a fixed dwelling? Especially such a strange one? Vesh curled his lip in disgust.
The Gadjo, soon to be his master, turned a watery eye toward Vesh. His hair, the color and texture of dirty straw, tumbled over his high forehead. Vesh froze. The Gadjo had seen. How would he react? To Vesh's surprise, the Gadjo smiled, as though he savored Vesh's disapproval.
Gunari drained the bronze winecup before him. "It is agreed. I pay you ten silver halers, the price of a new-weaned calf." Gunari cast an eye at Vesh. "My fine, talented nephew is dearer to me than my own son." Gunari's face remained unreadable as words opposing his thoughts poured from his lips. "The boy," Gunari continued, "serves you until he reaches a responsible age. You train him in your art."
The Gadjo steepled his fingers. His cornflower eyes fixed Gunari. "No."
Gunari's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"
The Gadjo pointed a thin, tapered finger at Gunari, as though casting some charm. Gunari's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. "'No' is 'no', until you speak truly. Do you really think to deceive me?" The echo of distant thunder filled the Gadjo's voice.
Beads of sweat appeared on Gunari's forehead. He plastered his hands against the table, as though trying to steady them. "My ... my nephew is the bane of my life. I want rid of him as I would of a painful boil." Gunari's voice, usually filled with bluster, was barely audible.
"Go on." The Gadjo's voice became calm.
"He has fled many masters. You are my last hope."
The Gadjo turned to Vesh. "And you? Would you learn my despised profession?"
Vesh opened his mouth to reject the Gadjo. The Gadjo crooked his finger.
Gunari opened his great gaping mouth, as though to scream. Only a bubble of saliva passed Gunari's lips. Gunari strained to lift his hands. They did not move.
"Yes," Vesh heard himself cry. He meant the words, but they seemed to come from outside himself. "I would follow where you lead."
The Gadjo uncrooked his finger. Gunari relaxed, pained expression fading.
"We sign the contract," the Gadjo said.
He produced a parchment and a short black handled dagger, symbols like those Vesh had seen carved into church walls engraved in its blade. The Gadjo unrolled the parchment and pierced his hand with the dagger. Three bloody drops spattered the parchment. Each remained where it fell, forming an equal-sided triangle.
"Now you," he told Gunari.
Gunari did not hesitate. He grabbed the dagger and pricked his immobile finger. Three drops fell onto the parchment. Each drop seemed to grow as it struck, obliterating the Gadjo's triangle.
"Now the money," the Gadjo intoned.
"I can pay later." Gunari gave an ingratiating smile.
The Gadjo scratched his chin. "Few would choose to owe me."
Gunari's smile faded. He quickly produced ten silver halers. While pretending to count the coins, Gunari expertly concealed the Gadjo's dagger in his pouch. Vesh cut his eyes at the Gadjo. The Gadjo's expression indicated that he noticed Gunari's knavery. The Gadjo said nothing, as if he had expected theft.
"It is done?" Gunari asked, as soon as the final coin slid from Gunari's side of the table to the Gadjo's.
"Done," the Gadjo agreed.
Gunari leapt up and turned to Vesh. "Watch yourself, boy. Honor this master as no other, for now you are apprenticed to Beng, the Evil One. By my ancestors, I believe you will be a fine devil." Gunari turned and, without looking back, sprinted from the house into the woods.
Vesh turned to his new master. "What shall I call you? Beng, as the Rom do? Lucifer, like the Gadje? Or simply Master?"
Vesh's new master toyed with his collar. After several moments of silence, he spoke. "Teacher. Call me Teacher." His eyes transfixed Vesh. "Heed my words and, as your wretched uncle predicted, I will teach you to be a fine devil." A sound like a summer hail that destroys the crops and brings a winter of famine filled his voice. "Disobey, and I will teach lessons that you would not care to learn."
(3)
Vesh's eyes widened as Teacher lead him through the encampment. He motioned to the nearby Rom, pounding horseshoes or currying horses, and shook his head.
"That we pass unseen and unheard does not surprise me."
Teacher gestured dismissively, as though to say ‘it is nothing'.
"But," Vesh continued, swerving around a gaping hole in the path, "I can scarce believe that you have no power over men's actions."
Teacher shrugged. "Devils see into a man's heart, and have limited sway over the unthinking … inanimate objects, some brute beasts. Men, however, make their own choices."
"That Beng does not inspire evil deeds … this opposes all I ever heard."
Teacher stopped. "No one ever told you anything untrue?"
Vesh eyes nervously darted about. "Well, of course. But the priests say that … "
"The priests know less of truth than the lowliest Gypsy tinker. How could it be otherwise? Are priests' days not spent chanting gibberish while growing fat from others' labor?" Teacher sat on an oak stump. "This lesson is more important than any other."
Teacher's pale eyes blazed. "Men and women are, unaided, capable of infinite wickedness. But after an iniquity … what then?" Teacher gestured to emphasize the point. "With only himself to blame for his wrongdoing, a man will recognize himself as a loathsome worm that pollutes the soil beneath his sorry feet. He might do penance, or foreswear wickedness. He might even slay himself in disgust."
Teacher shook his head. "Let that same man say ‘Sathanus was to blame! Not me, no not me!' What happens? More iniquity! Each wrong comes easier than the last."
Vesh frowned. "You merely take blame for others' actions?"
Teacher smiled and nodded.
"So men do more wrong?" Vesh continued.
Teacher rose and tousled Vesh's thick, dark hair. "I knew you would understand."
He gestured toward Honko Vedel's wagon, painted red and blue to indicate a horse doctor's practice. Vesh recognized the wild-maned bay beside the wagon as Uarna, Yoska Faw's best mare. Vesh noticed that Uarna favored one foot.
"Now let us go," Teacher said, before Vesh could mention Uarna's behavior. "Enough talk. The time has arrived for you to learn by example."
Vesh and Teacher slipped, unseen, into the wagon. Honko Vedel and Yoska Faw, both Vesh's former masters, sat at a small three-legged table. A sooty teapot sat between them. Yoska apprehensively wiped his shaven upper lip. Honko glanced down at the cup in Yoska's thin hands. Seeing it empty, Honko refilled it with a steaming liquid. The smells of vervain and Scotch broom, common roadside plants, rose from the cup.
Vesh glanced at Teacher. "Do those herbs not impair judgement?"
"They do," Teacher responded. "Now watch."
Yoska raised the cup and inhaled its fumes. Hands trembling, Yoska Faw downed the cup's contents and sat it down. "Uarna pulls twice any other horse's load. She needs little rest, few oats. There is truly nothing you can do?"
Honko stroked his mustache. "My friend, the limp will only worsen. Soon, she will be lame." He sadly shook his head. "I am helpless."
Yoska recoiled as though an oak-handled hammer had struck the back of his head. A silent sob filled his slender form. "I am ruined."
Vesh grabbed Teacher's sleeve. "I learned some horsecraft from Honko Vedel. A few poultices, some rest, and Uarna will heal. Doesn't Yoska Faw know?"
Teacher shrugged. "Apparently not."
Honko gripped Yoska's wrist. "There is one thing I can do." Yoska's eyebrows rose in interest. "I can buy Uarna," Honko continued. "I offer eight halers."
Yoska frowned and pulled away. "You would buy a lame mare? Why?"
Honko sighed. "I know a Gadjo who fancies himself a horse master, but truly knows nothing. I can sell Uarna to him."
"Twelve halers," Yoska shot back.
Honko shook his head. "The Gadjo will pay no more than nine ... maybe ten ... for Uarna."
Yoska's eyes narrowed. "Why could I not make this sale myself?"
Honko refilled Yoska's cup. "Yoska, Yoska. I do you a service." Honko leaned closer to Yoska. "This Gadjo would never buy from you. He hates Rom. He trusts me because he believes me a Besarabian."
Yoska sank down. "I have no choice. I accept your terms."
Honko gave Yoska a comforting smile. He produced seven halers and placed them on the table.
Yoska's eyes flashed.
"Seven," Honko told him. "One for my fee."
Yoska sighed, took the coins, and left the wagon.
Vesh darted to the window and watched Yoska walk away into the forest. Vesh turned to Teacher. "Does Honko Vedel's Gadjo really exist?"
Teacher chuckled softly. "Of course not. Honko will sell the horse for many more than ten halers." Teacher walked to Honko's side. "Now, Vesh, watch and listen. Learn to speak to mortal man's heart."
Teacher's fingers wrapped about Honko's temple. If Honko noticed, he did not react. Teacher's eyes closed. He softly mouthed the secret words that he had taught Vesh back at the house in the forest.
Honko sat silently for a moment, then spoke. "To swindle another Rom ... ." He sighed with sorrow. "Such deception is marhime, unclean." Honko reached for a cup of the calming brew.
Before he reached the pot, Teacher gestured, as if casting a charm. A crack appeared in the pot's lip.
Honko trembled. "Even the clay rejects me." He shook his fist in the air. "Curse you, Beng. Curse you, tempter. You, and no other, lead me to dishonor!"
"But he was cheating Yoska before we arrived!" Vesh blurted.
Teacher nodded in agreement.
"If Honko Vedel feels remorse, he could return Yoska's horse!" Vesh continued.
Teacher smiled, revealing his evenly spaced, glistening white teeth. "Honko Vedel could, but Honko Vedel won't. Blaming me is much easier."
"But his regret seems sincere."
"It would be, were he unable to transfer his culpability."
Vesh filled his lungs with herb-scented air and exhaled slowly. "And, having blamed you, Honko Vedel will continue cheating."
Teacher nodded. "Now you understand." He turned his head, as though he heard some call inaudible to Vesh. A serious expression crossed Teacher's face. "A matter demands my immediate attention. Czyssa's Bishop questions his taste for altar boys. I must remind him that he could not possibly be to blame." Teacher gestured toward where Yoska Faw had vanished. "Follow Yoska. When he succumbs to vice, make him blame you. Practice is, after all, the shortest road to mastering any craft."
"I am not ready," Vesh insisted.
"You know the secret words."
Vesh trembled, fear of the unknown burning within him. "I have never used them."
"You learn fast. You proclaim it even more clearly than if a herald proceeded you and shouted out your skill." Teacher's eyes narrowed. "Did I not tell you that you that you must heed my instructions, or I would teach things you would not care to learn?"
Vesh hesitated a moment and then nodded.
"Good, good." Once again, Teacher became all smiles and warmth. "Now tend your Gypsy while I tend my Bishop."
Heart pounding in his ears, Vesh started through the forest after Yoska Faw.
(4)
Much to Vesh's surprise, Yoska went straight to Gunari's campsite.
Aunt Lyuba, sleeves to her shoulders, hunched over the clearing's tiny stream. She clasped a board covered with raised wooden ribs and a pair of Gunari's trousers. A rope-handled wooden tub contained several of Gunari's blouses, soaking wet and twisted into tight little knots from their long and arduous scrubbing.
Vesh looked more closely. Aunt Lyuba's knuckles, red and raw, proclaimed her arduous labors. Her bruised arms proclaimed, even more clearly, how Gunari had served Aunt Lyuba after Vesh had last seen the old man.
Aunt Lyuba sighed and sank Gunari's trousers into the stream. She lifted them out and scrubbed the dust from them on the board.
Vesh's hands clenched. His jaw set so tightly that his broken tooth screamed in protest. Vesh did not care.
"Gunari!" Yoska called, plunging into the clearing without even stopping to announce himself. "The time of reckoning has come."
Gunari appeared from the wagon. He spread his hands in conciliation. "Yoska, my friend! So good to see you."
Yoska scowled. "Do not try to mislead me. You have not paid me for taking that worthless boy as an apprentice." He strode up to the wagon. "My finest horse is lost. I must have my money. Now."
Gunari backed away. "Something has happened to Uarna? That is terrible!" His gold teeth flashed. "I know sorrow too … that boy, for instance. He has fled," Gunari lied. "He vanished in the night and took all my tools." Gunari picked up the iron headed hammer. "See? This battered thing is all he left."
Yoska's lip curled. "Do I see? Yes, I do. I see an old fraud, who thinks himself clever enough to deceive anyone." He waved an angry finger. "To break your oath to pay my fee for taking an apprentice -- especially one who runs -- is theft. Do you know what happens when one Rom robs another?" He folded his arms in defiance. "The thief becomes an outcast."
"Please, Yoska," Gunari pleaded. "You excite yourself over nothing." He smiled an ingratiating, patently false smile. "What is a few halers among old friends?"
"Enough for the Tribal Elders, Gunari Arben," Yoska snapped. "They have long had their eye on you." He turned and started from the clearing.
"Yoska, wait!" Gunari called. Yoska did not slow. Gunari glanced from Yoska to the hammer. Vesh did nothing. But perhaps he had learned more from Teacher than he realized, for he instantly saw into Gunari's black heart.
Gunari raised the hammer. He took five long strides, closing with Yoska Faw. The hammer rose. It descended on Yoska's head, making a sound like a ripe melon falling onto hard ground. Yoska fell forward. Pink saliva sprayed from his mouth. Yoska's legs went limp. His body tumbled to the ground, lifeless.
Aunt Lyuba stood up. A sharp keening escaped her lips. "Gunari, Gunari! What have you done?" She wrung her hands. "To kill a Rom who cannot defend himself ..." Aunt Lyuba's voice dissolved in a wail.
Vesh frowned. Yoska Faw, now slain, would never commit whatever crime Teacher had expected. Vesh could still do Teacher's bidding, though. Wasn't Gunari's wrong enough?
Vesh neared Gunari, close enough to smell Gunari's sour-stomach breath. He reached out to Gunari, as Teacher had touched Honko Vedel. His fingers stopped just short of Gunari's leathery skin.
Gunari turned to Aunt Lyuba. "Don't you see?" Gunari exclaimed. He dropped the hammer. "Yoska Faw would have gone to the Elders. I could have been shamed." Gunari stuck out a defiant chin. "No Man of Arben has been found marhime in two generations. I will not be first." He looked around, as if to see if anyone watched. "We pack and move on. No one knows the difference."
Aunt Lyuba crossed her arms. "I know."
Vesh's fingers closed on Gunari's forehead. He closed his eyes and mouthed the secret words. Then he opened his eyes, so as to not miss a moment.
Gunari's defiant eyes softened. "Please, Lyuba," he pleaded. "It was not my fault. Think who I visited so recently ... who knows what evil influences might still cling to me?" Gunari made the gesture that supposedly repels the evil eye, one that Vesh now recognized as useless, in all directions. "For all I know, your worthless nephew has already learned enough deviltry to come torment us. I would not put it past him."
Aunt Lyuba's eyes exploded in rage. "You blame poor fatherless Vesh?" She spat on the ground. "You are no husband of mine ... marhime, marhime."
Gunari gripped the hammer in both hands. Vesh gasped in horror. Teacher's lessons truly let him look into the core of Gunari's being. The thought that tumbled through Gunari -- She will go to the Elders. Are two deaths truly worse than one? -- filled Vesh's throat with a sour vomit taste.
Vesh reached for the hammer. Vesh's fingers would not close around it. He willed his hands to become fists. His hands would not obey. Teacher's words -- Mankind's decisions are entirely its own -- echoed in Vesh's mind. Even though he had only recently become Teacher's apprentice, Vesh could not directly prevent Gunari from obeying his dark impulses.
Gunari raised the hammer. Vesh bit his lip. What could he do? Only one possibility occurred to him. Vesh moved his fingers, imitating, as best he could, the gestures with which Teacher had cracked Honko Vedel's clay pot.
The hammer's iron head separated from its oak handle and fell to the ground.
Aunt Lyuba, apparently unaware of her danger, sneered. "Iron and oak acknowledge your evil and serve you no further."
Vesh ran to the edge of the clearing, distancing himself from Gunari. Vesh turned back toward the clearing. Gunari stood open mouthed. He stared at the hammer that had failed him, expression one of pure shock. Vesh steadied himself. Teacher had uncrooked his finger to recall his pain-causing charm from Gunari. Vesh set his jaw and said, backwards, Teacher's secret words. He threw his will into recalling his charm from Gunari. It might not work, but what else could Vesh do?
Gunari fell to his knees. "What have I done? Rom has slain Rom," he wailed. Gunari wrung his hands. "Marhime, marhime."
Vesh's heart pounded. His impromptu charm had succeeded. "What should the first Arben declared marhime in two generations do?" Vesh whispered. What consequence if Gunari could not hear his words? Vesh's will still burned as a fierce fire, enough to communicate his meaning.
Gunari produced Teacher's black handled dagger. Gunari turned the blade toward himself.
Aunt Lyuba's eyes went wide. "No!" she screamed. Aunt Lyuba dove for the dagger.
Gunari was too fast for her. He drove the dagger into his broad round gut. A wash of crimson sprayed from the wound. Gunari's mouth fell open. A red trickle ran from the corner. Gunari collapsed. Aunt Lyuba went down beside him, sobbing and calling Gunari's name.
A hand closed on Vesh's shoulder. Vesh turned. Teacher's pale blue eyes bored into his. For an eon-long moment, Teacher stood silently. Finally, he spoke. "I told you to take the blame for the acts of Yoska Faw. You disobeyed me."
Vesh swallowed hard. "I suppose I did."
"Gypsy law says that only one infraction surpasses that of one of your people killing another when the victim can not retaliate. Of what crime do I speak?"
Vesh hung his head. He mumbled the answer.
"Louder," Teacher said. "Speak plainly."
"No one is more marhime than the kin slayer," Vesh replied. "Marriage or blood, no difference."
Teacher nodded wisely. "You have killed an uncle who could neither see not hear you. How does having rendered yourself the most unclean of the unclean, as your murder has most surely done, make you feel?"
Vesh turned and stared at the weeping Aunt Lyuba and the lump of decaying meat that Gunari had become. He bit his lip. True, Aunt Lyuba suffered. But soon she would find another man, one who would never mistreat her as Gunari had. And Gunari? No matter Teacher's punishment -- Vesh's only regret was that his own hands had not opened Gunari's disgusting gut.
"How does it make me feel?" Vesh looked up at the sky. Could he voice his strange thoughts? Could he lie to Teacher? "Good," Vesh said, pouring out the truth. "Good beyond my ability to describe."
A mountain's weight seemed to fall from Vesh as he spoke.
Teacher embraced Vesh with genuine affection. "I said that, if you disobeyed me, I would teach you something that you would not care to know. You did, and I did." Teacher released him.
Vesh backed away, frowning. "I do not understand."
"Would the Vesh of yesterday have chosen to know just how stained he might become? Or how little he might care?" Teacher turned toward the forest and motioned for Vesh to follow. "Come. More discoveries await." Teacher gestured toward Gunari. "As the old man predicted, you will be a fine devil."
Vesh cast one last glance back at his aunt. A slow smile crossed Vesh's face. At last, Vesh had found a master whom he could truly serve. Vesh turned to follow Teacher.
END