It took two hours to walk to the graveyard, led by Grandfather’s brass band.
In the small chapel, the band played old sentimental love songs, the ones Deda performed every night working in the bar by the river. Before the casket was closed, everybody lined up to kiss Grandfather’s forehead, to toss money inside and to pour beer, wine or brandy on his body.
Baba came up after everyone else. Two women walked her to the coffin. She stood there for a very long time, pouring wine into the coffin. She kept pouring and pouring, not stopping until not a drop was left. “Alexander, I poured in all my life and left it with you—in music and love, in cold and love, in sorrow and love.”
Then she threw coins into Grandfather’s coffin and whispered: “Akane mukav tut le Devlesa, Alexander—I now leave you to God.”
All the people from Cardboard City lined up to throw coins in Grandfather’s coffin, each whispering the same words. After they all had taken a turn at the graveside, Baba cut a piece of red string from the coffin and tied it around Nikola’s wrist.
“Here is your mulengi, Nikolche, the string from your Deda’s coffin.”
“You are giving a mulengi to him?” said Saida. “What about me?”
She was now crying for real.
Baba continued tying the mulengi on Nikola’s wrist.
“You can take care of yourself. We give it to the weakest one to protect him.”
Ten men carried the casket to the funeral carriage, two women held Baba, and Saida and Nikola followed right behind her. The band played the funeral march, and the rest of the community followed up the steep road, avoiding muddy potholes and sharp rocks. Close friends and relatives walked in front, weeping.
The Romani community had been assigned their own section of the graveyard at the very back.
Grandfather’s best friend, another bandleader, gave a tearful speech about his music. Then one of the gravediggers who was lowering Grandfather Alexander’s casket into the grave slipped, and the casket fell to the bottom of the grave with an explosive thump. It broke apart.
Baba shouted, “My poor Alexander. Your casket broke and you threw yourself into the grave like the thunder of gods!” She stretched her arms out toward the sky, her hair spread out behind her like a dark curtain. Each one in turn threw a handful of earth onto the casket.
On the way back, Baba paid the streetcar tickets for everybody.
A smartly dressed woman complained that “Gypsies” were taking up all the seats on the streetcar. An argument ensued and the driver stopped the streetcar. “Everyone calm down or get out!” he shouted.
The well-dressed lady got off at the next stop, angrily waving at the driver with her purse. The rest of the trip went quietly, all of them gazing out the streetcar windows, absorbed in their own thoughts.