“Henri was sitting there, silent and deep in thought, as we laughed and celebrated our famous victory. When he did speak, he had words of warning for us, and for Maman and Papa and me especially.
“They will be back,” he said, “and next time I do not think they will come only for the eggs. You heard him. That man has family in the Milice. They will come.”
Henri looked up at Papa and Maman. “Until now, they may have forgotten you. Not anymore. If they didn’t know before, they know where you are now. There is nowhere we can hide you, not here, not near the house. But there is the fisherman’s hut out on the marshes—it hasn’t been used for years. I have sheltered cows and calves in there from time to time. The roof leaks, but it is shelter. In town, they don’t even know such a place exists. You’d be safe there for awhile. You could hide away and no one would find you. And we could bring you everything you need. It is all I can think of.”
“And the carousel?” said Papa. “Who will look after the carousel?”
“We will,” Nancy told him. “We will, and when the Americans come, and it cannot be long now, you can come back, and we will finish it together.”
“We will take you out there in the morning,” said Henri, “but early, before dawn, so no one sees us. Tonight you must pack what you need. And take blankets; the nights might be cold out there.”
That is what we were doing that same evening. Lorenzo was shadowing me, holding my hand whenever he could. He knew well enough what was happening, and he did not want me to go. After awhile, he wanted to be alone with me, I could tell. He led me down to the lake and we sat silent on the upturned boat, looking out to the island.
We had no words, until he said: “Three hundred forty-one.”
That was the moment we heard the sound of a car, several of them, coming up the farm track, and coming fast. Three cars were pulling up outside the farmhouse. Everything happened so quickly after that. Lorenzo lifted the boat by the bow. I knew at once what he wanted me to do. I crawled in under and he lowered the boat over me. I cowered there in the dark, terrified. I could hear what was going on, all the shouting, and the breaking down of doors. Lorenzo was sitting on the boat now above my head. I could feel the boat rocking back and forth, hear him moaning and humming. I heard the splintering of glass, and raucous laughter, then the sound of footsteps running toward us.
“Two!” someone was shouting. “We’ve only got two of them. He said there were three gyppos out here. There’s a girl too, he said. She’s got to be hereabouts somewhere.” And then his voice was coming closer. “You! Idiot boy! Flamingo Boy! The gyppo girl, where is she?”
“Fly, flamingo, fly,” Lorenzo murmured again and again, rocking so hard now that the boat was creaking above my head. “Fly, flamingo, fly.”
“He’s loopy in the head. Daft as a bloody brush!” It was another voice from farther away. “Come on, Paul, we’ve got two of them. That’ll do. The gyppo girl’s probably run off into the marshes. She won’t last long out there on her own. Look, they’re burning the caravan. Gyppos, dirty beggars they are—they live like lousy rats, they do!”
I did not see the caravan burning. I smelled the smoke, and imagined the rest. Imagining is sometimes worse, Vincent. I did not see them manhandling Maman and Papa into the cars, but I knew it was happening. I only heard car doors slamming, more shouting, and the sound of the cars driving away. Then there was nothing but sobbing, and the distant crackling of flames. I thought it was all over, that they were gone. But then I heard more footsteps coming close, running footsteps, and I knew they were coming for me too. I curled myself into a ball in the darkness, biting my lip to stop myself from crying out.
“Renzo, have you seen Kezia?” It was Nancy’s voice. “Did you see where she went?” Lorenzo was rocking more violently now. I could hear the fear in his humming. “It’s all right, Renzo, all right,” Nancy said. She was sitting down beside him, on the boat, right above me. “They’ve gone,” she went on. “But Kezia, we can’t find her, Lorenzo. They didn’t take her. She’s around here somewhere. She must be. She can’t have gone far.”
“Zia Zia!” Lorenzo said. He was tapping the side of the boat, trying to tell her. Moments later, the bow of the boat was being lifted. I crawled out. Both of them were holding me then. I buried my head in their arms, clung to them, not wanting to look up and see the caravan in flames, not wanting to remember what I knew had happened.
When at last I did dare to lift my head and look, I saw Henri throwing buckets of water on what was left of the caravan, and he was not alone. The Caporal was there, two of his soldiers with him, all of them trying desperately to put the fire out. But it was hopeless—I could see that at once. The caravan was burning from end to end, the flames roaring up into the sky, smoke billowing out over the farmyard, showers of sparks landing all around us.
Terrible though it was to see my home burning, all I could think of was Maman and Papa. I realized they had taken Maman and Papa away, but still I looked for them everywhere, called for them, screamed for them. It was as fruitless as throwing buckets of water onto those flames, but I could not help myself. We stood there and watched as more soldiers came rushing up the farm track to try to pump water from the lake onto the fire. It was all too late. My home had been destroyed. There was little left but ashes, and Maman and Papa had been taken from me. Nancy’s strong arms were still holding me, but she could not hold back my tears.
The Caporal was coming toward us with Henri, both of them with eyes reddened from the smoke, their faces smeared.
I asked the Caporal through my tears: “Where have they taken my maman and papa?”
“I do not know,” he told me, “but I will find out. Believe me, I did not know this would happen. We are no angels, but to do this, to do this … this is shameful.” He came closer to me and crouched down. “I will see that no harm comes to them. You have to believe me, to trust me.”
“Trust, Capo,” Lorenzo echoed. “Capo, trust, trust.”
The Caporal stood up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I can promise you this. From now on, my soldiers will make sure no one comes past the gun emplacement onto your farm. We shall block the road. No more Milice will get through. But there are other ways to reach the farm, across the marshes. So it is best from now on, I think, to keep the little girl out of sight. It will not be for long. The Americans will be here soon—that is what we hear, and I am sure it is true. Then this war will quickly be over. I can go home, and your maman and papa can come home too.”
“But where are my maman and papa?” I asked him again.
The Caporal hesitated before replying. “There are places where they take Roma people.”
“But why have they taken them, Caporal?” said Nancy. “That I think is a more difficult question for you to answer.”
“I know the answer to that, madame,” the Caporal replied. “It is because the world has gone mad, and it is we who have made it mad. But when all this madness is over, and it will be soon, you and your family and your carousel can help mend the world, help put right the wrongs we have done.”
He walked away then, taking his soldiers with him, leaving the ashes smoldering behind him. Through the drifting smoke out in the field, we saw Honey intent on her grazing, as if nothing had happened. We smiled at that, and then at one another. I needed a smile, Vincent, you cannot imagine how much I needed a smile at that moment.”
Kezia took a deep breath then that became a long sigh, as she gazed sadly into the fire. “I can never look into a fire without remembering,” she said, and remained silent for awhile. I thought she might be going to find some reason or other not to go on with the story. But, when she lifted her head, I could see she was ready to continue, that she wanted to finish it. She wanted to tell it all. I felt then for the first time that this was a story she was anxious to pass on, that she wanted me to hear, and that for reasons I did not know, and still do not know, she had chosen me.
“The night of the caravan fire was the first time I ever slept in this house, Vincent. I slept with them upstairs, in the room where I still sleep all these years later. Four in the bed we were that night, all of us huddled together against the world. But sleep came to none of us. It was not only Lorenzo who kept me awake, as he rocked himself, as he hummed and muttered to himself that night. I wouldn’t have slept anyway. I kept trying not to think of Maman and Papa, of what might be happening to them, of where they were. If it was a camp they had been taken to, as I think I remembered someone saying, then that would not be so bad. A camp was not so bad. I was hoping that, wherever they were, they would meet up with Madame Salomon, that they could all look after one another. I knew Madame Salomon would be as kind to them as she had been to me. In the middle of the night though came my darkest thoughts, that I would not see them ever again.
I prayed to Saint Sarah, tried to pray as I had done when I was little, Maman kneeling with me in front of her icon in the caravan, with the candle burning beside it. But Saint Sarah could not comfort me because I could not believe in her as I had then. All the same, I kept praying to her, night after night, more in hope than in faith. Thinking back, she kept my hopes alive. And I am still trying to work out, Vincent, when hope becomes faith, and what faith is without hope.”