go as they choose.”
“I see.” Danny turned at the noise of a distant siren.
“There was an explosion the other night,” Nana said slowly, looking at Danny, “and now they are hunting hill and dale for someone. You?”
“Did the ravens tell you about the explosion, Nana?” Beth asked.
“No, silly,” Nana said, “I saw it on the television. But they were telling lies about it.”
“What lies?”
“They said that many people were killed.” Danny looked at her, stricken.
“No, son, don’t look at me like that. No one was killed. I would have heard them. When the living are bidden suddenly around here, I hear their laments as they make their way toward the river.”
“The river?”
“The dark stream that carries the dead to their final destination.”
Danny felt a shiver run down his spine. Another siren sounded, closer this time.
“Peelers, peelers!” The cry went up all over the camp. Danny looked out the window. A police van with flashing blue lights blocked the entrance to the gypsies’ encampment. The travelers gathered at their caravan doors, watching sullenly as policemen in riot gear emerged from the back of the van. An important-looking policeman with braid on his cap got out of the passenger seat. Sye approached in a curious, hunched-over, wheedling manner.
“You’ll not get nothing here, Inspector, sir. Nothing, sir. We’re only poor travelers trying to make our way in the world.”
“I know what you are,” the inspector said brusquely. “Thieves and liars. Out of my way.”
The policemen spread through the encampment. They seemed to take delight in breaking things, throwingwashing on the ground and trampling it, kicking over cooking pans and teapots.
“They’ve no right to do that!” Danny said indignantly.
“They do what they like with us ones,” Beth said.
The inspector stood in the middle of the camp.
“Attention!” he shouted. “According to records, there should be seven males between the ages of ten and twenty in this encampment. I want them all here now.”
Slowly, children and teenagers started to emerge from the caravans. As each reached the policeman, he put his hand under their chin, tilted their head upward and examined their eyes. When he had examined the last one, he turned to his men.
“Go through the caravans! Search every last corner.”
Drawing batons, the men stormed into the little caravans. There was the sound of breaking crockery. Bedding and clothing were thrown out the doors into the mud. They went methodically through each caravan, arriving last at Nana’s. A policeman threw the door open. Nana met them. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She tried to speak, then turned away, making a choking noise. A red-eyed and red-nosed Beth put her arm around her.
“What’s wrong with her?” one of the policemen said roughly.
“My sister,” Beth sobbed. “She fell into a drain. She is lost to us.”
A figure in a dress lay on the sofa. The face was muddy and the eyes were covered with two coins.
“What’s with the coins?” one of the policemen whispered.
“Gypsy traditions,” another whispered back. “They’re to pay the ferryman to cross the river of death.”
“What’s going on here?” The inspector burst in. “Why aren’t you searching?”
One of the searchers pointed wordlessly toward the corpse. The inspector went over.
“What’s all this? Looks dead, all right, but it could be a trick.” He motioned to Beth.
“Take those coins off!” he said. Nana sobbed. “Quiet. Do as you’re told. I’ll see those eyes!”
Beth went over to the body, glaring reproachfully at the policemen. She gently lifted the coins from the eyes. The inspector leaned over eagerly, then stepped back in revulsion. The sockets where the eyes should have been were bloody and suppurating.
“The rats got to the body before we did,” Beth said, replacing the coins carefully and smoothing back the corpse’s hair.
“Leave them,” the
“I see.” Danny turned at the noise of a distant siren.
“There was an explosion the other night,” Nana said slowly, looking at Danny, “and now they are hunting hill and dale for someone. You?”
“Did the ravens tell you about the explosion, Nana?” Beth asked.
“No, silly,” Nana said, “I saw it on the television. But they were telling lies about it.”
“What lies?”
“They said that many people were killed.” Danny looked at her, stricken.
“No, son, don’t look at me like that. No one was killed. I would have heard them. When the living are bidden suddenly around here, I hear their laments as they make their way toward the river.”
“The river?”
“The dark stream that carries the dead to their final destination.”
Danny felt a shiver run down his spine. Another siren sounded, closer this time.
“Peelers, peelers!” The cry went up all over the camp. Danny looked out the window. A police van with flashing blue lights blocked the entrance to the gypsies’ encampment. The travelers gathered at their caravan doors, watching sullenly as policemen in riot gear emerged from the back of the van. An important-looking policeman with braid on his cap got out of the passenger seat. Sye approached in a curious, hunched-over, wheedling manner.
“You’ll not get nothing here, Inspector, sir. Nothing, sir. We’re only poor travelers trying to make our way in the world.”
“I know what you are,” the inspector said brusquely. “Thieves and liars. Out of my way.”
The policemen spread through the encampment. They seemed to take delight in breaking things, throwingwashing on the ground and trampling it, kicking over cooking pans and teapots.
“They’ve no right to do that!” Danny said indignantly.
“They do what they like with us ones,” Beth said.
The inspector stood in the middle of the camp.
“Attention!” he shouted. “According to records, there should be seven males between the ages of ten and twenty in this encampment. I want them all here now.”
Slowly, children and teenagers started to emerge from the caravans. As each reached the policeman, he put his hand under their chin, tilted their head upward and examined their eyes. When he had examined the last one, he turned to his men.
“Go through the caravans! Search every last corner.”
Drawing batons, the men stormed into the little caravans. There was the sound of breaking crockery. Bedding and clothing were thrown out the doors into the mud. They went methodically through each caravan, arriving last at Nana’s. A policeman threw the door open. Nana met them. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She tried to speak, then turned away, making a choking noise. A red-eyed and red-nosed Beth put her arm around her.
“What’s wrong with her?” one of the policemen said roughly.
“My sister,” Beth sobbed. “She fell into a drain. She is lost to us.”
A figure in a dress lay on the sofa. The face was muddy and the eyes were covered with two coins.
“What’s with the coins?” one of the policemen whispered.
“Gypsy traditions,” another whispered back. “They’re to pay the ferryman to cross the river of death.”
“What’s going on here?” The inspector burst in. “Why aren’t you searching?”
One of the searchers pointed wordlessly toward the corpse. The inspector went over.
“What’s all this? Looks dead, all right, but it could be a trick.” He motioned to Beth.
“Take those coins off!” he said. Nana sobbed. “Quiet. Do as you’re told. I’ll see those eyes!”
Beth went over to the body, glaring reproachfully at the policemen. She gently lifted the coins from the eyes. The inspector leaned over eagerly, then stepped back in revulsion. The sockets where the eyes should have been were bloody and suppurating.
“The rats got to the body before we did,” Beth said, replacing the coins carefully and smoothing back the corpse’s hair.
“Leave them,” the
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