Gypsy: Chapter 5

We ran until the voice of the rat was completely drowned out by the beetle bug’s song and the pink and orange lights broke through the changing leaves. My body was exhausted and my legs shaking with fatigue, but the Rose just continued like she was inhuman. Not a word was spoken as we ran, and it remained like that until we stopped at a small stream to rest and drink. I watched her as she scooped the clear water into her hands, sipping gracefully. I watched her, thoughts racing through my mind. I had tried to remember my memory of the village as we ran, but it was just out of reach. It was like the keys from a prison cell, you could see it hanging there on the wall, but you remained trapped only wishing someone would slip you the tools of escape. I believed that the Rose was those keys. She had the answer to my memories but she was acting like a warden, shielding me from even the vague hope of revelation.

“What is your real name?” I asked her, catching her off guard. She looked up from the spring but never at me.

“Naomi.” She answered simply, and then continued to drink the life from her delicate hands.

Naomi, I thought. It was so familiar and I buried myself in it. I lay back against a large conifer, my body fatigued but my mind very much alive. I searched for her name in the darkness. Flashes of the river and the people’s sad faces etched themselves against the back of my eyes. Naomi I repeated it rhythmically.

The dead grasses beside me cracked and hissed as a warm body lodged itself to mine. The sweet smell of chai engulfed me again and the name Naomi began to draw a face, bright and warm against the cold unconsciousness of my mind.

~*~

The Rose stood there in the river, smiling back at me, much younger and lively then the Rose who lay against me now. The warmth of her body reflected the sunlight against the sparkling water. A flash, and the river is gone and I was walking again. I looked around at the sad faces and up at the hand on my shoulder. A man, Naomi’s father and chief of her clan walked beside me grimacing. He was stern, I remembered, nothing like Naomi but I had much respect for him. He brought me to a small hut pushed together and bound by reeds. I stood at the opening, my heart ached and pounded, I knew what was inside, I knew what was happening in my memory but it was not whispered into my consciousness anymore then a feeling of dread.

The chief pushed me forward slightly into the darkness of the hut, the only light saved was in the corner, a small, blooming little fire. I stared at it, dancing around in its designated home. It kissed the loose stones around it gently, trying to convince them to let it out of its prison, let it grow and dance wildly through the night. But the stones were not waved by its pleas and they held steady. I just stared at them, pain sinking deep into my chest, guilt bubbling up into my heart. The hut smelled of sickness and death, but I just watched the fire.

Chanting seeped into my ear drums and begged me to turn my head away from the fire. My mind wandered but my eyes remained focused. I couldn’t stand to look in the other direction, to look at life dying before me, but the chanting continued and slowly my head turned toward the darkness of the hut. The looming scent of death made my stomach sick and my heart hurt. Slowly my eyes adjusted and the image of a skeleton appeared on the floor before me. Not a skeleton, a woman, my mother. The sickness ravaged through me and passed through me until I threw up. The women in the hut chanted sorrowful words, trying to coax me and the soul of the dead woman before them.