Gypsy Company

By Red Umbrell

This novel is a celebration of the Romani spirit—a testament to their enduring resilience in the face of adversity, their unwavering sense of community, and their profound connection to the land they roam. Through the eyes of our characters, we traverse the winding roads of history, unraveling the intricate tapestry of Romani lore and legend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Umbrell
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224185245

Book preview

Preface

In the heart of every traveler lies a tale waiting to be told—a story of wanderlust, resilience, and the eternal search for freedom. Gypsy Company embarks on a journey into the captivating world of the Romani, delving deep into their rich culture, traditions, and the enigmatic essence of the nomadic way of life.

This novel is a celebration of the Romani spirit—a testament to their enduring resilience in the face of adversity, their unwavering sense of community, and their profound connection to the land they roam. Through the eyes of our characters, we traverse the winding roads of history, unraveling the intricate tapestry of Romani lore and legend.

From the vibrant hues of bustling marketplaces to the whispered secrets of hidden encampments, Gypsy Company invites readers to immerse themselves in a world where every shadow conceals a story and every step brings new discovery. Through the trials and triumphs of our characters, we witness the timeless struggle for identity and belonging, as they navigate the complexities of a world that often misunderstands and marginalizes them.

But amidst the challenges and obstacles, there is beauty to be found in the Romani way of life—a beauty that lies in the freedom of the open road, the warmth of shared laughter around a campfire, and the enduring bonds of family and kinship. Gypsy Company is a celebration of this beauty—a tribute to the indomitable spirit of a people who have thrived against all odds.

Join us on this extraordinary journey as we lift the veil on the hidden world of the Romani, where every turn of the road reveals a new adventure and every encounter leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

Red Umbrell

2013, after Christ, Kosjerić, behind the tavern 'Two Brothers'

"THE DAWN BREAKS, EVERYTHING is calm and peaceful. The first rays of the sun shyly emerge on the horizon. Savatije's rooster peeks out from its hiding place where it spent the night, flaps its wings a couple of times, clears its throat to cleanse its lungs, and begins to crow at the top of its voice.

From a nearby pile of urban waste, beneath the stacked cardboard for washing machines, a shaggy head emerges. Next to it, a grubby hand holds a piece of brick which, in the next moment, sprouts wings and like a rocket, flies towards the surprised Savatije.

With a skillful maneuver, using its left wing, the singer dodges the projectile and sings even louder. A commotion stirs under the cardboard. Micko, with dirty hands, covers his ears and grumbles through his teeth: 'Oh, you lovebird, you can't even silence a chicken!' 'Oh, my ears hurt, silence that bird, I beg you!'

Petronije extricates himself from that dirty heap and sets off in pursuit of the singer. Savatije makes a clever move, as if he were going left, but then he flies to the right. With that maneuver, he has taken the opponent out of the game, and Petronije finds himself rolling in a nearby pile of mud.

Now firmly confident, Savatije, victorious, sings an aria from 'The Barber of Seville.' Micko struggles under the pile of cardboard, cursing his incompetent brother. Rat Tomash, awakened from his sleep, runs off into the nearby bushes, head bowed, quietly cursing."

Micko

O nce again, the damn cable snaps on us, on the car, I swear to the sun, I swear to everything, Micko said and continued,

"This damn junk is screwing us over. What crap we're dealing with. I curse your life and your plow; I curse everything in the world.

Damn the Russian who made you. Damn whoever didn't chase you away and push you into a ditch. Oh, tomorrow I will. Tomorrow, for sure, we're going to the dump. You won't screw us over equally. Now the cable decides to snap. Now when we need to go home. Just when we finished and installed the gutter for the day, got down from the roof, put that gas tank and tools in the Lada, so we could get away from that wind.

That day was like hell, everything went to hell, and yes, I admit I'm rude when some disaster hits us, I am. I am, especially when I'm really angry. And that day was one of the worst. Absolutely crazy, insane. You'd wish to jump off Branko's bridge, not get up in the morning at all.

I tell you, that crazy wind started blowing, so damn foolish, blowing and blowing, never stopping, and rain was about to pour, and the roof, that bastard Radenko's roof, half-uncovered for days, damn him and everything. Damn his crooked roof and all those rotten beams. Damn all these gutters, I'd shove each one up his ass, the damn faggot. Where did he find these? Where were they last year? Ah, enjoying himself by the sea.

The year before, Greece. Last year, Turkey. And this year, Bulgariaaaa. Where hasn't he gone, damn it, and here we are, we haven't seen the sea for twenty years. And now we find ourselves climbing around his slippery and shitty roof in the middle of November, like monkeys. Pigeons have taken over the attic, in the gutters and under the beams, shit as much as you like. Damn it all. That he hasn't ruined. I turned into murky water while setting up all his verticals and horizontals, worked like a beast, and Petronije, my beloved brute, burned his briefs on the burner. Now he can crap without taking them off."

"We always work honestly. There's no 'honestly, then to court' with us. We don't cut corners. No. God sees. God judges. And we're closer to Him up there, so He sees us better.

AND THIS TIN-ROOFING job requires lunatics like us. These monkeys climbing on roofs from February to July, until the stars blaze, while the naked people sprawl across Montenegro or stroll the promenades and sip coffee in cafes, we, like cats on a hot tin roof, install gutters. Our eyes burn from the fire and acid.

We're poisoned like this, sick from work, from our jobs and the struggle to earn a penny. A bloody penny. Thank God I've never slipped. Never. God forbid I should stumble and become wealthy. When I'm hungry, I hate the whole world and beyond. People don't know what it's like when you're hungry and freezing like hell. I start to shake, my hands tremble from the cold. And my glasses start to fog up, and that solder from the flea market doesn't hold, so then I knock it with my foot and spill the can of acid, then I climb down and rummage through the car and bottles to see if there's a little left.

Luckily, I find some, otherwise it would've been 'drop the Lada, go home.' But when something interrupts me in my work, I piss on the job. I wish I hadn't started that day. And then his neighbor Steve shows up, God damn him, saying something isn't right. Blames my gutter.

He was born crooked. So, the gutter should be crooked too. The horizontal part needs to be sloped to drain properly. What does he know? Screw his mother. What if it rains tomorrow and all the water rushes onto the facade and into the kids' room? I curse him a hundred times. He knows. A madman.

That junkie son of his, crazy, can't see that his house is full of those whores, posing in front of cameras. Says it's a new business. Hotline, a hot line. And he pretends to be clueless. He's hungry for money. He just grins, while his son brings in minors and makes them undress. So, I told him. I'd sort you and him out. If I find my daughter there like some neighbor's kid, I'll screw you both over.

Listen, wise guy, go up there on the roof and straighten it out. I'll pay you, how much do you want, huh? I know you won't. No way you'll eat what's not edible. If Radenko hadn't sent him away, we would've almost come to blows. I almost hit him with those tin snips, but he ran off. I told him to get lost, idiot. Go. Go, don't get on my nerves, God damn it.

God damn you, crazy God. God damn you for being so useless. You came to hassle and fool around. God damn whoever gave you early retirement, you could pull a cart with your tail. Yeah, early retirement. God damn that doctor and the whole commission. Let them fuck you. After I cool down a bit and calm down, Petronije stood silently in the distance, not letting go of his mallet.

Let me tell you, it was a shitty day, completely. I didn't even sit down. Didn't even have time to piss like a human. Screw this job, sometimes I did less work and everything was better, more money, I even took the kids to the sea, but now, nothing. All savings gone; God damn it. They took it to Cyprus, to Russia, who knows where else, carrying suitcases full of cash, and whoever didn't hang himself on time in Terazije. Screw them, Stalin and Marx and Engels, screw them, and Tito for teaching them to cheat and scam everyone in sight."

Here's the English translation of the text:

"Well, it always goes sideways. I work the whole day, and then when I need to leave, the cable snaps on my car, or the carburetor acts up, the spark plugs foul, the battery drains, or a tire goes flat. And I'm constantly topping it up, screwing it up every time. Screw the factory where they made it, the acid and distilled water I poured in, it keeps evaporating. Damn it all, where is it going to snap now, damn whoever installed it. I kick the Lada, hit it, and dent it in a different place than last time, but it's all battered from my rage. It annoys me, whether it's someone else's fault, or a tire goes flat, overheats, the carburetor fails, the cable snaps, and I feel like I'm pouring oil in it every day. So, I take out that always-ready jack from the trunk because my lift is weak and I put it under the car to somehow fix that piss-soaked cable, to find someone to tow me or to jump-start it with cables. But if I can't jump-start it, screw it, I'll strike a match and set it on fire. Let life go on.