chapter twenty-eight

WHEN we reach Romania, Gloria has totally lost her stoutness. She has coughing fits that scare me stiff. No matter how often she tells me that she is as sturdy as the trees, I don’t believe her. But I don’t know how to say “Iamsickandineedadoctor” in Romanian. Besides, we have no money left for medicine.

So while she rests on a bench, I decide to go to work as we did at Kopeckochka. I go to an open market and sit on the ground in the square. I extend my hand.

Even before I get a first coin, a group of children surround me. We don’t speak the same language, but insults need no translation. They tell me to scram, that this isn’t my turf. One of them—the leader of the gang—wears a hoop earring and bracelets. He shoves me. When I straighten up, I think of Emil and Abdelmalik: “If you don’t fight, you’re dead!” Quickly I get to my feet and swing from one foot to the other, fists raised to the level of my face. Whoosh! A blow in the air. And thwack! A kick! I move and dodge. And I send an unstoppable uppercut into Hoop Earring’s face.

The circle widens. Hoop Earring is on the ground. His nose is bleeding, and I’m sure that he’s going to make me pay for that. I get ready to take on whatever comes next, but instead of rushing at me, Hoop Earring starts to laugh.

He laughs so hard as he wipes his nose on the sleeve of his sweater that the others start to imitate him. I don’t get it. And then Hoop Earring gives me a thumbs-up—which means “bravo”—and asks me my name.

“Koumaïl,” I say, still wary.

Hoop Earring motions for me to follow him, but I point toward Gloria, who has fallen asleep on the bench.

“Mama?” he says, raising his eyebrows.

I nod.

Hoop Earring pauses, then smiles. With his hands he gestures as if he’s eating and says, “OK!” It seems that I have a new friend, and I rush to wake up Gloria.

This is how we arrive at the Gypsy camp.