Glancing around, Anna saw that, unlike the previous room, this one was filled with framed photographs. On the wall, on tabletops. Photos of family and friends, including reproductions of some of the O’Keefe prints she’d seen online. But newer ones, too. A chronicle spanning decades. The old woman had surrounded herself with the history of her life.
And on the wall, just to the right of the daybed, was a framed blowup of the photo of Chavi.
“My name,” she said, “is Antonija Zala. Madam Zala to the gadje.” She lifted a finger and wiggled it at Anna. “Come closer, child. I want to see your eyes.”
Anna glanced back at Pope, who stood near the doorway with the lunk and his mother. They no longer seemed to be a threat, having given themselves over to the will of the old woman. They were afraid of her. And Anna wondered if she should be afraid, too.
As if reading her mind, the old woman said, “You’ve nothing to fear. Come closer.”
Anna hesitated, another wave of revulsion passing through her, then did as she was told. The old woman stared intently at her eyes as she approached, recognition spreading across her face.
“Ahhh, yes,” she said. “I knew he had found you again. He wasn’t certain at first, didn’t want to make another mistake, so he held back. But he knows now. He knows you’re the one.”
Anna couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “How could you possibly know all that?”
“I have the gift, child. How else?”
“And he told you this?”
“Not in words,” the old woman said. “And not in this world. But in the nether. In the spaces between time.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“That I can sometimes read Mikola’s thoughts.”
“That’s his name? Mikola?”
The old woman smiled. “You have so much to remember, my dear.”
“Then quit being so goddamn cryptic,” Anna said, her frustration bubbling over. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Calm down, girl. You have no enemies here.”
“Then answer my question.” She showed the old woman the print-out, pointing again to the boy crouched inside the wagon. “Is this him? Is this Mikola?”
The old woman didn’t look at it.
Simply nodded.
“What does he want with me? My soul? Is that what he’s after?”
Another nod.
“But why?” Anna asked. “Who is he?”
“He’s Roma,” the old woman said. “Blood.”
“What do you mean he’s blood?”
Antonija Zala smiled again, patiently, the folds of fat in her chins jiggling with the effort.
“He’s family, my dear. He’s your brother.”
Anna said nothing.
Feeling as if her legs might give out, she found a chair nearby and sat.
Her brain felt numb.
“Let me tell you a story,” the old woman said. She shifted on the bed, grunting with the effort. “It’s the story of two children, conjoined twins, you might say. But it isn’t a body they share. No organs. No limbs. But something far more vital than any human shell could ever be.”
“A soul,” Anna said. “They share a soul.”
Antonija Zala smiled again. “That’s right, my dear. They were born many years ago, to a family of Rom. Our family. The Zala family. The Zala clan had traveled for many a decade, then finally found their way back home to Slavonia, to a city called Osijek.
“When one of the wives, my great-grandmother Natasa, became pregnant by her husband, Nikolai, there was much joy in the family. But at the moment of birth, those present knew something was seriously wrong.
“There were two children in Natasa’s womb. One, the girl, was quite beautiful. Pristine, in fact. They named her Chavi.
“But the boy, he did not fare as well during the birth. He was small, sickly, with a deformed face and body. He was, they thought, possessed by demons, and those who saw him that morning did not expect him to live.
“He was taken into the forest and left to the elements, his father weeping as he laid the boy under a tree. And when Nikolai returned to camp, he found that little Chavi was crying as well, tears that had not stopped since her brother was taken from her side.
“She cried through the night, her little face red with anguish. But the deed was done. The boy had been given to the angels.
“Or so they thought.”
The old woman paused, shifting again on the daybed.
“When Nikolai returned the next day to the spot where he had left his son, he was surprised to discover that the boy was still alive. The temperature during the night had dropped below freezing, and Nikolai knew it could not be possible, yet there he was, crying angrily, just as Chavi had cried. And he knew that the boy had been warmed by Chavi’s tears.
“Not knowing what else to do, Nikoli picked him up and carried him back to camp. At first the family celebrated. It was a miracle, given to them by God. But then the whispers started. Perhaps God did not have a hand in the boy’s survival after all. Perhaps it was the Devil. The demons that possessed him.
“But all Nikolai and Natasa knew was that their little beauty, their Chavi, was no longer crying.
“As the years passed, the twins became inseparable. It was said that they not only shared blood, but were two parts of the same wheel. The boy, Mikola, had trouble walking, but he would follow Chavi wherever she went. And while Chavi was doted on by members of the family and their friends, Mikola was often ignored, unless there was a chore to be done. A task to be completed.
“The Zala family had always been a powerful clan. Tales of their magic were known throughout the region, some true, some exaggerations of the truth. And as she grew into a lovely young woman, Chavi discovered that she had powers far greater than anyone else in the family.
“You must understand that it takes most Roma women many years to develop their supernatural skills. Some, like my Tatjana here, never develop them at all.
“But Chavi was different. Special. By the time she was seventeen, she was a full-fledged chovihani, a witch, respected and loved by all those around her.
“But Mikola was also special. It was unusual for a Roma male to develop any supernatural powers, but because he shared Chavi’s soul, he also shared many of her skills. But rather than use those skills for good, as Chavi did, Mikola was drawn to the dark side, and his days of tolerating insults were over.
“When several gadje children pelted him with eggs one day, he felled them all with a curse. When a carnival barker caught him trying to sneak into one of his sideshows, and threatened to flog him, Mikola rendered him mute, and the man was later found to have swallowed his own tongue.
“But the ultimate insult came from Chavi herself. When a young gadje photographer began traveling with the Zala family, Chavi found herself falling in love with the man and spoke of running away with him.
“This was not only against Roma law, it did not sit well with Mikola. Chavi belonged to no one but him. She was, after all, his twin sister, the second half of the wheel. How could she think to abandon him? To leave him behind?
“In an angry rage, Mikola put a curse on the photographer, who soon collapsed and died.
“Heartbroken and distraught, Chavi confronted Mikola, but his rage continued to burn, all the years of pain and frustration coming to the surface. Chavi had betrayed him. She was no longer his sister, but a thief. The girl who had threatened to take away forever what was rightfully his. The part of his soul she had already stolen at birth.
“And in a frenzy, Mikola grabbed a knife and stabbed Chavi, over and over again, then left her in the forest, under the very tree his own father had left him on the night of his birth.
