Amazing Mrs. Pollifax (23 page)

“A suitcase,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “She ought to have a suitcase like everyone else.”

“Good thinking,” said Colin, “but we’ve only that horrible cardboard thing Madrali fetched us. An American tourist carrying
that would
be frighteningly conspicuous.”

Uncle Hu said, “Wait a minute, I can contribute one from the van—Yule can bring it back with him tonight. It’s old and battered, I’ve kept film in it for years but it’s definitely Bond Street and very British.”

“Then that’s it, isn’t it?” announced Colin.

Anyeta produced a pair of crutches and joined them as they walked outside to see the horses saddled. Goru was just leaving, and she called out to him; he nodded and waved. “I told him to make his way to the end of the cliff, following the shade, so that if the plane should come back and see him there would be no sign of where he came from. You must do the same, Mr. Ramsey.”

He nodded absently and turned to Magda. “You will be careful,” he said flatly.

“I will be careful.”

“It’s not easy to leave you when I’ve just found you. You’ll wait for me and Dmitri in Scotland?”

She nodded.

He leaned over and held her for a moment silently, and
then he turned to Dmitri, smiled and said, “Well, Dmitri? We begin a long journey, you and I.”

For a moment Dmitri and Magda clung to each other, and then he carefully removed the Evil Eye from around his neck and passed it over his grandmother’s head. “Now is yours to guard,” he said.

One of the men stationed above them on the cliffside shouted words down to Anyeta. “He says there is no sign of the plane, it is time you go quickly.”

Lifting Dmitri to the saddle of his horse Ramsey said firmly, “We mustn’t keep Yule waiting. Off we go, Dmitri. Gung ho, what?”

When they had disappeared along the cliff Mrs. Pollifax and Colin lingered outside to look out over the bright, sunlit, dusty valley. “Tomorrow at this time,” began Mrs. Pollifax, seating herself on a crumbling wall.

“Yes?” said Colin, joining her.

She shook her head. “It’s what makes sleep so impossible—the waiting,” Mrs. Pollifax explained. “The not-knowing.” She stared across the valley, her eyes narrowed against the brilliance of sun on whitened rock. “I love this part of the country,” she said suddenly. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I had thought Turkey so dark—”

“Its history is dark.”

“But look at it—everything sun-baked, the color of cream and old lace and ripe wheat and bleached rock and yellow grass, and then this brilliant blue sky and every now and then clumps of green the color of jade. I do wish I were an artist. What on earth are you scribbling?”

Colin grinned. “I intend to spend this endless day of ours shooting film, and I’m jotting down your adjectives. Uncle Hu could use them. He does his own narrations, you know.”

“Would I get residuals?” asked Mrs. Pollifax with interest.

“Would you insist on it?”

“No.”

“Good,” said Colin briskly, “because I’m sure Uncle Hu doesn’t even know what the word means, and the most you could expect would be a thank-you note.”

He added firmly, with a confidence she’d not heard before, “I’ve decided there’s something I can do to pay Uncle
Hu back for his kindnesses, and that’s to film the gypsies. You may not realize it, but in all his years in this country he’s never been able to catch more than a passing shot of them from his car.” He added dryly, “You can perhaps understand the difficulties in approaching them now. It’s bothered him excessively. Now at last he has the opportunity to spend a day with them, film them, make friends with them, and damned if he’s not off on an errand of mercy. The chance of a lifetime and he’s missing it! I’m going to ask Anyeta if I can poke around filming her gypsies today.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Mrs. Pollifax.

The hours of the day were long but not unpleasant. In midmorning they ate warmed-over
domatesli pilaf
heated by Anyeta on a small, almost smokeless charcoal brazier. The horses were fed. Sandor took over the mending of the damaged wagon wheel and Colin roamed ubiquitously over the cliff with his camera, popping in and out of caves and cellars, following Magda and Mrs. Pollifax to the well when they drew water for Anyeta, filming the gypsy children at their play and the women at work.

The helicopter did not return but twice a small plane flew over, sending everyone into hiding until it was gone. “Police, I think,” said Colin, squinting up at it through holes in the roof, and Anyeta sent out orders to double the lookouts posted on the cliff.

“She is a queen, you know—literally,” Magda said during a moment when Anyeta ventured out on crutches to oversee the wagon’s mending. “It is she who holds all the people together. Not only these, but many more.”

“Queen of gypsies!” mused Mrs. Pollifax. “And now I have met one personally … She comes from Bulgaria?”

“Oh no,” Magda said firmly. “No, I am not the only person she smuggled out. The gypsies in Bulgaria—it is a country very close to Russia ideologically—are being absorbed into Bulgarian life. They allow no nonsense, the Bulgars, and the gypsy children are made to go to school, to conform, to put aside their heritage and become good workers in the Bulgarian Communist life. It troubles the older ones. No, Anyeta and Goru also smuggled out illegally some of the Rom who wished to leave. Not many but a few.”

“Not all of the eastern European countries are so rigid then?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.

“Oh no! Anyeta’s roots are in Rumania, and from Rumania the gypsies wander freely into Yugoslavia over the mountains, and from there into Italy or western Germany.”

“How did she lose the use of her legs—polio?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.

Magda laughed. “That is something not even I can discover! But it is said by the Rom that her gift for clairvoyance tripled when she lost the power to walk—as if all her strength went to this gift for the psychic.” She shook her head admiringly. “She is an astonishing woman. When I first met her—”

“Where?” asked Mrs. Pollifax eagerly.

“It was in Budapest many years ago, in a cafe, and she was wearing pearls and diamonds. I was stunned to learn she was an Inglescu.” Magda looked at Mrs. Pollifax and nodded. “Is this not amazing? Can you see her in diamonds? It is the wonder of life, such things. Perhaps you have heard of ______?” She mentioned the name of a European concert violinist.

“Indeed I have,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “I heard him play years ago in Carnegie Hall on one of his few American tours.”

Magda nodded. “He was half-gypsy, you know. That was Anyeta’s husband. But she is
all
gypsy, and grew sick from the
gorgio
’s life. I hear that she became very thin, very pale, very sad, and nearly died. She had to come back to her people.”

“To this,” said Mrs. Pollifax reflectively, looking out at the sun and the white rocks. “I can only barely understand. Two days ago I wouldn’t have understood at all.”

Magda said softly, “The gypsies have a song—the words go like this:

They were silent and then Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Magda slept, and seeing Anyeta watch her Mrs. Pollifax said curiously, “Does your gift for clairvoyance tell you anything?”

Anyeta was silent and then she said reluctantly, “I get no picture of Magda on a plane. Something is in the way, something intrudes. I am uneasy …”

Night came swiftly, like a blanket tossed over the plateau abruptly snuffing out the twilight. Yule had returned leading the spare horse. Yes, the Englishman and Dmitri had reached the van in midafternoon and he had watched while the battery was put in and he had seen the van leave. Its dust had been visible for some miles, and he was sure the two had reached the Kirsehir road successfully. Goru did not get back until dark; he had seen many police patroling the roads but he had avoided them and discovered the aerodrome. He had also found a valley through the mountains that would take them through the rock country without crossing any major roads. He looked exhausted, and Mrs. Pollifax guessed that he had combed the whole valley for the best route. He would have made a wonderful general, she thought, glad that he was on their side, but of course he was already Anyeta’s guerrilla chieftain as he moved the gypsies over borders and through hostile countries. She watched him touch Magda on the shoulder and smile at her, and she realized the many years these people had known Magda, building a relationship that was tolerant and free and fiercely loyal.

Under her Turkish baggy pants Magda wore Mrs. Pollifax’s knit suit and blouse. Now Mrs. Pollifax gave her passport and money. “In case we are separated,” she said, trying not to remember Anyeta’s uneasiness.

They moved out a little after ten o’clock. There had been some discussion of three wagons heading south to divert attention, but this had been quickly vetoed. Anyeta said flatly, “We Zingari stick together. We live, breathe, eat, die together. We also fight together.” Mrs. Pollifax was inclined to
be grateful for this. It was true that six wagons made more noise, were less mobile and more conspicuous but she too felt more secure with a full complement of gypsies around her. They were a formidable group to defy, as she knew personally from the previous evening.

They bypassed the town of Ürgüp and moved across the valley into the shadows of
Topuz Dagi
that unyieldingly guarded the eastern perimeter, its peak remote and sharp against the stars. The sky was brighter tonight. “There’ll be a moon later,” Colin said. “It must already be rising behind that mountain range.”

“How far is it to Kayseri in miles?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.

He shook his head. “Too far for wagons moving this slowly, but perhaps Goru plans to camp at some point along the way and continue on horseback. Or perhaps this is a shortcut. It’s hard to tell by the map.”

Magda said firmly, “Trust Goru. He fought with Yugoslav partisans during the second world war, he can be very cunning.” She turned to Mrs. Pollifax with a shy smile. “You have already trusted me—you have not asked why I go to Scotland. If I get away.”

Mrs. Pollifax laughed softly. “But I knew you would explain if you chose to!”

Magda nodded. “Hugh has a hunting lodge there. If I succeed in getting to London I will send one cable to Washington from the airport and then I shall disappear again. You understand I shall be very stubborn until Dmitri is allowed to join me.”

Mrs. Pollifax considered this and nodded. She supposed that one small boy could very easily be overlooked or ignored by governments once they were satisfied, and that even Carstairs could be rendered impotent by a government. “A little friendly persuasion,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I understand. I won’t ask for the address.”

“Thank you.”

The wagons jolted and bounced and creaked, it was very like their journey the night before, the cold following a day of heat, the same stars overhead, same sounds of muffled voices. But the radiance of the hidden moon gave an almost Biblical quality to the procession of primitive wagons moving across the austere, harsh countryside. The earth here was
called
tuff
, Colin said, composed of ashes and mud and rock; there were no trees, its only fruit was the rocks, and there were so many of these that at times it became necessary to climb down from the wagons and lift them over boulders.

Sometime around two o’clock the line stopped and rough bread and jugs of water were distributed while Goru walked up and down the line checking wheels and axles on the carts. No one spoke above a whisper and the line moved on again soon. It was incredible country: the moonlight picked out whole forests of needle-shaped rock, a valley of rock chimneys arising white under the moon, a cluster of cone-shaped hovels like beehives.

It was four o’clock in the morning when word swept up and down the procession that they were being followed by a man on horseback. For the first time Mrs. Pollifax realized that Goru had scouts ahead and behind them but this realization came late to reassure her. The news of a pursuer struck her as inexplicable and ominous.

“It could be Sebastien,” Colin said hopefully.

“Sebastien,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax, remembering Yozgat. “Yes, it could be Sebastien,” she said politely.

“One person on horseback is scarcely a threat to some thirty gypsies,” Colin pointed out. “Why doesn’t Goru stop and find out who it is?” He jumped down. “I’ll walk ahead and ask.”

He was back several minutes later wearing a frown. “Whoever it is he stays behind us at some distance. It was thought a coincidence at first—someone’s trail crossing ours—but the rider takes the same turns, the same trails. Goru says there isn’t time to stop, it’s half-past four and the important thing is getting Magda to the aerodrome before eight.”

“Quite so,” Mrs. Pollifax said with feeling.

But uneasiness permeated the caravan. The line moved faster, and when a wagon needed help over the rocks there were sharp words exchanged. Yet whoever followed showed no sign of moving closer to them. Nothing changed except the sky, which was whitening with dawn, and the terrain which grew flatter as the rocks thinned. They were leaving the volcanic country behind them and returning to the flat and dusty Anatolian plateau. Somewhere on this plateau, between them and the foothills of the high mountains in the distance, lay Kayseri and the airport.

“How far now?” asked Mrs. Pollifax of Colin.

“I don’t know,” he said shortly.

“Then what time is it?”

“A few minutes after five.”

As he said this Goru lifted his hand and called out a sharp command from the front, the sound of his voice startling after so many hours of caution. In the east the sky had turned into mother-of-pearl and the tip of an orange sun was lifting itself over the peak of the mountains. Goru was waving them to a halt because two men on horseback were approaching them from the north.

“They’re in uniform,” Mrs. Pollifax said as they drew closer, not hurrying but keeping their horses to a steady walk.