family had ever been accused of burglary or been taken to police custody for unjustified inebriation. The village council, consisting of
four indigenous, four Hungarians, and four Saxons, considered the proposition briefly behind closed doors. Then they informed Laszlo that the Gypsies had until Sunday to make themselves scarce.
As the men, women, and children of Baia Luna set off for church on Sunday, the Gypsies were still there. Johannes Baptiste celebrated Mass as usual. From Grandfather I know that the Gospel
reading for that Sunday was the parable of the miracle of the loaves and fishes and the feeding of the five thousand, but the priest didn’t stick to that. He read from the Christmas story.
Four months early. Only he didn’t announce the good tidings of the birth of the Lord but the less-good tidings about the pregnant Mary and Joseph, the father of her child, desperately looking
for someplace to stay. The scandal came after Johannes Baptiste had consecrated the bread and wine for the Eucharist. The faithful rose and moved forward toward the communion rail. They knelt and
stuck out their tongues but waited in vain for the host. Baptiste refused them the Body of the Lord. Instead, he splashed the congregation with a cascade of holy water while crying out, “And
Jesus said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ And now go to the Gypsies and think about that commandment.”
Even now my grandfather couldn’t suppress an impish smile when he related what happened then. Fat Donata collapsed at the altar in a faint with her yammering daughter Kora trying in vain
to hold her up. Some men had their noses so put out of joint by the priest that they stormed out of the church and on the spot composed a fiery letter of protest to the bishop of Kronauburg. The
indignant postman Adamski even called for a schism and demanded that the whole congregation join the Protestants. Then Hermann Schuster emerged from among his outraged fellows. He called for quiet,
and since he was and still is a respected person in the village, the crowd in fact calmed down after some grumbling.
“We have to do what our priest has ordered us to do. We must bear our cross just as the Redeemer had to bear his.” No one dared to contradict Schuster’s words. Then Grandfather
Ilja’s young wife Agneta emerged from the door of the family’s shop. In her hands she held a golden-brown Bundt cake she had baked to have with coffee that afternoon. She strode right
through the crowd and straight as an arrow to the lower end of town where the Gypsies were encamped. Ilja followed her. Hermann Schuster and his wife Erika as well as a dozen other inhabitants of
Baia Luna joined them, while it suddenly occurred to others that they had a sick cow, or the women said the Sunday roast had to come out of the oven right that minute.
When Laszlo Carolea Gabor saw the little troop approaching, he walked slowly out to meet them. Agneta presented him with the cake. A big tear rolled down the
bulibasha
’s cheek and
disappeared into his huge mustache. Then he started to weep uncontrollably. His family at first stood silently around the cake until the men began to cry, too, then the women, and finally the
children. All together they spilled veritable torrents of snot and water so that their wails of joy reached the other end of the village. Then Laszlo Gabor snapped his fingers, and the river of
tears subsided.
“Slaughter three sheep and prepare a feast!” he ordered. Immediately, the whole clan broke out in shouts of joy, and the men began whetting their knives. The Gypsies brought out
their cymbals, fiddles, and drums and marched through the village making an earsplitting racket. Despite their parents’ strict prohibitions, the schoolchildren were the first to start
following them, then came the first hesitant adults, until finally both Hungarians and Saxons had joined the column. At
four indigenous, four Hungarians, and four Saxons, considered the proposition briefly behind closed doors. Then they informed Laszlo that the Gypsies had until Sunday to make themselves scarce.
As the men, women, and children of Baia Luna set off for church on Sunday, the Gypsies were still there. Johannes Baptiste celebrated Mass as usual. From Grandfather I know that the Gospel
reading for that Sunday was the parable of the miracle of the loaves and fishes and the feeding of the five thousand, but the priest didn’t stick to that. He read from the Christmas story.
Four months early. Only he didn’t announce the good tidings of the birth of the Lord but the less-good tidings about the pregnant Mary and Joseph, the father of her child, desperately looking
for someplace to stay. The scandal came after Johannes Baptiste had consecrated the bread and wine for the Eucharist. The faithful rose and moved forward toward the communion rail. They knelt and
stuck out their tongues but waited in vain for the host. Baptiste refused them the Body of the Lord. Instead, he splashed the congregation with a cascade of holy water while crying out, “And
Jesus said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ And now go to the Gypsies and think about that commandment.”
Even now my grandfather couldn’t suppress an impish smile when he related what happened then. Fat Donata collapsed at the altar in a faint with her yammering daughter Kora trying in vain
to hold her up. Some men had their noses so put out of joint by the priest that they stormed out of the church and on the spot composed a fiery letter of protest to the bishop of Kronauburg. The
indignant postman Adamski even called for a schism and demanded that the whole congregation join the Protestants. Then Hermann Schuster emerged from among his outraged fellows. He called for quiet,
and since he was and still is a respected person in the village, the crowd in fact calmed down after some grumbling.
“We have to do what our priest has ordered us to do. We must bear our cross just as the Redeemer had to bear his.” No one dared to contradict Schuster’s words. Then Grandfather
Ilja’s young wife Agneta emerged from the door of the family’s shop. In her hands she held a golden-brown Bundt cake she had baked to have with coffee that afternoon. She strode right
through the crowd and straight as an arrow to the lower end of town where the Gypsies were encamped. Ilja followed her. Hermann Schuster and his wife Erika as well as a dozen other inhabitants of
Baia Luna joined them, while it suddenly occurred to others that they had a sick cow, or the women said the Sunday roast had to come out of the oven right that minute.
When Laszlo Carolea Gabor saw the little troop approaching, he walked slowly out to meet them. Agneta presented him with the cake. A big tear rolled down the
bulibasha
’s cheek and
disappeared into his huge mustache. Then he started to weep uncontrollably. His family at first stood silently around the cake until the men began to cry, too, then the women, and finally the
children. All together they spilled veritable torrents of snot and water so that their wails of joy reached the other end of the village. Then Laszlo Gabor snapped his fingers, and the river of
tears subsided.
“Slaughter three sheep and prepare a feast!” he ordered. Immediately, the whole clan broke out in shouts of joy, and the men began whetting their knives. The Gypsies brought out
their cymbals, fiddles, and drums and marched through the village making an earsplitting racket. Despite their parents’ strict prohibitions, the schoolchildren were the first to start
following them, then came the first hesitant adults, until finally both Hungarians and Saxons had joined the column. At
Similar Books
