A family of Romani people, maybe ten or twelve in all, had set up camp along the border of a patch of woods and some meadows that was on my way to school. They fascinated me from the start, with their horse-drawn covered wagons, their colorful attire and their expressive language that I couldn’t understand. They waved to me most days, and I waved back, not sensing any harm or threat. Later I would be told not to go near them, as it was rumored that they stole, cheated and even took babies from German families! Can you imagine that? Such contempt for people just trying to make their way, like the rest of us.
One fine spring day my second grade teacher, Frau Marten, was directing a singing and dance performance of Humperdink’s opera, Hänsel and Gretel, based on the Brothers’ Grimm fairy tale. With sixty or seventy of us, we had to practice in the wide corridor outside of our classroom. On that particular morning a well-groomed, pretty girl with tanned skin, shiny black hair and a brightly colored dress approached our class as we practiced. Hesitant, trailing close to the side of a school office aide, her large, questioning brown eyes begged to be included. She was introduced to the class, but her name was so unusual that no one, including me, could say it, much less remember it.
As we sang, ”Dear sister, come dance with me; I’ll take you with both hands,” I passed close by her, my feet in step, offering her my outstretched hands. Taking my hands with a gracious twirl, she easily fit in with our ensemble. The German words may have escaped her, but her nimble feet easily made up for it as she effortlessly danced beside me, her flowing red and blue skirt billowing high with the rhythm of the music. Soon she was mingling with the rest of us, part of the fun and joy of that morning.
When we had our performance, the girl with the colorful dress and strange name was given a spot far to the back, in the last row, where she could barely be seen. I wondered why, as she was one of the brightest, most colorful stars of our show.
I would become her friend for the rest of the school year, my pal during recess time. No one bothered to ever learn her name. They just called her the Gypsy girl.