Then Yoben told a weird tale.
“A handsome lass was Zuba, but bad luck dogged her like her own shadow. One night she came back to the camp, for she lived with her old people, and, throwing down a few coppers she had in her hand, she said—
“‘There, mother, what do you think of that for a hard day’s work?’ She had done wery badly, you see. Luck never seemed to come her way at all. And after supper she wandered out a little way from the camp. The moon and stars was shining as she walked round and round an old tree, a blasted old stump, black as a gallows-post. As she kept on walking round it, she said aloud, ‘This game won’t do for me. It’s money I want and money I’ll have. I’d sell my blood to the Beng to have plenty of money in my pocket always.’ The words was hardly out of her mouth when a black thing, like the shadow of the tree, rose up from the ground, and, lor, there was the wery Beng hisself, and after he’d promised her what she had wished for, he wanished. And after that no more grumbling from Zuba; no more complaints about her bad luck. She always had plenty of money now, and she bought herself trinkets and fine clothes till everybody was ’mazed at her, and of course she had kept it to herself what took place that night by the old tree. Days and weeks went by, till one night Zuba was missing from the camp. Her old folks sat up by the fire waiting for her, but no Zuba came. At last her daddy set out to look for her, and there by the foot of the tree lay Zuba’s frock and shawl, and when he took ’em back to his wife’s tent, the poor woman screamed and fainted right away, and old man Lovell walked up and down all night, saying, ‘Oh, my Zuba, my blessed gal, we shall never see you no more,’ and they never did. The Beng had fetched her. That’s the end of Zuba Lovell.”
While listening to these tales in the tent, the flight of the hours passed unobserved, till a distant clock boomed out the hour of ten.
“You’ll wel apopli (come again), my dears?” said Eliza, as we retired amid the smiles and bows of the Gypsy family.
Next morning found us again in the camp. Already the Gypsies had breakfasted, and were making preparations for “tovin-divus” (washing-day). Sun and wind promised an ideal day for such a purpose. It was a thing to be noticed that the articles about to be dealt with lay in two heaps on the grass.
Among the Gypsies there is a ceremonial rule which holds it to be mokadi (unclean) to wash together in the same vessel “what you eat off with what you wear.” This was the meaning of the separated articles, and then I observed two zinc vessels lying ready on the ground. Said Old Eliza to Lena, “I’ll take this lot, and you take that lot.” To begin with, they both cleansed their hands and arms in hot water, and as they did this I remarked how brown were Lena’s arms, whereupon she replied with a laugh—
“Âwa, raia (Yes, sir), monkey soap won’t fetch that off”—a modern rendering, I take it, of Ferdousi’s saying, “No washing will turn a Gypsy white.”
Now as our friends were about to become much occupied, we proposed to stroll round the camp and pay calls on the other Gypsies in the same field. “Stop a bit,” said Eliza, and, slipping into the tent, she came out with a black bottle. “You’ll take a drop of my elderberry wine and a bite o’ cake,” pouring out the claret-coloured liquid into two glasses fished out from an inner recess. While enjoying this snack on the grass, I took out from a breast pocket a white unused handkerchief which I spread on my knee. Presently Old Eliza slyly took it by the corner and twitched it away, giving me in place thereof a neatly folded napkin brought from the tent, and I saw that I had broken a Gypsy custom in converting a handkerchief into a crumbcloth. Said the old mother, “That mol (wine) is old, and should be kushto (good). It’s some we buried in a place till we came round again.”
In another corner of the field were encamped Fennix Boswell and his stepson Shanny, and, going forward, we found the pair seated at their tent door handling fishing-rods. On seeing us they rose and invited us into the tent, where we sat down. Shanny showed us some of his pencil drawings.