Orawa Fair

Fifty didn’t expect a brutal attack like this but he went along with it.

“Why would you think I’m a virgin?”

“A beautiful girl is lying practically next to you during night in pajamas and you won’t even bet an eye.” She said, barely suppressing a grin. “That shouts either extreme respectfulness or inexperience.”

“It shouts ‘the girl is wearing your mother’s pajamas so you should keep your hands off’.”

“You never answered my question.”

Fifty rolled onto his back with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not a virgin, okay? I had a girl once.”

“No, I meant something else.”

He paused. Turned his head.

“I asked whether you plan to marry a Romani girl one day.”

“Oh… I don’t know... honestly, I spent my life only among white people. I’m not a family type so I meet with my relatives maybe twice a year, either by accident or when someone dies. So it just feels more natural to fall in love with a white girl to me but… it’s not like I care who my future wife is. I just hope she’s a good person.”

“Of course…” Stella disappeared under her blanket to hide a relieved smile. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“You do realize that we wake up in about four hours, right?”

“This will sound stereotypical but… whenever I was at my friends’ house or when some people came visit my dad, it was never a custom to offer a warm food. Just some snacks or pretzels. But you seemed like you had enough food for another family ready. Why such hospitality?”

Fifty blinked at the ceiling. “I can confidently say that this really is a Romani thing. I mean, other Velgravians and white people in general probably do it too for the most part, but in our culture, it’s just normal. You have to treat the guests with warm food. Whenever someone unexpected appears at our house, mom is always ready. And if we don’t have anything ready from time to time, she just sends me to buy something.”

“It made me instantly feel like I’m home. I wish we did that to our guests, too. Not that I care about father’s friends or anything…”

“Let’s not romanticize it, though.” Fifty yawned. “On the other hand, let’s say if we come to visit family after Christmas, and the table is half-empty, my parents tend to criticize it brutally during our ride home. It’s like… gypsies played themselves into now having to offer everything and more.”

“I see.” She chuckled. “That’s interesting. I like how many layers of backstory there is for a simple food question.”

“I guess it can seem like that to you…” Fifty closed his eyes and silence enveloped them. After a while, he opened his eyes again. “Hey… why did you run away from home, really?”

“I didn’t run away, technically. I took a taxi.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what you’ll get.”

Breathing more heavily as the night deepened, Stella chose to speak one last time.

“Fifty?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a difference between a word ‘Romani’ and ‘Gypsy’?”

“Yeah. You won’t get punched to a face when you use ‘Romani’.” Fifty punched the air right above him to prove a point, which drew a soft chuckle out of Stella. “But seriously, it’s basically the same. Some Romani are just offended to be called “gypsy” by non-Romani people. I get it – it does have a baggage. But I don’t care about it much. It’s just a word.”

“I see.”

“But to be honest, I am more offended when people tiptoe with words around me. It’s like they are trying to avoid invisible mines underground. Who cares if you say a ‘Gypsy’ or ‘Roma’? Just call me what you want if you have to and say it proudly, with no malicious intent behind it. That’s what I respect.”

“I think I get it. It’s more like… people are afraid to speak freely and that’s what makes you upset. Because they think there is something to be careful about.”

“Exactly!” Fifty sat up like someone had just unlocked a secret level. “You get me! It’s like whenever you say a word ‘gypsy’, you believe there is something wrong about it even existing. But I value people who don’t pay attention to stupid things like that and just shake my hand and keep talking to me without the slightest care what tone of color my skin has!”

“Haha, yeah, I totally get it!”

Their voices faded into the stillness of early morning, but neither reached for sleep. They lay there, tossing words like cards across the space between them.

Romani, white people, culture, parents, politics, heartbreak, music, school, food, fate, furniture—and, naturally, Madam of Maybes.

The verbal sparring turned gentle. Then playful. Then quiet again.

By the time the alarm shrieked its betrayal, both of them groaned in sync—bleary-eyed and blinking like they’d just come back from a long, strange journey. Because in a way, they had.

They hadn’t slept a wink.

***

“Alright kids, take care and don’t get hungry! Stella, whatever you need, just take money from our cash register and use it, don’t use up your own!”

The booth that Madona helped them set up sat nestled between two candy stands that smelled like melted sugar and broken dreams. The fairgrounds were still waking up—early morning fog curling along the cobblestones, vendors muttering over espresso shots, birds daring each other to poop on tourist hats.

Madona gave them both one final once-over, then headed back to her ‘terminally ill’ husband, muttering something about how she’ll probably have to die in this family just to get a weekend off.

“Let’s enjoy this.” Fifty mumbled, dark circles etched under his eyes. “We can sit until around 8-9 o’clock. That’s when people will start swarming and we will never be allowed to sit till the rest of the day.”

“I can do it. I’m not tired at all. Haha.” Stella’s dark circles told the real story. “I will just pump coffee to my veins.”

“Stop joking…”

“I’m just half-joking. I almost did it once.”

“I guess we’ll use this time to teach you about how our business goes.”

“I think I do know how selling works. People come. You lie about your product. They ask for a discount. You refuse. They leave. Then come back. They buy it. You rejoice.”

“Yeah, you got the basics covered. But here’s a tip from my mom. When a man comes, you talk to him. When a woman comes, I talk to her. It’s a social psychology, or something…”

“What if they ask what the toy does?”

“You either ask me or say it’s a new model and you didn’t have time to test it out yet but you heard it was pretty good so you recommend it.”

“Oh. Nice.”

A blur of energy appeared out of nowhere—a little boy sprinted to the table, hands flailing with joy.

“Whoa! How much is this robot?!” The kid asked with sparkling eyes. “Does it shoot lasers? Does it make a car out of itself?”

Stella’s body froze. She managed to take a troubled look at Fifty, begging for help with her gritted teeth.

“It’s a boy, so...”

“Well, you see, hehe. The price tag is there. And for the other questions, I…”

“Wow and how about this?! Is the water gun strong? Can I beat Oliver with it?”

Fifty turned away and started shaking. Not from cold. From laughter.

The boy asked seventeen more questions, two of which involved time travel. Then he zipped off, vanishing into the crowd.

“Hey, at least buy something after putting me through mental torture, you little brat!”

That was the moment Stella knew how difficult this was going to be.

“Relax, Stella.” Fifty chuckled for the past five minutes straight. “It was your first customer. You handled it well. But you can’t expect such a small kid to have money on him.”

“How can you keep up with this the whole day?”

“That’s the neat part. I can’t.”

Ten minutes later, the boy returned—dragging his mother by the wrist. “Mom! This is it! The robot I told you about! This one has car parts and everything!”

The mother smiled politely at Stella, hand already on her purse. Then her eyes flicked over to the corner of the booth—where Fifty sat, still slouched in his chair.

Her smile evaporated.

“You know what, honey?” she said too cheerfully. “Let’s go over there instead. They have that water gun you liked.”

“No, Mom, I want THIS ONE!” the kid wailed, feet dragging.

But she was already pulling him away, purse zipped shut like a vault.

Stella blinked.

Twice.

Three times.

She turned to Fifty, who offered nothing but a tired smile. No anger. No commentary. Just... knowing.

In the next few hours, nobody approached the booth even as the crowd began to thicken.

Out of hundreds of visitors enjoying the festive atmosphere, only one little girl finally rushed to the table.

“Mommy, look at this beautiful doll!”

Fifty leaned forward and smiled. “You like it?”

The mother arrived seconds later, grabbing her daughter’s arm. “What are you doing here?” She snatched the doll from her daughter’s hands and threw it back onto the table like it had bitten her. “Do you want them to kidnap you?!”

At that moment, a single tear dropped from Stella's eye. “No… this is… this is wrong.”

Chapter 10: END