Find Out for Yourselves

Marshall groaned from the ground, palms pressed against the dusty floorboards, tears dripping steadily down his cheeks. “I… I don’t get it…”

“The gádžo’s up!” one of the Romani guests warned, nudging his friend. The man straightened his jacket as if preparing for a fight, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Marshall stayed on his knees, oblivious to the shifting crowd around him. “My family isn’t doing very well… I’ve got little kids, too.” His voice wavered, catching in his throat. “My bosses said that if I produce one more complete flop, I’d be jobless.”

Stella folded her arms. “So you decided to make a spectacle of honest people?” she asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.

Marshall opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “No… Well… maybe.” He looked up, eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “Viewers voting for a Romani person to become a Gypsy King? I thought it would be controversial enough to attract masses. Because… and I’m sorry for saying this but… I thought you people were...” He sniffed, wiping his nose. “But then we started the project, and all I could see were successful, funny, talented, but most of all… completely normal people. I felt… endangered.”

Stella tilted her head. “And that’s when my father contacted you.”

A shadow stirred in the back of the room. Jastin stepped out of the storage room, his eyes heavy with guilt. “He said that if I wanted to be white so bad…” He swallowed, sliding down the wall until he hit the floor with a quiet thud. “…I should be white.” His voice cracked. “He promised to erase my family records so I could start anew. I didn’t want it to go this far, but… I was desperate.”

There was a silence that stretched just a little too long.

Then, Gypsy Khan stepped forward, cracking his knuckles loud enough to echo. “Listen here, you little shit,” he said, voice low and steady. “I made a mistake in my past. My whole career was built on the idea that I should embrace my gypsy half and cast aside the white half. And although my white father was a beng who left me and Mom, he’s been trying to reconnect. Small steps.” He shrugged, almost casually. “But it counts.” He stared Jastin down. “I realized I shouldn’t try to hide who I really am. Don’t make the same mistake I did, or you’ll regret it, temeraf!”

“But… what made you realize that?” Jastin asked.

Khan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You wouldn’t understand.” He leaned in, saying proudly. “It’s a white thing.”

Fifty stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “To be honest,” he began, voice careful, “I always kinda envied you, Khan. Because it seemed to me like you were free to choose where to belong. And at the same time, you could be welcomed in both cultures. I never felt like a ‘real’ gypsy, you know? My mom always says I act too white.” He paused, glancing around the room. “But… does it really matter?”

Jastin sniffed loudly, his eyes raw. “Of course it matters! I was bullied like crazy my whole life! Just because of my skin!” His voice trembled with each word.

“So what?” Fifty’s voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “As harsh as it sounds, don’t you think that if you weren’t bullied for your skin color, you’d have been bullied for something else? Why do we pretend that bullying doesn’t happen outside of racial stuff? Kids who have bigger ears, girls who aren’t ‘pretty enough’… it’s not fair, but it’s not exclusive.” He took a step forward. “We have to be strong. We have to find real friends. And we can’t be afraid to speak up, even if our parents are stuck in the last century.”

“Hey!” Emynem and Madona yelled in unison, arms crossed in perfect synchronization.

“What I’m trying to say is… the world is not perfect. But we can build our own worlds where we feel safe, happy and where we fit. Not by other people’s standards. But by our own.”

Billie, standing nearby, clapped her hands together like it was a theatre performance. She was the only one.

“Okay, that’s sweet,” Madam of Maybes interrupted, tapping her crystal ball. “But what do we do about this raklo?” She jabbed a long-nailed finger at Marshall, who was still sitting on the floor, looking like he’d just been unplugged. “Shouldn’t we make an example of him? You know, like the good old days?”

Laughter erupted from the crowd, deep and genuine. Someone even raised a glass. But the room settled, and heads nodded in agreement. A decision was reached—Marshall was to be banned from all Romani celebrations.

Fifty looked around, pride swelling in his chest. “This man,” he started, gesturing to Marshall, “he could be our greatest asset. He’s been a part of our world now. He’s seen us—how we really are. If he speaks about us, he’ll speak the truth. He didn’t have malicious intent… just desperation. He just wanted to feed his family. And for their family, gypsies can go to hell and back, right? So it seems he has a little bit of a Romani heart inside of him.”

Heads nodded. “Exactly!” “That’s how we do it!” “Family is everything!”

Marshall struggled to his feet, brushing off his shirt. He extended a hand to Fifty. “I’m… sorry. Deeply sorry for everything. And thank you. All of you.” He paused, voice shaking. “I’m canceling the reality show. I’ll find a better way to feed my family.”

The people watched him leave in silence, the cameramen following behind, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast.

“So I guess,” the already sober Vajda Elvys joined the others. “That we don’t need to keep looking for a Gypsy King.”

“I mean, Stella already c-chose her destiny, so it wouldn’t even be f-fair!” Billie chimed in, her voice shaky but her smile bright.

“The contest really is over, huh?” Khan leaned back, crossing his arms as he stared at the ceiling.

Yeah, looks like it…” He tried to keep his tone casual, but a hint of relief slipped through.

“I think it’s for the better… I for one don’t believe I have any Gypsy King material qualities.” Jastin shuffled his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You’re wrong.” Madam’s voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder. “It was never about that shady reality show.”

“You’re the one to talk about ‘shady’ stuff, Babble-Yaga,” Fifty snorted.

“Shut up and listen to your elders, brat!” Madam of Maybes shot him a glare sharp enough to carve stone. “Tell me something—what do you think made Fredi Jackson the Gypsy King?”

Her question floated above the crowd, hanging heavy and unanswered.

“Fredi was hailed as the king… out of nowhere,” Emynem murmured. “I can’t even remember when it happened or how it happened.”

“That’s correct!” Madam of Maybes clutched her crystal ball tighter, her eyes glimmering with something like triumph. “Fredi didn’t need a camera or a reality show. He didn’t need voting or staged competitions. He was chosen because people saw something in him. He had a heart that beat with the rhythm of our people. So…” Her eyes swept over them, sharp and discerning. “Why don’t you find out for yourselves what would make you the Gypsy King?”

Chapter 19: END