Aishe befriended a sweet Austrian girl named Kitti, whose family owned a small farm. Aishe wanted nothing more than to learn how to read like Kitti, who always had storybooks with her. Aishe had never seen books up close, for no Rom knew how to read or write. Her people carried their history through songs and the stories the elders told every night around the fire. When Aishe offered Kitti a necklace to teach her to read and speak German, Kitti agreed.
Aishe snuck into her family’s wagon to retrieve it; the necklace she found in Dinka’s chest was one of countless others. She assured herself no one would notice if it went missing. Her grandmother could barely see anymore and there were plenty left.
The girls met almost every day for several winters, and by the end of the past winter, Aishe had mastered the language. She and Kitti had also become friends.
Kitti began to lend her books, which Aishe took special care to hide. If she was ever caught with a book she would be beaten. The Rom were not allowed to pollute their mind with thegadjes’words.
One day Aishe came home from Kitti’s and found the camp in an uproar. Her father had found the books.
“What are these?” He threw Kitti’s books at her feet and stomped on them. Then he grabbed Aishe by the hair and dragged her to the campfire.
“Papa, no! I’m sorry!”
Enraged, he took a leather cord and whipped her back repeatedly. “You! Are! Not! My! Daughter!” he yelled. With each word he cracked the strap harder.
Deaf to her screams, he reached for the branding iron in the fire.
Her mother grabbed his arm, “Stop! Stop it!”
She barely managed to keep him from maiming their daughter’s face. He took the rod to Aishe’s hand instead and held it until it seared off her skin.
Aishe shrieked and fell back, clutching her hand.
“So you’ll never forget.” He raised the rod, ready to burn her again.
Hysterical, her mother screamed to Aishe’s eldest cousin. “Take her! Niko! Take her!”
By now Simza and all the elders in the camp were yelling the same. Niko picked Aishe up and ran off with her into the forest. They found a faraway place to hide, and Niko brought Aishe water from a nearby stream to soak her hand.
“What were you thinking?” he scoffed. “Reading words. Bringing books here. Everyone knows they’re tainted.”
“They’re not. They’re beautiful.” Aishe wept, cradling her maimed hand. “One day we will have our own books.”
“That’s absurd,” Niko said, turning his back on her.
That evening Simza came to find them. She appeared beside Aishe in the dark and lifted her chin. Aishe stared back at her with tears glistening in her eyes.
“It is done” was all Simza said. Then she led her back to camp.
Her father had gone off to drink away his anger. Aishe lay down in her family’s wagon and let Simza tend her wound with one of her special salves. All the while Simza sang a song Aishe had never heard before, a sad melody about a daughter leaving her family and never seeing them again.
“What is that song, Grandmother?” Aishe whispered.
“One you know well,” Simza said.
Before Aishe could ask Simza to explain, her mother came inside.
Her mother hesitated, something she never did. Aishe had never her seen her look so solemn.
“You must marry,” she finally said.
Aishe could not believe it. “Who?”
“Milosh Badi.”
Tears sprang to Aishe’s eyes. “But Milosh Badi is Grandmother’s age.”
“You will marry him,” her mother said. “You’re sixteen.”
