Vinnie clung to her mother as she was about to pull away from the embrace.
“Mother,” she whimpered. She could feel her back rest on the fodder her parents had overlaid the underground compartment with. The space was just big enough to accommodate her small 6-year-old body. It seemed her parents had known this day would come. Her mother held her again and squeezed her tightly this time.
“I love you, Vinnie, don't ever forget that,” she said.
The sound of horses and swords clashing could be heard from a distance. The Ghazni soldiers were close. They had suddenly invaded their small Bopa village that night and were burning down many huts and taking slaves. Their hut was on the outskirts of the village, a small brick hut, roofed with thatch. Vinnie looked at the brick walls now and wished that they could, by some magic, protect her and her parents from the invaders. There was smoke coming from the fireplace and the clay pot her mother had used to prepare dinner that night lay on the stove, plates piled up beside it. There was no light in the sky, the moon had refused to shine. So the house was pitch black, except for a candle her father had lit and put on the wooden table he sat on every evening to compose his music. It seemed as though the moon was aware of the evil that night and had refused to come out of its dwelling.
“Florrie, we need to go!” Her father half-yelled from the door, he was watching for the soldiers.
Her mother looked at her, “no matter what you hear Vinnie,” she said. “Don't come out.”
Vinnie nodded a pool of tears gathering in her eyes as her mother quickly stood up and walked away. Her father came over and gathered her into his arms. Screams and horses’ hoofs could be heard closer now. The air was thick with smoke and burning sulfur. Vinnie began to cry.
“Don't cry, Vinnie, we are going to protect you” her father said.
She nodded.
“Ivan!” Florrie shrieked.
“Stay here, don't make a sound.” Her father instructed, lowering her into the opening. Then he quickly covered it with the floorboard he had taken out and ran to the door.
“Quick! Hide Florrie!” He said. Vinnie heard them trot to a corner. Some moments later, she heard a loud crash on the front door as it came falling to the ground. Heavy footsteps moved above her. Vinnie could see the light from their torches through the small openings on the floorboard;
“Search the entire house!” A man's voice commanded.
“Yes sir!” The others chorused.
Vinnie heard footsteps approach the spot where she was lying and quickly covered her mouth with her hands. As they got closer, she heard her father's voice suddenly from the other end.
“What do you want?” He yelled.
The footsteps stopped and suddenly recoiled. Vinnie took a deep breath.
“What is it you want with us?” Her mother joined.
The soldiers laughed. “Bloody Romanies!” The man who had spoken earlier said. “Get them!”
"Leave us alone!" Her father yelled.
"Move!" A soldier said.
She heard several feet move outside and the neighing of horses as they got ready to ride. But one last footstep remained. The floorboard creaked as it came closer to where Vinnie lay. Then he stood above her, and Vinnie could hear the wood above her creak louder as he lowered himself to a squat. She thought it would crash in on her. She coaxed her head to the side and peeped through the openings; he was dressed in lamellar armor from head to toe and carried a shiny silver sword and a metal shield. She held her breath as the man lowered his head to listen.
"Commander, the slaves, and the troops are ready to move!" A soldier interrupted from the door
"Shhhhhhh." He silenced with his hand raised. Then listened again. The floor beneath him creaked louder now as he pressed his weight further down.
"Commander!"
"Bloody fool!" He muttered then stood up abruptly and walked towards the door. "Leave my way!" Vinnie heard him yell at the door. Soon she could hear the trotting of horses and squeaking of wheels as they rode away. She wondered if their hut was burning already, but she was too scared to come out. Sooner or later, she fell asleep, into what seemed like a trance. Where she walked the streets of her village searching for her parents, but it was empty and filled with charred huts.
She woke up with a jerk to the sound of moving wheels and footsteps, her entire body covered with sweat. She looked around to be sure she was still alive and underground in her hut, she could hear the sound of chirping birds outside. Then she suddenly heard footsteps in the house and someone weeping.
“Oh no, Ivaa_n.” It was the voice of a woman and it sounded familiar. Vinnie strained her ears to listen again. The crying became louder now, and Vinnie could hear another person sniffing. So the woman wasn't alone.
“Oh poor Florrie and Vinnie,” the other person said. Vinnie's eyes widened, It was her uncle's voice, her father's younger brother. She made a fist and tugged loudly at the wood above her.
“Do you hear that?” The woman asked. Vinnie waited for a moment then heard footsteps approach where she was. She hit the wood more loudly. “Aunt Mahala!” She yelled.
There was some frantic scratching on the wood, then it came off suddenly and revealed a dark-skinned woman with wide teary eyes staring down at 6-year-old Vinnie. Her husband was kneeling beside her. “Lavinia!” They both cried. The woman reached down and picked up the little girl into her arms. Her husband wrapped his arms around them and Vinnie began to cry.
“Shhhh,” Mahala hushed, rubbing her back gently. “Come, come,” she said and stood up. Her husband followed. They walked out the door with Vinnie clinging to her neck. Outside, there was a caravan waiting with people and children. She pulled back from Mahala’s neck and looked towards the village; from afar, a great smoke rose into the sky, and almost all the huts had been burnt to the ground.
Mahala drew close and dropped her into the caravan; there were other children inside, too.
“You'll be safe now, okay? We are going far away, where we won't have to be troubled again,” she said stroking Vinnie's hair.
“What about mother and father?” Vinnie asked.
Mahala blinked severally and said, “They'll be with us wherever we go.”
“Where are they now?”
“I don't know, but don't worry, they'll be with us.”
Tears trickled down Vinnie's cheeks, but she nodded and said nothing. Something inside her told her she might never see her parents again.
Mahala turned and was about to go when Vinnie spoke again, “Where would we go, Aunt Mahala?” She asked.
Mahala turned, “to the West, to wherever is safe. Perhaps to Europe.” She said.
Vinnie didn't know where Europe was; she was too little to understand everything that had happened the night before, and neither could she understand the world that awaited her, but she nodded anyway and sat back, biting her lower lip to keep her from crying.
Soon the caravan was moving, together with the people. And sooner, in the future, they would be known as gypsies, a traveling people.
Mmeyene Joseph