Vodník Read online

  “Kúpiš si bylinky?”

  I shook my head. From the look of her, she should have been in a nursing home. Her back was bent like a candy cane, and she was dressed with enough layers of skirts to make her hips jut out like a shelf. It was a wonder she hadn’t melted yet in the heat. The skirt was patterned in black thread, and she wore a maroon blouse, with a black scarf covering her hair.

  She inspected me from head to foot, shielding her eyes from the sun while she held her basket of herbs in her other arm. Nenechaj sa núkat’. Viem, že ma vidíš. Treba ti kúpit’ bylinky. Je vás dnes už tak málo.”

  I cleared my throat and looked for some help from Katka. She ignored me, staring off in the distance and rubbing her temple instead. Maybe this was her way of forcing me to speak Slovak? “I . . . uh—Nechceš.” I don’t want. Sure, it was caveman speak, but it ought to give the granny the picture.

  She babbled some more in Slovak and then laughed and smiled wider and nodded before prattling on some more. The woman was loony. She shoved a bundle of herbs toward me.

  I held up my hands. “Nechceš. Nechceš.”

  The smile left the old woman’s face, reducing the wrinkles somewhat. She said something else, her tone ominous. But maybe that was just me being confused. At last she sighed and tucked the herbs back into her basket, hobbling off.

  “Ready to go?” Katka asked.

  I glared at her. “Why didn’t you help me out there?”

  “What?”

  “That old crone who just tried to pawn off some weeds on me.”

  “Crone?”

  “The old lady.” I went to point her out, but she was gone. The other grannies were there, but no crooked woman in black. “She was right here, rattling off Slovak that I couldn’t understand a word of. No thanks to you.” I was grumpier than I should have been, but I felt stupid and unnerved that the woman had disappeared. That was the problem with old people: they were always wandering off.

  Katka sighed. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe I was lost in thought. That happens with me from time to time. In any case, you are fine. No harm done. Come—we have more of the city to see.”

  At least it hadn’t been a fire woman this time. Just a little old grandma, and there really was a lot more of the town to explore. At the same time, Katka seemed disturbed by what had happened too. She kept putting her hand to her head—just like she’d done yesterday, although her face wasn’t pained this time. Then she noticed me staring, and I focused on the town.

  In America, if something dated back to the 1800s, it was bordering on ancient. Here, people lived in buildings that had been around that long and didn’t bat an eye. The city center ran in a large L-shape, with churches and town gates and fountains peppered throughout. There were some butt-ugly buildings too, made out of ten parts concrete and one part glass that Katka said had been put up by Communists. Masters of architectural atrocities.

  We reached the bend in the L, coming to another open square where a tarnished copper statue sat: a man in a well, water shooting from his mouth in a steady stream. “What’s that?” Where the water hit the ground, it leapfrogged to another spot, where it leapfrogged again, like he was skipping spit instead of stones. A couple of children were playing in the water, squealing and scampering around. How they could feel so safe around water was beyond me.

  Katka smiled. “That’s the vodník.”

  I froze. “The what?”

  “A creature from Slovak legend. Like vampires, but with water and no fangs.”

  We walked around the square, giving me a better view. The man in the well was little bigger than a young teenager. He wore a top hat and had hair that burst out from underneath it, like the Mad Hatter. His empty eyes stared out at the square with a cold regard. Beyond creepy.

  Katka explained. “They live in bodies of water and lie in wait to drown humans. When they do, they steal their victim’s souls and put them in teacups, which they collect.”

  It’s one thing when you hallucinate, but hallucinations usually don’t know things the hallucinator doesn’t. I had been friends with one of these vodníks? My left hand snuck over and began to massage my scarred arm. I snatched it away. “Teacups?”

  She gave a slight shrug. “So?”

  “Teacups,” I said again, miming as if I were drinking tea.

  “Yes. Teacups. With lids.”

  Of course. “And why does he store them in teacups?”

  She shrugged. “It’s make believe. For children. Why are vampires afraid of garlic?”

  Maybe she had a point, but still. “You have a statue devoted to a thing that kills people, and you put it in the middle of town where kids can play with it?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “It is only myth—even children know that. Let’s go somewhere to sit down in shade. Want some ice cream?”

  Anywhere away from that statue. There was an ice cream shop around the corner. The place had quite a line going, with people laughing and enjoying themselves.

  When Katka and I queued up, the laughter stopped.

  People edged away from us, clustering and murmuring among themselves. Katka noticed—how could she not?—and rolled her eyes. “Do you believe this?” she said. We were still speaking English, so it wasn’t like most people would be able to understand us.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Slovaks do not like Roma. It does not help that there are so few of us here in the west. The people only hear of Roma. Lazy. Thieves. Filthy. Dishonest. And they believe it. Every time I go into store, I must prove I have not stolen anything. How do I steal ice cream? Stupid.” She glared at the people around us, crossing her arms tight to her body. “Stupid,” she said, louder.

  And it was stupid. Katka and I had done nothing to irritate anyone. The same trio of guys I’d seen yesterday in the stinky tunnel were hanging out a few yards off, the Draco lookalike shouting at one of his friends, who bore an unfortunate resemblance to Gollum. Sunken eyes that bulged a tad much, and a slight hunch. Why didn’t people give them the crusty looks? They were making more noise than half the crowd combined. We got through the line and ordered our ice cream. The vendor counted the bills Katka gave him twice.

  This was worse than being bullied for my scar. Way worse. At home, the troubles I’d had were confined to school. I might see some of the jerks at the mall or the movies, but they usually left me alone then—there were other people around. Plus, these people would be sued sideways back in the States. Wouldn’t they? I hated having all those eyes on me, all of them untrusting. All of them guarded. Now that I was noticing it, it seemed everyone was watching me. Draco and Gollum—were they making fun of us? Was their fat friend mimicking me by rubbing his arm, or did he just have an itch? (Come to think of it, he looked kind of like Jabba the Hutt. Not quite Return of the Jedi Jabba, but definitely a New Hope deleted scene candidate: wormy, large, and hairless.) That couple leaving the ice cream parlor—was it because of us? Had we ruined their afternoon? I’d had nightmares better than this.

  “Come,” Katka said. “Don’t pay them attention. They’re not worth it. Idiots.”

  She led me around the corner, where we sat across from a fountain (one without a human-drowning-creature motif). I tried to focus on my cone. The scoops were the size of golf balls, not baseballs, but the ice cream itself was fantastic. Creamy and smooth and unlike anything they had in the States. I’d gotten six scoops: two straciatella (chocolate chip), two chocolate, and two banana. The last had been on Katka’s suggestion, and even though the concept seemed wacky (banana ice cream?), the taste was great. It was like a banana split without the bother of adding fruit. If only I could get over the racism as easily as Katka seemed to.

  “So?” she said, taking a lick of her single scoop. “Why are you acting so strange?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been upset all morning, and last night at castle, you shut down after your little fire woman joke. What is wrong?”

  Would she believ
e me? I didn’t think I could stand keeping it secret any longer, though. Sooner or later, someone would have to know. Why not Katka? “You have to promise not to make fun of me.”

  She rolled her eyes, and I sighed. Better to spit it out. “I’ve been . . . seeing things.”

  “Things?”

  My mouth was dry. I ate some ice cream to collect my thoughts. “Strange things.” I told her about the person made out of water I’d seen the first night, then about Ohnica. She took it all in stride.

  “I knew you were serious. What did this Ohnica say when you talked to her?”

  I blinked. “Um . . . that we used to be friends, that she was the one who gave me this burn, and that there’s a vodník who lives at the castle and wants to kill me. Or put me in a teacup, I guess.”

  “A vodník?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I thought it was kind of freaky for you to have a sculpture of one downtown. So . . . you believe me?”

  Katka shrugged. “You were like this when we were little too. I always thought there was something different about you, and you have no reason to lie now. I certainly believe you believe. I suppose you might be crazy.”

  “You remember me from back then?”

  “A bit. Enough to remember the adventures you were always coming up with.”

  I was grateful she was accepting my story, but I wasn’t crazy. Was I? Time for a change of subject. Maybe she’d open up some herself. “Tell me about your headaches,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Um . . . please?”

  She just shook her head. So much for that conversation. I didn’t quite understand Katka. She could be warm and friendly one minute, and then shut me out the next. We ate our ice cream in silence, while I tried to come up with a new topic. If we went too long without speaking, I might start freaking out. Family or not, Katka was a girl, and I had a horrible track record when it came to talking to girls. One day wasn’t going to just erase sixteen years of bad experiences. I needed at least a few weeks before I’d feel on semi-solid ground. On a hunch, I asked, “What do you know about Babka?”

  “Who?”

  “Babka. My mom’s mom. Our grandmother.”

  Katka raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. She’s been dead since before we were born. Why?”

  I took another lick of ice cream. “No reason. I just wondered if your dad had ever mentioned anything . . . strange about her.”

  She shook her head. “No, why?”

  I was about to respond, but then I glanced back across the fountain. A woman in black stood there, still as the grave. She was off to the side of the fountain, and she wasn’t the crazy lady who’d tried to sell me the herbs. This one’s back was straight, and she wasn’t wrinkly. She was pretty, even beautiful maybe. Long black hair, pale white skin.

  But the thing that stood out, the thing that stopped me in mid­thought, was the fact that she was also holding a scythe and staring creepily down the street, like she was auditioning to be the grim reaper.

  “Um . . . who’s that?” I asked.

  Katka followed my gaze. “Who?”

  “The lady in black with the scythe.”

  “What?”

  “The one right—”

  A girl on Rollerblades whizzed in front of me, headed toward the fountain. She hit a cobblestone wrong and went sprawling, skidding forward to catapult face first into the fountain, her skates sticking up in the air.

  Some people laughed. Draco, Gollum, and Jabba, who had come to lurk across the square, even clapped. But the skates didn’t move, the legs didn’t flail, and the girl didn’t get out.

  Katka and I dropped our ice creams as we rushed over to the girl. Each of us took a side of her as we lifted her out of the fountain. She was unconscious, her head dangling limply.

  “Polož ju,” Katka said, trying to steady the girl’s head.

  “What?”

  “Lay her down.”

  I did, and Katka put her ear to the girl’s chest, then frowned. After a moment, she started CPR. I heard a few gasps from the gathering crowd, followed by angry muttering. Surely they wouldn’t mind a Rom helping someone in need? As soon as Katka started chest compressions, I stumbled back to a sitting position. This could not be happening.

  In the distance, I could hear a dull murmur of the shoppers from the square. The cobblestones were hard and unforgiving beneath me, and the sand was working its way into my palms. Katka kept going.

  “Do you need any help?” I asked. My mouth was dry as the desert. She ignored me.

  Someone had called the paramedics, and an ambulance roared down the street seconds later. Katka continued CPR until one of the medics took over. We both watched as the girl was loaded into the ambulance. Two policemen showed up, running on foot. They cleared the crowd away, which had started to talk as soon as the officials were on the scene. People were gesturing wildly, and more than a few fingers were pointing our way. The policemen must have noticed how Katka and I were the only other ones wet, and they split up, each to talk to one of us. The ambulance switched on its siren, a low and whiny drone different from the high pitched wail they had in America. It sped off.

  “Ako sa to stalo?”

  I gawked at the officer. Instead of the black uniforms I was used to from the States, he was all in green.

  “Ako. Sa. To. Stalo?” He asked it louder this time, obviously irritated. He had that overly patient tone parents use when they’re trying to be obnoxious to their children right before they ground them.

  It clicked in my head: how did it happen? I shook my head. “My Slovak’s no good.” Trying to express myself about something so traumatic in a second language was going to be too much.

  He frowned, then said something else in Slovak.

  “I’m American,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and held up a hand to me, signaling I was to stay put, and then turned to help his partner question Katka. I stared off after the ambulance. Had all of that really happened? It wasn’t until then that I thought to look for the lady in black again. She was nowhere to be found now. Had it been connected to the accident? It seemed like she had been waiting there to watch it happen.

  I was having visions of creatures from folklore, and I just happen to see a woman with a scythe right before someone died. Coincidence?

  Maybe scythes were a popular fashion accessory in Slovakia. Like purses.

  Right.

  How could a girl just die like that? Maybe she wasn’t dead. It hadn’t been a horrific fall—just something you’d see in a stupid movie. I hadn’t heard anything break, and she hadn’t been underwater long enough to drown. Had she? As I thought about it more, the image of the vodník sculpture leaped to mind, with the man sitting there staring out at the town square in an endless gaze, water spouting from his mouth and children laughing and playing in it.

  Meanwhile, the police were grilling my cousin, peppering her with questions that sounded anything but polite in tone. She had folded her arms and clammed up, answering them with single syllables. Whatever she was saying, it wasn’t calming the cops at all. They were getting more animated, pointing back in the direction the ambulance had driven off, then over to the fountain. Most of the crowd had dispersed, but a few clusters still hung around, glaring at us and muttering.

  I stood up and walked over to stand next to Katka. “Hey,” I said to the cops in English. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  The police paused to look at me, then they chattered back and forth. Maybe if they’d been in real cop uniforms, I would have taken them more seriously. But in those green outfits, these guys looked like forest rangers with bad attitudes.

  “Hey,” I said again. “Leave her alone. She tried to save that girl’s life.”

  “Stop, Tomas.” Katka shook her head. “They are almost finished. Let them feel big. It will get this over faster.”

  And she was right. After another couple of minutes of what sounded like repeated questions, they were putting away their little
notepads and nodding to her curtly. Then they started babbling at me in an admonishing tone. I bobbed my head to whatever they were saying to me, hoping it wasn’t “Did you kill her, you dirty Gypsy?”

  When they had left, Katka and I sat down across from the fountain, both of us staring at it. Now that the police and the body were gone, the rest of the crowd was disappearing too.

  “It is ridiculous,” Katka said. “They all saw girl skid and fall. We weren’t even close. But they blame us. And they do not want me to help try save her life. Even police don’t trust. They wanted to take us to station. Question us more. I think if you had not told them you were American, we would be there now.”

  “They really thought we had something to do with it?” Unbelievable.

  “Of course. We are Roma. We cause all problems in Slovakia.”

  “It can’t be that—”

  “Did your mother tell you nothing?” Katka’s face was flushed, her forehead scrunched and her eyes narrowed. “Do you know what they do to Roma in Eastern Slovakia? They wall us off from the rest of the city. Like animals in zoo. I saw it on the news. Then they complain they must deal with us, because we are too stupid and lazy to work for ourselves. They debate on national news why they must ‘put up with Roma.’”

  “Everybody’s like this?”

  She sniffed. “Some not. Some, if you get to know them, treat you fine.”

  I tried to think of something similar in America. Was there a town where they walled off African Americans? Everyone would get sued to death. But then again, there were all those burning crosses and white hoods and lynchings they taught us about in social studies. If people treated me differently just because of my scarred arm, what would they do if your whole body was different? In America, the local police didn’t support racism. Did they?

  “What did the lady look like?” Katka asked after a pause.

  “What?”

  “The woman in black. Was she carrying a scythe?”

  “Then you saw her too?”