Sam crawled out from his sleeping bag, rolled it up and crammed it into his rucksack. Then he took out one of the bottles of lemonade and took a few sips. The bubbles fizzed in his mouth and went up his nose making him sneeze.
‘Oh-ho,’ he heard someone say. ‘What have we here? Some sort of sneezing animal I venture to say.’
He shrank back into the hedge, trying to make himself as small as possible. And then a terrible beast with huge teeth and massive snorting nostrils pushed its head into the hedge and stared at him.
Sam screamed. High pitched and formless as the build up of terror over the last few days was released in one ragged emotional outburst. The beast snorted and pulled away to be replaced by a man’s face. Ruddy and covered in a large black beard. Eyes a bright shiny blue and eyebrows the size of hamsters.
‘Steady there, boy. There’s nothing to fear here. That merely be Dancer, my old horse. She just be curious, that’s all.’
Sam was frozen to the spot, shaking, his eyes wide in stark horror.
The man’s face disappeared and Sam heard him call out.
‘Mama,’ he called. ‘Come over here and be smart about it. There’s a wee chiseler in the bushes and he be right scared.’
Within seconds a female face showed itself to Sam. An older woman. Smooth skin, long gray hair in two plaits, one on either side of her head. She had the same unsettlingly blue eyes as the old man and she radiated a calm kindness.
Sam relaxed and then he held his arms out to her. She grabbed him under his arms and lifted him to her, picking him up, his head on her shoulders. She stroked his hair.
‘Come on, me wee bairn. Let’s to the caravan and get you a lie down and then something hot to eat.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Not sleepy.’
‘Okay then. Would you like something to eat?’
Sam nodded. ‘Hungry. Only had dog biscuits since the bad men killed my mommy.’
‘Well, you’re with friends now,’ the old lady said.
Sam looked up from her shoulder and saw a row of horse drawn caravans. Twenty of them. All painted in bright primary colors. Seated on the front of each one, reins in hand, was an armed man. In some cases two. Hard looking men, dark skinned, long black hair, beards and moustaches. They all carried assault rifles. A mix of AK’s and American M16’s. One of them winked at Sam and smiled. His blue eyes twinkled with suppressed mischief. Sam smiled back. For the first time since his mommy had died he felt truly safe.
The old lady put him down but continued to hold his left hand.
‘The people call me Mama,’ she said to Sam. ‘And what do we call you?’
‘Sam.’
‘A good name. Sam be it then.’
The old man came over and held out his hand. Sam took it and shook it solemnly.
‘Well met, young Sam,’ said the old man. ‘The people call me Papa Dante. I won’t bother you with all the others names, you seem to be a bright enough lad so I be sure that you’ll pick them up as we go.’
‘Are you gypsies?’ Asked Sam
‘Aye, some may call us that,’ answered Papa Dante. ‘Though we be not too fond of the calling. We prefer to be called Pavees or even Lucht Siuil, which means The Walking People. Now come along to my vardo and Mama shall give you a mug of soul-warming chicken soup.’
Mama led Sam to the caravan, or vardo, as Papa Dante called it. She pulled down some steps and Sam climbed up. She went up next. Then Papa pulled the steps up, vaulted into the front seat, flicked the reins and Dancer shambled into a slow plodding walk.
Mama took out a thermos flask and poured soup from it into a large clay mug. She handed it to Sam. ‘Careful,’ she said. ‘It’s hot.’
The little boy sipped at it cautiously. It was delicious. Thick and unctuous and chickeny. After a week of dried dog biscuits the explosion of flavor literally brought tears of pleasure to his eyes.
‘Are you alright?’ Asked Mama concernedly.
Sam nodded. ‘Nice. Yum. Thank you.’ He continued slurping. By the time he had finished the large mug he was full and, although he professed not to be sleepy he had slept little over the last few days, his slumber light and full of fear.
Mama took the empty mug from him and walked him to the back of the vardo. She pulled aside a curtain to reveal a large double bed, thick feather mattress with a down stuffed duvet spread on top.
‘Not sleepy,’ mumbled Sam.
Mama sat him down, pulled his shoes off, gently pushed him back onto the mattress and covered him with the duvet. He fell asleep almost instantly. She watched him for a while and then went back to her seat beside Papa Dante.
‘Poor mite’s asleep,’ she told her husband.
‘Aye, a bit of time in the scratcher will do him the power of good, it shall. Rest and your magical chicken soup, my love. Never more should a man need.’
Mama punched Papa Dante on the arm. ‘Sure you be lying you charmer you.’ She smiled and lent up against him.
Softly but clearly, Papa Dante started to sing.
If you ever cross the sea to Ireland
And maybe at the closing of your day
You can seat and watch the sun rise over clada,
And watch the sun go down on Galway bay
Maybe some day I’ll go back again to Ireland
If my dear old wife would only pass away,
Now she has my poor old health broke with all her nagging,
And she has a mouth as big as Galway Bay,
After drinking sixteen pints of Arthur Guinness
And she walks down the road with out a sway,
If the auld sea was bare in stead of salty water
A then she would live and die on Galway bay,
After drinking sixteen points in Padgo Murphy
And the bar man say’s its time to go,
Now she doesn’t try to answer him in Irish
But speaks a language that the Traveller’s do not know,
Well on her back she has a map of Ireland,
And when she takes her bath on Saturdays
Well she rubs the care ball soap all round the clada
Just to watch the auld suds go down on Galway bay,
Well her feet are like auld lump of board na Mona
And her hair is like a rake of last years hay,
A and when I rub my around her turage
A she’ll forget about auld Galway bay.
The train of caravans continued its progression as the horses clipped and clopped their slow way towards the next place that they were going.
And the hard faced men who guided them scanned the countryside around them and kept their rifles ready to hand.