Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 22:13:54 +0100
From: Harry Anders <harry@harryanders.com>
Subject: Little-Harrys-Life-3

This is the sequel from my first book 'Little Harry', and I strongly
commend you to read book one first! Thus you will enjoy book two even
more. You may find book one on Nifty, or you may visit my site
http://www.harryanders.com and read the elaborated book from there
(recommended!).

'Little Harry's Life' >by Harry AnderS, the author of 'Little Harry'<


Chapter 3. My sixth birthday, and we have to flee.

I woke up, being 'as stiff as a dead tree' as our people used to say. I
hobbled out of bed and wavered to the toilet, where I emptied my bowels and
my bladder. After cleaning myself I went outside, squinting in the sudden
sunlight. The grown-ups cheered when they saw me, and teasingly asked where
my beautiful trousers were, and if I needed them again...

"You are crazy! From now on I will NEVERMORE wear any trousers, for the
rest of my life!"

They laughed, and one of the men handed them to me. With a big grin I threw
them into the fire. I looked at the sudden blaze, and then sat down for a
long time, while the yellowish flames burned away the memories of those
cruel police officers, with or without tears in their eyes. I felt more
grown-up now, as if the adventures of the past day could have aged me by at
least a couple of years.

Michail handed me a pan of soup and a couple of rolls, and during the next
fifteen minutes I devoured a healthy meal, filling my emptied stomach and
enjoying the feeling of slowly fading hunger. I heard the men talk to each
other, and at last I got some idea of what had happened:

They had done what they always did when there wasn't enough food left: they
had sent the children to a nearby town to beg, and the grown-ups went to
another town far away to lay their hands on everything that was valuable or
useful. They were always very careful not to take things from the poor, but
only from wealthy people who wouldn't really miss them.

This time some gadjo happened to see them, and he stealthily followed them
in his own car when they went home. He tailed them from a distance, until
he discovered where we had set up our hidden camp, and from there he went
straight to the police to inform them. That's why those officers knew where
our camp was, and could take a couple of men with them to be questioned.
They didn't plan to take any children with them however... and they hadn't
the slightest idea that I was our little Prince and that they even had
captured our beloved King...

Fortunately the police officers hadn't discovered our hidden places, and
now we had enough goods, foods, and money to survive the next year, and
that was due to my 'begging' with my puppy dog eyes! Again I felt very
grown-up, and I was proud I had been able to help my people.

(In foreign countries the 'Lei' wasn't worth that much money, but in
Rumania you could buy lots of valuable things with the amount we had now.)

After a while I joined the men and told them my story, and they reacted
both indignantly and laughing at my childish ideas about the 'feeling up'
and 'abusing'. Ten minutes later I knew a lot more about the difference
between 'being lovely cuddled and getting a stiffy' or 'being abused by a
selfish predator without any consideration or mutual consent'.

"Next time I want you to pay me when you are touching me!"

"Then you will have to look for another victim to wheedle."

I laughed, and tried to join the twins on Michail's lap. Unfortunately his
lap wasn't big enough for the three of us...

After a while I helped Michail prepare his boys for their afternoon nap;
and soon all three of us were deep asleep, leaving a grinning Michael
looking at three small boys, all of them entangled into each other and
softly snoring.


One night I had a nightmare, dreaming of thousands of police officers who
were waiting in a long row to 'feel me up'. The next day my father told me
I had been yelling so loudly that the whole camp woke up, and they all
hurried to our caravan to rescue me...

The summer passed by; and the winter arrived, with lots of snow and cosy
sitting around the fireplaces in our caravans. Now we had to wear our
clothes outside, but the very moment we entered our caravans we immediately
got rid of them. Twice a month Michail took some money and went to town in
his big truck with snow chains around the tyres to buy us fresh vegetables;
and twice a day we checked our traps and snares, every time returning in
triumph with lots of yummy animals to eat. We roasted them above a small
camp fire under a big shelter made out of leaves.

The other children had promoted me to the rank of 'chief cook', as I seemed
to naturally know what herbs to use to let our meals taste 'special'. Once
in a while it tasted awfully yucky and they had to throw it away, but who
cares? Next time I exactly knew what NOT to do...


A very special day drew nearer and nearer: March the third, my sixth
birthday. I had been nervous for weeks, and hoped for the present I liked
most of all: a small snow scooter. A few of the older boys owned one, and
now and then they allowed me to ride on it for a short distance. I LOVED
it, but everybody kept telling me I was way too young to already own such
an expensive thing...

"But... I'm nearly SIX years old now! And my father is the King, so we
ought to be very rich..."

"I'm nearly sixteen years old now, and last year I had to earn my scooter
all by myself, by working for it!"

"But... I'm only a small boy, and I don't know how to work for a
scooter..."

They started to laugh, and told me to wait with the working; at least until
my next birthday.

That morning I couldn't sleep any longer. I looked out of the window and
stared into the darkness, faintly lighted by the glowing tops of the
mountains. Slowly the sunlight illuminated a few of the highest tops, and
now I saw such a beautiful spectacle that I nearly started to cry. I felt
very small and vulnerable, while the sunlight slowly lighted the mountains
one by one, sparkling in the icy snow crystals. I sat there in silence for
a long while, and during the rest of the day I remembered that feeling of
being a very small and vulnerable little boy.

People started to wake up, and a few men raked the faintly glowing
campfire. This was my home and my life. Here I belonged, in our secluded
place in the mountains, with my own people around, raking our fire, and my
parents softly snoring in their double bed.

Michail appeared outside, scooping some snow from a clean spot, to wash his
boys with after having it melted and warmed. I put on my small fur coat and
left our caravan; to greet him and scoop some snow too, to help my parents.

"Hi, Michail, you are an early bird today!"

"Hi, Harold, you are rather early yourself; and congratulations as you are
six years old by now."

I got a pan full of clean white snow and went back to our caravan,
carefully closing the door behind. I put the pan onto the grate in our
fireplace, to melt and heat the snow so it would be ready when my parents
needed it. Soon it started to hiss, and my parents got up and thanked me
for helping them. They prepared breakfast; while I nervously fumbled with
my fur coat, anxious to go outside:

"Hurry up! They are already waiting for me..."

After breakfast everybody gathered around the campfire, to congratulate me
and wish me all the best. I thanked them for their wishes, and meanwhile
furtively looked around. What did they buy me as a birthday present this
year?

Suddenly I heard a sound I immediately recognized, coming from our hidden
parking lot. A snow scooter... I closed my eyes, and didn't dare to look
around. What if it turned out to be one of the older boys going for a ride
on his own scooter? But the boys were all here, to congratulate me... Did I
miss a person? I looked through my eyelashes, but couldn't detect who was
missing and now riding that quickly nearing scooter...

Suddenly Micha appeared from between two caravans, driving a beautiful
black-and-golden small snow scooter, painted in our royal colours!!! He
stopped in front of me, grinned, and stepped off the scooter. He beckoned
me to approach him.

Was this for real? Was this really MY scooter? I couldn't really believe
it. I looked at my father, my mother, Michail, my grandmother... but they
all laughed at me with beaming eyes and beckoned me to join Micha.

Trembling all over, I neared the beautiful thing; and cautiously touched
it. Was this MINE? Was this really mine? Was this really my own snow
scooter? My eyes started to tear up; and I dried them, furtively, with a
sleeve of my fur coat.

Micha laughed, took my arm, and tried to persuade me to mount the saddle of
my own beautiful snow scooter:

"Come on, little man, you know how to drive. Let's go for a ride!"

My knees buckled, and I nearly collapsed. I, a small and barely
six-year-old boy, was now the proud owner of a real snow scooter? Really?

Micha beckoned a few of the older boys to accompany us:

"Want to go for a short ride on that easy slope, just to get the feeling?"

I nodded, still totally overwhelmed. The boys rushed to the parking lot to
get their own scooters, and soon six snow scooters and their riders were
impatiently waiting for me. Now I HAD to go with them...

Still trembling all over, I mounted the saddle, now sitting astride with my
feet barely touching the ground. I looked for the starting cord and pulled
it, and immediately the small engine became alive. I switched the gear, as
I had done a few times before on the bigger scooters, and carefully rotated
the gas handle. Slowly my own snow scooter and I drove off, cheered at by
my beaming people around the camp fire.

I drove careful at first, closely followed by six fellow snow scooter
riders. Soon I dared to rotate the gas handle a bit more, and suddenly I
left the other boys slightly behind. That felt good! I left the circle, and
started to grin. Were they in for a race?

The next few hours were the best hours of my life. I was leading the way,
closely followed by the other riders, and within a few minutes I felt
totally one with my small machine. I tried to make a few curves, and
learned how to use my bodyweight to control the motions of my combination
man/engine. I used the brakes a few times, to get the feeling of how to
control them. I pulled up, slowed down, made a couple of curves, and
suddenly went for the clearings in the woods, accompanied by the now
cheering others.

We went faster and faster, and soon I detected I could be faster than all
the others. The combination of a small powerful engine and an even smaller
boy let me accelerate and slow down as if I rode a real racing machine,
even outracing a now wildly cheering Micha!

Many years later my people still told each other the story about a little
blond-haired boy, riding a small snow scooter and jumping at least three
feet high into the air in passing steep snowy hills, while the high-pitched
sound of his 'YIPPEE' echoed around the mountains. I had to be the youngest
snow scooter rider in the universe, and I loved it!


Unfortunately within a few months the snow started to melt, and now most of
the fun ended. Our technical man replaced the caterpillar wheels by normal
wheels, so that we could use them as 'normal' scooters; but they were less
fun than being able to glide down the snowy hills, and jump high into the
air without the risk of breaking bones. We had to wait until the next
winter...

Now and then we went for a ride across the woods, but our parents warned us
not to near the highway or a town, as those gadjo's surely would arrest us
and confiscate our scooters. We always had to be careful!

Summer arrived, and now we frolicked around every day in the pool beneath
the waterfall; or we went tracking down small animals and setting traps. I
was accepted as the smallest leader of our gang, and of course I still was
their chief cook, always testing and tasting new herbs.


Suddenly a friend of ours entered our camp in a hurry, warning us to
prepare for a nasty witch hunt. A man, seen in the company of a small
blond-haired boy, had tried to rob a gadjo in a nearby village, and killed
him in the resulting fight. People thought they had seen a few gypsies
around, and the police officers remembered a blond-haired little gypsy boy,
living in a secluded camp in the mountains... and by now they also knew the
little boy was our heir to the throne, and somebody told them our king was
always dressed in black-and-golden clothes...

Immediately the men took their precautions. One of the men dressed in my
father's ceremonial black-and-golden garment, while a few other men
transported our old car-with-attached-caravan to a secluded spot in the
woods and covered it with moss and leafs, ready to drive away. My mother
dyed my hair with strong coffee, so that I would be dark-haired for a few
days. Unfortunately they couldn't dye my blue eyes...

Barely half an hour later, at least twenty police cars swarmed around our
camp. In triumph they immediately arrested our mock-king, dressed in his
black-and-golden garment. They started to inspect our caravans, in search
of the little blond-haired prince. Nobody looked at two sloppy people,
accompanied by a small dark-haired boy, who disappeared into the woods. We
were on our way to the hidden caravan, sneaking through the bushes, and
trying to act as if we weren't in a hurry at all.

We sneaked into our hidden car; and my father drove off, as noiselessly as
was possible. This time he took a totally different road, which was very
difficult to drive on, full of nasty rocks and enormous potholes. The car
jumped up and down, and the caravan groaned and swung from left to
right. Fortunately my father was a very good driver!

Three hours later we left the woods and entered the highway, where we ran
into a couple of waiting police cars. The officers craned their necks to
look into our car and caravan, but all they saw were two boring looking
gypsies with their little dark-haired son, and certainly not a King and his
blond-haired Prince. They let us go and resumed their watching, while we
drove on as nonchalantly as we dared.

We followed the highway for a long time, until my father suddenly drove our
unit into a small and nearly invisible track between a couple of bushes. He
seemed to know the way, and drove us through a few meadows with dull
looking cows, along a farm, across a bridge, and suddenly we ascended a
steep hill and entered another highway, where we mingled among the passing
traffic. With a proud face he told us we crossed the border and now were in
a foreign country. We were safe, at least for now...

We parked our combination in a secluded clearing along the road, and my
mother started to cry. My father tenderly took her into his arms, and
soothingly promised her that everything would be normal again within a few
months. For now we had to avoid any contact with our own people, as those
police officers would be very angry and surely try to track us down.

After a while my mother dried her eyes and took me into her arms, from
where I comforted her by kissing her wet eyes a couple of times, making her
laugh. Soon her sun inside started to shine again, and our stomachs started
to tell us we were hungry.

We went into our caravan, where my parents tried to prepare a simple meal,
of course assisted by me. They sent me to a nearby farm, to ask there for
water. I got our jerrycan from beneath the small sink and carried it to the
farm, where a nice peasant woman filled it to the brim and helped me carry
it back. We thanked her, and even got a couple of eggs and a few crops of
lettuce for free! Not all those gadjo's are bad...

That evening we sat around our small caravan table and had a long talk. We
looked at all the possibilities, until at last we decided in unison to
drive on for a few weeks, enjoying the opportunity to sightsee some foreign
countries. Thus it would look as if we were on a long vacation!

I cheered, and silently thanked those stupid police officers who
unwittingly offered me this splendid chance to see a bit more of the gadjo
world...

At last we set up the small bed; and I crawled in between my parents,
feeling safe and loved.

The next morning we resumed our way, after enjoying breakfast with a couple
of fresh eggs. I sat in the back of our car, while my mother sat
shotgun. At first I sat glued to the windows, looking at the strange gadjo
world with all those cars-in-a-tremendous-hurry and those two-story or even
three-story caravan-houses without any wheels on them. What a strange way
of living!

After a while I got bored, and started to play silly games like counting
all the blue cars that passed by. Fortunately we stopped a few times so I
could walk around a bit and empty my bladder. At last my father bought me a
couple of magazines, and now another totally different world opened up!
Fascinated by all those colourful pictures, I looked at a world full of
tinsel and mock-joy. What a strange world that was!

"Do those people really live as they are showing us in those pictures?"

My father chuckled, and shook his head:

"You will soon see even stranger things where we are going now."

Now I was even more curious! What a strange world we live in...

My clothes started to itch, and I wanted to get rid of them. Unfortunately
my parents didn't let me...

"Where we are now, people are thinking it's a sin to show certain parts of
your body. From now on you have to wear at least a pair of trousers all the
time. If they see you in the nude, they could arrest us and put us in jail
for a long time."

"That's crazy! I think clothes are suitable to warm you when it's cold, or
to show off perhaps, but not to hide your body."

"I totally agree with you, but here we have to reckon with other people
imposing their crazy beliefs onto you..."

"Dad, I think the gadjo world isn't only a strange world, but also a crazy
world!"

I sat down on the back seat, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine our own
world where we were totally free and happy. Soon I drifted off into a
beautiful dream, where we were frolicking around, not hindered by sticky
clothes or crazy gadjo's with their strange habits...

The next day we drove on and on; and slowly, nearly imperceptibly, I got
used to the strange and constantly changing gadjo world we were in now. I
became our water-bearer, as my parents were a bit wary to approach unknown
strangers. Not everybody liked us gypsies! Fortunately most people did like
little blue-eyed children with light brownish hair and a captivating
smile...

Many times nice people helped me carry the filled-to-the-brim jerrycan, to
be severely shocked when they discovered my parents were gypsies and we
lived in a small caravan attached to an old car. Some of them started to
stutter and fled as soon as they were able to, others were more curious
about where we came from and where we were heading. My parents always
abundantly thanked them and told them we were on a long vacation after we
inherited a small sum of money.

Mostly the language was a barrier, as we were in a foreign country now and
not everybody spoke our native language. Soon I was very good at pointing
out things, or 'talking' with my hands and eyes. When they really didn't
understand me, I took their hands and dragged them to where I needed
them. Never in my life did people ruffle my hair so much as during our
'vacation', and I loved it! I still do...

At night we parked our combination in a secluded spot, or sometimes we
drove somewhere into the woods. Now and then we were in a town and parked
our caravan in a big parking lot, but nearly always some police officer
showed up and chased us away. Sleeping in our caravan was not allowed
outside a camping site, so we had to drive on! Funny people, those
gadjo's...

One time we detected a small gypsy group, living near a big town. Of course
we went there to greet them, but my father never told them who he really
was. They invited us in, and I felt at home immediately. The moment I saw a
few nude children outside, I shucked my clothes, threw them into our
caravan, and felt FREE! I joined the children, but we could barely
understand each other, as they spoke a foreign dialect. At first they even
thought I had to be a gadjo, because of my blonde hair and my blue eyes. I
pointed at my mother, and now they understood and accepted me.

We joined them for a couple of days, until my parents decided to drive
on. I HATED to have to dress again, and sulked for a long time...

Again we drove on and on, visiting really nice places, fishing in small
streams to get some fresh meat, and sometimes I set a trap and caught a
hare. We dug a couple of potatoes nearby a farm, snatched a strayed
chicken, and were nearly caught at trying to steal a screaming pig.

We crossed a few borders, where my parents had to show their passports; and
drove on and on into the next foreign country, until one day we decided to
go back. We were out of money, our clothes were filthy and worn, and our
car started to hiccup. It was time to go HOME!

My father stopped our caravan combination in a small clearing along the
road, nearby a nice looking village. We left our car and entered our
caravan, where my parents started to prepare some food to munch on.

My father took the nearly empty jerrycan from under the sink, and ruffled
my hair:

"Harry, could you try to get us some clean water, please?"

Of course I could, as that was my task! I left our caravan, dragging the
jerrycan with me, and looked around.

A few small gadjo children looked at our caravan from across the road, with
curious eyes. They seemed to be nice enough, so I dragged the jerrycan
across the street and pointed to it, trying to tell them I wanted it filled
with water.

"Watter? Oh, you mean 'water'?"

I nodded; and one of the boys took our jerrycan, while a small girl took my
hand and guided me along the road to a man who was washing his car in a
driveway. They asked him something in a language I didn't understand, and
the man laughed at me and ruffled my hair.

Suddenly my heart jumped in my chest, and I had a strange feeling of coming
home, as if I KNEW this man and had known him for a long time. How strange!
I was sure I had never met him before, but he felt like he was my very best
friend...

The man took the jerrycan, washed it out, and filled it with fresh water;
while looking at me and talking to the other children. The oldest boy and
he picked it up together, and in procession we walked back to our caravan,
where my mother saw us coming and opened our door.

We beckoned them to come in, and a bit hesitantly they entered our small
living room. The nice man entered first, followed by the oldest boy,
another boy, a girl, a third boy, and a small girl of about my age. They
sat down, and my mother poured them some lemonade.

The oldest boy couldn't keep his eyes off me, and I looked at him all the
time. He was the friendliest boy I had ever seen, resembling Micha but
being many years younger. I estimated him to be around ten or eleven years
old, with deep brown eyes that radiated love and compassion. He laughed at
me, and I laughed at him, and now and then it felt as if we had a
conversation without words. He could have been my brother!

My parents didn't understand a word of what they were talking about, but I
could feel the energy of their words and sometimes follow small bits of
their conversation. They were talking about 'poor', 'out of money',
'helping out' and 'food'. After a while the nice man pointed at our
clothes, and tried to ask us if we wanted him to help? I translated to my
mother what I had picked up, and fortunately she nodded.

The huddle left our caravan, and beckoned me to follow them.

We went to the same driveway, and entered the nice man's house. Soon I
learned that the children called him 'Jack', and the oldest boy was called
'John'. They resembled each other, and I thought they could be father and
son. The other children's names were 'Thomas', 'Mark', 'Marrie', and
'Chrissy'; and they had already heard my father calling me 'Harry'.

We went upstairs, and 'Jack' started to rummage in a pile of clothes. He
collected a whole bunch of used clothes, and put them into a few plastic
bags. We went downstairs again, and Jack raided his fridge and filled a few
cardboard boxes with the content. In procession we went back to our
caravan, carrying and dragging all the boxes and bags.

My parents were elated, and abundantly thanked the nice man, Jack, and my
five little friends. I felt really sad to see them go, knowing that the
next day we would return to our own country. How I hoped to see Jack and
especially John back some time!

The remainder of the day we were busy sorting all the nice clothes, filling
the cupboards with all the foods, and feeling very grateful. Now we had
enough food and nice clothes to return to our own country without any
worrying. We filled our stomachs to the brim, and tried out a couple of the
clothes. There were even a few smaller things that fitted me!

We decided to stay in the clearing until the next morning, and I hoped to
see my newly found friends again before we drove off. We went to bed early,
and this time I decided to sleep on my own. Don't ask me why... I clambered
onto a bed in the back of the caravan, near the door.

------------------------------------------

A few excerpts from all the nice emails you sent me:
This time I've received only one email. How come?
Here it is:

* I have gone to your new web site which is AWESOME. The music is very
kewl. It's all your fault I was up until 0200 reading!


Thanks for reading my story, and I LOVE emails...
harry@harryanders.com
Visit my new website, where you may read ALL my stories:
http://www.harryanders.com

I wish to thank the Nifty archives for hosting my stories.
When you have a few spare dimes, donate them to Nifty! They are doing a
marvelous job. (Yes, I've donated them my euros)