• (Part One)
    It was one of those nights again. Those nights when the stars seek refuge in the heavens

    and their mother, the moon, retires early to slumber. The wind danced and intertwined

    between the tall cedar trees, singing soft melancholy melodies into the night. The forest

    awakened underneath the slumbering sky. The owls called, the bushes trembled, and the

    shadows began to play. Amidst the darkness the silhouette of a young woman approached

    a small clearing, curtained by a battalion of trees, a woman of unspeakable beauty, beauty

    that dispersed the darkness. Her large emerald eyes scanned the clearing warily, the

    ink tendrils that framed her delicate tanned face swayed with the movement. She sat and

    waited, a tiny smile pinned on her rosy lips. Normally a traveler wouldn’t dare step foot

    into Hoia Baciu at night, in fear of the spectators, demons, and ghosts that supposedly

    lurked the obscurity, as it has been said in the eerie tales of the family elders. But the

    woman sat in confidence, no trace of fear in her convivial expression. A familiar jolly

    whistle pierced the night’s song, and the woman’s smile matured into a grin. Through the

    outline of the trees stepped a fellow, whose appearance rivaled the arc angel Gabriel; a

    masculine chap crowned with a golden mane. He strode to the woman, whispering sweet

    words of affection and gave her a long awaited embrace. They held each other, under the

    dark sky, and under the omniscient eyes of God. Their love was an enigma, despite how

    divine and passionate it had become, it was confined to stay in the shadows; the alluring

    tawny woman and her adversary turned lover defiled the laws of society, a whimsical tale

    of forbidden love.

    To the blond, blue-eyed Aryan children of Germany, Gypsies were filthy thieving

    vagabonds, while to the gypsies, the feared Wehrmacht solders, were the minions of

    Satan.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    As the Nazi tyranny spread across Europe like a plague, German authorities targeted,

    rounded up, and slaughtered minorities, groups of people who were deemed inferior,

    blemishes to the Aryan race. On one occasion, General Aurel Kurtz led a small brigade of

    soldiers to round up a band of gypsies on the outskirts of Hungary. They arrived

    under the cover of night, like wolves on the prowl. In the shadows they approached the

    unsuspecting camp and with a simple nod General Kurtz released his pack of 60 men to

    begin the assault; the merry jingle of the Roma people soon turned into a ballad of

    horror-filled wails. General Kurtz watched the raid with interest. These people, these

    condemned wretches, made no attempt to fight. They merely let themselves be captured,

    no resistance, a note the General could not quite comprehend. He watched his men

    rummage through the caravan, and kill the brawny horse that pulled it, tossing the

    Roma’s possessions onto the ground with no remorse. He watched as they mercilessly

    beat the elders with smiles on their faces; and the violate a defenseless blind woman. He

    merely stood and watched the cruelty, not once breaking his steely exterior; it was how he

    was trained.

    Guilt was branded as a sign of weakness, and the weak were preyed upon in the military.

    A lesson he learned when he spent his days as a private. A sudden shriek of a woman

    caught the General’s attention. His Lieutenant came from behind the wagon hauling a

    young woman by the hair, her face hidden behind cloth. She screamed, and unlike her

    family fought with all her might, her efforts were rewarded when she managed to knee

    the lieutenant in the groin. As he crumpled to the ground in agony, the general expected

    the gypsy woman to run, abandoning her clan, to save her life. Gypsy people were

    barbarians; they cared only for their own pathetic life. So he has been told. But she

    surely proved him wrong when she turned and scrambled to pull a soldier off an old

    woman, she lashed out at him like a wild cat. Was the woman mad?

    Surely she knew she could not overtake the man, a man that was nearly two heads taller,

    and a mammoth compared to her petite frame. “Impudent wretch” the officer growled,

    striking the audacious woman on the face, she crumbled to the ground in a heap. The

    curious eyes of soldiers and troubled glances of the captured Roma, watched the

    spectacle in silence. The officer pulled out his rifle in blinded rage, and aimed. The air

    grew thick with suspense, reaching to the point where it was almost suffocating. Kurtz

    unconsciously drew his own weapon and shot into the air, in attempt to regain order back

    into his company. “I gave no orders to take any lives. Compose yourself or you’ll find

    yourself tied amongst these people” he cautioned. The addressed officer scowled and

    placed his weapon back into its carrier, re-situating himself back at his post “Well then

    gentlemen, if you’re done acting like idiots, we should start heading off, Budapest is a

    long ways off” Kurtz said. He took a quick glance at the woman that remained still on the

    floor, unconscious no doubt. “Carsten get that woman in the back of the truck with the

    others!” Kurtz ordered. A lithe younger man pealed around the truck and acknowledged

    the General respectively. He had impressively blue eyes and a messy top of wheat

    colored hair; he was the youngest amongst them, only at seventeen years of age. Carsten

    nodded and picked the woman up, almost too delicately, and placed her in the back of the

    truck. He managed to catch a glimpse of the terrified faces of the cargo sitting in the back

    as well. Carsten sighed heavily, and gave the general a pained look. Kurtz knew that look

    all too well, Carsten was young and innocent, he had yet to be violated with the twisted

    nature of war.

    The convoy set off to Budapest, 60 men, three trucks, and a very solemn General,

    whose mind seemed to dance around the image of a mysterious gypsy woman. He wasn’t

    quite sure what interested him more, the fact that she bravely chose to defend her family,

    or her piercing jade eyes, eyes that seemed to unravel the soul. She certainly had

    admirable traits for a gypsy woman, voluptuous curves, marvelous complexion, and, long

    curly dark hair . Kurtz jumped slightly as a hand was placed on his shoulder,

    interrupting his musings. “General you haven’t said a word since we left the gypsy camp”

    Carsten said; concern in his sky colored eyes. Kurtz tossed the private a small smile, “Be at

    ease Carsten, I’m just tired from the trip” he lied, although not entirely convinced the

    younger soldier thought it better to leave the General to his thoughts.