Gypsy Storyteller is another story-based Concept journal, a tale of two siblings, Madeline and Eric, who must leave their home and continue their life journey on the road.
1850, somewhere in Eastern Europe…
On her way home, as Madeline reached the edge of the town, she heard a scream come from somewhere behind the tightly packed buildings. A few moments later, a muddled commotion, as more and more people went to see. Folk in the street around her began moving towards the noise. Madeline’s first thought was to remind herself where her brother would be, she supposed already at home by that time. She turned again towards her homeward path as the voices turned to shouting and an argument broke out. She could not make out words but the voice of her father was unmistakable. She quickened her pace, and looking round to see that nobody was watching her, she hitched up her skirts and ran.
At home, the first thing she did was to make Eric go and hide in the little barn. She threw an old horse blanket over him and rolled two big barrels in front and threw some hay over. “Promise not to come out, whatever he says! I need to find out what has happened.”
She ran back into the cottage to light the fire and took a jug of whiskey out of hiding and put it in plain sight on the table. Perhaps her father would be calmer by the time he got home. Perhaps he would sleep.
A few minutes later, he burst through the door in such a rage as she had ever seen him, she knew that something terrible had happened, and that there would be no appeasing him. He blamed Eric for anything, and everything. She knew whatever had happened in the town, it could be the excuse he had been waiting for to do something unthinkable to her brother.
“Father, what is it? Eric isn’t here.”
“Don’t lie to me! Eric! Is this how you disgrace your poor mother’s memory? Show yourself!”
“He went to help Max with those logs… remember?”
She added this last to add weight to her lie, for his memory was terrible and even he didn’t trust it. She named the house that was furthest from their own to try to buy some time. Her father hesitated.
“But what has happened?” she tried again.
“Ivan is dead. And don’t you try to cover for him, I know who it was! Didn’t I tell your poor mother? I knew this day would come.” He glared around the room and gave Madeline such a stare that she knew it was pointless to say anything at all. He grabbed the bottle from the table and slammed the door behind him.
For a few moments she was frozen and could not think what to do. The wind carried voices down the lane, some of the townsfolk were coming, and if his own father condemned him, what hope did Eric have? They would meet her father on the way and go with him to Max’s house, but they would soon be back.
She flew outside to the barn. “Eric! Eric, where are you?” Gentle snorting came from the old cart horse, Bess. Madeline came across to look in the stall, where she could hear quiet crying. Eric crouched in the dark corner, covering his face. Bess nudged him with her soft nose, Madeline knew he had gone to her because he was afraid, and though at twenty years he was bigger and taller than most men, as he looked up at her now, she was reminded that he had the face and gentleness of a child. “We must go Eric,” she said softly, “I promise he won’t touch you, but we must go quickly.” Eric nodded without speaking.
Madeline grabbed what she could, throwing a few things into a shawl laid on the table. “We have to run Eric, faster than we have ever run before. If we can get to Addie’s house before Father sees I lied to him, I know she will help us. She will let us take their horse to the river crossing, and he will find his way home from there. Eric, we need to leave, you understand, don’t you?” Eric nodded. He placed his pencils and his wooden whistle into the bundle. Madeline squeezed his hand. “Get your hat and jacket, let’s go.” She looked around. She was sure this would be the last time she ever saw this house again. This house, the only one she had ever lived in. This house where their father had been drunk for as long as she could remember. This house their mother had died in, when Eric had been three years old. Madeline was glad to close the door on it now. She gave Eric the cloth bundle. “Yes, it’s time. Let us go,” she said finally. Eric placed his hand behind Madeline’s arm and began running. He swept her along at such a pace that she felt as though the fear was left behind and couldn’t catch up with them, she fairly had to stop herself crying out with excitement. The wind raced by under their feet. “Be careful with that bag!” she cried, “Mother’s journal is inside!”
You can watch the youtube video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xjKMQ2HDVU&t=5s
