I wondered what
kept Robi’s interest. It definitely wasn’t the kid songs we sang or
the stupid games we played. Still though, he watched quietly and
laughed along. I felt God nudge me to go stand next to him. I
didn’t think I needed to talk to him right away, just go stand. I
walked through the group singing songs and stood there, a few feet
away, feeling him out without looking. I wondered, nervously, what I
was supposed to do next.
We made eye contact
and he smiled but didn’t say anything. I just stood there and tried
to look like I was paying attention to the songs and the kids.
He looked about 16
or 17, on the shorter side. He had an athletic build but was skinny.
He wore blue sandals and his brown feet were covered with dirt. I
liked him because he sat and listened to us and was patient even as
we played songs in English and entertained the kids with silly games.
He had a calm, respectful demeanor.
The week before, I
watched him talk with the bald, middle aged driver who brought us to
the village. The other gypsy guys were off by themselves, talking
and laughing with each other, or else with the girls, flirting. Robi
talked with the driver for 45 minutes, his arms folded and his feet
set apart as if he took himself seriously and wanted to be taken
seriously.
His dark-skinned
hand tapped my elbow and then pointed toward the edge of the village.
“Nadyon?” I
thought he said. I had no idea what he meant. He lifted his arms
above his head so that it looked like he was signing a mountain or a
ballet move. I nodded in encouragement.
“Nadie. Nadion.
Yeah,” I said, smiling like an idiot.
Then, he started to
walk off, looking at me as if I was supposed to follow.
To be continued…
