Children of the Boss

Chapter 55: Gabriel

July 30th

We traveled a little bit more after visiting Paris. Switzerland, Italy, Germany. Then we finally went to Hungary. We went to Sajókaza, where many Romani villages were. We rented a car, and Abe drove. Abe's dad and Aunt Axelle stayed in the hotel, because his dad wasn't exactly welcome. 

The houses were colorful, but I knew this was a tactic the government used to make things look better than they actually were. The houses were run down, small, and with boarded up windows. There were a few cars, but most people were walking around. They had olive skin and dark hair, Abe looked like them but with a little lighter skin since his father had lighter skin. 

"That's the elementary school," Abe said, pointing towards a building. "You know, most people from my village dropped out before finishing high school. The majority don't have jobs."

I didn't know what to say. I knew poor people existed, I had seen homeless people and the run down neighborhoods in New York City, but this was different. I hadn't been this up close before, and this is where Abe had lived the majority of his life.

We pulled up to a small house painted yellow. It was a little better looking than the other houses, it had a door and a window still. An old woman was sitting outside. She was probably around Pop's age, and her hair was gray and black, but her skin was hardly wrinkled. Abe parked the car and she watched us.

"We're here," he said. "That's my grandmother."

We got out of the car, and his grandmother stood up. I was relieved when she smiled at him and hugged him. He hadn't talked much about his mother's grandparents, he had just mentioned his father's grandparents. I knew people in his family didn't like his father, and that after his mom died they didn't care for Abe. 

He spoke in Hungarian to his grandmother. She smiled at me, and Abe laughed. "She says you're a very pretty girl," he said to me.

I smiled, flattered, and then laughed. "Oh, she thinks I'm a girl." My hair had grown down to my shoulder and I was wearing makeup...

"Well, we don't have to tell her."

"Cool."

We went into the shack. It wasn't as bad as I thought on the inside, which I felt bad for assuming. It was old, but not dusty or dirty like I thought. It was actually pretty cute. Abe said only his grandmother and grandfather lived in this shack. The bigger one next to them is where more of his family lived. 

She gave us a drink I wasn't familiar with, something tea related I think. It was yummy. They talked a while in their language, which I was okay with. He would tell me what they were talking about, mostly him in America. He was doing well, he was happy, he was thriving. 

Eventually, his grandmother got up and left the room.

"Are...most Romani villages like this?" I asked him.

He sighed, thinking. "I don't know. I only know the ones in this vicinity. People don't like us here. In America, people look at me and simply see a European. In the states, I think people see me as white, and if I were to travel certain parts of Europe they would probably see me as white, too. But not here. Most people in my family would be treated like people of color in the states, because they are. I think my family has more European features, but some people I know have more eastern looking features. We are a diverse group of people. I know in some parts of Europe there are some Roma people who are very white and Anglo-Saxon looking, and would be treated like a white person in the states, but still get treated like any other Roma person. It's just how it is. We are treated very poorly."

He shrugged, and then said, "I love America for its diversity. I have never seen so many diverse groups of people. Europe is a predominantly white continent, there are millions of people of color but not nearly as much as in the states. I always feel uncomfortable when white Europeans talk about race in America, because countries in Europe are not much better, not as much as they think. Look at my family. Look at the privilege I have just for having a white father. They do not care about Romani people, anywhere. All of these 'first world' countries hate people of color, even the 'best' ones."

I grabbed his hand. These were things I didn't have to think about. The most I faced was homophobia, but mostly on a systematic level. My school was pretty woke, so I hardly ever faced homophobia at school. If anything it was mostly online, but I was good at avoiding that. I could still get fired from a place for being gay, but my white privilege and financial privilege really gave me advantages over that. I knew white gay guys that thought they didn't have white privilege because they were gay, but they should know better. They do know better. 

"And my mother...she didn't have it easy at all." He sighed. "She had my oldest brother when she was fourteen, so she dropped out. She had been raped by a man much older than her, and he ran off before anyone could do anything, and she didn't have the means to do anything anyway. She had my other older brother and my older sister by some guy from a village close by. She got pregnant by him again but accused her of cheating, saying it wasn't his, so he hit her and she miscarried and he left. Then she met my father. 

My father is a dick, but he was always very nice to my mother. Never hit her, never called her stupid. He was actually a decent father at first. He taught me Greek and English. He made her happy. When I was six he left us, which really hurt my mother, but he visited every now and then, and he always managed to win her over again because he was nice, even when she was pregnant with other men's children. He stopped coming around when I was eleven, and that's when she met a bum that got her hooked onto drugs. Then she overdosed, and my father turned mean. I think he feels guilty, but he turns that onto me. But he was the one that made me a fighter, so I fight back, and sometimes I even start it. I did blame him once, when I first came to America. I said if he had never left she wouldn't have died, which I knew would hurt him, and that's when we really started fighting."

He sighed. "She was only thirty-four. I feel like she did not have a chance in this world."

"I'm sorry Abe."

He squeezed my hand. "It's alright. I want to change things. I want to bring to light in the states how poorly Romani people are treated."

"I believe in you."

He smiled at me softly.

His grandmother came back, from the back door, and a bunch more people entered. They all looked like Abe, with green, golden eyes like his and wide smiles. They hugged him, and I was relieved again. 

"Gabe, these are my siblings," Abe said. "This is my oldest brother Elek, my older brother Robi, my older sister Iva." He patted the shoulder of a boy younger than him, maybe around thirteen. "This is my brother János. My younger sister Lívia, and then my youngest sister Mariska."

They were all beautiful, with bright eyes and warm smiles. He introduced me to his nieces Marcia and Viktória, and his nephews Joci, Pista, and László. His grandfather came a while later, with Abe's uncle Damian and aunt Věra. It was a full house quickly, so we went to the bigger house next door. Some of his family spoke English, so they talked a little bit to me, but there was still a language barrier.

Abe took everyone on drives around the village, and after a couple of hours we went back to the hotel. 

"How was it?" Aunt Axelle asked.

"It was great," Abe said.

"Oh that's wonderful. Did you hear that Gus, he had a great time."

"I heard," said Mr. Flores.

"You should come," Abe said, which surprised both me and Axelle.

"Yeah right."

"You should. My grandmother said she knows you had no reason for Mom's death, and that they're all appreciative of you taking me to America."

His dad snorted. "I'll pass."

"Gus, you should go. It could be good for you."

I grabbed Abe's hand, and nodded at him. 

"I want you to go...Dad," he said. "It would mean a lot."

Mr. Flores looked at Abe. Abe and his siblings must have had their mother's smile and eyes, because Mr. Flores had brown eyes and a smaller mouth. They had the same nose though, and some other similarities I couldn't pinpoint. 

"Fine, I'll go."

"Great. We'll go back tomorrow."

I smiled at Abe the way Aunt Axelle smiled at Mr. Flores. We were going to have a good time.