(excerpt)
The arrival of the Gypsy Moses caused something of a stir, the natives of the camp stared dumbfounded at the newcomer, because they couldn’t fit him into any of the little categories in their heads and they didn’t get what was so unusual about him, and they certainly couldn’t figure it out for themselves, the Gypsy Moses informed them that while they were puny and thin and weak and emaciated, he, in contrast, was tall and shredded and strong and well-nourished, a knife dangling from his arm, and four old wizards trundling in his wake, the first was named Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov, the second Gaston Glock, the third Samuel Colt, and the fourth was Yevgeny Fyodorovich Dragunov, and with a pack of dogs baying in the distance, the prince marched into Horthy Park,
to take a seat on his throne,
which for the moment he couldn’t find, as there were no chairs or tables in the barracks, only bunks, buckets, spoons, dirty clothes, and clotheslines, and a lot of bored people sitting on the ground waiting for lunch, they were puny and thin and weak and emaciated, and when this tall and shredded and strong and wellnourished Gypsy appeared among them, the well-informed immediately thought he must be a snitch who wanted to find out where the Gypsies of the island were growing pot, which was the only source of income for the clan leaders, so joints were the conventional currency which could be used to buy anything and everything both inside and out, the guards brought the stuff from the outside in exchange for weed, and now look,
they’ve dumped some prick on us again,
someone said in the barrack of one of the clan leaders, Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second, by name, in the eastern corner of the barrack, where Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second sat and puffed away all day long and provided wise council for those who sought his aid,
according to which
you stomach your stomach pains, take snake weed against snake bites, spider lily against spider bites, dog fennel against dog bites, and frogs’ legs for a frog in your throat, and otherwise you do whatever the fuck you want,
just don’t screw me over Gypsies,
was in general what Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second said, and everyone believed him, because Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second had the body of a boss, a big, broad-shouldered type who demanded respect, with his long nose like an eagle’s beak, propped up by a raven-black moustache, a broad hat resting on his head, and thus he sat on the throne in his barrack, in the eastern corner of his barrack, where
now
the Gypsy Moses stood before him, silent, waiting, for the Gypsies in the camp had told him that he had to report to the boss, so he had reported, and he had waited ever so patiently in front of the Kaiser while Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second had scratched his plump, hairy belly, but not because it itched, but rather to show off the three signet rings on his right hand as clear symbols of his power, and then he spoke to the prince, saying
so tell me, Gypsy,
but prince Moses said not a word, for he did not know what to say, alas, he had never seen golden signet rings, and they were holding him captive with their sparkle, he was wondering just what kinds of weapons these unusual yellow metals were, for they did not resemble anything with which you could stab or cut or shoot, so he stared at Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second’s fingers as they scratched Kálmán Lakatos the Second’s belly, and his mind was racing, at which the Kaiser suddenly laughed and asked so what’s up, Gypsy, cat got your tongue, and as this was a simple question to which he had an easy answer, so the prince nodded,
yes, this morning, cut it bad, just not the cat,
he said, an answer which met with more laughter, then tough luck for you, bud, Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second roared, and as if that weren’t enough, then you got soaked, and then he asked who it was who had cut out his tongue, if not the cat, which he shouldn’t have, because then prince Moses took Áron out from among the snakeskins, his Kershaw tactical knife, and pointed it at the Kaiser, it was him, he said quite sincerely, cause it was true, both with regards to his tongue and the perp, Áron, at which Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second also grabbed a knife, which was a mistake, indeed, which was a bigger mistake, cause a moment later, Áron gave a stab and put a hole right in the boss’s palm, and Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second let out a roar, but a second later he fell silent, for he found himself on the ground with this fearfully imposing stranger kneeling on his back and whispering into his ear that if you ever dare point a knife at me I’m going to drink your blood, every last drop of it, and just to show how very resolved he was, he twisted Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second’s right arm behind his back and started to slurp at the blood dripping from his palm,
ah, what an entrée, my prince,
Yevgeny Fyodorovich said in the background, and the other three magicians applauded, and Samuel Colt let out a cry, gentlemen, if you please, let’s drink a toast, and he looked at prince Moses, who nodded, I’m quite thirty, he said, and when he looked with a smile on his face at Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second, the blood in the Kaiser’s veins froze, alas, Gypsy, you’re finished, he whispered to himself as if bidding farewell, but no real harm had come to him, except that from the moment the Gypsy Moses had drunk of his blood, Kálmán Csóri Lakatos the Second
had ceased to be Kaiser,
and so he had to ceded the most comfortable bunk in his boss barrack to Moses, and he had to say goodbye to the three signet rings too, because Moses had taken quite a liking to them, and he had to say goodbye to his primary source of income as well, the weed, because Moses became the head of the cannabis trade, prince of the Gypsies, as he was called in the camp…
Translated by Thomas Cooper