katika in the ady quarter

i think we might be losing katika. the grandfather cries on the phone: she's been gone for three days. did she steal your money, i ask. he refuses to answer, he hates telling me any bad things. you can tell me bad things i say, you know i already know them. she stole your money, i say, and then she ran away. she's doing bad things, he cries. hasn't been to school either, three days, he says. then he cries some more.

i know she stole his money cause jozsi told me yesterday, and that the grandfather was drunk and distraught and looking for her.

gone for three days.

she's been hanging around with the bad kids, from the ady quarter, i say, cause i already know this too. yes, he says. yes. grandfather, i talked to her teacher yesterday, and she said katika is saying things like whatstheuse in school. and that she seems sad and tired.

the bad kids live in the ady quarter and are into sniffing glue. some end up homeless, streetkids.

what should we do, grandfather. should you maybe tell her father and he would go after her. no, he says, mihaly will beat her. i won't beat children, he says. i sigh. mihaly might beat her but he would for sure get her back. bring her back. no, he says, i will go there instead. to bring her back. okay, but you must go sober, grandfather, otherwise it won't work. she is ashamed of you when you are drunk, don't you know that. promise me you go sober.

she's losing hope. she has come to the edge of no-more-hope. as she grows up she looks around. this is what i say to the grandfather: you know how they humiliate gypsies over there, because that's what people do to you, i say. well, it hurts, that, and twists people hard. i do understand that, grandfather, i say. i know how that feels. i am hope and i am not there, and katika is losing hope. twelve years old. we might lose her, he says.

but he will go tomorrow morning and find her and try to bring her back. from the ady quarter. i promised to call tomorrow night. sometimes she listens to me.

-e