Olympia Dukakis and My Criminal Past

I don’t really have a criminal past to speak of, not one that I would be proud of at least. What I do have in my repertoire of adventures and misadventures are accusations of ridiculous crimes that I have not committed-
I have noticed that usually these false and ludicrous charges come from old people, old Greek people. This is the story of the most preposterous of allegations I have ever had to deal with and it involves Olympia Dukakis, an old Greek restaurateur named Gus and a first and what would be the last date with a heavy metal guy that I met during a Motorhead concert.
So I had decided to take this guy to a Greek restaurant in the West Village for our first date. As I walked in, Gus, the owner of the restaurant looked at me just like a hawk gazes upon it's prey right before he's ready to demolish it:

Gus: Ah…Welcome, welcome…I remember youuuuuu…You are the one that came with that group of girls last time…Am I right?

Norma: ........

Gus: Can you come with me a moment? I want to show you something in the ladies bathroom

Norma: You want me to come with you to the ladies bathroom?

Gus: Yes, it will only take a moment, don’t be afraid-Come, Come

Norma: ..Alright

(In the ladies bathroom with old guy)

Gus: You see this wall?

Norma: Yes

Gus: Tell me, what do you see?

Norma: I see a wall with pictures of old Greek actresses on it

Gus: And what is missing from this wall?

Norma: Hmmm

Gus: Ok, Ok. I will tell you what is missing from this wall! The picture of OLYMPIA DUKAKIS is missing from this wall! Did you take it?

Norma:....

Gus: Don’t be ashamed to admit it! Did you take the picture of Olympia Dukakis?!

Norma:........

Gus: Don’t get angry! It was a good picture of her. I could understand if you wanted to steal it!

Norma: Steal the picture of Olympia Dukakis? Why exactly would I steal a picture of Olympia Dukakis?

Gus: I don’t know...I don’t know.... Maybe you wanted to hang it in your bathroom wall

Norma:......................................

On Question Marks and Exclamation Marks

They are indicators of how well I am doing at work. For example during my phases of extraordinary motivation at work I receive emails with questions or statements that end with only 1 question mark or 1 exclamation mark. Since these highly motivated phases in my life are rare, if not extinct, I will provide you with some fabricated examples of such emails-

Boss: ‘Hey, just wanted to send you an email to tell you…..Great Work!’

Or

Boss:‘Hey, was simply wondering if you were aware of how great of a job you did on this project?’

It has been years since I have received emails such as the one’s above- And actually, to be honest, I would feel quite uncomfortable if I ever happened to receive one. I would probably break into hives and begin contemplating various conspiracy theories that involve my boss, my coworkers and some kind of scheme that entails me getting fired. So for 3 years now I receive emails that let me know exactly what a mediocre job I’m doing and let me know that things in the universe are exactly as they should be and that nothing has gone astray yet. Real emails that I usually receive look more like the ones below:

Boss: “Can you contact this customer and let him know when he will be receiving his bill so we can get paid already???”

Boss: “HAVE YOU CONTACTED THE CUSTOMER YET????”

Boss: “THE CUSTOMER HAS TOLD ME YOU HAVE NOT CONTACTED HIM YET!!!!!!!!”

So yes, these are the kinds of emails I usually receive within 10 minute intervals and although I have grown accustomed to reading them without breaking a sweat, to this day I still do not know what the etiquette rules are in regards with replying to them. Do I use only one exclamation or question mark or can I use several of them or several of them combined with caps so I can have the same effect? Could I even perhaps begin replying to them using no words and just a question mark and exclamation mark or would this further infuriate my boss and worsen the unfortunate nervous condition I suspect he has developed because of me. Could I dare begin replying to them in a manner such as this for example:

Boss: “Can you contact this customer and let him know when he will be receiving his bill so we can get paid already???”

Norma: Perhaps!!!

Or

Boss: “HAVE YOU CONTACTED THE CUSTOMER YET????”

Norma: “NO, NOT REALLY!!!!”

Or

Boss: “THE CUSTOMER HAS TOLD ME YOU HAVE NOT CONTACTED HIM YET!!!!!!!!”

Norma: HE IS TELLING YOU THE TRUTH!!!!!!!!HOW MANY MORE EMAILS SHOULD I BE EXPECTING FROM YOU???????? MANY??????????????????????????????????THIS IS A LOT OF FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

On Search Missions, Auditions and Strip Clubs

There are many things I could say about the Hounds birthday celebration last night-For instance I should probably mention the ridiculous amounts of alcohol that we all consumed or perhaps even the dance off in the middle of a salsa club that the Hound and I had with an insane middle age Asian guy who was either jumping up and down the stage while clapping or crawling between my legs either in a forward motion or backwards one-I should most probably and most importantly also mention the Strip Club we all took the Hound to. After spending 2 incredible hours amongst men and women that had their faces buried either amongst two breasts or two ass cheeks, after having a stripper called Lola sit on my lap and discuss her breasts, her degree in Business Management and her thoughts on the effects that the BP oil spill will have on our economy, and after getting the Hound blasted to the point of no return ,it was finally time for us to call it a night.
Lo and behold though we realized that one of our friends was missing!-Drunk as I was I decided to go back into the club alone and search for him in hopes that I wouldn't be interrupting the 32nd lap dance that he was receiving and most definitely enjoying. I went inside and begun to scan with my eyes the entire club-Nope, no sight of him, so I thought to myself “AHA! He might be in the back in one of those private rooms!” So I took a deep breath, summed up my courage and decided to talk to the bodyguards that guarded those back rooms as if they were guarding the gates of heaven. The conversation went something like this:

Bodyguard1: You here for the auditions?

Norma: Auditions? You guys are holding auditions at 4 am? Isn't that a bit too early?

Bodyguard2: I'm in charge of them-You got to put your name down on this list

Norma: My name? No, no, no, no-You see I'm here to search for my friend-He kinda disappeared and its time for all of us to go. I just need to find him-Can you be so kind as to go and find him and inform him that we are leaving?

Bodyguard1: You want us to go and find him? BWAHAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAAAAA....
BWAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHA................

Norma:............

Bodyguard2: How does he look?

Norma: Tall, and he's wearing a buttoned down shirt and tie and by now his curly hair must look incredibly disheveled

Bodyguard2: Miss,you just described 3/4 of the customers here.

Bodyguard1: BWAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA ….BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Bodyguard2: You're not gonna find him here-You sure you don't want to try dancing a bit?

Norma:.........................................

Friendship and The Art of Using Profaninties

It is an art that has been perfected by Eman and I-It happens on a daily basis in the midst of our most mundane conversations. This is a staple in our daily lives and has apparently become as necessary as water is to all human beings. It is the way we express our love for each other; instead of thank you we tell each other to fuck off and insult each of our mothers in the most inappropriate ways imaginable. Below is an example of this-A bit of a censored one just in case our mothers stumble upon this one day -Perhaps I shall keep a record of this and show it to my grandchildren one day if they ever ask me what true friendship is really all about.

Eman says:
Do you remember the site you used?

Norma says:
Fuck my life

Norma says:
I don’t know but this is getting annoying now

Norma says:
The same site you would look for tickets-Expedia… Kayak-One of those shit sites

Eman says:
Your mother

Norma says:
Your mother

Norma says:
Your acting like you have a squirrel up your ass

Eman says:
fuuuuuuuuuuccccck youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Eman says:
You’re the dick face

Eman says:
You’re the one putting a voice to my writing -You’re probably putting an asshole voice to it

Norma says:
No I’m putting my aunt’s voice to it

Norma says:
Like when? What? How?

Norma says:
I need to know this now!

Norma says:
3 months before we go!

Eman says:
I knew it

Eman says:
Of course you’re gonna get pissed if you put your aunt’s voice to it

Eman says:
You dick

Eman says:
I’m typing with Muppet baby voice

Norma says:
ok

Eman says:
And you’re reading it like Hitler

Norma says:
I take it back then

Eman says:
Thats right

Eman says:
A.K.A "I’m sorry"

Eman says:
I’ll accept it

Norma says:
FUCK YOU

Eman says:
lol

Norma says:
I’m not saying I’m sorry

Eman says:
Shut up

Norma says:
You shut up

Eman says:
Take it back = I’m sorry for being a dick

Eman says:
Shut up its ok for me to win one its ok
Don’t worry you wont melt

The 'LifeGuard'

To my shame, to my absolute shame I actually watched a full hour of a movie called ‘Lifeguard’ starring Sam Elliot. As you might have already guessed, yes, Sam Elliot did play a lifeguard in this movie. Now living here, in the greatest of all boroughs (I am referring to Staten Island of course) has most definitely skewed my taste in men a bit, otherwise I wouldn’t find my self being attracted to a man with the size of Sam Elliot’s mustache-even if he did have a perfect tan and a great body in a movie that was made 34 years ago-1976 to be exact. And even if I did forgive myself for being slightly attracted to his unusually long mustache, I can never forgive my self for being able to watch 60 straight minutes of a movie that has as a soundtrack a song called Falling In Love With The Wind- I went even further though with this movie and found out that Sam Elliot’s character in this movie was indeed a conflicted one, someone I could possibly look up to- As I was lying down on my bed, wearing a pair of pajamas that are incredibly short because they belong to my aunt, I finally saw Sam Elliot stand up for himself and his Pre-Baywatch lifestyle-A moment of absolute beauty, and I just said to myself finally a man with balls the size of his mustache-Below is the legendary quote...

[at job interview] That blond Adonis image you're talking about, that doesn't fit anymore. There's a lot of training involved. A lot of responsibility. A lot of discipline. I do more P.R. out on that beach on a summer day than you do in here in a month. But you're right. Saving lives isn't selling cars.

“Here’s an opportunity for you to stand out”…

Those were the actual words that came out of my boss’s mouth today… 5 years on this job, and it takes me sorting through and filing 13 boxes full of unwanted crap dating back to 1997 to stand out as the #1 sucker in our office.

Guest Blog: An American Tale by Shosanna

For this blog entry I give the honors to my coworker and friend Shosanna who has been crying along with me in the above room since 10 a.m this morning:

According to Kelly Cutrone of Bravo’s “Kell on Earth” new book, If You Have to Cry Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You, if you are a professional woman at work it is best to not sit at your desk with a quivering lower lip and blotchy red face. Rather, buck yourself up and gather all dignity and hurriedly walk to the nearest ladies room. You must put toilet paper on the toilet seat first since you are a proper kind of girl and then sit down making sure your H&M business dress does not fall in the toilet.

The tears are streaming down your face now. Ahh, that feels better. Go on, grab some toilet paper and blow your nose, but be careful not to wipe your eyes since it feels so good as they fall off your face, onto the sludgey floor and into the toilet bowl itself. Now your head is in your hands grabbing fistfuls of your pony tail you carefully blowdried this morning.

Someone just walked in. Is it a coworker? Is it someone else who works on the floor? Can they hear me? Does it matter? Please let them hurry up doing their business and leave. You are holding everything in, and can’t breathe. You wonder how Sting can have tantric sex with Trudie and dozens of groupies for 8 hours straight while your brain is going to explode as you hold in these tears.

She finishes washing her hands. You hear the clack-clacking of her heels as she leaves. This time it is full on sobbing. You feel like Matt Damon when Robin Williams tells him it wasn’t his fault and he is finally ready to let go of his past and move to California to love Minnie Driver.

You brace yourself. Maybe this is your Come to Jesus moment. The low point. You walk back to the sea of boxes and in the distance you see the Statue of Liberty. You think about your Great Grandparents coming to this country with an aching hope in what was to come ahead, years from then, after the tenements and sweatshops and meal after meal of the most depressing parts of the cow that were edible. You thought about their dreams for your parents and for you. And if they came to this country so you could end up crying in the bathroom of a Wall Street job. And like your ancestors before you whose only legacy lives on in stoic wedding day pictures in basements and in your middle names, you too will be largely forgotten. And all these boxes and filing and Excel and sweating and jumping when your name is called will have all been for nothing.

My Greek Aunt and The Fate of My Cigarettes

I am officially 29 years old and yet I still hide my smoking habit from ‘Napoleon’ –my Greek aunt. In one of the fastest moves ever recorded in history, today, I effectively threw a lit cigarette into the garbage can by our kitchen sink while my aunt ran down the stairs to perform one of her usual ambushes. Not knowing what to do while I was sitting by our kitchen sink, having my aunt literally sniffing the air around me, and having me looking towards the garbage can praying that the paper towels in there wouldn’t catch on fire, I took a glass and poured warm water in it, and pretending I was thirsty I begun to gulp down the entire glass of piss warm water while watching smoke slowly rising from the garbage can -‘Something, something smells funny here.’-my aunt noted and I looked at her and shrugged my shoulders. After she sniffed the air long enough she was satisfied and went up the stairs, and I spat out the last gulp of that God awful water into the garbage can so I can prevent our kitchen from burning down… I am 29 years old.

My First Pivot Table and Im-ing My Boss About It

-

Norma says:
I just want you to know that I succesfully completed my first pivot table

Norma says:
Can i order cake now?

Norma says:
cupcakes?

Norma says:
Confetti etc?

Norma says:
...Kidding :0

Boss says:
...

The reason why I can't land another job...

...Is probably because I send resumes and cover letters such as the one below:

"My name is Norma. As I read through your list of qualifications I realized that I fit the description of what you are looking for perfectly. I currently work in a securities brokerage firm, and although the money is good I can't say that I am happy there. This was my first job after college and I have been there for 5 years. I started off with administrative duties and slowly they trusted me with accounting responsibilities as well. To be frank I am looking for a work environment that feels less like a shark tank, because although I have proven that I can survive in it, I am afraid that eventually I will turn into a shark as well. I am not sure what kind of job this is but I think I would like to find out more, possibly over food and some coffee. Thank you, I will await for your reply."

Flash Fiction Story # 6 - Monologue of a Friendly Coworker

"I do despise her with the deepest devotion. I enjoy my abhorrence for her immensely. Each morning as I walk into the office I complete the self assigned task of glimpsing towards her direction , never more then three seconds, quickly recounting the numerous and immaterial reasons that have brought me to the current state of loathing her very existence, so utterly and so completely, that it now brings me joy to feel this way towards her. I remember the very first time I heard her voice, how that dreary, unexciting, droning voice of hers sliced open my very soul and wits, and how ever since then she has become the one and only reason that I have stayed in this job, a job that has offered me no future and that has effectively buried all of my potentials. I now have been informed that we shall sit closer to each other, a piece of information that when it had reached my ears produced in me so much joy that I was brought to tears.
When I observe her I feel as if I have come across something very foreign and unfamiliar, a thing that is worthy of the time I spend studying and observing it. I smile at her often, knowing that it is the only effective way to communicate the disgust I have towards her. When she happens to approach me with one request or the other, I make sure to shut off anything and everything that might be going on around me, and sit and listen to her with my utmost focus. There are times when my other coworkers will express the dislike they have for her, something that distresses me greatly since I know for a fact that any negative feelings others might have towards her can be nothing but amateur attempts on something that frankly needs great skills. One day one of our customers had reduced her to tears, and I of course was the only one to comfort her reassuring her that she is one of the finest and most skilled employees my company has under it’s employment. I was not lying. A lie might have proven to be detrimental; it might have caused her to feel insecure and inadequate, which in turn might have caused her to quit this job. I suppose this sentiment I have towards her has affected my otherwise normal life in many different ways. For example, I can not imagine my self being surrounded by people that are friendly towards me for more than a couple of hours. This is also the reason I have stopped visiting my family so often for we are far too loving and pleasant towards each other. I have often been asked what is the point of devoting such energy into cultivating such a negative feeling, and only recently have I realized that I do not care to look into the reasons behind my inclinations however peculiar they might seem to others. All in all, I consider myself to be a fortunate and happy person because of all this."

"We Want Fair Trade!…No More Free Trade!"

As I was drinking my coffee and smoking my cigarette outside my job today I suddenly realized that I was witnessing history in the making. A sea of people swarmed the streets of the Financial District in New York protesting against Wall Street, which I guess means that in a way they were protesting against me as well.
...All in all, the crowd of 11 people was very frightening, and the effect they had on the various Wall Street people surrounding me was monumental...I can see now that a change on how things work down here in Wall Street is imminent and unavoidable...(see below)

The Ideal Greek Body

No it does not look like the above picture. In fact, after Greek women reach their 30’s their bodies are meant to deteriorate rapidly, very, very rapidly-like mine is doing now. You see, we do not eat oatmeal for breakfast, no, our breakfast consists of large amounts of nicotine and caffeine and if we find that these two things are not enough, we will choose to eat a bacon sandwich for example- but never, I repeat, never oatmeal or fruits-or egg white sandwiches. If you ever happen to throw away the yolk of an egg in front of a Greek they will most probably pass out from the shock of what they had witnessed. So now that everything in my body is overcome by the physics of gravity, I have decided- and mind you that I am the first generation of women to ever do this in my family- to go to the gym. What is this experience like for my vegetarian gym partner that accompanies me on a daily basis? It is purgatory-its one of the circles of hell that Dante kept a secret. You see, the entire hour of us exercising consists of him delegating what I should do and me repeating one question “WHY? WHYYYYYYYYYY DO I HAVE TO DO THIS?” So today after a week of asking this question to my gym partner, I woke up in the morning at 6 am and addressed that same question to myself. And there, as I was in my gym clothes standing in front of my bed, I crawled back in it, with my gym clothes still on and slept for another 2 hours.

"When I grow up I want to be..."

When I was 14 years of age, my father, who looks like he came right out of a Tennessee Williams play, took me on a stroll and sat down with me in a small café by a fine-looking lake that surrounded the city we then lived in. As I was drinking my orange soda he looked at me straight in the eyes and asked me the following question: “Norma, what is your dream, everyone has a dream, everyone must have a dream! So I ask you what is your dream?” So, being 14 and despite my ignorance, my instinct told me that this was a question that had to be answered with the utmost seriousness “An actress dad. I have decided that I will be an actress.” “Good Norma, I have forgotten to tell you that does not count as a dream”, he then proceeded to tell me. “Alright then” I answered him “I will be the first person in my country to open the most extraordinary coffee shop-it will be a coffee shop where people will be allowed to smoke marijuana. And because I have figured out that even by that time people will still be ashamed of being seen entering a coffee shop like that, I will have secret doors and tunnels where people could come in and out of without being seen. But! But! What will make my coffee shop SUPER special is that it will have more than 30 rooms, all with different designs in it. For example, there will be a jungle room, a playground room for adults, a modern art room, a cave room and all kinds of rooms and all of them private, so people can go sit in them with their friends and smoke their marijuana. On top of all this, every room will have it’s own private waitress, and all the waitresses will sign confidentiality agreements so if a famous person comes in they wont tell anyone. I think it’s a good business idea, but we might need a lot of money in order to succeed. Do you think by then marijuana will be legalized?” I don’t remember much else from that day other than my father informing me that perhaps being an actress might count as a dream after all.

RandomThoughts During a Serious Office Meeting

"...I want a bed so huge Paul Banyan could do cart wheels on it even though he's a giant. The bed will be so enormous a whole forest could grow on it and Paul Banyan can take his Blue Ox with him for long walks because my bed is so damn gargantuan that it would be possible for a giant and his ox to do exactly that...my snores...my snores will be so thunderous and so deafening that it’ll be like Thor the Viking God of thunder rode over my bed with his mighty chariot and unleashed all his fury onto it..."

...Vegas

Flash Fiction Story #5 -The Various Numerical Assesments of Hans and Artur

Perhaps if a passerby happened to glimpse through the window of the house that stood in the far end of the walled enclave that was Fuggerei, he would think that the two figures sitting by the kitchen table with their heads hunched over it in complete absorption were doing nothing else but praying for the soul of Jacob Fugger the Rich and his honored family members. This of course was the most straightforward assumption one would make, especially in Fuggerei. The fortunate inhabitants of this citadel had no other obligation other than to pray three times a day for the souls of the Fugger family and in exchange their rent was kept to only one Rheinischer Gulden per year, a ludicrous amount no matter what century one lived in.
Artur Ebestark and Hans Petersen did of course nothing of the sort. In their forty three years of friendship they had agreed to only one thing and that was that there was nothing more morally depraved than to be so selective in ones prayers. According to them a simple heartfelt thank you when the gates of Fuggerei had first opened for them had sufficed. Sitting by the old wooden kitchen table they each held a large rolled up cigarette that rested between their now aged fingers. Their hair was as white as the snow that covered the narrow streets outside their house. With their heads hunched over the table they were absorbed in concluding what was for them a sort of numerical assessment of their lives. Amongst the many papers that laid on the kitchen table one could find for example the number of afternoon teas the two friends had shared throughout their lives, which was fourteen thousand nine hundred and thirty four teas each, a number that seemed even larger when written out in words instead of numbers. There was as well an estimation of personal favors they had granted to each other. Out of the total four hundred and eighty three favors they were happy to find that one hundred and ninety six were granted by Artur, a surprisingly balanced number given his difficult character. And so on this day their various estimations, three hundred and sixty two to be exact, had concluded and the papers were being carefully organized by the two.
In the lives of these two friends there was only one shared realization that had astonished both and that was that hey had each reached contentment. Perhaps it was their desire to unravel this rather unusual sentiment that had led them to all their various estimations. Some days after, they found Hans Petersen and Artur Ebestark laying opposite each other on the kitchen floor with a bullet in each of their hearts and a gun by each of their spread out hands. On the kitchen table by the stack of neatly organized papers they found a paper that listed the number of ammunition each had used in their lives, two in total, one by Hans and one by Artur, a surprisingly balanced number given his difficult character the neighbors thought.

Before I leave for Vegas tomorrow I would like to say the following...

-

1) That my skirt split open today, right in the middle of where my behind is, revealing the dreadful granny panties I chose to wear this morning. I realized this after walking around the office like that for more than an hour.

2) That everything that could go wrong today in terms of work, did go wrong, thus my boss threatened to fire me, and also threatened to punish me by sending me to work in the reception area of our new office which is the equivalent of being exiled, just like they do to dictators.

3) That whenever I fuck up royally, which is a lot, it goes unnoticed. Whenever I actually do a good job I get punished.

4) That because of all this, I was forced to go shopping in Century 21 while holding my skirt together with my one hand and my cell phone in the other hand, frantically dialing my aunts phone number so I can break into tears in front of hundreds of tourists who were witnessing the meltdown while shopping for I Love New York t-shirts.

5) That in light of the recent events I hope our plane doesnt crash tomorrow

The many different ways an airplane could crash...

As I was lying in bed flipping through the channels the other night Dita called me to talk about our Vegas trip. What did I immediately do? I put my TV on mute and put my remote control down so I can focus on our discussion. And there, as Dita was going on about one thing or the other, my eyes wondered towards the TV screen and I saw a wonderful program in 3D animation showing me the many different ways an airplane could crash. The scene that has particularly stuck in my mind is the one where the roof of a plane becomes detached mid-flight and dozens of 3D animation characters are shown sitting in their seats with their belts still on and no roof over their heads. Yes a wonderful program designed for people like me, hypochondriac neurotics who fear death in any shape or form and are known to have massive panic attacks that manifest themselves in crying marathons as they're boarding an airplane.

Flash Fiction Story #4-The Wall in Ostrovany

For the Roma Gypsies in Ostrovany, Slovakia
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/03/world/europe/03roma.html

Nicolai listened to his neighbors bickering about the Gypsies stealing their vegetables and their fruits. ‘A wall! We must build a wall! My tomatoes are not for the Gypsies to steal and eat!’ screamed the old man. ‘Yes a wall!’ screamed the strong woman while she tightened the red scarf around her round head ‘My oranges, my beautiful oranges are all gone now, and what shall I offer to my visitors when they enter my house?’. ‘Yes, a wall! A wall!’ were the words that were coming out of their maws, and Nicolai stood up and walked out of the small brick church knowing that their wicked hands would soon build this wall.
He stood now in his garden looking at all the trees he had planted for the Gypsy girl and could not understand the fury of his neighbors. He had never spoken to the girl, and had never shown his face to her, but sometimes he would wake up before the sun would rise in order to see her slip quietly into his garden so she can steal the apples and oranges from his trees.
The girl had caught Nicolai looking at her many times through his window but she had never spoken to him. She only knew how to sing so she would sometimes sit under his trees and would sing softly for that was her only way to thank him.
Nicolai understood that soon he would no longer be able to see his friend and was sad because of this. For days he could not eat and he stopped waiting for the girl, for tears would fall from his eyes to easily now. One day the strong woman with the red scarf around her round head knocked and knocked on Nicolai’s door for she had some of her oranges to give him, but as she looked around she understood that the house was empty and abandoned now. None of Nicolai’s neighbors knew what had become of him.
Many years had passed and during a beautiful spring, behind the wall where all the Gypsies lived, hundreds of trees had grown full bloom bearing all kinds of fruits. Neither side of the wall never understood how that had happened. It is said though that the Gypsy girl would sometimes see a man slip into her garden and steal the fruit from her trees. Although she would never speak to him or show her face to him, she would sometimes sit by her window and listen to the man sing while he would sit under her trees.