Only three old men in the village still work the metals. I was lucky to hear the repetitive pings of the anvil coming from behind a four-story brick mansion with wet laundry hanging out front. We went to see and found gray haired Nicolae Preda in the back attentively banging flat a rod of hot steel by an open flame like his ancestors had been doing for hundreds of years.
He was a cheerful old man who liked to chat between strikes of the hammer and while the sweat poured down his face and off his roly-poly nose. After a while he put down his hammer while the rod heated up in the flame and talked to us about his poverty. He actually said he didn�t have money for bread.
�What?� I shrieked while pointing out his mansion plus the two even larger neighbors homes that belong to his sons.
�Yes, yes, I had money but now there is none left.�
Stefan, a large young man with a cockeyed stare who I meet in the streets and graciously showed me his town, told me that some families have put all their money into their homes which they now can�t afford to maintain. In wintertime they huddle together in a single room to keep warm.
I asked about the former Baron and where he was buried. I was dying to see how thy arranged it particularly after Stefan admitted that the people here spend more money on the funerals than a wedding, and we all know, or can imagine, just how lavish a Gypsy wedding is. Stefan explained that they use a funeral as a way of showing their wealth. They like to show their wealth. In the Gypsy commune wealth means power.
But the Baron wasn�t the only sight. To his left stood a cute little sky-blue and white house with a coned roof like a church. My guides told me that the inside was furnished like a living room and at least three times a year the family would picnic inside in memory of the deceased. Zita, one of the prettiest of the group, pointing to another crypt further back yet similar in shape and told me that the woman buried there, Larisa Sherbacoff, was murdered. That caught my attention. She explained that another family had �stolen� her daughter. When they say �steal�, they mean she �shacked up� and without the parents consent. This was unacceptable to this strong willed Gypsy mamma and she demanded her girl returned to her. The family refused, and her own daughter as well. It happened during one of the heated arguments that someone struck her down.
The crime isn�t so unique, sadly it happens, but how it was dealt with shocked me. The guilty family was ordered to pay compensation, blood money, to the family of the deceased and then was banned from the community. They moved out and have not been seen since.
�No police � no jail time?�
�First I take my problem to the family and we discuss it. The next step is it goes outside for an open discussion in the square.�
�Is that what I saw this afternoon when I arrived?�
�Exactly. It was about a divorce and the amount needed to compensate the girls lost virginity. 30,000 dollars in this case.�
After the debate in the square the problem is finally put to rest at the church where the two families swear to fulfill their promise and not allow this disagreement to cause difficulties between them in the future. In other words, it�s resolved and forgotten � and that is another special characteristic of the Gypsies � not only how quickly they heat up but when it�s over � it�s really over. They don�t hold grudges.
But does it work?
Well, it seems to work for them due to the strong family loyalties that they keep. Without that bond - the whole system collapses.