Anne Aylward

TO BLEND A GYPSY By Anne Sindalaar Copyright 2018 SYNOPSIS Fifteen years from now, in the shocking wake of the Third World War remote nations like Australia and New Zealand, which have survived widespread global oblivion, are forced to restructure their society to deal with an economy no longer dictated by the big oil nationals. A reversion to subsistence survival sees a strong resurgence in farming, cropping and manufacturing in a society that has been forced to embrace alternative fuels and self-funded progress. From the shattered remnants of the old world order grows a renewed hope for a thriving future, yet there is a price that the people must pay for this new age. In the effort to regain prosperity while providing security, the government imposed harsh new measures on the multi-culturally diverse citizens. In this tale we learn of one young Australian woman’s struggle to regain civil liberties that have been denied her generation. To Blend A Gypsy 1 TO BLEND A GYPSY Mariah tried to hurry but her trembling fingers made the task harder. With a grimace she cursed the buckle on her backpack. “Open, damn you!” The dark eyes of her gypsy heritage flashed with a mixture of frustration and anxiety. She pushed back curling strands of wayward hair from her face and wiped away the tiny beads of sweat forming on her brow as she struggled with the task. When the buckle gave and access was granted, Mariah hastened to gather up a few of her most cherished belongings. She began sorting what she could and could not take. A backpack and another small bag was all she could carry on a bicycle. They would be here for her soon. She had to be gone before that fateful knock fell upon her door. The Blenders. She had received notification at work today that her “Blending” had been brought forward and she was expected at the Prep facility immediately. They never gave you much warning, too many people tried to escape if they had the chance. Her notice said to expect them at her “place of residence”, after work. They would wait while she packed then escort her to the government vehicle waiting outside her unit, then whisk her away to impoundment at the nation’s institution dedicated to cultural blending. A few months ago they had introduced her to the man who had been selected by a Federal computer as suitable to be her husband. A pleasant young Australian-born man, of Greek immigrant parents. He had been polite when they met but Mariah suspected that he too loathed the idea that they would be paired off by the Cultural Blending Act and be expected to produce mixed-race children to populate the country. The department of Cultural Blending impounded the female party of a pending blended marriage in order to prepare her for her new role as a married citizen. They “prepped” her with hormones for two weeks prior to the ceremony to aid conception as soon after the marriage as possible. The department had ruled that a new nuclear family To Blend A Gypsy 2 would be more cohesive than two strangers forced to cohabit together as man and wife in an arranged marriage so an immediate pregnancy was optimal. Mariah contemplated the cause of this system of cultural manipulation. Many believed that it seriously contravened every aspect of civil liberty. And yet, amazingly, the majority had voted it into law. She knew that it had been a knee-jerk reaction to the Third World War. A seething hotbed of unrest, in 2021 Middle Eastern hostilities had kindled a conflict of devastating proportions, unleashing atomic war on the United States, Israel, Europe, China and the Soviet Union plus any neighboring countries within missile range. The response was retaliation on an unimaginable scale and it was all over very quickly. The Pacific region had escaped most of the missile exchange, but vast areas of the northern hemisphere had been laid to waste. The human toll had been unthinkable. World trade ground to a halt and Australia found herself cut off and on her own, facing new and pressing agendas including how to survive without oil imports and trade with the rest of the world. Fervent new political parties dominated the shocked nation, promising to solve the new crises facing the country. “Cultural Blending” was among the dominant platforms, with Wendel Cates and the New Age party promising to prevent any risk of further hostility fuelled by cultural hatred. Australia was multicultural, peopled by ethnic groups that had migrated from those very countries that had ignited the third world war. Terrified that extremist elements would devastate their own society, laws were quickly passed aiming to remove this threat to Australia’s peace and security for once and for all. Starting immediately, no marriages between persons of the same cultural background would be permitted. All young citizens would be matched and married by the government’s newly created “Blending Bureau”. Once their education was completed, citizens were paired off with a member of a different cultural background and legally married. Mariah picked up a framed photograph of happier times. Her family beamed out at her, all broad smiles and flashing teeth. Mama, younger brother, Galen, Grandmama To Blend A Gypsy 3 and cousin Jose, with one brown arm thrown companionably across Mariah’s shoulders. Sadly, Papa wasn’t in the shot for he had been holding the camera that day. Her gaze rested on the mischievous grin of her brother. They looked alike, both inheriting their mother’s wide green eyes, generous mouth and wavy, chestnut-colored hair. Galen had ended up with their father’s vigorous, dark eyebrows, but she had fortunately got her Mama’s finely arched eyebrows. She sighed and swiped away tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. She would never see them again. Stuffing the photograph into her bag, Mariah turned her attention to her tiny bathroom. Swiftly she gathered up and packed the minimal necessities. Bring as little as possible, Cesar had cautioned. She had to travel light, but it was hard making split second decisions on what to take. She packed the basics then gathered up her entire supply of precious birthcontrol pills. She had gotten these on the black market, just like her friends had been forced to do. Women were not permitted to have babies with anyone other than the partner chosen for them to blend with, to ensure that all births were mixed-race. Unsanctioned pregnancies discovered outside this structure were terminated if early, and the babies confiscated if it was too late for abortion. The State adopted these babies to childless couples of different ethnicities to further the goal of cultural mixing. With immigration no longer a source of new citizens for Australia since the Third World War, the negative population growth present at the turn of the century now became a very real issue. The New Age party had addressed this crisis by ruling that, after blending, the new couples were expected to produce a family as soon as possible. The National Health system denied any woman access to birth control medication until she had successfully delivered three living children. Unmarried women, therefore, had strictly limited access to birth control. Naturally, people being people, a thriving black market in fertility reduction flourished. Mariah knew that her Mama’s sister, for example, had experienced an early menopause, which had created a small windfall for Aunt Eliza. She did not reveal her condition to her doctor, but continued to renew her prescriptions for the pill over many To Blend A Gypsy 4 years. Useless to her, she sold the pills at shocking mark-ups to young women, like Mariah, needing their protection. It had become critical for Mariah to avail herself of black-market birth control pills over a year ago, when she met Cesar. Well, she had not actually met him for the first time, since she had known him from childhood. His family was also a member of the Romany community and he had grown up in her neighborhood. Although two or three years older than Mariah, he had been a good friend to her and Galen and they had always enjoyed each other’s company until he left to attend university while she was still at high-school. Early last year they had bumped into each other again at a Romany community funeral, and it was as if a light had snapped on and Mariah saw him in a whole new way. The attraction was strongly mutual and they soon became secret lovers. Fortunately Cesar was still unmarried, since the Cultural Blending Act allowed university students to complete their tertiary studies before burdening them with a family. Mariah knew she had to keep moving. Time was very short. An assortment of underwear and light clothing went into the bag, along with a tracksuit for cooler weather. Socks and boots followed, and a warm jacket. No room for glamourous or fashionable items. The bag was overfull and she struggled to close it. The sound of a car door slamming reverberated ominously in the street two levels below. Above the backdrop of regular neighborhood street sounds, she heard loud voices. Mariah hastened to the window. Humming at the kerb outside the apartments where she lived, Mariah spied a long, black Elektro-Kar. On the sidewalk beside it was gathered an official-looking group of people, three wearing suits, one of them carried a briefcase, and two security guards. There was an insignia on the side of the car but Mariah could not make it out clearly from this angle. Yet, she knew what it was. The Department of Blending’s logo. They were here. Time to go. Hastily, Mariah cast about her apartment once more to see if she had missed anything precious. No. All packed. She took up her bag and donned the backpack before To Blend A Gypsy 5 fleeing out into the hallway and down the rear fire escape which took her to an alley way running between her building and the one next door. Her blue bicycle was leaning against the alley wall and she roped her bag behind the seat and knelt down beside it. With shaking fingers, Mariah tried to dial the security code on the bike lock, but her frenzied mind had gone blank. “The code! Dammit, the code!” she muttered, biting back a sob. “Hey! You!” she heard behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, Mariah was shocked to see one of the department’s security guards at the alley entrance. A bold department emblem was embroidered on his chest pocket. He advanced into the alley, repeatedly calling her to report to the waiting vehicle. “Oh, stupid! Stupid!” Mariah derided herself, when she remembered the code. Of course, it was 1120, the twenty for her current age and the 11 for the year of her birth. With a half-crazed giggle she realized that the code would be inaccurate in another two months, when she turned twenty-one. Swiftly she pulled the chain free and dropped it onto the paving. She would not be needing it once she reached the harbor. Hopefully, this would be her bike’s last journey with her as its rider. The guard was coming uncomfortably close, and Mariah burst into action. Mounting the bike, she sped away out the far end of the alley and down the hill, with the futile shouts of the infuriated security guard rapidly fading behind her. Mariah peddled strongly, heading out on the main road that led east to the Manly boat harbor. She joined other cyclists, most of them wending their way home from work. Keeping amongst other cyclists, she hoped to appear inconspicuous in case police patrols had been alerted. You often heard a beat up in the news about how the police had rounded up yet another blending escapee. Probably to deter others from trying, Mariah thought. To Blend A Gypsy 6 The cyclists shared the road with some bio-cars and a smattering of electric cars, but most of the motor vehicles consisted of gas-fuelled buses and electric trams. Citizens rarely owned cars themselves, most choosing to use public transport in city areas, or bicycles. Since the demise of the oil-based vehicle, people tended to work close to where they dwelt. Many had left the cities for rural areas where a rebirth of farming and cropping provided a host of new job opportunities. Solar street lamps now lit the way, and the fledgling night took on a life of its own. Despite her anxiety, Mariah was comforted by the familiar sounds of the suburbs settling into yet another evening, just like any other. She had to keep telling herself that this was the last time she would be able to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city of her birth, for tomorrow she would be on her way to New Zealand. It had been Cesar’s idea. He had sailing friends, members of the yacht club. They knew some people. For a considerable sum of money one could be smuggled out of the country. Australia now traded heavily with its nearest neighbor, New Zealand. Being remote like Australia, New Zealand had also been spared the devastation of the world war. Consequently, there was plenty of sea-going traffic between the two countries. New Zealand had responded to the post-war oil crisis in their own way. The country had been much further along the path of alternative fuels than Australia at the time of the war, and the loss of oil imports had a minimal effect. In response to a loss in international trade, a subsistence farming culture rapidly blossomed with the country returning to its rural roots even faster than Australia. Bartering at local markets became the main small-town commerce and horse-drawn carriages even made a re-appearance in local areas, carting produce to market. But the greatest difference between the two countries lay in the arena of civil liberties. The Kiwis had not adopted Australia’s harsh stance on multiculturalism. In New Zealand Mariah would be free to marry anyone she wanted. Cesar had made the arrangements and laid out the plan a couple of months ago, when she was first notified of her blending match. She had a modest trust fund, an inheritance from her grandfather, who had died when she was sixteen. She had not To Blend A Gypsy 7 been able to touch it until she turned twenty. Just as well, because now it had become her escape fund. Mariah picked up the pace. It would be a long ride, but she was young and fit and had all night. Cesar had told her that the yacht would not be leaving until high tide, at dawn the next morning. It was all the time she needed. Now she was travelling alongside a park. At the square in the park she noticed placards trampled on the ground and a couple of banners half torn down. She recognized this as the scene of a rally featured in the news last night. There had been demonstrations which had become violent when the police moved in, and there had been arrests. When the Blending Act became law, there had been a strong back-lash from the gay rights movement. Understandably, they objected to being forced into heterosexual marriages. Constant lobbying was bringing about modifications to the Act, which would allow for gay and lesbian citizens to become exempt from the law. Naturally there was a catch to the victory. All homosexual citizens applying for exemption would have to submit themselves to sterilization, to ensure that no “accidental” unsanctioned pregnancies could occur. It was this latest development that had sparked yesterdays rally. Women’s rights movements picked up on the loophole and had been lobbying vigorously along the same lines. If it was okay for the gay community to be exempt so long as they agreed to be sterilized, why couldn’t heterosexuals also apply for exemption from Blending if they too agreed to be sterilized. The government’s stance, however, was that the nation’s population was in decline and productive marriages were vital to ensure growth and progress. They argued that the LGBT community was already an insignificant source of births and their loss to the population growth cause would barely be noticed. The sterility clause was mainly in place to prevent large numbers of heterosexuals pretending to be gay to gain exemption from blending, since most people valued their fertility and would accept blending if it ensured their ability to have children. To Blend A Gypsy 8 Mariah shook her head. The upshot of all this would be gay people having to undergo stringent, even draconian, scrutiny to qualify for sterilization and exemption from blending. Where would the madness end, she wondered. The number of other cyclists to ride with was dwindling and Mariah was beginning to travel alone for long stretches. She felt her anxiety level rising. She would stand out as suspicious if a police patrol spied her. To avoid the risk of being questioned, she kept to side streets wherever possible. Mariah paused for a rest. Her breathing was even and despite her anxiety her heart-beat was comfortingly regular and strong. Evenso, she was becoming weary and wished she had snatched a chance to eat something before fleeing, to help keep up her energy. “Back to it, old girl,” she told herself, as she mounted the bike and headed east for the final haul. She would soon reach the harbor and sanctuary. Cesar would be waiting for her on a boat called the “Esmeralda”. He had arranged for them to work as deck-hands on the crossing to New Zealand. That was part of the deal. That and twenty five thousand dollars each. Fortunately she had sufficient funds in her account, with over forty thousand dollars from her inheritance plus interest. Cesar needed eight thousand of that, for as a student he had not been able to save enough to pay for his crossing on his own. Cesar. Mariah’s thoughts dwelt on her man, as she peddled ceaselessly, closing the distance between them. He was a gentle, large-built man sporting the heavy, dark features typical of their gypsy forbears. She loved his liquid brown eyes and the thick mane of his hair. They were perfectly suited, she thought, same cheerful outlook, similar values and ideals and they shared a wicked sense of humor, which Mariah believed was a vital ingredient in any lasting relationship. She was travelling alongside another community park and playground, all dark and mysterious depths in the gloom. Tall tree-shadows writhed above her in the evening breeze. A low timber post guard-rail ran alongside the pavement to keep vehicles off the play areas. Every few meters gaps had been left to enable foot traffic to enter the park. To Blend A Gypsy 9 A choke of fear closed Mariah’s throat when a spotlight beamed across her back from behind. It threw grotesque shadows in front of her. “Stop, cyclist. Pull over to the kerb!” boomed a mega-phone distorted voice. Snapping a glance back over her shoulder, Mariah saw what she already knew was there. A police patrol vehicle, narrowing the distance between them. Without a moment’s hesitation, Mariah veered left, mounted the pavement and crossed into the park between one of the openings in the timber fencing. Swiftly, she pedaled into the embrace of the park, hugging the shadows. Glancing back over her shoulder again, she saw the patrol car still at the street. It could only enter the park at the end, where vehicles had access to a carpark. Elated, Mariah charged onward, crossing the park and re-emerging onto a road on the far side. She had shaken pursuit – or had she? To her horror, Mariah detected the distinctive, whooshing sound of a hoverpatrol unit. These fiends were the latest additions to the police force’s arsenal. Mariah had seen an article about them when they were being first trialed. They were essentially urban hover-craft, which enabled police pursuits to be conducted over off-road terrain that normal vehicles could not cover. The police patrol had called for reinforcements, or were they already out searching for her? The hover patrol soon had her in their searchlight beam once more. Jinking and turning, she fled across deserted back yards, keeping to no particular direction. She thought she had shaken her pursuers when they hove into view once again at the far end of the small suburban street she was speeding down. Then she remembered. They carried heat-sensing devices, similar to the army, which could detect a person’s body heat so they could be tracked and located even in the dark. Ducking into parks would not save her now! Mariah dropped her bike behind a bush and sprinted across a few more properties, turning in random directions every few minutes. She spied a caravan in a carport. She dropped to the ground and rolled beneath it. To Blend A Gypsy 10 For a few moments, all was quiet save her own heavy breathing. Then she could hear the roar of the hover patrol in the distance as it approached the homes in the street where she was hiding. The ghastly sound of it loomed louder and louder, until it passed directly over the house where she sheltered. There was no hesitation as the patrol continued onwards, passing further and further beyond her position. Mariah lay still, hugging the shadowy protection afforded by the caravan. She could hear doors and windows opening, as residents, disturbed by the hair-raising roar of the hover patrol, came out to see what was happening. Slowly the voices receded as the good citizens of Manly once more retired to their TV programs or their beds. Yet, still she remained huddled in the embrace of the caravan’s shadows. Taking the time to catch her breath, Mariah was amazed to realize how deep her fright had been. She realized she had been trembling, but that was subsiding, now. The dank smells of the ground and the cobwebs beneath the caravan finally registered and Mariah fought a compulsion to scramble out from under the caravan and dust herself off. She forced herself to remain put for several more minutes. When she could not detect any further sounds of pursuit she prepared to crawl out from under her haven. “Ahhh! Omigod!” she gasped, as something furry brushed her leg. Catapulting out from under the caravan, while cursing in a very unladylike manner, Mariah spun to see what had attacked her, before giggling out loud when a startled cat emerged from under the caravan and took off like a missile across the back yard. Remembering to keep quiet, Mariah hurried back to the bush where she had dumped her bicycle, retrieved it and sped once more in the easterly direction that would take her to the “Esmeralda” and Cesar’s waiting arms. The last couple of kilometers seemed to take forever. Jumpy at every sound, Mariah ate up the last stretch, tired and fearful, but determined to reach her goal. The strengthening salty tang of sea-air lent encouragement, urging her onward. Mariah was careful to avoid detection, even when she arrived at the boat harbor. She ditched her bike and stole softly down to the pier. There were plenty of To Blend A Gypsy 11 expensive yachts bobbing quietly at their moors but the place seemed empty of life. This suited Mariah, she did not need any prying eyes. But which one was the “Esmeralda”? Lamplight could be detected glowing from several of the yachts and Mariah carefully checked out each one. “Over here,” she heard, in a harsh whisper behind her. She spun on her heels and spied a welcome sight. “Cesar!” she cried and flew into his arms. She held tight to him, never wanting to let go. To her surprise, she was sobbing. “What is it, Bella?” he asked, using his pet name for her. “Oh. Uh, it’s okay.” Mariah smiled and wiped at her tears. Cesar took up her hand and kissed it, then brushed her lips with a tender kiss full of promise. “Come.” He gestured toward a nearby yacht, tall and proud, sporting green and white sails and smart, shiny trim. The “Esmeralda”. Together they climbed aboard and went below deck, where Mariah was able to tell him her adventures in between sips of hot coffee. Cesar gave her a bowl of sea-food pasta and some bread. “What happens now?” Mariah asked, feeling unbearably tired. “You sleep. Before dawn the captain will be boarding. He will need you to transfer your funds into his account. He has a lap-top you can use. I have already paid my share, less the eight thousand. I will pay that back, too, you know. I can get work at an engineering firm in New Zealand and finish off my degree there.” Mariah nodded. She planned to get work as soon as possible, too, hopefully as a dental assistant again. And she had ambitions to train as a dental nurse. She followed Cesar wearily below deck and collapsed gratefully into a bunk in the forward cabin. The coastline of a distant land had come into focus on the horizon. New Zealand. To Blend A Gypsy 12 Mariah smiled and squeezed Cesar’s hand tight. They had been standing shoulder to shoulder at the railing, eager to catch the first glimpse of their destination. Their freedom. Their future. She turned to him and they kissed, then laughed their delight. They had eluded discovery during the crossing, posing as deck-hands when the Australian customs crew had pulled alongside, boarded and inspected the captain’s cargo and documentation. They had not even been spoken to by the officers, who performed their duty, stamped the ship’s documents and departed. After Mariah’s frightening escape and desperate bike ride, the customs inspectors and some rough seas did not even faze her. She realized that her gypsy forbears must have endured the same hurdles when they trekked across Europe, unwanted by every nation, before braving the new world of Australia as immigrants three generations ago. She hoped that the restless blood of her ancestors would allow her to settle for once and for all in this new land of opportunity. New Zealand. To Blend A Gypsy 13