Katya turned away. She never liked giving money to gypsies; there were too many rumors that they rented children for begging, that all these infants were just a tool to extract money. But today her heart was so full, so joyful from the news of her nephew, that Katya felt a surge of generosity. She put her hand in her jacket pocket and found a few coins. Small change, thirty kopecks at most. Katya took out the coins and, passing the gypsy woman, dropped them into the box. They clinked.
“Thank you, beautiful,” the gypsy woman whined without lifting her head.
Katya nodded and was about to walk to the gates where the other visitors were standing, but then the gypsy woman suddenly stood up and was right in front of her, blocking her way. Katya flinched and stepped back. The gypsy woman stood so close that Katya could see every wrinkle on her swarthy face, every fold on her worn jacket. The infant in the blanket didn’t move, probably sleeping.
“Excuse me, what are you…” Katya began, but the gypsy woman unexpectedly grabbed her wrist. Her fingers were strong, tenacious. Katya tried to pull her hand away, but the grip didn’t loosen.
“Let go of me!” Katya raised her voice, looking around at the other people at the gate. But they were standing at a distance, talking among themselves, paying no attention to what was happening.
“Wait here,” the gypsy woman said quietly. Her voice was hoarse, as if from smoking.
“What?” Katya frowned, yanking her hand again. “Let go, I need to see my sister.”
“Wait,” the gypsy woman squeezed her wrist even tighter. “Five minutes. Just wait.”
“Are you crazy?” Katya felt irritation boiling inside her. It was clear what this was—now the begging would start, the card readings, the fortune-telling for money. A classic gypsy scam. “I don’t have time, let go of my hand right now!”
The gypsy woman didn’t let go. She looked at Katya with dark, almost black eyes, and there was something strange in her gaze. Not greed, not cunning, which Katya expected to see. Something else. Sympathy? Pity?
“Five minutes,” the gypsy woman repeated. “Stand right here. Don’t go anywhere.”
“What are you talking about?” Katya looked around for a passerby who could help. The man with the roses had his back to her, talking on the phone. The women were engrossed in their own conversation. There was no guard at the gate.
“Listen to me,” the gypsy woman leaned closer. She smelled of cheap cigarettes and something sour, unwashed. “I’m not after your money. Just wait. Five minutes.”
Katya swallowed. Her throat was dry. She tried to pull her hand away again, but the gypsy’s fingers seemed to have grown into her wrist. Not painful, but very firm.
“You’re scaring me,” Katya said more quietly, feeling a chill run down her spine. “Please, let me go.”
“I will. In five minutes. Just stand here and look over there,” the gypsy woman nodded somewhere towards the hospital.
Katya followed her gaze. There, on the side of the building, was another door—a service exit, probably. An ordinary metal door, closed. Katya looked back at the gypsy woman.
“Why should I look there?”
“Just look,” the gypsy woman stepped back half a step, but didn’t release her hand. “You’ll see soon.”
Katya felt her heart beat faster. It was ridiculous, absurd. She was standing at the maternity hospital, holding hands with some gypsy woman who was telling her to look at a door and wait. Maybe it was a prank? Or was the gypsy woman just crazy?
“Listen, I don’t understand what’s happening,” Katya tried to speak calmly, although everything inside her was tensing with anxiety. “If you want money, I can give you more, but let me go.”
“I don’t need your money,” the gypsy woman shook her head. The baby in her arms stirred slightly, whimpering. She automatically started rocking him, but didn’t take her eyes off Katya. “Just wait.”
A minute stretched on unbearably long. Katya stood, feeling the gypsy’s fingers still gripping her wrist tightly. She stared at the side door of the hospital, not understanding what she was supposed to see there. The people at the main entrance were still talking, paying them no mind. In the distance, a car drove by, honking its horn.
“How much longer?” Katya asked, feeling her irritation turn into a dull fear.
“Soon,” the gypsy woman nodded. “Any moment now.”
Katya looked at the door again. Nothing was happening. The door was closed, the area was empty. She glanced back at the gypsy woman, about to say something, but the woman squeezed her hand sharply.
“Look!..”
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