Gypsies-on-the-train7

his clothing soiled and stretched now from the violent scuffle on the concrete. His skin tone was noticeably darker
than that of the officers who had captured him. They now had him up on his feet, and his legs appeared wobbly
from the struggle with the three much heftier men. His hair was dark and long, practically to his shoulders, and
like his clothes was disheveled from thrashing about during the arrest. A few yards away from where the wrestling
had occurred lay pieces of luggage in disarray.

is the only stop in Slovakia and is right before the passport check. I closed my eyes for two minutes, and they
came on just like that. Quiet like cats. They check for unlocked doors, and then they spray knockout gas under
the door. The passengers who get gassed stay asleep while the Gypsies take everything from them. They steal
from their pockets—wallets, tickets, money, watches—and rings from their fingers, and then all the luggage, too,
they throw outside to the platform to other Gypsies. In only a few minutes on the train, they rob the passengers
and then disappear into the night—puff, like smoke—gone. There are too many bad Gypsies in Slovakia.” He
shook his head.
      “What will happen to the people—the man and the woman?” I asked the attendant.
      “They’ll be okay,” he quickly replied. “The police will take them to a doctor. They’ll wake up with a big
headache from the gas and not remember anything. Tomorrow they’ll come back on the train and then go back
home. The rail will replace the tickets stolen by the Gypsies and give them some money to get them home.”
      The attendant left no opening to continue the discussion, as the police officers had reentered the train and
were motioning for him to join them for some further questioning or maybe to identify the lone Gypsy I had seen
in handcuffs on the platform. The caught man looked dejected, the officers towering over him. I presumed the
other thieves got away, and I wondered how many more there were to pull off a job like this—at least two, maybe
more. Two on the train and one on the platform, I guessed, but what did I really know about train robbery?

I heard a voice from further down the aisle:
“There were two of them, but one got away.” It was
the attendant speaking loudly to another passenger
who was also out of his room now. A few other sleep-
deprived travelers now began poking their heads out
from their doors, but they were not stepping into the
aisle. I walked down the aisle, curious, and joined the
passenger and the attendant, who were talking and
gesturing about the sudden turn of events on the
train.
“What happened? What’s going on?” I asked.
“Gypsies—damned Gypsies. They sneak on the
train. You never see them; you don’t hear them.
They are like ghosts,’’ replied the attendant looking
toward me, pausing, and then speaking again. “Yes,
the train stopped here—the first stop—in Slovakia, to
let off some passengers traveling in third class. This