Gypsy

Abstract

It wasn’t until I bullied, begged and berated my father that he agreed to go. I had called Mama in a lather of tears and recriminations one evening after the children were in bed, and I was working on Dad’s narrative. “It’s just never going to happen”, I blubbered. “We’ll never, ever go back to Hungary together. I’m sitting here looking through all of this Hungarian stuff, and Dad’s manuscript, and I’ll never see it with you!”