Songbirds

by Christy Lefteri

  ‘Madam,’ said the one on the left. ‘Sir said you wanted to talk about something important.’

  ‘We are just having a break. We’ve been working from six this morning,’ said the other, in a tone that was both joyful and irritated.

  The shorter one nudged her and gave her a look to be quiet. ‘Sorry, madam,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I am Chau and this is my sister, Bian.’

  I shook both of their hands. ‘I live across the street,’ I said. ‘I am Petra.’

  They both laughed. ‘We know, madam,’ said Chau. ‘We see you every day and we are friends with Nisha.’

  ‘I was hoping you might know where she is. I haven’t seen her since Sunday evening.’

  ‘No, madam,’ said Chau, shaking her head. ‘She comes to say hello every morning after taking Aliki to school, but we have not seen her for a few days. We were thinking maybe she went away.’

  ‘We work here in the morning for the breakfast customers,’ added Bian, ‘then we go to sir’s house to clean, then we come back here in the afternoon until very late. We see Nisha once in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon. Now, for few days, nothing.’

  The word ‘nothing’ stabbed me like a knife. It reminded me of the emptiness that Nisha had left behind.

  Bian eyed Theo watching us from behind the bar. Several customers had left their tables, and dirty dishes had started to pile up at the bussing stations.

  Chau looked over, concerned. ‘We must go,’ she said. ‘Sir will be angry. We have much more to clean before closing time.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Please, if you hear anything, will you come and knock on my door straightaway?’

  They both stared at it me for a moment too long and then nodded.

  ‘Of course, madam,’ said Bian. ‘We will come to tell you first.’

  *

  When I got home, the house was quiet. I peeked into Aliki’s room and she was asleep, a book lying across her chest. Feeling restless, I went to the garden to collect the pieces of broken money-box and coins from the ground. I put all the lira in a glass bowl and sprayed them with water until they gleamed. The black cat sat by my feet.

  Then I went out to the front porch to sit for a while. I watched the neighbourhood go about the business of shutting down. Mrs Hadjikyriacou was indoors tonight. Yiakoumi’s maid was taking the antiques inside in order to shut the shop. To the right, Theo’s restaurant was getting quiet, just a few customers remained, finishing drinks and paying their bills. Bian and Chau dashed about, wiping down tables and preparing them with fresh tablecloths for the next day.

  I had started to see the rhythm of these women with new eyes – how the whole neighbourhood pulsed with their activity. They had been invisible to me before Nisha had gone missing: all I had seen before was a little Cypriot girl walking excitedly down a street with two adults; the shining antiques outside Yiakoumi’s shop every day; the clean and well-kept front garden down the road; the happy customers at Theo’s. I had not really seen the women.

  *

  When I went to bed, I heard my daughter’s voice; it struck me, since I had craved the sound of it all through dinner. I had the window slightly open, the sky a deep blue, when her voice came to me with the wind. Such a soft voice, but textured, rising with excitement, falling with lilting sadness. I peered out of the shutters and was surprised to see her sitting in the boat. When had she woken up? This time she was holding the oar and the olive branch but not rowing. Then she laughed, holding her sides, as if someone had said something funny. I called her inside and lay back on my bed and closed my eyes.

  I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up it was completely dark and I heard knocking coming from the garden. I got out of bed and opened the glass doors. Yiannis was standing by Nisha’s room, tapping on the glass.

  Startled, he turned to me. ‘Petra,’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I heard a noise.’

  ‘But you were the one making the noise,’ I said. ‘Was there another noise?’

  He didn’t respond to this.

  ‘Do you know where Nisha is?’

  ‘No,’ he said, bluntly. And then it seemed that he regretted this and said, ‘I wanted to ask her something. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I don’t.’

  Then there was anguish on his face, anguish in his eyes. The moonlight illuminated the streaks of silver in his hair and I thought to myself what a beautiful and lonely man he was.

  A gallows frame looks over the red lake at Mitsero, a colossal rusty carcass that creaks in the wind. It is quiet by the lake, on this bright day in October. The hare is exposed to the sun, its body bloated as gases stretch its insides and skin, as bacteria eat soft tissue. The hare is still intact, in the running position, but its powerful hind legs have lost their purpose. It is lying on a slab of yellow stone about five metres from where the crater wall drops to the water.

  A praying mantis flies down – green as another land in another time – all five eyes alert for any movement or changes of light. It scuttles a short distance across the yellow stone where the bloated hare is lying, back legs pushing its green frame forward, the front two – sharply spined – reach out and capture and hold a roaming fly.

  The hare’s head is slanted slightly upwards, away from its front paws. It would seem that it is looking at the mantis eating the fly, but its left eye, the colour of amber, is flat against the earth, and its right eye looks directly into the sun, golden. The hare’s black-tipped ears give the impression that they are blowing backwards in the wind. As if it were running.

  No vegetation grows around the lake, the soil is arid. But, further out, the soil is rich in copper and pyrite and gold, and there are barley and wheat fields and sunflowers leading to the village. There are fruit trees in the fields beyond the village, and from there come the distant sounds of life – of leaves rustling, wings flapping, animals moving amongst the cherry and pecan trees as they begin to shed their golden leaves.

  The hare’s carcass reeks now, and the smell is carried by a soft breeze over the red water of the lake, through the hollow gallows frame into the fields, where it meets rosemary and thyme, eucalyptus and pine.

  9

  Petra

  I

  CALLED UP NISHA’S AGENCY. I asked them if they’d heard from her.

  ‘No,’ the woman said, after checking the system. ‘We log everything and there’s nothing here.’

  I told her that Nisha had gone missing three days ago, that I couldn’t get through to her on her mobile, either.

  ‘Well,’ the woman said, ‘keep us posted because she still has an outstanding debt.’ She had a voice like a foghorn. It was awful and too loud, and it said nothing helpful.

  ‘How much?’ I said, but the woman wouldn’t tell me, it was confidential information. However, I knew that the agencies charged the workers a considerable amount of money to sign up and secure a placement abroad.

  Then I rang Nicosia hospital to see if Nisha had been admitted, but they had no record of her.

  When I got off the phone, I looked around and saw that the dinner plates from the night before were still in the sink unwashed, and the ones from breakfast were piled up on top of them. Dust had gathered on the furniture and the marble flagstones.

  It was only 9 a.m., but I felt like I’d already had a full day. I’d woken up early, left a message for Keti to tell her I’d be taking the whole day off, made breakfast for Aliki – finding a jar of her favourite fig jam in the cupboard felt like a small victory – and rushed Aliki off to school.

  Now, I went to Nisha’s room and gathered what I needed: her passport, her contract, the locket and the lock of hair. I was going to the police station.

  I drove to Lykavitos station at Spyrou Kyprianou, an old white building with blue shutters. I’d passed the building many times but had never been inside. I told the officer at reception that I wanted to report a missing person. The woman took
down my name and asked me to take a seat, saying someone would be with me in a minute.

  A minute turned to five, ten, twenty, half an hour. Phones rang in rooms along unseen corridors; occasionally an officer would pass by and wish me good morning. Footsteps on flagstones reminded me for a moment of all those hours I had spent in hospital waiting-rooms, praying for Stephanos: the intermittent whispers, the soft footfalls; disinfectant and coffee; smiles from distracted doctors. I would nod politely, but I found that I couldn’t smile, my hand resting on my stomach as the baby grew day by day, week by week, month by month.

  ‘Mrs Loizides?’

  Looking down at me, as if from a great height, was a man in his sixties, taller than the average Cypriot, stomach spilling over his trousers, sleeves rolled up.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s me.’

  He held out his hand, either to shake mine, or to help me to stand – for a moment I wasn’t sure, and hesitated.

  ‘Vasilis Kyprianou,’ he said.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I said, and shook his hand, and with a smile he led me down one of the corridors and into a small room with a cluttered desk, a filing cabinet and a fan that was blowing some paperwork to the floor. He rushed to scoop up the papers with large, clumsy hands, straightening them into a pile and plonking it back on the desk – whereupon, once again, when the fan arced back around, the paperwork flew back down to the floor. This time he left it and picked up a small cup of coffee and took a sip. He grimaced.

  ‘Cold,’ he said, noticing that I was looking at him. ‘Always.’ With the shades drawn, the office was dim, streaks of sun reaching through the dusty slats. He sat down, the light cutting across his face and highlighting his white stubble. He signalled for me to take one of the vacant chairs opposite him.

  ‘Loizides,’ he said. ‘Why does that name sound familiar?’ He thought for a moment. ‘Ah, it was an old colleague of mine. Yes. Nicos Loizides. We trained together. Do you know him?’

  ‘No. I don’t believe I do.’

  He smiled and leaned forward on his elbows. His face reminded me of a red helium balloon that had begun to sag, those balloons that slowly deflate after a birthday until they are wrinkled and bobbing on the ground.

  ‘So, how can I help you today?’

  I took Nisha’s things out of my handbag and laid them out on the desk. ‘My maid has gone missing,’ I said. ‘Her name is Nisha Jayakody. She is thirty-eight years old and she’s been missing since Sunday night.’

  ‘Today is Wednesday,’ he said, as if I didn’t know.

  ‘Yes.’ I opened the passport and placed it in front of him. I explained everything in detail: the trip to Troodos, Nisha asking me if she could take the night off, returning home, what we had eaten, what time we had eaten, how I had gone to bed leaving Nisha to take care of Aliki, and, how I had woken up in the morning to find that Nisha had gone. Finally, I explained that a reliable neighbour had seen Nisha heading out at ten thirty that same night.

  ‘She hasn’t taken her passport,’ I said, pushing it still closer to him, because he had not yet even looked at it. ‘If she had intended to leave, she would have taken this with her.’

  ‘Ha,’ he said simply, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth, wiping it as if he had just finished eating, and leaning back in the chair.

  ‘Where is she from?’ he asked.

  ‘Sri Lanka. She has been working for me for nine years. She has helped to bring up my daughter. Nisha would never leave without saying goodbye to her.’

  There was a moment of silence. Then Officer Kyprianou sighed deeply, and looked me straight in the eyes, as if willing me to understand his thoughts, like I was missing some joke. Then he said, ‘It’s only been a few days. Why don’t you leave it and see how it goes?’

  ‘But she’s never done this before,’ I said. ‘I know something is wrong. Look’ – I tapped the locket and the lock of hair on the desk in front of him – ‘these are her most prized possessions. She wouldn’t even wear the locket for fear of losing it. It was a gift from her late husband. This is a lock of her daughter’s hair. She hasn’t seen her daughter for nine years, since she came here. She would never leave these items behind.’

  He picked up the coffee again and took another dissatisfied sip, nodding his head as if to himself.

  I wished I had a pin to burst his big, hollow head.

  ‘I was wondering if you could take down Nisha’s details, investigate—’ but he interrupted me before I had even finished speaking.

  ‘I can’t concern myself with these foreign women. I have more important matters to attend to. If she doesn’t return, my guess would be that she’s ran away to the north. That’s what they do. She’s gone to the Turkish side to find better employment. These women are animals, they follow their instincts. Or the money, more likely. That’s what I have to say on the matter. You would do best to go home and start cleaning out her room. If she’s not back by the end of the week, call up the agency to find another maid.’

  With that, he stood up to signal that our meeting was over, holding out his hand to me.

  I rose from my chair and looked at his hand, but didn’t shake it. There was so much I wanted to say, but it was clear this man wasn’t capable of hearing me. I gathered Nisha’s things from the desk and tucked them back into my bag, purposely stepped on the paperwork that was scattered on the floor, and walked out of his shabby little office.

  *

  When I got home, I saw that Yiakoumi’s maid was in the antique shop, polishing things. I went across the street to have a chat with her, to see if she knew anything.

  Yiakoumi was in the back with his feet up on a messy desk. He nodded at me when I entered. ‘Get Nilmini to help you,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting for an important call.’

  ‘Nilmini,’ I said. She was sitting on a stool amongst items of copper. She looked up. How young and self-contained she was. A beautiful Sri Lankan woman in her early twenties, with such long hair it looked as though it had never been cut.

  ‘That’s a lovely name,’ I said.

  ‘It means “ambitious woman”.’ She continued to polish an old urn.

  I noticed behind her a pile of tattered books – Alice’s Adventures in in Wonderland, Huckleberry Finn, Peter Pan. One of them was open on the floor in front of her, pages held back with two pebbles from the beach. She saw me looking.

  ‘I love reading, madam. In Sri Lanka I wanted to study literature. Sir bought me these books from the market. He said I can read as long as I do my work.’

  I nodded and glanced up at Yiakoumi, who was yawning and reading something on his phone.

  ‘I am wondering, Nilmini, if you have seen Nisha or heard from her.’

  She paused and looked up at the ceiling where a brass chandelier hung above her.

  ‘The last time I saw Nisha, madam, was Sunday night.’

  ‘What was she doing?’

  ‘Usually, madam, she comes to say hello. This time she was walking very quickly.’

  At that point Yiakoumi’s mobile rang and he got up to speak in the storage room at the back.

  ‘What time was that?’ I asked.

  ‘I arrived here maybe an hour earlier, so I think it was after ten. Sir wanted me to work Sunday night because customers come in the morning. I cleaned his house in the morning, had a break and then came here at nine o’ clock.’

  ‘Did Nisha say anything to you?’

  ‘No, madam, she said nothing. Normally she waves, sometimes she comes in and makes a joke and we laugh, often she brings me fruit. No, she didn’t stop to see me and I tell you, she looked worried.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, madam. I have been working here opposite Nisha for a year. I know her face. I know my friend’s face when she’s happy, sad, angry, tired. This time I tell you she was worried.’

  ‘Do you remember anything else at all?’

  ‘Well, madam, maybe this not an important thing, but the cat was following her.’

>   ‘The cat?’

  ‘Yes. I looked down the road as she walked off. I was outside. The cat followed her all the way and turned the corner when she turned. So the cat might know where Nisha is.’

  I stared at her. Was she being serious?

  ‘It was this cat, madam.’ She pointed out of the window, where the black cat with the different-coloured eyes was sitting on the table, washing itself amongst the pots and vases. The one my daughter now called Monkey.

  *

  That afternoon, I picked up Aliki from school. I didn’t take the car because I wanted to walk with her. She was wearing her favourite K-pop idol girl T-shirt with some light blue jeans, and she’d released her hair from its ponytail so it hung in thick waves over her shoulders.

  ‘Aliki,’ I said, ‘I went to the police today.’

  She quickly glanced up at me, cheeks rosy.

  ‘I went to report Nisha missing, but they wouldn’t help me. They said she’s probably run away to the north. But I don’t believe them,’ I said.

  Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I’m not saying this to upset you. I want you to know what’s happening. I’m looking for Nisha but I’m confused. Did she say anything to you? Do you know anything that might help me to understand what is going on?’

  Aliki looked down at her feet as she walked.

  ‘Aliki?’ I said. But this just made her withdraw further – she walked over to a shop front and stared at the shoes on display. She’d cut herself off from me completely.

  *

  At home, I made potato salad. The vegetables in the fridge had started to rot – Nisha had always done the shopping – so I chopped them all up and threw them in the salad: red peppers, tomatoes, spring onions and parsley. Aliki poked at the food with her fork, humming something under her breath.

  Later, I stood by the large window at the front of the house, looking out onto the street, hoping with each second that passed that I would see Nisha turning the corner. I couldn’t tamp down that hope. Maybe any moment she would appear in the lights of Yiakoumi’s shop and Theo’s restaurant, coming to our door and turning the key in the lock, putting down her handbag and explaining where she had been.