Songbirds

by Christy Lefteri

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last one yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Good.’

  The road ahead was dark, lit only by the moon. There was a fine layer of frost in the fields, luminous in the night. It reminded me of the unusually cold late October morning, not so long ago, when I had seen the mouflon in the woods, when I had rushed home to tell Nisha.

  Eventually we turned onto a dirt track and the road became darker, shadowed by trees. It was so dark I felt like we might be heading off a cliff and into the sea, but the sea was miles away. The van kept rumbling on until we came to an abrupt stop in a clearing beneath a huge oak tree.

  Seraphim got out without saying a word and opened the doors at the back of the van. I followed him and he handed me the shoulder bags holding the lime sticks, calling devices, three covered-up cages with sleeping birds, one large mist net, and finally a rifle.

  ‘A rifle?’ I said.

  ‘It’s hunting season. I thought we could hunt some game. We’re allowed on Wednesdays and Fridays in November.’

  I took the rifle from him and he turned to me and smiled with his over-stretched grin. Since when did Seraphim care about hunting regulations? I knew that November was a good time to hunt hare, chukar partridge, black francolin, wood-pigeon and woodcocks, but there is a limit on the quotas that hunters are allowed to take – something like two hare and two partridges per hunter per hunting day. But I felt like a hypocrite thinking about the quotas when on the ground by my feet lay the rolled mist net – non-selective and indiscriminate of quotas.

  We carried the gear into the woods. As we unrolled the mist net and secured it on poles between two junipers, I remembered walking with my grandfather through the forest, and how he had explained that in ancient times the island was almost completely covered with impenetrable forests.

  ‘Imagine what it would have been like back then!’ he’d said. ‘For wildlife to be undisturbed by human hands that take so much more than what they need.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Seraphim called out, sharply.

  ‘Right here.’

  He shook his head, pushing the pole deeper into the earth. ‘You’re miles away. Focus, man. Imagine you have fourteen pairs of eyes. Be alert.’

  I nodded and he signalled for me to lift the covers from the cages. I did so. The birds remained true to the darkness and kept their songs to themselves for the time being.

  ‘Oksana is pregnant,’ he said.

  I forced myself to sound happy. ‘Wow, that’s great news! Congratulations, my friend.’

  ‘We had the first scan the other day. You should have heard the heartbeat. You know, it’s the most amazing thing in the world, that this little human is growing inside her. I’m going to be a father.’

  His eyes shone, but his smile held a hint of fear or apprehension and I saw in this the boy I once knew.

  ‘You’ll be great,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve started to do up the nursery. I’m painting murals on the walls.’

  ‘What are they of ?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, kids’ stuff. You know, a waterfall, mountains, hot-air balloons, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Sounds nice.’

  We proceeded to place the lime sticks on the bushes and trees in the dark. We didn’t use torches in case the area was being patrolled. We worked in silence, listening carefully for any unusual sounds or movement.

  So, Seraphim was going to be a father. Seraphim. It made my intestines turn. A flash of blood in the toilet bowl. Nisha with her hands crossed over her stomach. I watched Seraphim’s movements in the darkness – they were fluid and discreet, like a shadow. I wanted to ask him again about that Sunday. Had Nisha really not turned up? Did he have something to do with her disappearance? He couldn’t. I mean, he couldn’t. Seraphim was an arsehole, the lowest of the low when it came to certain things, but he couldn’t possibly be involved in something as sinister as a missing person, or even five missing women and two children, if they were connected. I could see the fuzzy outline of his mouth and eyes. He seemed to be smiling. He was pleased with himself.

  Seraphim, of all people, was going to be a dad. The prick.

  When we finished setting up, we lit a small fire and waited for dawn, for the birds to descend into the trees. The calling devices sang in the dark in preparation and the mechanical but beautiful song reached us as if in a dream. The caged birds wouldn’t sing until the sun rose. We toasted olives and haloumi on skewers over the fire. Seraphim had his rifle close

  to him.

  ‘What are you hoping to kill?’ I said.

  ‘Maybe some hare, that sort of thing, after we’ve collected the birds. Wait for the wildlife to wake up.’

  I nodded and removed a warm olive from the skewer with my teeth. A black olive, bitter and grainy. There was not much conversation between us. Seraphim was alert all the time, his head darting about whenever he heard a sound. I kept my eye on the rifle. It bothered me, the way Seraphim fingered the trigger, the way he kept it so close.

  It was the moment when the light of dawn cracked through the darkness and the birds in their cages and all the free birds began to sing, that I heard the crunch of leaves. Of course, Seraphim heard it to, and he was up immediately, gazing into the dawn light. I thought that was it, finally we would be caught, and more than anything I just felt relief.

  But what appeared seconds later in the clearing beneath the trees was not a man in ranger’s uniform, but the mouflon ovis.

  I stood up too and it peered at me as it had that day, with weary, amber eyes. Once again, it stood straight and strong and its fur and horns shone gold.

  ‘Look at that,’ Seraphim whispered. ‘Extraordinary!’

  He gently crouched down, levelling the rifle, without averting his eyes from the animal.

  The mouflon, following his movement with its eyes, took a step back so that it was now directly in a pool of light in the rising sun. And, just then, birds came in their thousands, cutting across the sky.

  ‘Seraphim,’ I said, urgently. ‘Don’t shoot!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid! This is a prize!’ His raspy whisper was full of excitement.

  He nestled the gun more securely on his shoulder, preparing himself, watching the creature.

  ‘It’s protected,’ I said.

  He chuckled, a low soft sound, but it came from deep in his chest. The animal took another step back, now into the shadows beneath the trees, and it seemed to be looking straight past Seraphim, at me.

  I moved closer and grabbed Seraphim’s elbow. He pushed me with so much force that I stumbled sideways.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, man?’ His voice back to normal. The animal shuffled back further into a darkened, shrouded space, but its fur and horns caught the light.

  I straightened up and quickly positioned myself between him and the animal, while Seraphim repositioned his gun.

  He held the rifle steady on his shoulder, left eye squinting hard, right eye aiming through the muzzle. ‘Come on now,’ he said. ‘Get out of my way.’

  Seraphim tried angling to the left and to the right, to get the mouflon from a different angle.

  And then I saw his finger begin to tighten on the trigger.

  In the next second, without thinking, I rushed into his line of fire, and before I could think another thought, he fired.

  There was a searing pain in my arm, as if it had been scorched with fire.

  Even through my pain, I heard the animal behind me fall. I heard its collapse, meeting the earth among the fallen leaves. Although I had my back to it, I could see its rapid decline in my mind’s eye – and I still see it, time and again.

  Seraphim lowered his gun. ‘Fuck,’ he said.

  I had grabbed my arm and could feel warm blood leaking through a huge tear in my jacket. The bullet had sliced through my skin on route to the mouflon behind me.

  I turned to look. It was lying on its side, a hole in its chest, a gradually expanding pool of blood on the ground beside it.
Its eyes were open. It was still alive. I crouched down beside it and placed my bloody hand on its back, stroking its fur. ‘It’s all right,’ I whispered. A stupid thing to say.

  It glanced at me sideways, its amber eyes now pools of liquid gold. I stroked its head. It was all that I could do. Its breathing was shallow and strained. Finally, it took its last breath and its eyes lost their focus.

  Crouching down on the ground beside the dead animal I began to cry in a way that I had not cried since I was a boy. I cried for loving Nisha, for missing her, for being afraid for her. I cried for this beautiful creature whose life had been cut short so senselessly. I cried for the way it had looked at me as it lay dying, and I cried for the needless deaths of so many animals.

  Seraphim moved behind me, and, remembering that he was there, I turned. He had lowered his gun now and was holding it loosely at his side.

  I got up. I’m not sure what expression I wore on my face, but whatever it was, he took a step back, in spite of the fact that it was he who was holding a weapon.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He seemed shaken and smaller.

  ‘Tell me what you did with Nisha.’

  He stared at me without speaking. I took another step forward; he took another back and tightened his grip on the gun.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Seraphim!’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth! She never came to see me. I promise you on my mother’s grave.’ He crossed himself and held my gaze. ‘I’m sorry. I apologise, you’re bleeding. Let’s get you to the hospital.’

  Maybe it was my face, my eyes, or maybe something had happened to him when he heard me cry, because his eyes were wide and alarmed, and now in front of me stood an uncertain man, apologetic and confused to his rotten core.

  I saw that his hand was shaking and he dropped the gun as he held his hands up. ‘I promise you,’ he said again. ‘If you still don’t believe me, let me show you something.’

  He glanced at me tentatively, waiting for me to respond and I nodded. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his phone, then he scrolled through it and held it out for me to take from his hand.

  He’d opened up to a series of messages between him and Nisha.

  31/10 22.16

  Dear Mr seraphim I am running a little late because it was difficult for me 2 leave but I will be at Marias bar in half an hour.

  31/10 22.19

  Ok. Please don’t be too late as I need to leave earlier this evening.

  31/10 22.21

  Dear Mr seraphim I will try my best to get there as soon as possible Thank you for meeting it is very important.

  31/10 23.15

  I am still waiting. Are you on your way?

  31/10 23.43

  Hello Nisha?

  01/11 00.01

  I’m afraid I will have to leave now.

  Then he took back the phone and scrolled through again. This time he wanted me to look at a series of text messages between him and his wife.

  31/10 22.10

  Please come home early tonight? Been a long day. Need a hug.

  31/10 22.18

  I will. Don’t worry. Love you

  31/10 22.22

  I won’t be too long. Waiting for someone, have a meeting, shouldn’t take long. Hug is coming! Love you

  ‘What does this prove? Someone else could have been involved,’ I said.

  Seraphim blew out a puff of frustrated air. ‘What do you think happened? What are you imagining? You can go through my entire phone. Go ahead! I’ve got nothing to hide from you.’

  Still holding the phone, I turned back to the mouflon. It lay there peacefully, unmoving, its right horn digging into the earth at an odd angle. Its eyes were still open, one looking straight up through the leaves of the trees at the morning sky, which was still half-dark. I stared down at it through watery eyes.

  I sat down beside it again. I put my hand on its chest, and, as the sun rose further, the morning seemed to draw the gold from the mouflon’s body and eyes.

  Then I saw it. I saw the gold evaporate and merge with the air and rise into the sky. I saw the gold rise from its body like light, like one might imagine a soul leaving a body. The gold became part of the sunrise before me. The fur on its underbelly was pure white now, its body and face a soft chestnut-grey. Its beautiful curved horns were an off-white that reminded me of stone.

  My hand shook on its chest. My breath shook with more tears, a fierce sadness that was tearing itself upwards from deep inside me.

  Seraphim remained silent behind me.

  ‘Did you see that?’ I asked.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘The gold, the way it left its body; the way it dissipated into the sky.’

  He didn’t respond immediately, and after a few deep breaths he said, ‘You haven’t been right since Nisha left.’

  ‘She hasn’t left. You’re an asshole, you know.’

  I faced him again and I remembered everything that Nisha had wanted from me, the things she had said, the way she had cried over the photograph she had seen of me as a boy. You were just so beautiful and so sweet. Had those been her words?

  ‘Seraphim, I’m out,’ I said. ‘From now on, you leave me alone. You don’t have to pay me for this hunt or the last one, for that matter. I want nothing more to do with any of this. You can burn everything I own for all I care, but if anyone gets hurt, I swear I will kill you.’

  The caged birds were still singing their hearts out.

  The sun rose higher still. Time seemed to be moving faster. How long did we stand there staring at each other?

  ‘What will you do for money?’ was all he said.

  I didn’t bother replying.

  *

  The iPad rang at 5 a.m. I was wide awake. My arm had been stitched and bandaged and I had said nothing to the doctors about what had happened.

  When I answered the phone, both Kumari and Nisha’s mother stared back at me.

  ‘What happened to your arm, Mr Yiannis?’

  ‘I fell over, Kumari. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.’

  She squinted her eyes at me. She wasn’t convinced.

  The old woman began to speak to me in Sinhalese. Her face was as smooth as a stone, her large eyes fixed on me. Her fingers opened and closed as she spoke. ‘You tell me!’ she said finally, in English. Then she nudged Kumari.

  ‘My grandmother is very worried,’ Kumari said. ‘She want to know where my amma is. She says that never has she not called her beloved daughter and beloved mother. She is asking what have you done with her?’

  I realised my hands were shaking as I held the tablet.

  I was silent for a while and they both waited. The old lady with the smooth face had her hand on Kumari’s shoulder. She gripped it tightly.

  The young girl glared at me from beneath a newly cut fringe.

  ‘Kumari.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Kumari, I’m sorry. Please tell your grandmother that I don’t know where your mother is. She went out one night, nearly three weeks ago, and she hasn’t come back.’

  The girl paused for a moment and opened her mouth to say something to me, but then changed her mind and turned to her grandmother to translate.

  The old woman was besides herself. She began to cry and speak so fast that the young girl waved her hands before her grandmother’s eyes to stop her, to make her see her perhaps. The old woman continued to speak, breathless now, and Kumari, above her grandmother’s voice, began to translate: ‘She is asking where is she? Why would she leave? Why would she not come back? Did something happen?’

  ‘I don’t know, Kumari,’ I said. ‘But we are doing everything we can to find her. You must know and understand this. Everything.’ My voice broke on the last word.

  ‘She wants more information, Mr Yiannis. She says that what you have told us is not enough. She needs to know more.’

  ‘All I know and all I can tell you is that four other women, all of them foreign maids, and th
eir two children, have also gone missing.’

  Kumari translated for her grandmother, and the old woman began to speak faster. There were questions I could tell, so many questions, but the young girl turned to face me now with a solemnity and sudden seriousness that reminded me of her mother.

  ‘Mr Yiannis,’ she said, softly, ‘why didn’t you tell me this? You knew for a long time, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Why did you not tell me?’

  ‘I was afraid.’

  ‘What were you afraid of, Mr Yiannis?’

  ‘I was afraid to break your heart.’

  As soon as I said this the screen went black and she was gone.

  *

  I sat there staring at the tablet, wondering how Nisha had managed to have an entire relationship with her daughter through this tiny screen. I wanted to break through the glass, reach Kumari, pull her into a hug and tell her not to worry. I wanted to reassure this young girl who reminded me so much of her mother, but I couldn’t. Not only was there so much distance between us, but also because I really didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

  Two vultures are gliding and sailing beneath the clouds, wings held in V-shapes. Far below, the empty eye socket of the hare stares up at their two-toned underwings of black and silver.

  What a beautiful morning it is. As blue as a sapphire, with wandering winter clouds. Years ago, vultures flocked like herds of sheep or goats in this area; now these two are a rare sight. They swerve down towards the hare, the shadows of their wings lengthening across the lake as they descend. They will clean up the dead. They land on the yellow rocks of the crater, their tiny red unfeathered heads perched upon their spindly necks. Together they inspect the hare.

  They begin to feast on the flesh that’s been left, soft and liquified by the rain. The lake is brilliant beneath the midday sun.

  In the mineshaft, white linen has unravelled in ribbons and the overflowing rainwater moves gently over the blue and purple flesh of a breast.