Songbirds

by Christy Lefteri

  At the guest house, the man and the woman tie up the laces of their hiking boots.

  It’s going to be a nice day, she says, as sunshine beams into the room through the slits of the shutters.

  I’ve been reading up on the old mines, he says. I’ll tell you on the way.

  He speaks about the ancient history of copper and bronze as they walk past the barley and wheat fields. As they walk past the sunflowers, he tells her everything he’s read about the old mines and how the men died of silicosis, and eventually they are on the arid plane where the earth stretches lonely to the horizon. The sun is strong and she holds her hand over her eyes like a sailor setting out to sea.

  Seeing the couple, the vultures abandon the corpse of the hare and flap lazily away.

  25

  Petra

  T

  HE PHONE RANG WHILE I was collecting grape leaves from the vine in the garden. I wanted to cook something nice for Aliki. We had spent a quiet Saturday playing board games, pretending to read, but really worrying about Nisha.

  I was planning to make stuffed vine leaves for a picnic on Sunday, wrapping them in foil so that we could eat them with our fingers beneath the Famagusta Gate.

  Tony’s voice at the end of the phone changed everything: ‘Petra, I would tell you to come but this can’t wait. A body has been found in the mineshaft by the red lake of Mitsero.’

  I started shaking. I managed to hang up the call, then quickly gathered up Aliki and walked her over to Mrs Hadjikyriacou. The moment she saw my face, Mrs Hadjikyriacou took her in without asking any questions.

  When I turned to leave, Aliki called out, ‘What it is? Where are you going? Is it about Nisha?’

  I couldn’t find the words to answer her, but I met her eyes and nodded, then rushed off.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I ran up to Yiannis’s apartment, pounding on the door.

  He opened the door with red eyes, and I saw that his arm was in a sling. It looked like he had spent the night crying.

  ‘What happened?’ I said.

  ‘It’s nothing at all to worry about.’

  He looked horrified when I told him about the call from Tony. He grabbed his keys and slipped on his trainers without saying a word.

  *

  It takes twenty minutes to get Mitsero from where I live. The whole time I thought about that water, with the rusted structures of abandoned mines guarding it like ghosts.

  We drove to the end of a paved road that passes by the village of Agrokipia. I left the car on the side of a cracked pavement as we had to walk from there along the dirt path, to get to the lake.

  A small crowd had gathered, eager to see.

  These things don’t happen here!

  This kind of thing – never.

  I wonder who they found?

  I tried to block out the voices of the crowd.

  The area surrounding the lake and gallows frame had been roped off. Helicopters circled above. We were on the slant of a jagged hill of yellow rock that dropped down to the water. I could feel Yiannis standing beside me, but I didn’t dare to look at his face. If I saw fear there, it would have broken me; I was just barely keeping it together myself. But I could hear him breathing, I could hear his breath shake.

  The body was bound in white cloth.

  Tourists, they were hiking.

  The mineshaft filled up with water after the rain.

  Yes, that’s what I heard too!

  And it brought the body up.

  Yes. The body came up.

  I could see Nisha as if she were standing in front of me: in flip-flops and shorts; a soft sprinkling of dark hairs on her thighs; the plait that reached the base of her spine; beads on her wrist – bracelets that her daughter had made and sent in a tattered envelope. My thoughts expanded: Nisha pulling off yellow rubber gloves, spreading orange marmalade on toast for me, stirring coffee on the stove with a long spoon, questioning me with eyes that were always curious, always sombre, dark with the past.

  Far away, across the land, church bells rang. They rang again and again, but I could still hear the voices of the crowd.

  The body is decomposed.

  They will have to do DNA tests.

  I didn’t dare to say the thing that was on my mind, but I knew that Yiannis was thinking it too, because when I finally turned to look at him, he was pale and shaking.

  The next moment, he had left my side. I saw him slip through the crowd, heading towards the gallows frame. I lost him for a while, then I heard a commotion. I pushed my way closer to the front and saw Yiannis having an argument with a police officer: he had managed to get over or under the rope into the investigation zone. The officer was holding his arms out, creating a barrier; another was approaching from the right. This second officer placed a hand on Yiannis’s shoulder and gestured for him to calm down.

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted. ‘Leave him alone! It’s OK. He’s knows her. It’s OK, he knows her.’

  It wasn’t until they all turned to look at me – the police, the people in the crowd – that I understood what I had said.

  *

  We left the lake without knowing. The police told us to go home, they would have to do tests, something about DNA, testing the bones – I could barely distinguish the words.

  We were driving now, and I looked over at Yiannis. He looked like the shell of a man. His eyes were sunken, his lips pressed in. He was a shrivelled bird, something featherless and old.

  I was just about to take the turn off for Nicosia, when he spoke, his voice dry and hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for centuries.

  ‘Petra,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Will you go somewhere with me?

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I can’t go back yet.’

  ‘But where?’

  ‘To the woods.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have to check something. Will you come? Will you drive me there?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  Following Yiannis’s directions, I drove us to the west coast of Larnaca, near the village of Zygi. I was hit by the smell of wild thyme and rosemary. In the distance I could see the beautiful oranges and yellows of the citrus plantations. He directed me to a sheltered spot by the side of the road and I parked the car. He got out and headed down a narrow path through the trees, motioning me to follow him. We were walking into a dense and dark forest of eucalyptus and acacia trees. We walked for a few minutes, picking our way among the brambles, until we came to a clearing.

  There, swarming with flies, was a mouflon ovis. I took a step closer, but Yiannis grabbed my arm with his good hand.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not this.’

  I followed him further into the woods and began to hear a cacophony of birdsong. I’d never heard anything like it, so many songs overlapping. There were thousands of them, above our heads, surrounding us, thousands and thousands of birds writhing in nets that stretched the length of the glade.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked, in horror.

  ‘The mist nets,’ he said, in a hollow voice. ‘Yesterday we were hunting—’

  I shot him a sharp look.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, turning down his eyes. ‘We were hunting. Seraphim and me. We left so quickly after my arm was injured. I didn’t know if Seraphim had come back. It looks like he didn’t.’

  I looked up again. It was a cacophony. The song of thousands of birds trapped in one place. I wanted to throw up. Thousands of birds stuck in the net, trying to fly away.

  ‘Will you help me?’ Yiannis asked, ‘to release the birds?’

  With one hand, he began to yank at the net until each side dropped gently to the earth. He knelt down and tended to each bird, one at a time. He was struggling, working with only one arm, so I went to help him.

  ‘My god,’ I said. ‘My god.’ Some were dead, but those still living, I cradled in my palms, stroking the birds’ feathers with my fingers, placing them on the ground, waiting to see if they would mov
e. Some hopped away, others flew up into the leaves of the trees or into the sky. One by one. One by one. Yiannis worked beside me, though clumsily and mostly ineffectually. I saw his frustration in his failed attempts, but I knew better than to tell him to step aside.

  We worked for nearly an hour, releasing the birds together. There were so many that were migrating birds, and residents of the island too. Amongst the blackcaps were grey herons and blue rock thrushes, and beautiful tiny wallcreepers with their crimson flight feathers.

  By now, I was crying, my sobs mingling with the bird-song.

  ‘There are crossbills and coal tits, jays and tree creepers,’ Yiannis said, as if he was seeing them properly for the first time. ‘And black kites,’ he continued, ‘and steppe buzzards and honey buzzards. And look . . . hundreds of finches.’

  ‘Isn’t it sad that they are still singing?’ I said.

  ‘They would have sung until they died,’ Yiannis replied.

  ‘Just listen to their music,’ I said. ‘Oh, look at that!’

  In the middle of the mist net, tangled up with pulsating wings, was a kestrel.

  ‘It’s still alive,’ I said. Its wing was stuck in the net, but I tugged at the filaments with my fingers, tore at it with my nails, careful not to scare the kestrel, not to hurt it more.

  ‘It would have died slowly,’ Yiannis said.

  I held the kestrel on my lap, while working on disentangling it from the net. It lay still, looking up at me with its large, beady eyes. Above us and around us flew the birds that had been rescued. On the ground beside us lay the birds that had died.

  Finally, I released the kestrel from the net and Yiannis and I both stopped to watch as the kestrel opened its spotted wings and launched into the sky. I said: ‘Nisha was always smiling, you know, in spite of everything. She brought up my daughter and cleaned my home and always smiled with all of her heart. Did you see that?’

  ‘Nisha once told me,’ replied Yiannis, tracing the kestrel’s path in the sky with his eyes, ‘that she wanted to protect Aliki from her pain. She carried much of it – pain. I don’t know if you knew that. But she wanted Aliki to see her as happy, so that the child could feel that the world was full of joy. Nisha said, “Children search our eyes to discover the world. When they see happiness or joy or love there, then they know that these things exist.”’

  I knew instantly that this was the gift Nisha had given to my daughter – that Aliki had learnt to understand the world through Nisha’s eyes.

  *

  Two nights later, I was tucking Aliki into bed. ‘Do you remember you told me about the birds stolen from the sky?’ I asked her, as I pulled the sheets up to her chin, then folded them back and patted around her arms, pulling the fabric tight as she liked it.

  She nodded.

  ‘I rescued them. Yiannis and I, we went to rescue them. We released them from the nets so they would be able to fly again.’

  ‘So now they can carry on with their journey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She nodded again, her eyes wide and watery in the light of the bedside lamp.

  ‘Did some of the birds die?’

  I paused. ‘They did,’

  ‘Nisha will be sad.’

  *

  On Thursday, Tony rang and asked if he could come visit that evening. He didn’t sound OK.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ I said. I had become accustomed to the tone of his voice, but today he sounded apprehensive, tentative. He called nearly every day to check in, give any updates, to see if Yiannis or I had any news.

  ‘It’s best if we talk when I see you,’ he said.

  I went up to tell Yiannis that Tony would be visiting at 7 p.m., but I did not elaborate on the nature of our conversation.

  I took Aliki over to Mrs Hadjikyriacou’s.

  ‘Someone is coming to tell you something about Nisha, aren’t they?’ Aliki said, as we knocked on Mrs Hadjikyriacou’s door.

  ‘I think so,’ I said.

  ‘Hm,’ was her response. A small sound, like a mouse.

  Yiannis arrived first, just before 7 p.m. He was holding his tablet in his hand in case Kumari called: he was worried about her. His hair had grown, he was unshaven, there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked as though he’d been wearing the same clothes for days. His arm was still in a sling and I didn’t bother to ask him again about it. He sat down on the sofa close to the fire. Neither of us mentioned the afternoon of the songbirds, and neither of us mentioned Nisha.

  ‘How is Aliki?’ he said.

  ‘She’s fine, thank you. She’s with Mrs Hadjikyriacou.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Just water.’

  I went off to the kitchen and heard the tablet ring.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’ Yiannis said.

  ‘I couldn’t go in, Mr Yiannis . . . feel too worried. I make up stories of what has happened to Amma. Maybe she is trapped underground like my baba was. Amma told me the story about Baba. Will you tell me true things from now on, Mr Yiannis, because then my brain make up other things?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  ‘My grandmother want to know any more information. She is in the other room on the bed. She has been crying.’

  ‘OK, Kumari,’ he said. ‘Listen to me carefully and remember that I’m here any time if you or your grandmother need to speak to me.’ Yiannis hesitated as I returned with a jug and three glasses on a tray, placing it on the coffee table. ‘A woman has been found in a lake here on the island,’ he said.

  I stood behind him out of the glow of the screen. Kumari remained silent at first, then with a shake in her voice, she said, ‘Is the lady in the lake alive?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could the lady in the lake be my amma?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m sure it’s not.’

  Once again there was no response for a while.

  ‘You think it might be Amma. I know you do,’ she said. ‘Because if you thought it was definitely not Amma you wouldn’t tell me this information. You are telling me to . . . prepare me. Isn’t that right Mr Yiannis?’

  ‘Yes, Kumari.’

  Then she was gone.

  Yiannis sat without moving, staring at his own reflection in the dark screen. I took a step forward and placed my hand on his shoulder.

  The doorbell rang.

  I left Yiannis sitting there and went to let Tony in. It was strange to see him out of the booth. He was much taller and wider than I realised and he walked slowly and heavily, like a bear.

  He sat in the armchair opposite Yiannis and I poured him a glass of water.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’ I asked. ‘A coffee or tea? It’s quite a long journey from Limassol.’

  ‘No, thank you, Petra,’ he said. ‘And thank you for your kind hospitality.’

  I smiled faintly and sat down. We both stared at him and he hesitated before speaking.

  ‘I wanted to come and tell you before it comes out in the news.’

  ‘They’ve identified the body?’ said Yiannis. He was perched at the edge of the sofa and I noticed a tremor in his hands as they rested on his knees.

  ‘Yes, they have.’

  ‘It’s Nisha?’

  ‘No,’ Tony said, and I heard Yiannis exhale. ‘Allow me to finish,’ said Tony. ‘The woman has been identified as Rosamie Cotabu. Petra, you might recognise the name. She was one of the women I told you about during your first visit.’

  I nodded and glanced quickly at Yiannis, who was looking more agitated than ever, rhythmically rubbing his right temple.

  ‘Rosamie Cotabu,’ Tony repeated slowly. ‘Would you mind if I light a cigarette?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, and got up to bring him a saucer that he could use as an ashtray. By the time I returned from the kitchen he had lit the cigarette and the smoke was swirling amongst the light of the fire. I could see that Tony’s hand was shaking too as he held the cig
arette up to his lips, taking three long, hard drags so that the ash drooped from it. He moved his hand carefully to the saucer and allowed the ash to drop in there.

  ‘I have a friend in the police force,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘He’s junior in rank so he had no power to launch an investigation, but he’s been useful in getting information.’

  I nodded and sat down.

  ‘Rosamie Cotabu,’ he said, ‘I told you about her didn’t I? The one who worked for a man who was physically abusing her.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘She went to the police for help, but they told her to leave Cyprus if she wasn’t happy. Nobody helped her.’ He paused and with heavy eyes took another drag of smoke before stubbing out the cigarette. ‘I knew Rosamie wouldn’t run away. I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t I do more?’ He lifted his arm and dropped it down onto the arm of the chair like a dead weight. He took another cigarette out of the box and held it between his fingers but did not light it. ‘Oh,’ he said smiling now, ‘What a joyful girl she was! She had so many friends. She said I saved her life.’ At this point Tony began to cry, like a sudden storm; tears broke out of him and he apologised again and again through stifled sobs.

  ‘I’m sorry, Petra. I did not come here to be a burden on you,’ he said, composing himself, lighting the cigarette, taking in the smoke as if it would save his life.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tony,’ I said. Yiannis was so quiet, I almost forgot that he was there but when I turned to him, he was alert and present and trembling inside. I could see it. He reminded me of the way wheat stalks shake in the breeze in the open fields.

  ‘The police went through her phone, which they recovered in the nearby field.’ Tony continued. ‘They discovered that she had communicated via text with a man whom she had met on a dating site. She had gone out that particular night, the night she went missing, to meet him for the first time. He was the last person she texted. The police discovered that his dating profile had a fake name but they managed to trace the details back to a thirty-five-year-old Greek Cypriot soldier serving at the national guard. They have taken him in for questioning. The autopsy showed that she had injuries on her body and marks around her neck.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll tell you, this doesn’t look good.’