The story was that, during the night a few weeks before, the child had simply disappeared from the house. There had been no alarm, no one had woken when the child had been taken from their midst, although in the morning they had all felt sick and had fevered heads. No one in any neighbouring house had heard anything. This meant it had to be an evil spirit.
Once they had finished Ray had offered some money which the woman had refused. Once they were outside Nkechi took the money instead. “I will ensure the family receive benefit from it. They will not accept it from you.”
Amita was surprised when Ray looked at her for confirmation. She nodded so he handed it over.
The next house was one row in from the front. The story was the same. Every story was the same. And every house that had lost a child was located near the northern border of the camp.
After interviewing the fourth Ray called a halt. “Nothing new coming up here; they’ve had so long to talk about it, if there was anything important they’ve forgotten it.”
Amita found herself surprised again. “How do you know?”
Ray shrugged and looked across the open land towards great mechanical cranes steaming away in the distance, marking one of the mines. “Always the same. It’s why the police like to keep witnesses apart; if they talk to each other they end up saying the same thing even if it’s not true.”
They headed back to where the cab waited for them across the mire of the black town as the sun tilted towards the horizon.
“Christ, I’m hungry,” said Ray.
ii
Maliha leaned over the end of the cot. Baba lay asleep on her back. Her spindly limbs splayed out awkwardly and her head on the side. It was too hot for a cover, even a sheet, so she lay there in nothing but her linen nappy.
The sun was going down. Maliha did not want to go back into Barbara’s room because she was still angry with the stupid policeman. Were the hotel staff so afraid of her they were not willing to speak with her directly? Was it because she was Indian? It must be difficult for them to reconcile their attitudes when she travelled with so many white people. Good.
Little Baba moved spasmodically and stirred in her sleep. She looked as if she might have woken herself up, as she sometimes did, but then settled again. Maliha breathed out long and hard. Watching the baby was therapeutic. It was not possible to remain angry looking at a sleeping child.
Baba put her thumb in her mouth and sucked. Maliha glanced across at her bed and wished Valentine had come back. If only it were that easy to find comfort for an adult. She needed Valentine to hold her. She wondered when she had become this insecure and uncertain, but knew immediately that she had been like this from the time her parents had sent her away to school. The only difference now was that she had someone to whom she could reveal her weakness in safety.
She went to the open French window. She did not step out on to the balcony but stayed in the shade and let the gentle breeze cool her skin. The nurse returned and sat with the child. Maliha went through the connecting passage and into Barbara’s suite.
“She is asleep, Miss Anderson,” said Ulrika who stood as Maliha entered the bedroom. “Some men came to check the machine.”
Maliha panicked and dashed to the bed. She waved her hand over the bed and felt the comforting weightlessness.
“Did I do something wrong?” Ulrika asked in a worried tone, taking a few steps towards Maliha with her hands clasped in front of her.
“No,” Maliha said sharply. The girl flinched. “No, nothing wrong at all. I am overwrought.” Which is a first, she thought. “I think you should sleep in my bed tonight.”
“I would be all right on sofa or even the floor.”
Maliha shook her head. “No, Mr Crier probably won’t be returning tonight. I will sleep in his bed. It’s better if you’re near the baby in case she gets hungry.”
“Thank you.”
And it means I can pretend I am close to him. Maliha shook herself. What’s wrong with me? I’m behaving like ... ordinary people.
She recognised the irony of such a statement. “Did Mrs Makepeace-Flynn manage to tell you anything before she became too tired?”
Ulrika perked up. “Yes, I wrote it down.” She went to the end of the bed and produced a note pad.
“The system worked then.”
“It was slow, but we managed. She can move her arm as well.”
Maliha nodded absently as she took the pad; it was not one she recognised. “Where did this come from?”
“I asked the nurse to find it so I could write everything down. She said it would be charged to your account.”
“Yes that’s fine.”
The letters had been written out in capitals as they were spelt out. Some of them seemed blurred as if they had been wet.
WHITE MOTHER KILLED CHILD GONE HUSBAND GAOL TWO WEEKS
A smile crossed Maliha’s face. She knew the detective had lied when he said nothing was happening to the children of white families.
“Do you know anything about this story?”
Ulrika shook her head and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes as if she was going to cry. Maliha was about to plunge on and then realised.
“I’m sorry,” she said, frustrated at not being able to ask her questions; everything here was so awkward. “Have you had anything to eat?”
She shook her head again as if she did not trust herself to speak.
Maliha went to the telephone and ordered food for six. She turned back to Ulrika who stood in the middle of the room with one arm wrapped across the front of her body, her hand grasping the elbow of her other arm.
“When will you look for my Henry?” she said quietly.
Maliha closed her eyes. “Sit down, Ulrika.” When she opened her eyes the girl was still standing. “There.” Maliha pointed to the sofa near the main door. “Sit there.” She did as she was instructed.
Maliha went to the table and turned one of the hard-backed chairs to face her.
Ulrika rubbed her hands together and did not look at Maliha. “Henry is dead, isn’t he? That’s why you’re not looking for him.”
Yes, I would be very surprised if he were not dead, Maliha thought to herself but instead she said. “It doesn’t work like that, Ulrika. I have to have information which will give me clues as to where to look.”
“You haven’t asked me anything.”
Maliha sighed. “No.”
“You want to know about dead black babies and dead white babies but you don’t want to know about my Henry!” She sobbed, at first trying to hold it in and suppress it, then she could not hold it in any longer. The crying poured from her as if her heart was being slowly torn in two.
When little Baba cried Maliha could barely prevent herself from running to comfort her. Ulrika was no different now. Maliha crossed the room and sat down with her arm around her, wondering when she had become someone who cared how other people were feeling.
The girl was still crying when there was a firm knock on the door. There was a polite pause and the door handle turned. Maliha hoped it was Valentine but she knew he would never have attempted to enter without an invitation.
Amita poked her head around the door. She took in the scene and stepped in but kept a firm hold of the door.
“You will wait outside,” she said through the doorway.
“Why?” came Ray’s plaintive voice.
Amita shut the door without responding. “I do not like that man very much,” she said to no one in particular. She pulled the hood of sari cloth from her hair and sat down on the other side of the girl and gave Maliha a questioning glance.
“This is Ulrika,” Maliha said over Ulrika’s bowed head. “She has asked me to find her baby son.”
Amita nodded.
“And she will be staying with us.”
“Where will she sleep?” asked Amita.
“In my bed tonight.”
Amita frowned.
“I will be sleeping in Valentine’s bed.”
Amita’s frown lightened only slightly.
“He hasn’t returned.”
Amita nodded. “Ray says he is very hungry.”
“He can wait,” Maliha said without emotion. “Was your trip successful?”
“I do not know,” said Amita. “We spoke to women who have had their children stolen but Ray says their words cannot be trusted.”
She looked up as the faint cry of an awakening baby filtered through from the neighbouring bedroom.
“All right, I’ll talk to him later.”
Ulrika lifted her head, her eyes were red from crying. “She wants feeding.”
Maliha stood up and held Ulrika’s hand to help her up, Amita stood as well. “Amita will you take Ulrika through to Baba? She is feeding her.”
Maliha was not sure whether Amita fully understood her meaning but it did not matter. She would soon enough.
Maliha sighed. There were so many things going on at once, it was almost like being caught in a whirlwind as she tried to grasp at wind-blown straws. She glanced in at Barbara—she was still asleep—then went to the door and flung it open. There were two trolleys of food outside and no serving staff. Ray was helping himself to some cold chicken.
“Bring those in,” she said and went back inside making no move to assist.
iii
When Amita returned Maliha had her take food through to the nurse and Ulrika before serving the rest.
They sat around the table eating the impromptu meal. Ray’s manners could do with improving; she was not impressed with the way he reached across the table and took sips of water to wash down his half-masticated mouthfuls.
Maliha noticed how he and Amita kept up a dance of glances: Amita would look at him then his eyes would turn towards her and she would look away. Then after a while he would direct his attention to the food and she would look back at him. Or the other way around. All the while the aura of animosity between them was almost palpable.
Not her problem. At least it was not a problem she wanted. They could sort it out between them whatever it was.
They cleared the plates. Ray had certainly had the lion’s share and he finally sat back satiated.
“Thanks for that, missus,” he said. “Really hit the spot.”
His London accent meant that the final hard consonants of his words were so quiet they were mutated into some sort of vowel sound.
“Very timely ’n all.”
“Shall we get down to business, Mr Jennings?”
Ray reached into his jacket pocket. “Mind if I smoke.”
“Yes.”
Ray continued to pull out his cigarette case and clicked it open.
“Yes, I mind.”
He gave her a sideways look then slid it back into his pocket and sighed.
“Did you find out anything useful?”
“Nothing I can put in a newspaper,” he said. “What if I go and smoke at the window? Would that suit, your majesty?”
“Yes, Mr Jennings, if you really must have a cigarette you can do it at the window.”
He touched his forehead in mocking acknowledgement, then stood and went to the window. He pulled out the stainless steel case a second time and extracted a cigarette. With a match from a box he took from another pocket, he lit up, shook the match so it went out and tossed it over the balcony. He took a long drag on the cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs for a long time and then blew the smoke into the open air.
“Better now?” asked Maliha not hiding the antagonism in her voice.
“Yeah, much better.”
“What did you discover about the missing children?”
He gave a smile. “An evil spirit comes in the night, casts a spell over the whole house and takes the kid.”
“What form does this spell take?”
He grinned and pointed at her with his cigarette. “I knew you was clever.”
She waited while he took another drag on the cigarette. The end glowed bright as the air was drawn across the burning embers. He had already consumed half its length.
“Yes, Mr Jennings, many people know that I am clever. I can’t say it’s much of a revelation.” His grin was quite infuriating.
“You tell me,” he said.
“What?”
“You tell me, do your party trick.”
She glowered at him. Why not. He had said what she needed to hear. “The family know nothing and wake up in the morning feeling ill.”
“Ha!” he shouted.
“Quiet, you idiot,” she hissed. Ray put his hand over his mouth as if stifling any further noise. He was laughing. She glanced into Barbara’s room. The light was fading but Maliha could see her well enough. Her eyes were closed.
“Come on,” he said. “What else?”
“All the buildings from which the children had been taken were close to the edge of whatever encampment you were in.”
“You’re a right bloody genius, that’s what you are.” He took a final pull on his cigarette and tossed it over the side. “Dunno what ya needed me for.”
“Details,” she said. “I need a map of the area with the stolen children marked. If you managed to find out when the children went missing that would be useful.”
He came back to the table and glanced into the bedroom.
“What’s wrong wiv her?” he asked.
“She’s old.”
“That’s the one that was married to the General, ain’t she? Him that killed himself on the liner—the shirt-lifter.”
She slapped him. And then looked at her hand and at his face as if she could not quite believe she had done it. The response had surprised her as much as it had him.
“Christ,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “What is it about you bloody women? First Meeta then you.”
“Amita hit you?”
“Bloody right she did, and she hits a lot bloody harder than you,” he said. “But then he would, wouldn’t he?”
Maliha found that she wanted to beat Ray Jennings to a bloody pulp. Her body became tense and strained with the effort of not doing so. The intent of murder must have been in her eyes because he took a step back and held up a hand defensively.
“Look, I don’t bloody care, all right?” he said, now holding up both hands.
Which just made her suspicious but it was simpler to let it drop.
“Did you manage to elicit anything else useful from the families concerned?”
“They live in a shit-hole.”
“Must you use that language?”
He shrugged. “I’m telling it like it is. It’s next to a sewer works and got no sewers of its own.” He took a breath. “What would you call it?”
She frowned. “A sewer works?”
“Yeah.”
She paused. “All right, Mr Jennings. I think that will be all for today. Do you think you can arrange a map with dates and times by tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, prob’ly.”
“Ten o’clock?”
“Whatever you like.” He hesitated as if he was not sure how to take his leave, then touched his forehead but this time without the supercilious attitude. She nodded back to him. He went past her to the door and opened it.
“Look, Miss Anderson,” he said. She waited expectantly. “Just wanted to say thanks for letting me do stuff for you.”
He rushed out and slammed the door before she could respond.
She went in to the bedroom and checked that Barbara was properly covered by the sheet then shut the windows, closing out the sounds of evening and the light from the full moon. When she returned to the lounge Amita and Ulrika had returned. They stood waiting for her.
She waved them into seats and sat down herself. Ulrika seemed to have recovered from her earlier tears though her eyes were still red. She had a lighter complexion than most due to her Scandinavian forebears no doubt.
“I am sorry, Ulrika,” said Maliha. “You were right to chastise me. I had done nothing though I wanted to fill in details on the other missi
ng children.”
“But I gave Henry away, he wasn’t stolen from me—I mean, not like that.”
“Amita, would you call down for some tea?”
Amita went to the phone and opened the box.
Maliha returned her attention the Ulrika. “I was asking whether you knew anything about the woman who had been killed and her child stolen.”
“The one in the newspaper?”
Maliha nodded.
Ulrika looked like she might cry again but seemed to get some control of herself. “I don’t know much but it was a few weeks ago. A poor family who lived in the west of the city. The husband woke up in the morning to find his wife stabbed and their baby gone.”
“And the police think he did it.”
She nodded. “They arrested him.”
Maliha looked over at Amita who was talking into the mouthpiece with the other part pressed against her ear. She turned back to Ulrika.
“Do you know what baby farming is?”
Ulrika shook her head. Maliha sighed; she was not looking forward to this and hoped the tea would arrive soon.
“Do you think it is uncommon for young ladies like you to succumb to the temptations of the flesh and get with child?”
She looked hunted. “I don’t know.”
“It’s not uncommon,” said Maliha. “It is very common indeed, despite it being possible to prevent pregnancy with proper procedures and timing.”
Ulrika looked interested but then lapsed into her previous state. “It is too late for me.”
“The frequency of such pregnancies led to the trade in children. You give someone money and they promise to look after them.”
“Yes.”
“What was the name of this woman you found who promised to care for your child?”
“Auntie Flo.”
“And what did you think of her, Ulrika?”
The girl looked up at the question. “What did I think?”
“Did she inspire confidence in you? Did she seem a woman that truly loved children?”
Ulrika squirmed in the seat as if the very question made her uncomfortable. “I ... I think ... she said she loved children.”
Maliha grew angry at the girl’s obstinate avoidance of the truth. “And did the nature you saw in her match the words?”
Thunder over the Grass Page 11