Songbirds(31)

Her words were tumbling from her mouth now, and I could barely keep up.

‘My friend, Mary, from the Philippines, well, her employer saw her jumping over the fence at night to see her boyfriend and fired her on the spot. It was almost impossible for her to find work after that, because this employer was very well known in the community, and respected. She had to move into a hostel with fifteen other women on the other side of the island. The conditions were so bad that she ended up selling her body to stay in an old man’s villa by the sea with three other women.’

I reached for her, but she pushed me away. She distanced herself from me, so she could look me in the eyes.

‘And little Diwata down the road, well, her ex-employer beat her. She had bruises on her arms and legs and was only allowed to eat such a small amount of food each day that she ended up shrinking down to nearly nothing. She looked like she was twelve! Well, she was lucky because she found another employer. He has bought her a car, he never bruises her body, and he buys her new clothes and gives her his credit card to buy whatever she likes. Why do you think that is?’

She stared at me without blinking. I said nothing.

‘Petra will fire me. She will. Who knows where I will end up? And if I want to find another job, I will have to give up the baby. But what if I can’t do it? Just like I couldn’t terminate the pregnancy.’ Tears fell from her eyes now and she briskly wiped them with the back of her hand. ‘I stepped through the door. I actually went to the clinic.’

There was nothing I could say. I wanted to tell her it would be OK, that for her the outcome would be different, I would help her. But what did I know of her world? Of what she owed. I couldn’t bring myself to make promises I couldn’t understand.

After a silence, she finally spoke. ‘Whatever happens,’ she said, ‘you have to promise me that you will stop what you are doing to the songbirds. It’s not a good thing.’

‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I can promise that.’

*

Suddenly the cat’s ears flattened and it hissed. From behind I heard footsteps approaching. I turned and saw Spyros with his poodle. Spyros, the postman. A well-built guy, covered in tattoos from the neck down. His poodle, tiny, well-groomed, in a khaki military bomber jacket designed especially for dogs. In the summer it had a sun umbrella attached to its leash. The discrepancy between them always made Nisha laugh when she saw the pair from my balcony on Sundays. She would lean forward carefully, so that prying neighbours would not see her, and whistle the theme tune of Indiana Jones, and he would whistle it back. It meant: I know you’re there and your secret is safe with me. Spyros the postman knew most things, everyone in the neighbourhood knew that Spyros the postman knew most things, but his lips were always sealed. Nisha loved this game they played – it made her feel more accepted, more human, she said. She had told me that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom had been filmed in Kandy in the eighties, and as a child she had loved to imagine all the adventures taking place just 200 km or so from her home.

The cat now hissed, circling Spyros’s dog, who growled in return, making a show of pulling at his lead. The dog bared its tiny teeth and the cat hissed again. It was an amusing stand-off, and if I hadn’t been so upset, I would have laughed.

‘Sit, Agamemnon!’ Spyros said. The dog obeyed – sort of – continuing to growl from deep in its chest.

‘What are you doing here, mate?’ he asked, looking down at me.

‘Thinking.’

‘On the ground? In the middle of the street?’

‘Yes.’

He sat down beside me. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Nisha is missing. I don’t know where she’s gone.’

‘How long?’

‘Nearly a week now. Last Sunday night or Monday morning.’

Spyros furrowed his brow, seemed caught up in thought. ‘I saw her on Sunday,’ he said, ‘around ten thirty in the evening. I took Agamemnon out later than usual because my mum had come to visit. I took my usual route, I was heading down this street and she walked past me pretty fast. She was in a rush. I asked her where she was off to and she said she was going down the road to Maria’s bar to meet Seraphim.’

‘Seraphim?’ A jolt like a rush of ice went down my spine. ‘Why?’

‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘That’s all I know. But I saw her and I’m certain it was Sunday night.’

*

The cat followed me home like a tiny shadow, then disappeared into the darkness of the back garden. I was surprised to find the little bird sitting on the rug in the hallway near the door when I arrived. It was hopping about now. I put out some fresh water and bread and went out to sit on the balcony. I opened a cold beer and drank it quickly. Why was Nisha meeting Seraphim? And why had he not told me he had seen her? And what in God’s name would she be doing in a place like that? I knew the bar. It was the place I had met Seraphim back when he first recruited me.

I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it all, and was awake when, once again, at 5 a.m., my iPad started to ring. I got up and saw Kumari’s name flashing on the screen. It stopped and started again. Once again I could do nothing: I was frozen to the spot. But the name begged me to answer, it pounded at the darkness with desperation.

I answered.

Kumari blinked at me, shocked to see my face. ‘Where is Amma?’ she said in English, stretching her neck in an attempt to see behind me. The girl was wearing her school uniform and had a rucksack with purple straps on her shoulders.