Songbirds(36)

I thought about the night Nisha came to my apartment, after her visit to Chaturi. It had been the middle of August and extremely hot. When she told me she could not terminate the pregnancy, I had gone out the next day to buy her a ring. I visited the jewellers on Ledra Street and bought a simple gold ring with a blossom-cut diamond. I was not simply going to propose, but suggest that we leave Cyprus together, and move to Sri Lanka. In my mind, this would solve two problems: the first, that Nisha would finally be with Kumari; the second, that I could stop the poaching without having to face the consequences. I reasoned that it wouldn’t be too difficult for me to find a job in Sri Lanka, particularly with my background in finance and my experience working with foreign markets. I am fluent in both English and Greek.

While this may sound well thought out, it was impulsive. It is my nature, and it’s what made me good at banking. But the truth is, I was following my heart and not my head and therefore failed to recognise the challenges to my plan. Like how Nisha would feel being completely reliant on me financially. Like whether we would have enough money to settle Nisha’s debts to her hiring agency in Cyprus, or did I think we could just run out of town and leave them unsettled? Like whether Nisha would want to leave Petra and Aliki – as much as she wanted to return to her own daughter, would it be so easy for her to leave behind the Cypriot girl she had raised? All of these thoughts, these contingencies, I tucked away somewhere, refusing to derail my dream of a free life with the woman I loved.

The weekend after her return from Chaturi, I went to the supermarket to buy the ingredients for Nisha’s favourite vegetable rice and curry. I had some kakulu rice at home, plus basics such as coconut and turmeric, and some chillies that Nisha had grown and dried in the garden. I bought pineapple, sweet potatoes, aubergines. It was a simple meal, but one that I knew reminded Nisha of home.

That Sunday, she sat on a kitchen chair while I made lunch. Aliki and Petra had gone to the beach again and wouldn’t be back until very late, so Nisha had the whole day and night off. I didn’t want her to lift a finger: she was constantly working, hardly ever taking a break for herself. She had her bare feet up on the chair, arms around her legs, chin resting on her knees. She was wearing a pale blue summer dress, a pass-me-down from Petra. One of the straps had fallen off her shoulder, which was smooth and golden-brown. The chalky blue contrasted with her skin so much that it almost glowed. She was beautiful. Nisha was always beautiful, in every single way.

I was dicing the pineapple when she said, ‘I’d recognise you if you were a lion.’

‘What?’ She often came out with bizarre things, but this was odd even for her.

‘If in another life you were a lion, I think I would recognise you and still love you.’

‘What if I were a snake?’

‘Still, I’d know it was you.’

‘A jellyfish?’

‘Yes.’

‘Cockroach?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Is this assuming we are both lions or both cockroaches?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘OK, what if you were a deer and I was a lion? Would you still love me?’

She thought about this as I threw the pineapple in the wok and began to cut the aubergine.

‘I think we will meet again in all our future lives.’

I added the spices to the vegetables and began to boil the rice.

‘Do you mind if I lie down?’ she said.

‘Of course not. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

She went over to the bedroom and I could hear that she had turned on the fan. I thought about what she had said: I’d recognise you if you were a lion, and suddenly a different meaning came to mind. Because, in fact, in this life, I was a predator. First with stocks and shares, and now with the songbirds. Had she been somehow referring to this? I could not be sure. But a deep feeling of guilt overtook me. I had promised Nisha that I would stop hunting and I was planning on keeping that promise. But was it enough? Would that change who I was, a hunter, a predator? Or was the poaching only part of that truth?

I had the odd feeling that she was in love with the man I should have been.

I poured myself a large glass of wine and gulped it down to wash away all the questions.

When dinner was ready, I went into the bedroom to tell Nisha. She was lying on her back on the bed with her eyes closed.

‘Are you asleep?’ I whispered.

She shook her head. I sat beside her on the bed.

‘In one story,’ she said, ‘a married couple ask the Buddha how they can remain together in this life and be together in future lives as well. The Buddha said, “If both husband and wife wish to see one another not only in this present life but also in future lives, they should have the same virtuous behaviour, the same generosity, the same wisdom.” I know you’re not my husband but if we want to stay together we have to try and be on the same . . .’ She hesitated, wincing.

‘What’s wrong?’ I said

‘It hurts.’

‘Where?’

She took my hand and placed it low on her stomach, close to her pelvis, in exactly the same location she had placed my hand two weeks before. I leaned down and kissed her just below her belly-button. When I sat up, I noticed that blood was leaking from beneath her body onto the white sheets.

Either she saw the expression on my face, or she felt the dampness on her skin, for Nisha jumped from the bed and looked down at the covers. I noticed in that moment that the back of her dress was soaked and blood was trickling down her leg.