At the same time, my heart vanished. It turned to mist and disappeared.
*
I hired Nisha as soon as Stephanos died. She was even there for the birth. Most of the other women in the city had domestic workers, so I saw no harm in having one too. I did my research and realised that it wouldn’t be too expensive, no more than I could afford. I would offer her accommodation and food, so the monthly fee was minimal. The fact was, I couldn’t manage on my own and I knew I would need to return to work sooner rather than later. It was my own business, after all. This is how I reasoned, anyway.
Aliki was an 8lb baby with a full head of hair. She looked exactly like Stephanos. I’m petite with mousy-brown, straight hair and olive skin. I saw nothing of me in her. Even my breasts were too small for her and I never produced enough milk. She pulled at my skin and sucked my nipples raw, trying in desperation to get more than I could give her. I have to admit, I was jealous of how Nisha was able to love her, hold her in her arms, so close to her skin.
Aliki would cry and cry.
‘Madam,’ Nisha would say, ‘your baby is crying. Go to her, she needs you.’
I couldn’t go. I couldn’t move. ‘Please, Nisha, can you go, just this once? I will go next time.’
‘OK, madam, if that is what you want.’
She would pick up the wailing child and walk around, but Aliki would not stop. Then, one day, for some reason, Nisha decided to lie on the floor on her back, lift up her top, and place the baby on her naked chest. Aliki suddenly stopped crying. She whimpered for a while, then slept. Sitting back in the armchair and watching them like that – Aliki’s white, curled-up body against Nisha’s darker skin – reminded me of the night cradling the moon.
Aliki fell in love with Nisha: she desired her odours and the warm touch of her skin. I imagined that in the beating of Aliki’s heart, Nisha could feel that of her own child. I didn’t want to think about this. I dashed the thought aside, to a safe place, where the guilt couldn’t reach me.
Nisha never gave up trying to bring me closer to my child. She tried to get me to hold Aliki, to be still with her. But I couldn’t. In Aliki’s face, in her eyes, in the soft curve of her chin, the pink freshness of her skin, even in the mole on her cheek, I saw Stephanos. I had nightmares. I would sit up and see huge white spiders the size of shoes crawling to the baby’s room. I’d follow them, stamp on them, trying to keep them from reaching my baby. Then I would wake up, standing over the cot, Nisha by my side with her hand on my back, rubbing it.
‘Shush now, shush, madam. Everything will be OK.’
She would take my hand and place it on Aliki’s chest so that I could feel her chest expanding as she breathed,
‘You see,’ Nisha whispered beside me, ‘your daughter is just fine. When she wakes up, you can take her outside and enjoy some sunlight. It will be warm tomorrow.’
Then she would calmly lead me back to bed, holding my hand, tucking me in, whispering, ‘Sleep now.’
*
No, Nisha would never leave Aliki without saying goodbye. This I knew for certain.
I placed the locket back in the drawer and, taking the passport with me, headed outside to see if Mrs Hadjikyriacou was there. She was sitting on the deckchair by the front door and her maid was kneeling in front of her, rubbing zivania into her legs, her translucent skin creasing like tiny waves under the maid’s fingers. It was warmer but windy that morning. When she saw me, she shooed her maid away and propped her legs up on a stool.
‘It’s a bit early for you,’ she said, without even looking in my direction. She was gazing up at the sky and straining her neck to do so. It was early; Yiakoumi hadn’t even opened his shop yet, and all his timepieces, apart from one, read seven o’clock.
She straightened her neck now and turned to look at me. The wind blew stronger and the alcohol evaporated from her legs and drifted towards me. She smelled like she’d spent the whole night in a bar. I brought my hand up to my nose and she noticed the passport I was holding.
‘My darrrrling,’ she said in English, then in Greek: ‘Where are you going?’
‘Nisha hasn’t returned.’
‘I know,’ she replied, nodding.
‘This is her passport.’
‘Ah.’
‘If she’d intended to leave, then wouldn’t she have taken this with her? She’s even left the locket her husband gave her before he died, and her daughter’s lock of hair.’
I waited, expecting to hear another ah, but Mrs Hadjikyriacou remained silent. She seemed to be thinking.