‘How about the cyclamen Cyprium?’
‘No, they only grow in the mountains.’
‘How about the Cyprus bee orchid? They are very pretty. Our teacher likes flowers. He teaches us all about them.’
‘No. They usually grow in grasslands and open pine woodlands.’
‘How about the tulipa Cypria? My teacher, Mr Thomas, told us they are so hard to find, and they are the colour of deep red blood. Did you have any of those in your garden?’
‘No, but I’m pretty sure that my Auntie Lucia had some of those in her garden. She had three thumbs. Talking about three thumbs . . . have you heard of the monster that lives in the underwater caves near Cape Greco?’
Aliki shook her head, eyes round.
‘Some people say it has several heads and numerous limbs. But everyone who talks about the creature speaks of its friendliness. It is said to appear from the deep sea, attracted by fish caught in a net. Some people think it is a giant sea snake or a large runaway crocodile, but I have seen it with my own eyes and I can tell you that it looks like a prehistoric Plesiosaur. It was many years ago, when I was exactly your age, Aliki, that I went with my parents and my seven siblings on a summer trip to the sparkling waters of the east coast . . .’
I listened to the story and devoured the food on my plate. Ruba ate with us and was vigilant should we need anything – occasionally refilling our glasses with lemonade, or passing around the bread and yoghurt. Her eyes darted about the table; from time to time she smiled at me or Aliki and gave a slight nod, but she never spoke.
There was a light on above my flat. Yiannis was sitting on the balcony looking out across the street. I knew that I would need to speak with him, tell him about the Blue Tiger and share the information that Tony had given me. I prayed that he would know something.
The man with the army boots and the windbreaker is sitting on a rock. He drinks some hot tea from a flask and stares without blinking at the still water of the lake. Beside him is a black suitcase, lying on its side. After a moment, he straightens his posture, focuses his eyes, looks around and places a hand on the case.
Five or more beetles are crawling over the hare’s fur. Some feed on fly eggs, larvae and maggots; others devour its flesh. They like the dark, the time when they feel most free. With their flat bodies, they crawl into the empty socket of its eye, feeling their way around with long antennae. A black whip snake glides past, raises its head and continues to the edge of the crater. It trickles like a shining stream down to the lake, but it does not enter.
There is no breeze tonight and the sky is full of stars. A half-moon gleams, dropping its bone-white light upon the pecan trees and fruit trees, down upon the distant river where dragonflies swarm, down upon the sunflowers and the dirt path, leading to the homes in the village, where most people are asleep. A TV flickers in one of the bedrooms; a night light glows in another. In the guest house, a cockroach, enticed to the room by the sugared almonds, feeds on the paper of an old book of fairy tales sitting on a wooden shelf. The widow is snoring. She has left the washing out on the line. A cat, with the stripes of a tiger, watches from behind a rosemary bush, planning to catch a lone dragonfly that has found itself far from the fresh water of the river – a scarlet dragonfly with ghostly, red-veined wings.
When the breeze picks up again, the man with the army boots and the windbreaker and the suitcase is no longer there.
18
Yiannis
T
HERE WERE FLYERS OF NISHA all over the neighbourhood. On every corner, there she was. Even from my balcony I could see her, glued to the pole of a street lamp outside Yiakoumi’s antique shop, and on my walk, hanging from the canopy at Theo’s, stuck to the wooden pillars and walls of the restaurant. Passers-by glanced at them but mainly took no notice. Only the other maids paused, contemplating Nisha’s picture, with something in their eyes like fear – or perhaps it was recognition, a fearful look in the mirror.
The birds from the hunt in Akrotiri had filled the fridges in the spare room. I needed to clean them, but I couldn’t find the discipline to sit down and focus.
Feeling uneasy, I grabbed my coat and headed downstairs. Crossing the street, I pulled off one of the flyers from a lamp-post and headed to Lakyavitos station.
*
I was kept waiting for forty-five minutes before I could see the chief constable, Vasilis Kyprianou.
‘I understand you’re here to report a missing person,’ he said, opening a notebook and clicking a silver pen.
I nodded and placed the flyer on the desk.
He glanced down at it briefly, then up at me, ‘I see. Can I get you a coffee?’