“But you hardly ever come out, do you?”
“Yes, many days inside,” she says, nodding. “Lots of work.”
“Schoolwork?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No school for me. Baby, house—lots of work. You not go school,” she comments. “You home many times, too.”
“I’m not well enough to go to school,” I tell her. “How old are you?”
She doesn’t answer. “What’s your name?”
She’s gone quiet, and I’m not sure what to say. I want to ask her about the woman dragged into the car, whether she saw—but she’s not answering questions about her name or her age, so I don’t want to press her.
“Are you really okay? Do you need help?” I ask.
“Help? How you help? You want care for this baby?”
I have a sudden thought. “Is he yours? Is that why you’re not at school?”
“My baby? No! But I care for him much.”
“You shouldn’t have to care for him all the time, though,” I tell her. “You should get days off. Are you happy?”
I see her eyes darken for a moment. She isn’t. I’m sure she isn’t. Her whole posture, her bent shoulders, her scared eyes say she’s not.
“Happy?” She shrugs. “My life not so bad. I love baby.”
“He’s really cute.” I smile. She nods.
“Now I must go.”
I’m frustrated. I’m sure she’s not telling me everything.
“Can you meet me here again?” I ask her. “I just want to be your friend.”
“Friend is good.” She gives me the briefest smile back.
“Tomorrow?” I ask. “Can you come tomorrow?”
She shakes her head.
“Friday?”
“I try,” she says, and she walks quickly away.
I am afraid.
I spoke to the girl—to Kasia. She spoke to me. She is kind, but I broke the rule. Speak to no one. Will they know? Do they have eyes everywhere? Do they watch? Will I be punished?
When I get back from the park, I hear a voice. There is someone here. Someone different. It’s a girl, and she’s crying. He calls me and I run upstairs. I must always run to him when he calls.
“That girl in there,” he barks, “she is sick. You will nurse her. Make sure she takes this medicine. You understand?”
I nod meekly. “Does she need food?” I dare to ask.
His glare makes me instantly regret my words. “You think I’m an idiot? You think I will give you food for her so that you can eat it all? Your aunt will see to her food. You give her water and medicine and tell Auntie if she gets any worse. She must get better quickly and return to work. I am losing money.”
Then he looks at me, and I don’t like it. It is as if he can see through my clothes, and it makes me shudder inside.
“You could always be her replacement,” he says, his voice low and full of threat. “If I had my way you would be there already, but your auntie likes you. She says you are good with the baby. She wants you here to work in the house. But if that girl does not recover soon, I will have it my way. Don’t you forget that.”
He’s gone. I am not stupid. I know what he means. I know what work this girl does. My life is bad, but not like that.
I cautiously open the door. She is older than me by three or four years. She lies sobbing on a mattress the same as mine. There is no sheet, no cover. She wears only shorts and a T-shirt. Her long matchstick legs have clear bruises. She is shaking, I think with cold—but as I get closer I can feel the heat coming from her. She has a fever, not chill.
I speak my own tongue to her, but she does not respond.
She may be too sick or maybe she doesn’t understand.
“I have medicine for you,” I tell her. “A tablet to take with water. You must take it and you will feel better.”
“For what?” I hear her whisper. She does speak my tongue after all.
I don’t have the answer to this. “You want to die?” I ask.
“I care not if I live or die,” she says.
“If you live there can be hope for something better to happen. If you die there is no chance, no hope,” I reply.
“Something better. You think there is something better? There is not. There is nothing. This is it.”
Her voice is quiet but bitter, desolate. She makes me afraid. I cannot lose hope like this girl has. I need to believe in the better. I must.
She slowly sits up and takes the tablet with a sip of water.
Then she turns away from me and lies back down.
She is here for four days, but she does not speak to me again. Then her fever has gone. Then so has she.
The other girl recovered but now I have her fever. I realize they brought her here to protect the other girls from catching it. They wanted me to tend to her so they didn’t catch it themselves. I know now how bad the girl felt.
Auntie tries to insist that I do my chores, but she sees that I cannot. She says since I am sick, she will be kind and let me rest. She gives me the tablet and the water, but no food. She says best not to eat if I am sick. But my body has no strength to fight this illness—I am so weak from lack of food, I think I will almost certainly die.
I wish I’d told the girl, Kasia, my name so someone knows I was a person once—a person with a name, someone who lived.
I am too hot and then so cold I shake—and then too hot again. I dream of scraps—of moldy bread meant for birds. I cannot even dream of decent food now. It is so long since I had some.
She keeps me away from the baby—she does not want him to catch this fever. He is my warmth, my consolation, and I miss him. I know he cries for me, and she cannot soothe him.
25
Next time Ellie comes to visit, I tell her all about meeting the girl in the park.
“So, what the woman told you could be true,” she says when I finish.
I nod. “The girl does go out, and she is looking after the baby, but she didn’t answer when I asked how old she is. No way does she look eighteen, and she seemed scared about something. I’ve still got a bad feeling about it.”
“Maybe I could come with you at the weekend?” Ellie suggests. “See if she’s there?”
“Yes, please!” I tell her.
I go to the park on Friday and I sit on the bench for a long while, but the girl doesn’t come. I watch from the window in the evening, but I don’t see her then, either. Ellie comes with me on Saturday, but there is still no sign of her. Ellie seems as disappointed as I am. I go alone on Sunday, feeling less hopeful. In the distance I see a girl with a stroller, but as she gets closer I see that it isn’t her.
She said she wanted to be friends. Why hasn’t she come back?
I keep watching for the girl all week, but I don’t see her. On Friday, I walk to the park, but there’s no sign of her.
I’m almost back at my house when I suddenly see the girl coming toward me with her stroller, clearly on her way to the park. I was too early! I’m so excited I start walking quickly toward her, wishing Ellie was with me. But when the girl sees me, she stops suddenly and turns to look behind her, as if afraid that someone might be watching or following.
“Hi! I’ve been hoping to see you!” I call. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Okay.” She speaks quietly, looking down at the sidewalk—not meeting my eyes. She may be saying she’s okay, but she doesn’t sound it. Her eyes are flickering anxiously and her fingers are clutching the handle of the stroller tightly.
“I went to the park a few times, but you didn’t come,” I tell her.
“Please—you must go,” she tells me. “I must not speak with you here.”
“Why not?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She looks toward the house, as if she’s scared someone will see.
“I’m
sure they won’t mind you speaking to me” I say.
She shrugs. I can see her shoulders shaking.
“What are you frightened of?” I ask gently. “Are you in danger? If you are, tell me and I can call the police for you.”
“Please! No! No police! Go. Please go!” she maneuvers the stroller around me.
“Wait!” I beg, but she walks off quickly before I can stop her.
I want to go after her, but my legs won’t let me. The walk to the park and back is as much as I can manage.
I am well again. I’m looking after the baby once more. I was taking him to the park—so happy to breathe fresh air. But the girl, Kasia, she was there, on the sidewalk—too close to the house. She wanted to speak to me—but I was so afraid they might see. I went quickly. I hoped no one saw me speak to her. The park was peaceful. Baby and I, we were happy there.
But when I return, Auntie is yelling and screaming about the nosy girl from across the street. She saw us. Why did Kasia come so close? Why can’t she leave me alone? She puts me in danger—she knows nothing. She thinks she can help, but she can’t. She can only make things worse.
Things are worse. Auntie told him, and he says I must go—and I know where he means. He’s going to send me to work in the other place, where the sick girl came from.
She protests—she doesn’t want me to go, and they are arguing. I know who will win. She is bad, but he is the boss. She has gone shopping and taken the baby with her. She has been out for over half an hour.
“Come,” he says. “Get in the car now.”
“Where are you taking me?” I ask in terror.
“You’ll know soon enough—and you won’t be coming back here.”
“Should I pack clothes?” I ask, trying to delay. I have a skirt, two pairs of jeans and two tops, some ragged underclothes—that is it.
“You won’t be needing them,” he says.
His words freeze my blood. Is he taking me to the other place—or is he planning to kill me?
I get in the car, but she comes back and starts shouting at him. She wants me for the house and the baby. He is angry that she is making a scene. I look up in the window opposite. I wish the girl, Kasia, was looking out now—was witnessing this. If he takes me, I will disappear like a wisp of smoke. Kasia will never know where I’ve gone.
Now she is in the car—and the baby, too. They keep shouting at each other as he drives. We turn into a road and he slows down at a house. I know in my heart this is it. This is where that other girl lives and more girls, too. This is where most of the girls they bring for better life, jobs, education in this country—this is where they end up. I am the lucky one—or I was.
He has the car door open and is beckoning me out.
“I have a better idea,” she tells him. “Deal with that girl—that nosy girl. Teach her a lesson. She’s the cause of trouble—not this one. This one I need. The baby needs.”
The baby has started to wail, as if he knows what is happening.
“Shut him up, can’t you?” he demands. But she can’t.
“Let me,” I say, and I touch the baby’s hand—speak soft words. His big eyes look at me, his face striped with tears. But the screams turn to sobs. At last he smiles and then closes his eyes.
They are both quiet. My fear floods out to fill the uneasy silence.
“Okay, have it your way,” he tells her. “A little accident, perhaps? I will enjoy teaching that no-good girl a lesson.”
He gets back into the car and turns it around, and we are driving away again. I look at the sleeping baby and stroke his dark mop of hair. I tell him in my head how he saved me. He saved me.
I am to be saved—but what about the girl across the street? What about Kasia?
26
It’s Mom’s forty-fourth birthday. Dad suggests we have a BBQ lunch. Mom invites Devi, who is vegetarian, so Dad gets some veggie burgers. She asks Mrs. G. and Nav, but Mrs. G. isn’t up to it—she’s finding the hot weather hard to cope with. Nav can’t come, either—says he’s busy. Dad is taking the kitchen chairs and folding table out into a shady spot in the back yard.
Ellie texts me while I’m sitting in the kitchen. I’ve told her about seeing the girl. She wants to know what I’m going to do. I text back: I’m not sure.
Dad picks up another chair from the kitchen, and we follow him outside. “Nothing from that godforsaken son?” he says to Mom. “He couldn’t even be bothered to send his mother a card. That’s what he thinks of us. You are deluded, Anya, if you think he cares an ounce.”
Mom shrugs. I know she’s disappointed not to hear from Marek. I’m surprised he hasn’t even sent a text or a WhatsApp message.
Devi arrives, which is a relief as Dad stops going on about Marek and instead starts talking to Devi about her online business. She sells bags and accessories online and is making a small but decent living doing it.
My phone buzzes. Maybe you should call the police, Ellie’s texted.
I don’t know, I reply. She was so definite that I shouldn’t involve them. I want her to trust me. She’s free to go out, so it’s not like she’s a prisoner.
I think she wanted to talk, just not there—not so close to the house, I text next. Are you free later? Let’s go to the park again. Maybe she’ll come.
“Put your phone away, Kasia!” Dad demands. “It’s very rude.”
“Sorry.” I put my phone on the table. It vibrates immediately, but Dad is still watching, so I don’t pick it up.
“I’ve been telling Anya she should do the same with her cakes,” Devi says, still talking about her business. “She is a superb baker, as we all know.”
She points to the birthday cake—a lemon sponge with cream that Mom has made.
“You could, Mom!” I tell her. “You could totally run a cake business!”
“It’s in her family,” Dad comments. “But I’m not sure Anya would know where to start. How do you sell cakes online? You can’t just put them in the mail!”
“You’d have to market yourself on local websites, and that kind of thing,” Devi explains to Mom. “Then there’d be a lot of word of mouth. I’ll help you if you’re interested?”
“It would be a dream to do that,” Mom says, nodding. “To spend my days baking and have people paying for my cakes! And if I can work here, I can care for Kasia, too. But I can’t see it as a reality.”
“You should try, Mom,” I say. “What have you got to lose?”
“I’ll think about it,” Mom agrees. She reaches for a knife to cut the cake.
“Wait!” Devi exclaims. “Where are the birthday candles? We have to sing, and you must make a wish as you cut.”
“I’m too old for all that,” Mom protests.
“No, you’re not,” I tell her.
I’m not sure if we have any birthday candles, but I go inside, search the drawer and find one. Then I have another hunt for some matches.
Dad is getting impatient.
“Can’t we just eat the damn cake!” he calls.
“Patience, patience,” Devi teases.
At last the candle is lit and we all sing, Dad imitating an opera singer and making us all laugh.
“A triumph,” he declares, as he tastes the cake.
The house is stiflingly hot. I want to see Kasia. I need to warn her that she is in danger.
“It’s so hot in this house, should I take baby to the park?” I ask.
“No—you are not going out today,” she says firmly. “You are right. It is hot. I will open some windows.”
She comes with a key and opens the narrow top windows. The tiny key glints as she turns it—as if it is speaking to me. Where does she keep this key? If I could find it, could I escape? Could I go and warn Kasia? Would I dare?
She puts the key in her pocket. I have no chance of retrieving it there.
&n
bsp; I sit on the sofa and hug the baby, snuggling up as we watch cartoons. He wriggles away—he is too hot for hugs, and the high open windows are letting in only more hot air. But I need the comfort. I am afraid—afraid for Kasia. They want to stop her interference—teach her a lesson.
I want to push the door open and beg and plead with him—tell him to take me to the other house, but not to hurt the “nosy girl.” But if he knows I am eavesdropping I will be punished—locked in the basement as he has done once before. And if he decides Kasia should have a little accident, it will happen, and I cannot stop it.
If I am quiet, maybe there is something I can do. I go back to my room and look out of the window, across the street. I hope to see her—to see a light on in her room, to warn her somehow—but her house is in darkness.
27
The next morning, a package arrives from Poland. I recognize Marek’s writing right away.
“Marek didn’t forget!” I tell Mom. “It’s just a day late.”
Mom smiles and opens it eagerly. She gasps when she sees what he’s sent. It’s an old scrappy-looking hardback notebook. She opens it, and I can see it is full of writing, in Polish.
Mom holds it to her nose, which seems like a weird thing to do with a book. Then she hugs it close to her chest and tears prick her eyes.
“It’s my mother’s,” she whispers. “All my mother’s wonderful cake recipes are in here. I’ve tried to reinvent them from memory, but here are the real recipes. Where on earth did Marek find it?”
She eagerly opens the accompanying letter.
“Aunt Maria found this at the back of a cupboard, and I thought you might like it,” Mom reads Marek’s words aloud. “She said she never uses it. I’m sending it to you for your birthday.”
“Something he didn’t have to pay for—how is that a real gift?” Dad asks Mom.
Mom shakes her head firmly, and begins to leaf through the book. “Marek knows this book means more to me than hundreds of dollars—and now that I have it, maybe I will do as Devi suggests. It is a sign! These are the most amazing recipes. It is a precious, precious gift, Stefan.”
The Girl Who Wasn't There Page 13
