meant.
‘Take them off the factory floor. Boys too.’ Sanjay came towards her with a curved arm to steer her out the door. ‘Starting now.’
They took a different elevator, a service elevator, straight down to the ground floor and straight into the factory. It was vast, like a football field, all in shades of grey with spotlights hanging overhead. Hundreds of children busied themselves at long tables with pieces of metal, plastic, wire, working industriously like ants at a picnic. Most of the little ragamuffins were barefoot, snatched or lured from the villages and fields and brought to this dead-end place. She felt her heart softening, but knew she had a job to do.
As they started walking down the aisles, her pulse quickened. Spoiled for choice. ‘That one.’ She pointed at a lovely little girl with a long braid and soulful eyes.
‘Him.’ She nodded at a cherubic boy, a fast worker.
She shook her head as they passed a row of plain ones.
The next was a good row, full of healthy, bright-eyed kids. She gave the brothers a thumbs up for all of them.
They were in the middle of the factory floor now. ‘Enough?’ Sanjay asked.
She looked around at the room full of children, many looking up now as they passed by, whispering to each other. Some even waved to her. She walked up to a girl, waving from the end of a row. A beautiful girl, maybe ten, exotic, with slanted eyes, from the north no doubt, towards Tibet. Eyes that still had a hint of trust in them. She asked the girl her name and if she’d like to come live with Auntie-ji. The girl smiled and touched the purple silk of Auntie’s sari.
‘Why not?’ Lakshmi smiled, feeling the Singhs’ admiration. ‘This is no place for a pretty girl.’
Chapter 16
The house looked forgotten, but not violated. Anton had expected broken windows, at least, perhaps the rest of the house ransacked. He knew little of the house’s contents, or of the lives lived here. But he still had a key. As he closed the front door and stepped into the lounge, separated by a wall of glass from the white dunes and the indigo strip of sea beyond, he sensed their presence and absence at the same time. His wife and son both gone, missing.
Margo
, he called, his voice echoing through the shell of the house.
Margo
, as if she’d answer. Little left to go by, in this old cottage sprayed white by the salt of Cape storms. He yearned for signs of them, for the life they had made here together. Apart from him.
He’d lived here once – the year before he’d left, the first year after they’d bought the house, nine years ago. That year, that life, was like a fantasy now, not something that had happened to him. He sank into the khaki sofa that he had often slept on when his marriage started unravelling, and stared at the sea, deep and dark on this winter’s day. The sky was silver, the sun nosing through ragged clouds, and it was raining slightly:
jakkals trou met wolf se vrou.
Weather for rainbows.
There had to be clues, somewhere. He saw the phone on Margo’s desk facing the beach, with sliding glass doors leading on to the sand. He walked over, picked up the receiver and listened to the messages, more than he could count, mostly voices he didn’t recognise. Except his own, at least ten times pleading with Margo to answer, to return his call. She was gone when he’d called the hotel in Delhi the day after flying back to Kathmandu.
Checked out, no forwarding address
, the receptionist had informed him. That was a month ago. No answer on her cell phone; no luck with calls to her friends, or the few extended family members they shared. He’d decided to come back for a few days, search the place, possibly uncover something. In just over seventy-two hours he had to fly back to Nepal.
The place was frustratingly ordered. On Margo’s desk was a pileof notebooks, neatly stacked. He thumbed through them quickly – all notes for various articles. Nothing more intimate or revealing. Seemingly
‘Take them off the factory floor. Boys too.’ Sanjay came towards her with a curved arm to steer her out the door. ‘Starting now.’
They took a different elevator, a service elevator, straight down to the ground floor and straight into the factory. It was vast, like a football field, all in shades of grey with spotlights hanging overhead. Hundreds of children busied themselves at long tables with pieces of metal, plastic, wire, working industriously like ants at a picnic. Most of the little ragamuffins were barefoot, snatched or lured from the villages and fields and brought to this dead-end place. She felt her heart softening, but knew she had a job to do.
As they started walking down the aisles, her pulse quickened. Spoiled for choice. ‘That one.’ She pointed at a lovely little girl with a long braid and soulful eyes.
‘Him.’ She nodded at a cherubic boy, a fast worker.
She shook her head as they passed a row of plain ones.
The next was a good row, full of healthy, bright-eyed kids. She gave the brothers a thumbs up for all of them.
They were in the middle of the factory floor now. ‘Enough?’ Sanjay asked.
She looked around at the room full of children, many looking up now as they passed by, whispering to each other. Some even waved to her. She walked up to a girl, waving from the end of a row. A beautiful girl, maybe ten, exotic, with slanted eyes, from the north no doubt, towards Tibet. Eyes that still had a hint of trust in them. She asked the girl her name and if she’d like to come live with Auntie-ji. The girl smiled and touched the purple silk of Auntie’s sari.
‘Why not?’ Lakshmi smiled, feeling the Singhs’ admiration. ‘This is no place for a pretty girl.’
Chapter 16
The house looked forgotten, but not violated. Anton had expected broken windows, at least, perhaps the rest of the house ransacked. He knew little of the house’s contents, or of the lives lived here. But he still had a key. As he closed the front door and stepped into the lounge, separated by a wall of glass from the white dunes and the indigo strip of sea beyond, he sensed their presence and absence at the same time. His wife and son both gone, missing.
Margo
, he called, his voice echoing through the shell of the house.
Margo
, as if she’d answer. Little left to go by, in this old cottage sprayed white by the salt of Cape storms. He yearned for signs of them, for the life they had made here together. Apart from him.
He’d lived here once – the year before he’d left, the first year after they’d bought the house, nine years ago. That year, that life, was like a fantasy now, not something that had happened to him. He sank into the khaki sofa that he had often slept on when his marriage started unravelling, and stared at the sea, deep and dark on this winter’s day. The sky was silver, the sun nosing through ragged clouds, and it was raining slightly:
jakkals trou met wolf se vrou.
Weather for rainbows.
There had to be clues, somewhere. He saw the phone on Margo’s desk facing the beach, with sliding glass doors leading on to the sand. He walked over, picked up the receiver and listened to the messages, more than he could count, mostly voices he didn’t recognise. Except his own, at least ten times pleading with Margo to answer, to return his call. She was gone when he’d called the hotel in Delhi the day after flying back to Kathmandu.
Checked out, no forwarding address
, the receptionist had informed him. That was a month ago. No answer on her cell phone; no luck with calls to her friends, or the few extended family members they shared. He’d decided to come back for a few days, search the place, possibly uncover something. In just over seventy-two hours he had to fly back to Nepal.
The place was frustratingly ordered. On Margo’s desk was a pileof notebooks, neatly stacked. He thumbed through them quickly – all notes for various articles. Nothing more intimate or revealing. Seemingly
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