awhile, her fingers gripping the wrought iron of the railing as she leaned forward, perhaps imagining what it might be like to topple over and away from the life she had found herself in. Kesara – no stranger to running away from oppression – hoped she might free herself from the man. But not today, it would seem, for the woman followed Garcia back into the house and Kesara found herself staring up at an empty window.
She shifted on the hard stone steps, massaging some life into her buttocks. Now it wasn't just the money that had her itching to scale the wall; now she wanted to take the box simply because it belonged to the pig she had seen on the balcony. It would do him good to lose something.
The afternoon light crept towards evening, the sun losing its harshness and settling a hazy glow across the streets that made them appear wrapped in plastic. Kesara sat with her nerves for company, watching the house and trying to decide how to get inside. She walked around it a couple of times, hoping to get an idea of what lay beyond the wall. The bricks stretched too high to give her anything but a glimpse of the house roof, the tower and the tips of the most mature fruit trees. A sprawling bougainvillea clutched the external wall and, as wary as Kesara was of tearing herself to shreds on its thorns, she could see no better way of sneaking into the garden.
Walking back to the front of the house she panicked as the front gate opened and Garcia exited. He walked towards her, the woman from the balcony holding on to his arm. Kesara did all she could do to vanish into the background, sitting down in the dirt and holding out her grubby little hands for coins. Garcia walked straight past. Nothing was more invisible in this city than a beggar, there were so many of them.
Kesara realised this was her chance; she knew Garcia wasn't in the building and she had a way in, however uncomfortable. She ran around to the rear of the building and began to climb the bougainvillea. She was careful not to let the thorns bite into her hands or feet but they transferred their attention to her clothes, tugging and tearing at the fabric of her skirt and blouse. She reached the top of the wall, peered over to make sure the garden beyond was empty, then dropped down to the dry soil of a flower bed. To her right was the lazy gurgle of a water feature: a small cherub appearing to throttle a goose, water gushing from the unconcerned bird's beak and stirring a pond of koi carp. Kesara watched the fat fish glide pointlessly in their small world and had a momentary urge to fish them out to rest on the sun-baked gravel that lined the pond. They would die, of course, but maybe that was better than moving redundantly in a world that was only a couple of times as big as themselves.
There was a swimming pool, something that seemed utterly alien and pointless to Kesara – if you wanted to swim, the sea was no distance away. To move up and down in this oversized bath… well, that was as unfulfilling as the lives of the carp. Beyond the pool a large covered terrace was draped with the burgeoning fruit of grapevines. A large dining table in the centre was surrounded by statuary, a selection of stone nymphs whose gritty breasts poked out from the demure yet ineffectual swathes of cloth draped over their exaggerated curves.
Kesara suddenly realised the house might not be completely empty. Somewhere as large as this likely had staff, and all it would take was for one of them to glance out of a rear window and see her gawping amongst the garden furniture. She ran towards one of the vine-wrapped alcoves and stood close against the cream-coloured stone. The only thing to do was to get to the house as quickly as she could. Bending almost double she ran towards a pair of glazed double doors, using the table and then the various potted plants for cover as she went.
She crouched to one side of the doors, quickly popping her head around so that
She shifted on the hard stone steps, massaging some life into her buttocks. Now it wasn't just the money that had her itching to scale the wall; now she wanted to take the box simply because it belonged to the pig she had seen on the balcony. It would do him good to lose something.
The afternoon light crept towards evening, the sun losing its harshness and settling a hazy glow across the streets that made them appear wrapped in plastic. Kesara sat with her nerves for company, watching the house and trying to decide how to get inside. She walked around it a couple of times, hoping to get an idea of what lay beyond the wall. The bricks stretched too high to give her anything but a glimpse of the house roof, the tower and the tips of the most mature fruit trees. A sprawling bougainvillea clutched the external wall and, as wary as Kesara was of tearing herself to shreds on its thorns, she could see no better way of sneaking into the garden.
Walking back to the front of the house she panicked as the front gate opened and Garcia exited. He walked towards her, the woman from the balcony holding on to his arm. Kesara did all she could do to vanish into the background, sitting down in the dirt and holding out her grubby little hands for coins. Garcia walked straight past. Nothing was more invisible in this city than a beggar, there were so many of them.
Kesara realised this was her chance; she knew Garcia wasn't in the building and she had a way in, however uncomfortable. She ran around to the rear of the building and began to climb the bougainvillea. She was careful not to let the thorns bite into her hands or feet but they transferred their attention to her clothes, tugging and tearing at the fabric of her skirt and blouse. She reached the top of the wall, peered over to make sure the garden beyond was empty, then dropped down to the dry soil of a flower bed. To her right was the lazy gurgle of a water feature: a small cherub appearing to throttle a goose, water gushing from the unconcerned bird's beak and stirring a pond of koi carp. Kesara watched the fat fish glide pointlessly in their small world and had a momentary urge to fish them out to rest on the sun-baked gravel that lined the pond. They would die, of course, but maybe that was better than moving redundantly in a world that was only a couple of times as big as themselves.
There was a swimming pool, something that seemed utterly alien and pointless to Kesara – if you wanted to swim, the sea was no distance away. To move up and down in this oversized bath… well, that was as unfulfilling as the lives of the carp. Beyond the pool a large covered terrace was draped with the burgeoning fruit of grapevines. A large dining table in the centre was surrounded by statuary, a selection of stone nymphs whose gritty breasts poked out from the demure yet ineffectual swathes of cloth draped over their exaggerated curves.
Kesara suddenly realised the house might not be completely empty. Somewhere as large as this likely had staff, and all it would take was for one of them to glance out of a rear window and see her gawping amongst the garden furniture. She ran towards one of the vine-wrapped alcoves and stood close against the cream-coloured stone. The only thing to do was to get to the house as quickly as she could. Bending almost double she ran towards a pair of glazed double doors, using the table and then the various potted plants for cover as she went.
She crouched to one side of the doors, quickly popping her head around so that
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