The Boy in the Suitcase - By Lene Kaaberbol Page 0,61
school board,” said Sigita, so that the door would not be slammed in her face with the same precipitous speed that had severed the telephone connection.
The boy stood still for a long moment, and Sigita suddenly realized that he was trying to weigh all the possibilities that this might somehow be to do with him. She smiled reassuringly.
“Er, come on in,” he said. “Mama is making supper, but she’ll be right with you.”
“Thank you.”
He showed her into the living room and disappeared, presumably to report to the kitchen. Sigita stood in the middle of the room, taking in her surroundings. The sofa was large, soft, and pale brown, clearly a recent purchase, but apart from that, everything had been here for a long time. The floor was dark from innumerable coats of shellack, and in front of the couch was an Afghan rug that glowed in strong red, white, and turquoise hues. Three of the walls had beautifully carved bookshelves from floor to ceiling, which by the style of the carpentry looked to be as old as the house itself. The shelves sagged from the weight of books and sheet music, and by the fourth wall, between the two tall windows, was an upright piano in shiny dark mahogany, with keys so old and worn they were slightly concave, the ivory yellow with age.
The door opened, and a small, compact woman entered, with a girl who must be her daughter physically hanging on to her in a manner that seemed too young for the seven or eight years she looked to be. A waft of kitchen smells entered with her, and when they shook hands, Sigita felt a cool dampness that somehow made her think that Mrs. Baronienė had been peeling potatoes.
“Julija Baronienė,” she said. “And this, of course, is my Zita.” Zita stared at her feet and showed no inclination to say hello to the stranger. Her hair was parted into braids, the immaculate partition showing like a straight white line against the darkness of her hair. “You’ll have to excuse her,” said her mother. “Zita is a little shy— and very much her mama’s little girl.”
She hasn’t recognized me, thought Sigita. And why should she? It’s all such a long time ago. But Sigita knew at once, the moment she saw the copper hair and the warm, prune-colored eyes. This was the Julija.
“I suppose that is only natural,” said Sigita. “Considering what’s happened to her.”
Julija Baronienė stiffened.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
No point in beating about this particular bush, thought Sigita.
“I’m not from the school board,” she said. “I’ve come to ask you how you got Zita back. You see—the same people have taken my little boy.” Her voice broke on the last few syllables.
With a small mewling sound that made Sigita think of drowning kittens, Zita turned completely into her mother’s embrace and hid her face against her belly.
For a moment, Julija Baronienė looked as if Sigita had jabbed a knife into her body. Then she made an obvious effort and forced a smile.
“Oh, that silly story,” she said. “No, no, that was all a big misunderstanding. It turned out Zita had been picked up by the mother of one of her friends, right, Zita?” Zita did not reply, nor did she let go of her mother. Her anxiety made her seem far younger than she was.
“It was awfully embarrassing to have wasted police time like that. But … but of course I’m sorry for you and your little boy. Are you sure it’s not a misunderstanding too? He could be with a friend. Or perhaps he may have wandered off somehow?”
“He’s only three. And my neighbor saw them take him. Besides… .” She hesitated, then ploughed on. “There has to be a connection. Don’t you remember me at all?”
Julija’s gaze fluttered around the room before it finally came to rest on Sigita. This time, Sigita saw recognition flare in the prunecolored eyes.
“Oh,” was all she said.
Sigita nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry I lied to you. But after you cut me off on the phone I was afraid you wouldn’t even talk to me if you knew … if you knew who I was.”
Julija Baronienė stood perfectly still, as if the revelation had completely robbed her of the ability to speak or move. In the background, Sigita heard the sound of a door slamming, and voices talking, but she kept her eyes squarely on Julija.