The night before, Aida had lain awake in bed, staring at the moonlit ceiling. In her mind’s eye she kept replaying when she had looked through the back door and saw her neighbour – the woman, Elsie – on her knees in the sand. There had been something helpless about the shape of her body, slumped over the feathered carcass, that had overpowered her mother’s sage advice about keeping to herself. For weeks Aida had observed the newlywed woman as happy, bright and purposeful. Observing all of that disintegrate in the way her body crumpled over the hen . . . Aida had felt it. Felt it in her own gut. Before she knew it, she was out the door and walking into the yard.
Elsie had been so tragically grateful when Aida had put the poor bird out of her misery. A crunch, a split second. A life ended.
After lying awake with her palms resting on her belly, Aida had tossed restlessly in her bed, alternating between chastising and arguing with herself. The hour had ticked well past midnight before sleep finally came to her in misty, nauseating snatches.
And now, Aida crouched on her kitchen floor, peering around the cabinet, her face inches from the linoleum as her neighbour knocked on the door.
‘Hello?’ came the sound of Elsie’s voice, muffled through the timber. ‘Hello, Aida, are you home?’
Aida’s heart was beating in her ears. The door rattled as her neighbour tried the handle and her sense of shame swelled. Elsie seemed nice. Gentle, friendly, pleasant. She hadn’t pressed further about a husband or asked about Aida’s background or family – nothing fearful or embarrassing had come up. Nothing sordid like her mother had warned. And yet, here Aida was, hiding from her neighbour on her kitchen floor like a stowaway, despite how lonely she had been.
If she made friends with Elsie, Aida would have to keep seeing her. Any day now her condition would become obvious, no matter how loose her clothing. How would she explain that to Elsie? And what about when it was all over?
No, it was best Aida heeded her mother’s advice and kept to herself.
The knocking stopped. Footsteps started down the stairs, paused and turned back. The clink of something dropped on the doorstep. Then Elsie was gone.