After that all she has to do is cook and then the whole day is at her disposal . To clean or not to clean -is a dilemma but then she decides it is better to clean ,although the two maids have done their job; to tuck in the corners here and straighten the objects on the shelf there - the house is os stamped with the man's mother's touch , as to be a complete replica of the one they have left behind in another city .
Lying on the bed she can tell the time , just by watching the sea through the window . The sudden vicious slash of music from a speeding car or, the pigeons roosting in the recess above the window ,suddenly busy with their billing , cooing and fluttering of feathers ,an anachronism in this city , wake her up from her dreamless sleep in the afternoons.
At times she glaces sideways at the mirror in between her chores , checking the gentle swell of the tummy .
She cannot ride an auto ,she has been expressly forbidden by the the man's mother to get into a cab on her own or even to walk down the road towards the sea , ahead . Her ouutings depend on the man's convenience .
So she waits - patiently with her unborn child , somnolent, lethargic , quietly watching in this seamless ,dreamlike state ,with the days fusing into each other ,waiting , maybe plotting a strange and sinister revenge in which she will have the child as an ally .
She is a qualified designer but she does not do any work , she does not read , she has no friends . It is strange , this transformation from an eager animated girl , so active , so full of dreams and ideas . When I drop her at the house after a day well spent in shopping and eating lunch out she holds my hand tightly as if she is reluctant to let me go.
When I look back from the car I see her standing oddly alone and frail, the tall house rising menacingly behind her .