Читать книгу Behind Palace Walls - Cay Garcia - Страница 15

I START at two in the afternoon on my second day so I have ample time to get myself positively psyched for the day ahead and put last night to the back of my mind. The dragging tiredness has abated somewhat although my eyes remain bloodshot.

As I arrive at the palace, I leave my shoes at the door. As from today, I am to walk around the villa in socks. It is a comfortable arrangement and as the floors are spotless, I happily oblige. I spend the day summing up what has to be done, making lists and getting to know where everything is.

The princess calls. She expresses concern about my red eyes and hands me a gel to alleviate dry eyes. The thick liquid instantly dissolves mascara. I am looking at her through a haze, as if I’d opened my eyes underwater.

Nine hours later I thank God for the sock arrangement. There are a lot of stairs to climb, numerous times a day. The laundry on the top floor is outside on the roof so that noise is kept to a minimum. It is a sleek, modern room with rows and rows of well organised shelves.

Tomorrow I plan to get better acquainted with the staff but I spend time working with each of them today, asking questions and making notes. They all have their duties, defined long before my arrival so I listen, while I observe their presentation. They are extremely polite and respectful. The two Filipinos are more reserved than the Malawian women who chatter cheerfully. When everyone is present in the basement kitchen, the focal point, the rule is that only English is permitted to be spoken. Surprisingly everyone sticks to this rule, which I’m grateful for.

I am called up again. I knock softly and the princess asks me in. I sit with her for two hours taking notes on how she wants things done. Her list of demands gives me a little more insight into her troubled character. She is a germaphobe. Every inch of her villa is cleaned every day. This includes the windows, even though her curtains are always drawn. As we walk around, I write as fast as I can. All door handles have to be wiped after anyone from the outside has entered the villa, and that applies to family too.

We proceed to her bathroom. It is the size of my entire cottage at home. She points to the bidet. “I don’t know about you people but we use the bidet every time we go.” I smile slightly at her comment but I don’t respond.

The conversation then takes a nasty turn as the princess abruptly changes the subject. “Under no circumstances trust the maids. They come from conditions where they live worse than animals! They are no better than animals!” she says contemptuously. Her face distorts as she leaves the statement hanging, to maximise its malicious impact. She looks at me with raised eyebrows, waiting for me to agree. I have no choice but to reply, “Yes, Your Highness.” It is protocol.

I feel as if I have betrayed myself.

At eleven, the princess tells me I may leave. After throwing the abaya over my head and putting on my shoes, I feel for the plastic container of pellets in my handbag. I had asked Sultan to buy me a bag when he went shopping.

As I walk to the gate, the pitiful meowing from the bushes becomes louder. I prise the lid off the container. With a flick of my wrist, hoping no one from the main palace is looking out at just that moment; I throw the pellets in the direction of the noise and quickly return the container to my handbag. The meowing stops immediately.