She called Derib. “Where are you? You’re taking too long.”
“I’m coming. Just wait for me!” he said. He was panting and she smiled at the thought of him running to her.
While waiting for Derib, Aregash considered her options. She could start a small business in the city. Derib would not like that idea; he always talked about buying land in Gojjam and hiring someone to farm it. She glanced down at her feet. She was wearing the black leather flats Helen had given her that first time she went on leave. When she handed her a plastic bag with clothes in it, Aregash had smiled and thanked her, but felt none of it — Helen had a closet full of nice new clothes and a tall stand full of shoes, but all she could give her were her old castoffs — and then she felt so generous about it. The black leather flats now looked beneath her. She took them off and tossed them across the floor, then lay on her back, legs folded. She could now finally afford more than cheap mass-produced clothes from China. She would buy custom pieces from boutiques and wear clothes that half the women in town weren’t also wearing.
Thirty-five thousand is a lot of money, and it is MY money, she thought. She was the one who brought it. She suddenly got up, as if on cue, and looked around the room for a good place to hide 5,000 birr. She couldn’t hide it in her underwear; Derib would probably seduce and undress her. On the other hand, he might not notice as he would be too excited by the time he got to her underwear. For her, sex felt like it was only for men, thanks to her childhood circumcision that cut away her means for pleasure. The only part she enjoyed was the restful nap that followed.
She eyed the plastic jug and bowl at the corner of the room. They never used it. They always washed up in the common toilet and shower area outside. She put the 5,000 on the cold cement floor and covered it with the plastic bowl, then placed the jug on top.
Helen was fiddling with her phone, waiting for Dawit, when she thought to call Betru, a distant relative and one of Addis Ababa’s most infamous criminals. From stealing car parts and selling them in Somali Tera, to becoming a major stolen parts dealer who negotiated with car owners for their own parts stolen the previous day, Betru was now quite accomplished in the field.
“Did she have a boyfriend? A man she went to?” he asked after hearing the story.
“I think there was this man she talked to on the phone.”
“Do you know anything about him? His name or where he lives?” Betru asked. “Because there’s definitely a man with her on this.”
Dawit left work and went to the police station before heading home to Helen.
“Your Kebele ID, so pristine! Look at what the others come in with,” the police officer said as he started to write down Dawit’s report. He pulled out a small stack of dog-eared IDs from his drawer.
Dawit was impatient to tell the story of what had happened, as if talking it out would give the situation some shape, so it would feel less like a tremendous assault on his household, his manhood.
“You said your maid, correct?” the officer said, then went on talking: “There was a woman here this morning. A wealthy woman! She came to report that she was robbed of all of her gold jewelry by her maid. When I asked how much they were worth, she said 300,000! And she looked like that was true. Imagine that!”
Dawit wanted to talk to the police officer at the next desk — he seemed sharper, faster. If what people said about the police working with criminals was true, he had the face.
Helen sat holding the passport-size photo of a man she found in Aregash’s things and thought about what Betru had said. She remembered all of the advice she’d let fly past her ears. Her mother’s friends always talked about housemaids when they gathered.
“If it’s just the maid and me in the house, I lock my room,” one of them once said.
“It was on the news last Sunday... the maid let her boyfriend in, and he killed the woman and then together they robbed her clean! You should never trust them or treat them as anything more than servants,” another one said.
“I don’t care if my bedroom collects so much dust that it gets into my eyes: I will never, ever let the maid in there,” someone else added.
For Helen, they had been old feudal women who failed to afford all humans equal dignity and made a lifestyle out of whining. She was proud of having a greater appreciation for housemaids.
Suddenly Helen remembered — Fantastic Hotel. Meron had once asked her where Fantastic Hotel was. She rummaged for her phone and called Dawit.
“One time she asked me for directions to a hotel. And I’m sure she was going there to meet him.”
“Who?”
“Her boyfriend. The man behind Aregash.”
“Where?”
“Fantastic Hotel.”
“That’s no use. She wouldn’t be so stupid to go there with the money.”
“Maybe. But Betru says she’s definitely doing this with a man.”
Dawit arrived at the apartment and once she saw him, Helen began to cry. After all, Aregash had stolen from Dawit too. He sat her down. He could see she was still in shock.
“Let’s go. We’ll find the dealer who brought her and head to that hotel.”
Dawit got up and grabbed the car keys. On their way, Helen sat in the passenger seat looking out the window, checking every couple on the street to see if they were Aregash and her boyfriend.
At the reception desk of Fantastic Hotel, Dawit tried to persuade the receptionist, who almost laughed at his request. “Never! I can’t let you go knocking on every room to check who’s inside,” the man said.
Dawit then tried asking whether a person named Aregash was staying at the hotel, and again the receptionist refused. He was the irritatingly truthful type. He told Dawit he would only give such information to the police. Dawit kept repeating their story of stolen cash, but Helen understood that their progress had stalled. She felt a headache coming on, and she left the dark interior of the lobby and stepped out to the main road for some fresh air.
The strength of the sun outside was oppressive. Looking directly along the wide-open gate of the pension next door and into the compound, Helen saw a man bending over a concrete water basin. He looked like he was pretending to wash himself, glancing occasionally over his shoulder toward the rooms. Then Helen realized: it was the man in the passport-size photo she’d found in Aregash’s things. She sprinted in his direction with a burst of energy. The guard, who was leaning on the gate in his ill-fitting uniform and clownish police-style hat, hurried behind her when she dashed into the pension.
Aregash jumped from the bed when she heard it. Not that it was startlingly loud, but it materialized her fear. She had dozed off and was expecting Derib to wake her when he came back from the washing area, to talk about what to do next.
“Leba! Leba! Yazut!” It was a woman with a familiar voice.
Aregash rushed to the window, squatting to avoid being seen. Helen was there and they had caught Derib. She saw him shield his head as Dawit grabbed him by the collar. Aregash turned the other way and rammed her knee into the edge of the old wooden chair by the window. She picked up the small jute bag even as she saw it was empty. The three 10,000-birr stacks were gone. Her heart froze for a moment. She searched among the few objects left in the room but the cash had vanished. She lurched for the plastic bowl in the corner of the room, swiped the 5,000, and ran out the door and through the back entrance of the pension.
Helen was desperate enough to shove her hand into Derib’s boxers, where she found the three 10,000-birr stacks.