Fly Away Home (5 page)

In the vain hope that she could distract her daughter from swirling thoughts of sacrifice, Francina moved around the room, collecting dirty glasses and a half-empty plate. Someone—perhaps one of the elderly woman's grandsons—had brought her food, but not stayed to see if it was eaten. Francina left the room and almost ran into Hercules outside the door.

“Is it bad?” he asked. For the first time in her life, she heard fear in her husband's voice.

She nodded.

“Where are those boys?” he asked. “They should be looking after their grandmother and their sister.”

The couple looked at the little girl, who waited shyly in the doorway to the living room. Her face and hands were now clean, but her dress needed to be changed. Mercifully, Hercules had turned off the television.

Dear, sweet Hercules. He was the only man Francina knew who thought boys had just as much responsibility as girls to care for an ailing relative.

“They'll come home sooner or later,” she said. But her tone was flat, because she knew—as did Hercules—that the kind of boys who left their young sister and sick grandmother and stayed out all night would not be competent caregivers.

“Nothing has been decided yet,” said Francina, looking intently into her husband's eyes.

Hercules nodded, but she could tell he didn't buy it. She didn't, either. Before something was said that would make her cry, she hurried to the kitchen to discard the half-eaten food and wash the soaking pan and dishes. When she came out with bacon and cheese sandwiches for Zukisa's aunt and Fundiswa, Hercules was sitting on the couch reading a story to the little girl. Francina wondered if Zukisa's aunt, even when she was well, had had the time to do this. Looking after three grandchildren was not easy for a woman her age, especially when she had to keep a job to supplement her meager pension.

When the story was finished, Francina led the little girl to the other bedroom and hunted for a clean dress. There were boys' clothes in all the drawers but not a sign of any dresses. Hercules, aware of her search, began looking around in the living room.

“Found her clothes,” he called.

Francina and the child joined him in the other room, where he had discovered a box containing girl's garments on a bookshelf piled with pirated videos.

Francina took the little girl into the bathroom, bathed and dressed her in a clean skirt and T-shirt. As Francina's hands worked, her mind was on another girl, only a few years older, who undoubtedly was contemplating her future.

“That's better,” said Hercules, when Francina led the little one out of the bathroom.

At the same time, the door to the aunt's bedroom opened and Zukisa stepped out.

Francina took one look at her face and knew immediately that Zukisa felt she ought to stay. But there was no time for Francina to try and change her mind, because at that moment the boys walked in, bringing with them a stale odor of sweat and cigarettes.

“Howzit going?” the eldest boy asked Zukisa.

He was three years older than her, but only one year ahead of her in school.

“Where have you been, Xoli?” Francina demanded.

Xoli looked at her with surprise, as though she were a bird that had flown through the window. Neither he nor his brother, Bulelani, answered her question.

Francina did not try to drag an answer out of them. “How can you leave your sick grandmother alone all night? And what about your sister? The front door was unlocked. Do you know what could have happened if she'd wandered outside on her own? Are you listening to me?”

Xoli turned on the television.

Francina snapped it off. “This is serious,” she yelled.

Zukisa, who rarely heard her mother raise her voice, bowed her head.

“We're going to come back here next week to check on you, and we better find this place in better shape,” said Francina.

The boys gave halfhearted nods, but would not meet Francina's eye.

“Let's go, Hercules, Zukisa.”

Hercules patted the little girl on the shoulder and took Zukisa's hand.

Before Francina closed the front door, she gave the boys one last searing look and shook her finger at them.

“That should sort them out,” she said, going down the stairs.

Zukisa was silent in the car on the way home, and Francina knew she was thinking about moving to Cape Town to help her aunt.

Forgive me, God, my selfish thoughts,
Francina prayed silently,
but I cannot bear to think of life without my precious daughter.

M
onica stared at the clock on the kitchen wall, wondering what would be an appropriate time to call a stranger in the United States. The boys were clearing the table after dinner. In America, it would be noon. What time did American church services end? She did not even consider that the family might not attend church.

It had been three weeks since Monica had given Sipho permission to go. The days had passed quickly—too quickly—and now only four remained before his departure, on Friday morning.

Although Sipho had expressed only a casual interest when Monica had mentioned that she'd like to talk to the lady who was going to be his host, she knew that he was curious about the family. Monica hoped she'd be able to form an accurate opinion from her voice alone.

She dialed the string of numbers and waited for the phone to ring on the other end. It wasn't long before a young person answered, perhaps the boy with whom Sipho would be going to school. He sounded polite and agreed to call his mother. Monica heard high heels clicking on a wooden floor.

“Hello?” The word sounded long in the lady's accent.

Monica explained who she was, and was astonished at the enthusiastic reaction she got.

“I'm so happy you called,” said the lady. “I would have done the same in your place.” She insisted Monica call her by her first name, Nancy.

Monica did not know how to proceed without making Nancy feel as if she were being interrogated, but there was no need to say another word because the woman spoke enough for both of them. She told Monica all about Houston, about the school Sipho would be attending, the curriculum, sporting activities—Monica didn't have a chance to tell her that these wouldn't be necessary for Sipho—and about the church the family attended.

“He won't object to coming to church with us, will he?” Nancy asked.

“Oh, no,” said Monica. “Actually, next year he's going to be a Sunday school teacher at our church.”

Monica could only conclude that, aside from the sporting activities, Sipho's life would follow much the same pattern in the United States that it did in South Africa.

The conversation lasted for almost twenty minutes. Nancy did most of the talking. Monica didn't mind, since the purpose of the call was to learn about Sipho's host family. When the two women finally said goodbye, Monica was as reassured as possible for a mother whose son was about to travel thousands of miles away from home.

Sipho was hanging around the doorway to her bedroom when she got off the telephone.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“Phew, a lot. But she sounds nice. And you might not approve, but you will be thoroughly supervised.”

“What about her son?”

“He plays a lot of sports.”

“Oh.” Sipho sounded disappointed.

“But he has other interests. Debating, charity work. Actually, I don't know when he has time to eat, with all his activities. And you don't have to join in with anything you don't want to.”

She hoped that he would understand that this piece of advice applied to more than extracurricular activities.

“Did she say if I needed warm clothes?”

Monica laughed. “By the sound of it, Houston might have a shorter and milder winter than we have here on the West Coast. But school uniforms aren't required like here so you need some extra clothes.”

“Can you just pick them out?”

Sipho hated shopping. He'd be content if she bought him five identical pairs of pants with five identical shirts. Mandla, on the other hand, always wanted to choose his own clothes. When he was little, he'd refuse to wear anything decorated with tractors, cars or sports logos. The design had to be plain, the fabric soft and nonirritating against his sensitive skin.

Monica had already decided to take off Thursday to help Sipho get ready, and she bargained on getting him to miss school that day. She put the idea to him now.

“I suppose so,” he said. “But it will only take ten minutes to throw some clothes into a suitcase.”

Most children she knew, Mandla included, would jump at the chance to miss school, but Sipho was a dedicated student. To him, schoolwork was not a chore but a long task to complete before he could do what he really wanted, which was study medicine.

Monica thought that she and Sipho could spend most of the day engaged in their favorite activity: walking, either up the koppies or along the beach. Sipho was an informative companion on these walks. He could name every bird, animal and sea creature that came into view, as well as their diet, habitat and method of reproduction.

“Thanks for letting me go,” said Sipho. “I know you don't really want to.”

Monica gave him a weak smile. “You'll understand one day when you have children of your own.”

“What would my mother have done?”

The question did not take Monica off guard as it had when Sipho first started asking it, when he became a teenager. For years, his own memories of his mother had been enough, but then it seemed to Monica that he had begun to worry that they were becoming hazy, and so he'd started drawing her into this game of hypothetical parenting. She had never sought to eclipse Ella's memory, so she went along with it, even when she wasn't quite sure of the answer. This time, however, she was.

“Your mother lived in South Africa, Zambia, Canada and Cuba. She and her parents left their country of birth against their will, but your mother was an adventurer and made the most of it. She would have wished her sons to do the same, if that's what they wanted.”

Sipho nodded, and Monica wondered whether the vision he had of his mother right now was of her lying sick in bed, or when she was still capable of hiding the disease from her family and friends.

“Can I tell you a secret, Mom?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

“I know I should go to America, but I'm not so sure I want to.” He searched her face to judge her reaction.

This was one of those moments, Monica knew, when her mettle as a parent was being tested. She wanted to say, “Don't go, stay here with me.” But Monica the parent had to weigh her words. She didn't want Sipho to one day regret a missed opportunity. He was scared, understandably so. In his place, Mandla would not be, but Sipho was more cautious. Any change he made was because he had thought it through and made a considered choice to fulfill a purpose.

“You don't have to stay there if you're unhappy,” she said.

His eyes lit up. “You won't be disappointed if I want to come home after a month?”

Monica shook her head. The expense of airfare was unimportant. She would be proud that he had conquered his fear of trying something new.

“Well, then that's different,” he said.

They heard a car in the driveway. Zak had returned from taking his daughter to her mother's house in Cape Town. The constant moving between two households had, at first, upset Yolanda, and her schoolwork had suffered. But now, at seventeen, in her second to last year in high school, she'd mastered her dual lives with ease. She no longer even bothered to pack a bag, but kept clothes and toiletries at her father's house.

Yolanda's mother had married the man for whom she had left Zak, and although Yolanda had once left home and come to stay in Lady Helen for a while because she did not get on with him, she had learned to live in peace with him. She said, however, that she would never love him because he hadn't respected the sanctity of her parents' marriage.

Zak came through the front door, rubbing his hands together.

“It's freezing out there,” he said. He kissed Monica and sat down next to her. “So what have you been doing while I was away?”

“Sipho and I have been talking about his trip to the United States.”

“Are you sure you'll be able to get someone to replace you at the hospital over Christmas?” asked Sipho.

Zak nodded. “I'm already looking into it. Don't worry, we'll be there.”

“Good. Well, I'd better finish my homework.”

“Where is your brother?” asked Zak.

Sipho rolled his eyes. “Writing to one of his pen pals, a girl who lives in Australia. He'd be better off studying.”

Mandla was not as committed a student as Sipho, but his report cards were well above average. It had to be difficult having a brother who was the best student in the history of Green Block School.

Sipho went to his bedroom and Zak pulled Monica close. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

She sighed. “It's going to be horrible to say goodbye to him.”

“We'll see him in four months.”

“I know.”

“And what about…?”

Monica knew what Zak wanted to ask. “I'm trying not to think about it,” she said.

He put both his arms around her. “It'll work out in the end.”

She nodded. There was no reason not to believe him. They were both young, both healthy. She leaned her head on his shoulder. The only bright spot in this whole mess was that they were together. Infertility could put tremendous strain on a marriage if both partners weren't in agreement on how much they could take. And she and Zak were both in it till the end, whatever that might be.

 

The next morning, Monica received yet another call at her office from Ivy, the nurse at the reproductive endocrinologist's office. Ivy wanted to set up an appointment for Monica to collect her medication for the next round of hormone shots.

“I don't know when I can make it to Cape Town,” Monica told her.

“You've been putting me off,” said Ivy.

Monica explained about Sipho leaving, but even to her this sounded like an excuse.

“Is there anything you want to talk about, Monica?”

“No, nothing's changed. I'm just—”

“You're scared it won't work again.”

“Yes,” said Monica miserably.

“That's perfectly understandable. But if you don't try, you won't get pregnant.”

“I know, I know.”

“Call me this afternoon,” said Ivy.

“Okay,” she agreed.

After she'd put down the telephone, she threw herself into a story she was writing on a local man's research trip to the Antarctic to study the effects of global warming on seals. But Ivy's words kept coming to her.
If you don't try you won't get pregnant.
Ivy was correct, of course.

At lunchtime, Monica took sandwiches to the hospital and met Zak in his office, intending to discuss Ivy's call. He was exasperated because the hospital's plumbing was acting up, and if the plumber didn't arrive soon the place might be without water by the end of the day.

“Sooner or later we're going to have to lay new pipes,” he said.

In the past, Zak had conducted his own fund-raising to finance various pieces of medical equipment, since the government health department's funds were stretched thinly, and needed more urgently in underprivileged areas. It wore him out, though he would never admit it. Monica often suggested he ask someone else to do it for him, but they both knew the benefactors' response to a professional fund-raiser would never be as generous as it was to a desperate doctor. Now it seemed Zak would also be required to raise money for basic infrastructure.

Eating her chicken sandwich, Monica decided this was not the right time to bring up Ivy's call. Neither she nor Zak was in the mood for that conversation.

That afternoon she did not call Ivy back. She left the office early, picked the boys up from home and took them to Main Street to buy new shoes. Sipho couldn't arrive in the United States, the home of designer sneakers, in the worn ones he favored. Mandla, of course, had to have a new pair, too. He joked about using his brother's room when he was gone, and Sipho gave a feeble smile, but Monica could see he was upset to think of life here going on without him. She assured him that upon his return he would find his room exactly as he'd left it, but she was similarly disturbed. Nine months was a long time.

She could tell that Mandla had not yet grasped what it would be like to be separated from his brother. Yolanda would be with them on weekends, but during the week Mandla would be the only child at home. Thank goodness for Zukisa, who Francina brought with her every afternoon.

Three more days and Sipho would be on an airplane flying over thousands of miles of ocean. Monica tried to focus on the wonderful opportunity this trip was for him, but she could only imagine how she'd feel walking into his quiet bedroom when he was gone.

Please God,
she prayed,
when the time comes, give me the strength to be able to let Sipho go.