Fly Away Home (11 page)

O
n the day the waiting was to end, Monica woke early but couldn't find the energy to drag herself out of bed. The last four times she had gone to the doctor's office for a blood test to check if she was pregnant, she had sprung out of bed and been ready before Zak. Today, though, she remembered too clearly the grief she had felt all four times when Dr. Jansen had told them the treatment had failed. Disappointment could wear down even the most ardent optimist.

Zak got up first, and when he came out of the shower, she was still in bed.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he said. Zak, it seemed, was determined to keep the tone light this morning.

Mandla protested when they dropped him off at school.

“Why can't I come? I did last time,” he said.

Monica reminded him that he'd recently missed a few hours of school when they'd taken his brother to the airport.

“It's not fair. Everybody goes somewhere, but I'm stuck in boring old school.”

Monica knew this was a reference to his brother's stay in the United States.

“Mandla, sweetie, your chance will come,” she told him.

“It better,” he warned. He kissed her on the cheek before getting out, but did not say anything more about her visit to Cape Town.

Monica was not disappointed; a word of sweet reassurance from Mandla might have brought on the tears that were so close today.

 

When they walked into Dr. Jansen's waiting room, there were so many couples there the only chairs Monica and Zak could find together were next to a blaring television.

She glanced at the women around her. Most appeared to be in their late thirties, early forties, but there were at least three who were much younger.

Zak's beeper went off and he excused himself to make a call outside. Monica was happy to have him with her when she took the blood test and heard the news from Dr. Jansen, but she felt badly that he'd had to leave the hospital at Lady Helen without a doctor.

“Everything under control?” she asked when he returned and sat down beside her.

He nodded. “But I really should be back by noon.”

Fifteen minutes later, the receptionist called Monica's name and led her to a small room where a phlebotomist took her blood sample. Since Dr. Jansen had his own laboratory for reading blood tests on the premises, the results would be available within forty minutes. Monica returned to the waiting room.

A new soap opera had begun, but chairs were now readily available away from the television, so Monica and Zak could watch the minutes tick by in relative peace.

Zak, also an optimist by nature, did not offer any words of encouragement, as he had in the past, and Monica wondered if he was less sure this time.

After ten minutes, Monica's thoughts turned to Sipho and Mandla. What did they really think of her quest to have a child of her own? They both professed excitement, and Mandla, especially, had been devastated when the last result had been negative. But did the boys ever wonder if they were not enough for Monica? She hoped not. Before she had embarked on this journey—and before she'd known how arduous it would be—she had explained that when two people married it was natural for them to want to have a baby together, because a baby symbolized the love they shared. Mandla, who was too young when his father died to remember him, had nodded sagely, but Sipho had said that sometimes that love didn't last long enough to see the baby start school. Sipho and Mandla's father had become unfaithful to Ella when the family had returned to South Africa from their exile in Zambia. Themba had milked his own status as a returning freedom fighter in every bar and nightclub in Johannesburg, and then he'd passed the spoils of this celebration on to his wife, in the form of the HIV virus.

“Monica Niemand.”

Ivy was calling her back. Lost in her memories of Ella, she found the minutes had slipped by, and now Monica wished she was still watching the clock, preparing, with every move of the minute hand, to hear the news she had traveled to Cape Town to receive. She did not want to leave the waiting room and go through the double doors.

“Dr. Jansen will be with you shortly,” said Ivy, ushering them into his empty office.

Once again, her tone did not offer Monica an inkling of the results of the test. Ivy had missed her calling in life; she should have been on the stage. Once again, Monica studied the photographs of Dr. Jansen's smiling children. Zak squeezed her hand and leaned over to give her a quick kiss before the specialist arrived.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Monica was too choked up to reply.

“Good morning, Monica, Zak.” Dr. Jansen closed the door behind him and eased himself into his leather executive chair on the other side of the desk. He placed Monica's file on the desktop in front of him, but did not open it. She knew why. He had checked the results of the blood test before walking into his office.

Monica realized that neither she nor Zak had returned the doctor's greeting. She searched Dr. Jansen's eyes for a clue to what he was about to say, but he was, as always, composed and difficult to read.

“Monica, Zak, the news is not good.”

Monica burst into tears. Zak pushed his chair closer to hers and put an arm around her shoulder. She knew the doctor wanted to add something, but she didn't care. She had heard all she needed to. Sobbing, she buried her face in Zak's shoulder. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and took a tissue from the box offered by Dr. Jansen. Monica wiped her eyes, but she couldn't stop crying.

“Do you want to try again?” said Dr. Jansen.

Monica's breath came in sharp shudders.

“Think it over.”

Monica heard Zak thanking him.

The doctor stood up. “I'm so sorry, Monica, Zak. Take as long as you need in here.” He rested his hand lightly on Zak's shoulder and then quietly closed the door as he left.

Zak put his other arm around Monica and held her tightly. He didn't say anything and she was glad. No words could comfort her.

She pulled away. “We'd better leave so you can get back to the hospital.” Her voice sounded thick. She saw that her mascara had run all over Zak's shirt. Once more, she found herself wishing that Dr. Jansen had a rear escape route for patients who had received crushing news.

Zak wiped her eyes with another tissue and brushed the hair from her face. As his gaze met hers, she felt that she would start sobbing all over again, but she couldn't. There were sick people waiting for her husband in Lady Helen.

Ivy put an arm around her waist as they came out of Dr. Jansen's office. “I'll give you a call,” she whispered.

Monica could not bring herself to respond.

She could feel the eyes of every woman in the waiting room on her, and knew that they, too, were probably wishing Dr. Jansen had a rear entrance for his failures.

Outside, the morning had warmed. Two joggers wearing T-shirts and shorts passed on the sidewalk.

“Spring is definitely here,” said Zak.

Monica said nothing.

Not even the riotous display of color that greeted them as they reached the top of the koppie outside Lady Helen lifted Monica's spirits. Zak stopped the car so they could get out and enjoy the view, but she told him to drive on. He had done his best to console her on the journey home from Cape Town, but nothing he said gave her comfort, or even a reason to reply, and eventually he, too, had settled into silence. She knew that she was being selfish—Zak had wanted this pregnancy as much as she had—but the fact that he already had a biological child made her feel entitled to nurse her own grief. It wasn't a mature reaction, she knew, or a healthy one, but she no longer felt in charge of her own emotions.

Zak returned to the hospital and, although it was lunchtime, Monica went home and to bed without bothering to call Dudu to explain that she wasn't coming into the office. The receptionist knew where she had gone this morning and would put two and two together. With birds singing the joys of spring outside her drawn curtains, Monica drifted into a heavy sleep.

She awoke to hear Mandla's voice in the house and, after a short silence, Francina's. There was a quiet knock at her bedroom door. They had noticed her car in the carport.

“Monica? Are you okay?” Francina's voice was full of concern.

Monica did not trust herself to answer. Her friend tried the door and opened it a crack.

“It didn't work, Francina.” She burst into fresh tears.

“Oh, Monica, I'm sorry.” Francina sat down on the bed and took her hand.

Monica realized that Mandla was at the door, and held out her arms to him. He came to her. He did not cry, but she could feel the tension in his body.

Francina stroked his back. “Go and eat your lunch, baby,” she told him. “And tell Zukisa to stop watching television.”

He hesitated in the doorway for a moment and then slowly walked back down the hall.

Monica took the tissue Francina offered, dried her tears and then blew her nose.

“I'll bring you something to eat,” said Francina. “I bet you didn't even have breakfast.”

A short while later, Mandla pushed open Monica's bedroom door. She had brushed her hair and was sitting on the bed, and when she patted the space next to her, he came to sit down.

“How come everyone else has babies and you can't?”

“Not everyone can have their own children. Francina didn't.”

“But she didn't have a husband. You do.”

Monica knew he was being petulant because he was disappointed, but his words stung.

“I know, sweetie.”

He gave her a withering look. “God's not fair.”

“Don't say that,” said Monica, but her tone did not match the admonition of her words, because she had started to think this herself.

Mandla got up to answer a gentle knock at the bedroom door. Francina had returned with a tray bearing dainty little crustless sandwiches and a cup of strong tea.

“You've got to eat,” she told Monica sternly. “And when the children have finished their homework, you'll come with us for a walk to see if there are any wildflowers left.”

From her tone Monica knew that it would be senseless to argue.

“Come, Mandla, time for your lunch, too.”

When Monica was alone again, she opened the curtains and sat down at her dressing table to eat her lunch. She found she was hungry, and by the time she had finished she was feeling stronger.

She called Dudu to let her know that she wouldn't be coming in that afternoon. The woman didn't need to ask about the result of the pregnancy test.

Francina was right to force Monica to take a walk that afternoon. There was a breeze coming in from the ocean, and although she couldn't see any flowers on the koppies from here, it felt good to be out in the fresh air. They waved to Peg, whose dairy farm they had chosen to walk through to gain access to the koppies. Peg didn't mind; in fact, none of the other farmers and homeowners whose properties ran up to the base of the koppies minded the townsfolk taking shortcuts across their land.

The two women left Mandla watching Peg clean the milking machine, and with Zukisa, walked behind the barn to the fields where half of Peg's herd was grazing.

“Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to come here,” said Monica, eyeing the large cow closest to her.

“Nonsense,” said Francina, whose father had raised cattle his whole life. “They won't hurt you. Walk faster and we'll be out of the field and on the koppie.”

With her eyes on the ground, searching not for flowers but for cowpats, Monica picked up the pace and climbed over the stile at the end of Peg's property. A short way up the side of the hill, Francina sat down on a flat rock and motioned for Monica to join her. Zukisa, who had only taken her nose out of the novel she was reading when Francina had warned her of a step up or down, came to a stop close by.

Monica guessed what was coming. More advice not to worry.

“I want to tell you something before you find out from someone else,” said Francina.

Monica was both surprised and relieved to discover she was wrong.

“Mama Dlamini is moonlighting as a chef at the golf resort.” Her friend folded her hands in her lap and sighed.

“I thought something was going on when I went to the café the other day and your mother-in-law was cooking. Mama Dlamini is working for Mr. Yang?”

“I know, I know. I was as shocked as you are now when my mother-in-law told me.”

“After everything that happened.” Monica shook her head.

“If they like her, she'll get a permanent appointment. That's a big deal for a woman with no official training.”

“But there are so many hotels up the coast, or even in Cape Town. How can she forget that Mr. Yang tried to destroy Sandpiper Drift?”

Francina sighed again. “Opportunities like this one don't come looking for a woman like Mama Dlamini. I can't defend her. All I can tell you is that she was once a girl in a village, with no prospects except for becoming a maid.”