Fly Away Home (26 page)

F
rancina saw the Cook Wanted sign in the window of Mama Dlamini's café and sighed. Since visiting Zukisa's aunt on Saturday, she had been rehearsing what to say to her friend, but she still didn't have a good opening line. She had intended to have this confrontation yesterday, after taking Zukisa to school, but when she saw Mama Dlamini talking to a tableful of tourists, she'd turned around.

Now, the bells over the door jingled as Francina entered the café.

“Seat yourself. I'll be there in a minute,” Mama Dlamini shouted from the kitchen.

Francina had half an hour to say what she'd come to say before Anna, the waitress and sometimes cook, reported for work.

“Ah, Francina, it's you,” said Mama Dlamini, rubbing her hands on her apron. “I just put my pies in the oven. They'll be ready in twenty minutes.”

Francina slid onto a stool at the counter, while Mama Dlamini cleared away breakfast dishes.

“It shouldn't be a surprise for me to see you at this time of the morning,” Mama Dlamini scolded her friend.

Francina considered pointing out the obvious: that she, too, had a business to run. But she remained silent. None of the lines she had rehearsed to introduce this difficult topic came to her.

“Tea?” asked Mama Dlamini, filling the mug she had placed in front of Francina without waiting for her answer. “We'll have another cup when the pies are ready. Your mother-in-law will be here in two hours for her slice.”

Francina could not remember how many times Mrs. Shabalala had vowed never to set foot in Mama Dlamini's Eating Establishment because she found the pies too tempting. There could not be another person in the world who had started a diet as many times as Francina's mother-in-law.

Francina wished she had asked Monica's advice on how to approach Mama Dlamini. Monica was good at getting people to do things without them realizing that they were being manipulated. Francina took a deep breath. She valued her friendship with Mama Dlamini too much to lose it, but in a tiny flat in Cape Town a woman lay dying, while her daughter tried desperately to make ends meet and keep her boys out of trouble. Just as importantly, Francina would make Zukisa happy if she succeeded in doing what she'd said she'd do.

“I have come to talk to you about Lucy.”

“Not again, Francina. I've given you my final word on that subject.” Mama Dlamini began wiping the counter.

“God teaches us to forgive.”

“I can't trust my business to a woman who used to be a drunk. Alcohol can mess a person up forever.”

“I imagine you should know about that.”

Mama Dlamini stopped wiping the counter. “I beg your pardon?”

“You, of all people, should know that alcohol destroys families, and that children sometimes go without food because their parents have spent all their money on alcohol.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“My friend, I know why you had to leave your village.”

Mama Dlamini sat down. “Who told you? The only people who knew were Zukisa's parents, and they're no longer with us.”

“It doesn't matter who told me. And you have to trust me when I say that I won't breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“That was in the past. I've changed.”

“Yes, a person can do that,” Francina said quietly.

Mama Dlamini put her head in her hands. When she finally looked up, she said, “I was given a second chance. How can I deny Lucy one?”

“Thank you, my friend. I know you're a good woman. Now there's also the small matter of the family's accommodation. Are any of the tenants in your flats—?”

“Don't push your luck,” said Mama Dlamini, wagging a finger in her face.

Francina laughed. The major problem had been solved, and although it would be difficult to find housing for the family in Lady Helen, she would figure something out.

A timer sounded in the kitchen and Mama Dlamini hurried to remove the pies from the oven. When she returned, she seemed surprised to see Francina still sitting at the counter.

“I'll take you up on your offer of a slice,” said Francina.

“These are not your favorite. They're apricot.”

“Ah, but your pies are the best in the world. Didn't you tell me that yourself?”

Mama Dlamini smiled as she cut two large pieces. “So we're going to be friends, as usual?”

“Of course,” said Francina. “The past is the past.”

 

Francina didn't have to wait long for a solution to the problem of the family's accommodation. The following afternoon, a customer mentioned to her that Lizbet DeVilliers and her husband were leaving Sandpiper Drift—for good this time. Lionel DeVilliers had helped Mr. Yang, the owner of the golf resort, trick the government into selling the land on which Sandpiper Drift was built. With the money Mr. Yang had paid him, Lionel had bought a large house in Bloubergstrand, across the bay from Cape Town, but he'd been forced to give it up when he'd narrowly escaped prison by testifying for the state against Mr. Yang. The word was that with Mr. Yang now out of prison, Lionel wanted to get far away from Lady Helen.

“But Lucy won't be able to make a down payment,” said Hercules, when Francina told him her plan.

She looked at him pleadingly.

“Oh, no,” he said. “We can't. That money is to send Zukisa to university.”

“Lucy will pay us back. It won't take long. The Devilliers aren't asking much for the house because Lionel didn't do the greatest job rebuilding it after the bulldozers knocked it down. Please, Hercules. This is for Zukisa as much as it is for Lucy.”

Hercules considered for a moment. “All right then. You'd better save some of your persuasive talents for the debate against Oscar on Saturday. I've been analyzing the tenets of his campaign that he sent out in a letter, and I've devised responses to all of them.”

Francina sighed. For a few hours, she had managed to forget about Oscar and the campaign. Still, the best was yet to come. First she would tell Zukisa, and after the dreaded debate on Saturday, Hercules, Zukisa and she would drive down to Cape Town to give Lucy and her mother the good news. It might not seem to be good news to the boys, but in the long run they would benefit from the move.

 

On Saturday morning, when Francina went onto the balcony to water her tomato plants, she could not see the small triangle of ocean between the buildings at the end of the street. Fog had rolled in from the sea overnight, and the temperature was noticeably lower, which was good, considering that she was wearing a new jacket and pantsuit designed by Zukisa for the occasion of the debate. Francina did not approve of women wearing men's clothing, but Zukisa thought it necessary for her mother to appear businesslike and efficient. Zukisa had spent all her free time working on this suit. Francina could not tell her daughter that she'd prefer to wear one of the dresses from her own wardrobe.

Sighing, she went back into her flat, closing the balcony door to prevent the dampness from coming inside and ruining Hercules's paintings.

“You'll be fine,” said Hercules, tying his tie.

“Why are you wearing business clothes?” asked Francina.

“Zukisa told me that the husband of the future mayor has to look dignified.”

“I wish the debate was over and we were on our way to Cape Town.”

Hercules motioned for her to sit on the bed beside him. “We've rehearsed all the responses to every point Oscar could make.”

Poor Mayor Richard had not featured at all in Hercules's preparations for this debate. In her husband's mind, this was a two-way race, and Francina suspected that sometimes he lost sight of the real goal, which was to be in charge of running Lady Helen.

When Francina and Hercules came into the kitchen, Zukisa was making bacon and eggs and telling her grandmother about a fashion design course in Cape Town.

“You don't need to study fashion. You need a university degree,” said Francina, sitting down at the table. “Mama, you're up early. You look pretty.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Shabalala. “Zukisa got me up and picked my outfit. I think I look like the mother of the bride.”

“You have to look elegant today,” said Zukisa, serving the eggs on buttered toast. “We're on show this morning.”

Francina groaned. “I don't like the idea of a public debate. Let's give it a miss and go to Cape Town.”

Zukisa glared at her. “Mother, if you take part in this debate, I'll go to university.”

“Wow! I have no choice then. Give me two eggs, please. I need the strength.”

 

There was not a single soul around when they arrived at the hall of Green Block School, where the debate was to be held, and for a blissful second Francina imagined that the mayoral race had all been a bad dream. But then the school principal, Mr. D., who was to be the master of ceremonies, arrived to make sure that the chairs had been set out and the microphones installed.

“Do we have to use those?” asked Francina. She had never before spoken into a microphone.

“You may not need one, but I will,” said Mr. D.

“Don't give me any difficult questions, please,” said Francina.

Mr. D. laughed as though she was joking.

People had started to arrive and were filling up the seats in the front rows. Francina saw Mayor Richard talking to a group of elderly ladies at the back of the hall. His daughter, obviously, had not impressed on him the need for elegant attire. He was dressed in one of his trademark colorful shirts. When he waved goodbye to the ladies and moved down the center aisle toward the stage, Francina saw that he was wearing shorts. The collar of her shirt began to scratch her neck.

She saw Oscar arrive through a side door and shake Mayor Richard's hand. Then he moved toward her. Francina was relieved that Hercules was talking to Mr. D. and had his back to her.

“Here's to a friendly debate,” said Oscar, holding out his hand.

Francina shook hands lightly with him.

“May the best man win,” he said.

“You mean person,” Francina corrected.

“Oh, sorry, I meant person.”

Francina felt sweat forming at her hairline. Maybe it was an honest mistake, but Oscar had managed to irritate his opponent right before the debate. The points that Hercules had tried to drum into her suddenly came clearly to mind, and she could not wait for the showdown to begin.

“I'll see you up there,” she said, indicating the stage.

She joined Hercules at her podium, where he was adjusting the height of her microphone. “I'm ready,” she said.

Hercules looked her in the eyes. “You can do it.”

There was not a question Francina could not answer or a remark from one of her opponents that she could not refute. Mayor Richard's answers were meandering, filled with anecdotes and weak jokes; Oscar's comments were concise and thoughtful, but delivered too efficiently, preventing his personality from shining through. Francina, however, lit up the rather austere interior of the school hall with her witty comebacks, amusing short stories and the sheer warmth of her personality. From her position on stage, she could tell from his slack-jawed expression that even Hercules, her staunchest fan, was astonished.

When Mr. D. declared the debate ended, Mayor Richard came over to congratulate Francina. She could feel Hercules's eyes on her as he waited for Oscar to do the same. But to her surprise, Oscar left the stage, ignored the audience members who wanted to shake his hand, and exited through the side door. Francina knew better than to make eye contact with Hercules or he would be able to tell that she had been watching Oscar.

For fifteen long minutes, Francina accepted congratulations and pats on the back from the residents of Lady Helen. Mandla told her she should be in the movies, and Monica said Francina's next goal should be the provincial government. The comment she most appreciated, however, came from Zukisa, who said she was proud and that she would go to university if that was what her mother and father wanted.

While Hercules and Zukisa helped Mr. D. return the chairs to the storeroom, Francina, feeling hot in her tailored suit, went outdoors for some fresh air. The fog had lifted and the sun shone brightly through a few wispy clouds. She found a spot in the shade from the overhang of a covered walkway and took off her jacket. Suddenly, she had the sensation that she was being watched, and she turned around to see Oscar sitting on a retaining wall, drinking a bottle of water.

“I didn't notice you there,” she said, feeling self-conscious. She didn't want him to think she had come to find him. If only Hercules hadn't put this ridiculous idea in her head that Oscar was still in love with her. On the rare occasions she had run into him before, she had felt entirely comfortable chatting to him, but now she felt awkward.

“You were fantastic,” he said.

She thanked him and told him he, too, had done a good job.