Fly Away Home (27 page)

“I'm glad things have turned out well for you, Francina. You have your family—” she noticed he did not say husband “—your business, your high school certificate. You deserve it all.”

And you, she wanted to say, why do you not have a family? Why have you not married in all these years? But she was afraid of what his answer might be. She tried to come up with a suitable reply.

“You're a good caretaker of Lady Helen,” she said at last, wondering if it was the wrong thing to say because it trivialized his life and made him sound lonely. “I'm sorry, that didn't come out correctly.”

He shook his head. “You're right. That's the sum of my life—taking care of a cemetery for nameless souls and traipsing across the countryside, searching for the grave of a woman who was not even one of my forebears. It's rather pathetic.”

Francina was quiet. Oscar had opened up to her; a trite, polite response would not do. “You used to live life to the full. You traveled the world, met interesting people.”

“But I didn't have anyone to share it with.”

“It's not too late.”

He looked at her a long time. “I wish you meant something else.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Francina saw that Hercules had come to look for her. She prayed silently that he would have the compassion to stay away.

“Oscar,” she began. Dare she say it? “Don't wait for me.”

“Did you ever feel anything for me?”

Hercules was approaching, Francina saw. “Oscar, we've got to leave the past in the past.”

He paused and she knew he was trying to interpret her answer. The truth was she had felt only respect and friendship for him, but there was no point in telling him that. If he inferred from her reply that she had once felt something more, what was the harm?

“I've got to go,” she said.

He looked up and saw Hercules, and Francina discerned sadness in Oscar's eyes.

“You'll make a great mayor,” he said.

Francina waved at him as she walked to meet Hercules, and was aware of his gaze following her as she went back inside the hall to find Zukisa and Mrs. Shabalala.

 

Hercules was quiet on the journey to Cape Town, and Francina knew that he was itching to ask what Oscar had said to her, but that he wouldn't in front of their daughter.

Francina had changed out of her tailored suit into a casual linen dress. Hercules had removed his tie. Mrs. Shabalala had chosen to stay behind, to cook a celebratory meal, while the rest of the family went to Cape Town. Tonight there would be two reasons to celebrate: Francina's success in the debate and the impending move of Lucy and her family to Sandpiper Drift. Lionel DeVilliers had already accepted a small down payment on the house and agreed not to entertain offers from any other interested buyers. Not trusting the word of a man who was known for his love of money, Francina told Hercules that Lucy needed to agree to take the job at the café and commit to the house this very afternoon or the residence could be lost to a higher bidder.

Lucy was not home when they arrived at the flat, but surprisingly both boys were there. The first thing Francina noticed was that Xoli smelled of smoke, and not ordinary tobacco. He deserved a scolding, which she would have felt at liberty to give if his mother had not returned from her exile in Johannesburg. The other boy, Bulelani, could not have been out with his brother, because he smelled of fabric softener, not smoke. Little Fundiswa was playing with her doll on the floor of her grandmother's bedroom and jumped up to hug Zukisa.

“Granny's tummy hurts,” she said.

Francina went to Zukisa's aunt, who was lying on her side facing the window.

“It's not my tummy, it's my chest. It hurts to breathe.”

Francina could not hold back. “We're going to get you some medical care,” she said.

Zukisa's aunt shook her head. “I'm not traveling to the hospital in Cape Town to wait seven hours to see a doctor.”

“You won't have to wait for this doctor, and he will help ease your suffering.”

“And where is this wonderful doctor?”

Francina saw Hercules shake his head in turn, and knew that he was right to caution her. “I'll talk to Lucy about it when she gets home,” she said.

They didn't have to wait long. Within a few minutes, they heard an argument erupt in the living room between Lucy and her eldest son. Lucy had apparently asked him to make lunch for his grandmother, but he had forgotten.

“Don't worry about lunch,” Zukisa said to her cousin. “We brought cold roast chicken. Mother's giving some to my aunt.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy, glaring at Xoli. “You can clean up the kitchen then,” she told him, but he ignored her and continued watching music videos on television.

“Why can't he be a good child like you, Zukisa?” whispered Lucy, taking her cousin's arm before entering her mother's bedroom.

Francina had hoped that the joy of being home with her family would soften some of the lines on Lucy's face made by years of hard drinking. But each time Francina saw Lucy, the woman was frowning with worry.

“Can I speak to you in the kitchen?” Francina asked her now.

“If it's about the doctor who's going to help me, I want to hear,” said Zukisa's aunt.

“Doctor? What doctor?” asked Lucy.

In words rehearsed silently during the trip to Cape Town, Francina told Lucy of the job as head cook at Mama Dlamini's Eating Establishment, of the two spots at Green Block School for Xoli and Bulelani, of the care Lucy's mother would get at the hospital as an outpatient, and later, if needed, as an inpatient, and, finally of the whitewashed cottage in Sandpiper Drift.

When Francina was finished, Lucy sat down on the end of the bed.

“We'll go,” said her mother.

“You're very talkative today,” said Lucy, in a voice tinged with impatience. “I don't know, Francina. It's a kind offer, but I've just gotten used to life here in Cape Town.”

Francina knew then that she would have to summon the fire and energy she had possessed on the stage this morning at Green Block School.

“If you don't come your boys are going to end up in prison—or worse,” she said.

A look of shock appeared on Lucy's face.

“She's right,” said her mother. “Those boys are up to no good, staying out all night, smoking, drinking, taking drugs.”

“They haven't had the best example to follow,” said Lucy quietly.

Fundiswa announced that she was hungry, and Hercules took her to the kitchen to see if the boys had left any of the roast chicken.

“And now's your chance to make up for it,” said Francina. “Take them away from their friends who are a bad influence. Bring them to Lady Helen, where we'll all watch them like hawks until they're good boys again.”

Zukisa, who until then had been silent, said, “Please say you'll come, Lucy. My mother has gone to a lot of trouble to get you a job.”

Lucy began to cry.

“What's this?” said Francina, taking her hand.

“You're so nice to me and we're not even family.”

Francina caught her daughter's eye and smiled. “Yes, we are.”

 

Zukisa would not stop thanking her mother and father on the way home to Lady Helen.

“I can't believe that my relatives will be moving into a house in Sandpiper Drift next weekend,” she said over and over. “Do you think they'll be able to vote in the election?”

Hercules told her that they would. “Not that your mother's going to need extra votes,” he added.

Francina sighed. She was remembering the sadness in Oscar's eyes. Becoming mayor had never been a goal in her life; she had entered the race in error. The debate had given her a taste of what it would be like to have people hanging on to her every word, and she could not lie; she had enjoyed it. But was that a good reason to become mayor? Was a decades-long passion for the town and its history not a more legitimate reason? Oscar had been absolutely correct when he'd said that her life was full. Responsibilities to the town would take her away from the family she had waited for for so long.

“I have something to announce,” she said, interrupting Zukisa, who was talking about the curtains she planned to sew for her cousin's new house.

“Listen to your mother, sounding like the mayor already,” teased Hercules.

“I'm dropping out of the race.”

Hercules and Zukisa could not have been more shocked if she'd told them she was planning to hitchhike to Cairo.

“Does this have anything to do with Oscar?” asked Hercules.

“No,” said Francina. “I mean, yes.” She explained that Oscar would make a better mayor because he could devote all his time to the office.

“We'll help more at home,” said Zukisa. “I'll take on more of the dress orders.”

Francina turned in her seat and held her daughter's hand. “But I don't want to miss out on any of my time with you and your father. Yes, I'd have an office to myself and I'd make decisions for the town, but I'd always be wishing I was at home with you. What do you think, Hercules?”

“You beat him fair and square in the debate.”

“Yes, and you'll be glad to hear that he knows it. I also have a family, which he doesn't. Let me give him this.”

Hercules was silent.

“I'll still go to university, Dad,” said Zukisa.

“If this is what you want, Francina, then so be it.”

Francina smiled at her daughter, turned to face the front again and lightly touched her husband's hand on the gearshift.

“I'll ask Monica to find out from Zak if we can use the hospital's truck to move Lucy and her family next weekend.”

 

There was a record turnout for the election the following Saturday, and when the majority of voters got over their disappointment at not seeing Francina's name on the ballot, they elected Oscar to be the new mayor of Lady Helen.

W
hen autumn approached, Sipho usually wanted to visit the lagoon to check on the birds that gathered in large numbers to feed before the long flight up Africa and across the Mediterranean to their breeding grounds in Europe. This year, with Sipho in the United States, Mandla took it upon himself to report to his brother which birds left first, which ones left last and which ones struggled to keep up. For Mandla, their departure couldn't come fast enough, because he knew that his brother would return close to this time.

One Sunday, two months after Oscar had been elected mayor, Reverend van Tonder had to shout to be heard over the noise of the birds. His wife, Dalene, closed the church's windows, but even though the temperature had dropped over the past two weeks, it was soon too warm and stuffy in a confined space with so many people. So she opened the windows again, and her husband grew hoarse finishing his sermon.

Mandla, who attended the children's Sunday School and not the adult church service, was waiting at the door when Monica came to pick him up.

“Quick, I think today is the day,” he said excitedly.

They hurried out to join the rest of the congregation on the banks of the lagoon. Two hundred people, dressed in finery and Wellington boots, were about to walk across the salt marsh. The birds that returned every year to the waters next to the Little Church of the Lagoon weren't intimidated by the crowd. They were used to an audience.

“Look, the gray plovers are going first this time,” shouted Mandla. “Help me remember the order for Sipho, Mom.”

They watched as the birds took off in a flock, the black breasts of their recently acquired summer plumage making them look like shadows against the stark blue West Coast sky. The sky grew dark as the pace of the migration increased. Knots, sanderlings, sandpipers and greenshanks all left at the same time, quickly followed by the long-legged whimbrels, curlews and godwits. The leaders were already some way off, nothing more than a smoky tracing in the sky.

“Godspeed,” shouted Mandla. This was the farewell Sipho had used since he first saw the mass migration.

The godwits flapped their wings furiously to catch up to the rest of the birds, and in a few seconds merged with the dark mass passing over the lagoon and heading north along the Atlantic coastline.

People started to trudge across the salt marsh to cars parked on dry land. A loud screech went up as the seagulls that had been banished to the beach for the duration of the summer came wheeling around to take back the lagoon and feast on whatever food was left by the migratory birds.

“If the birds had waited one more week, Sipho would have seen this,” said Mandla.

“Never mind, you can tell him all about it,” said Monica.

 

Mirinda was cooking lunch when the family arrived home. She and Paolo had attended an early-morning service at the Catholic church. After the death of his son, Paolo had not set foot in a church. But this year, at the urging of his brother, he'd given in and started going again in Italy.

“The roast is in the oven. I just have to pop the vegetables in, too,” said Mirinda. “Go put your feet up,” she told Monica. “You look tired.”

“I didn't sleep well last night. Must have been the curry we ate for dinner.”

“Well, I'll do the rest of the cooking. Can you believe that this time next week Sipho will be landing?”

“Thanks, Mom, for changing your return date.”

“We couldn't have left without spending time with Sipho. I want to hear all about his life in America.”

Mandla was counting the days till his brother's return, but his happiness was tempered by the imminence of his grandparents' departure.

 

The following Saturday, Mandla stood in the international arrivals hall of Cape Town Airport clutching a sign on which he'd written his brother's name.

“He might not recognize me,” he said when questioned by Yolanda about the need for it. “I've got a new hairstyle and I've grown two inches since he last saw me.”

Mandla had been attending acting lessons in Cape Town for a couple of months, and because he'd dropped the American accent of his own accord, Monica was allowing him to grow his hair long. They would renegotiate when it was long enough to become dreadlocks.

“There he is!” shouted Mandla, pointing wildly in the direction of the automatic doors that hid passengers from view as they opened their bags for customs officials.

And there was Sipho, scanning the crowd for his family before he slipped into the stream of people heading for the exit.

Catching sight of them, he came over to the railing and said, “It's a good thing you had a sign, Mandla, or I wouldn't have recognized you.” Laughing, he hugged his brother.

“I'm auditioning for a South African movie,” said Mandla. “Mom's my agent.”

“Is that so?” said Sipho. He kissed Yolanda hello, hugged his father and then allowed himself to be enveloped in his mother's arms.

Monica could feel from the intensity of his return embrace that he was happy to be home.

“Let's go,” she said. “Your Nonna and Nonno are waiting for you at the house.”

 

From the kitchen window, Monica watched Mandla bouncing around Sipho and her parents like a wild rabbit as they waited in the garden for lunch to be served. Although officially autumn now, there was no breeze and it was quite warm in the sun. Sipho had begged to eat outside so he could smell the fresh air of Lady Helen.

“The air smelled strange in Houston,” he said.

Zak put an arm around Monica. He'd finished carving the roast lamb and was waiting for her to put the vegetables into a serving dish.

“Sipho's being a good sport,” he said. “Mandla has already made him watch his audition piece twice.”

Monica smiled. “It's good to all be together for a change.”

“It is.”

Feeling suddenly light-headed, Monica leaned against Zak.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

“It must be all the excitement. Now let's get this food out before it's cold.”

“Monica, is everything okay?”

“I'm fine.” The feeling had passed.

“Perhaps you're anemic.”

“Come on, Doctor, you're off duty now.”

“Is your cycle regular?”

“Usually. I'm a few days late this month.”

“A few days? Have you taken a test?”

“Come on, Zak. Let's eat.”

“I'm serious, Monica. You should take a test.”

She shook her head. “That's all in the past now, Zak.”

“Please take a test. For me.”

Sighing, she put down the dish of vegetables. “I threw them all out.”

“I'll go and get one from the hospital.”

“Not now, Zak. Lunch is ready!”

But he was out of the door, his keys jangling.

He returned as they were all beginning to eat.

“Monica, I've left it inside.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Please go and check.”

She dropped her knife and fork onto the plate with a clang. His insistence, which she had dismissed as sweet, was now irritating her so much that if the children and her parents hadn't been there she might have told him to sit down, be quiet and eat the lunch she had spent more than an hour preparing. But because she didn't want anything to spoil the day of Sipho's homecoming, she pushed back her chair and went inside, letting the door bang behind her to let Zak know she wasn't happy with him.

She took the test, left it on the bathroom vanity and went back to finish her lunch.

“And so?” asked Zak.

She finished chewing the food in her mouth. “I don't know. I didn't care to wait, with my lunch getting colder by the minute.”

Zak got up and went inside.

“What's Dad on about?” asked Yolanda, with the exaggerated patience of a teenager.

But there was no need for Monica to search for a suitable reply because Zak came rushing out of the house waving a white stick in his hand.

“Two pink lines, Monica!” he shouted. “We're pregnant!”