Fly Away Home (13 page)

M
onica had expected a call from Miemps, but she wasn't prepared to see her elderly friend walking up her garden path with a tin of freshly baked scones. The grapevine in Lady Helen was speedy and it would have taken less than twenty-four hours for everyone in town to know of Monica's altercation with Mama Dlamini. Monica readied herself to commiserate with her friend for the shocking lack of loyalty from Lady Helen's best-loved cook.

But Miemps had come to talk about something more important than Mama Dlamini's defection. Miemps's son-in-law, Silas, had taken her daughter, Daphne, and their little boy, Victor, to Zimbabwe in the middle of the night, without Miemps or her husband's knowledge. Miemps thrust a scribbled note in front of Monica. It read,
I knew you'd beg me not to go, but I have to. My husband is worried about his parents and sister. Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Your daughter, Daphne.

Monica tried to reassure Miemps that as visitors in Zimbabwe Silas and Daphne and their son would be safe. It was natural, Monica added on a more lighthearted note, for Daphne to be eager to meet her parents-in-law after more than four years of marriage.

“What if Silas decides to stay, to get involved in politics again?” asked Miemps. “Last time, the authorities let him out of prison. This time they might not.”

Monica assured her that Silas knew he was making more of a contribution to democracy in his country through the newsletters he smuggled in from South Africa than he would as an out-of-work journalist living in Zimbabwe. “The people there have come to rely on him for news.” Monica heard in her own words echoes of Dudu's speech to her about the
Lady Helen Herald.

“I just wanted to fill you in on the news and give you these,” said Miemps, holding out the scones. “I baked two batches to try and cheer up Reginald. He hasn't been outside in the glorious spring weather the whole day.”

“Have you told him about Mama Dlamini?” asked Monica. It would be impossible for Miemps not to have heard.

She shook her head. “He doesn't need more to fret over. And I don't, either. As far as I'm concerned Mama Dlamini can do what she wants, and good luck to her. I'm too worried about my daughter and grandson to think about her.”

Miemps's words were cavalier, but Monica sensed the hurt underneath. She wished that her own comment to Mama Dlamini about Mr. Yang asking forgiveness would come true. But he was a man who saw only the bottom line on a spreadsheet. Ostriches would take flight with the migratory birds before Mr. Yang came knocking on Miemps's door to apologize.

 

Ten days later, Miemps returned to Monica's house with a letter she'd received from Daphne and more scones. Mandla took a seat on the arm of Monica's chair as she read it aloud. Monica had always believed that children should not be shielded from the realities of life, and this included the situation in their neighboring country. Mandla was old enough to understand that even the most glorious dreams for the future could be perverted by the greed and self-destructive vanity of those in power.

“My dearest Mother and Father,”
read Monica.
“My husband's parents and sister have made me feel very welcome. They are happy to see that Silas finally has a family after the disappointments he has suffered in his life. But, of course, they are sad that the distance between us is so great. His mother cried when she first saw Victor. She says he looks just like Silas did as a boy. Victor was shy at first, but he is more comfortable with them now. Every day he asks when we are going to see you and Gramps again. My sister-in-law is a friendly woman, but sometimes her temper is short. Mine would be, too, if I had to stand in a line for six hours to buy bread.

“Silas was shocked to see how thin everyone has grown. On the night we arrived, his mother served us stew and the family ate as though no one had seen meat in months. I felt guilty eating my share, but my mother-in-law would have been insulted if I hadn't cleaned my plate. The electricity is often off for days at a time and then it's necessary to cook outside over an open fire.

“We haven't been to the capital yet to see Silas's ex-colleagues because there is no petrol available for his father's car. As soon as the local filling station gets some, there will be a line a mile long. Silas really wants to go to Harare, so he says he'll wait in line. I worry about him. It's fine to write about the country from the safety of South Africa, but I don't think he should get involved here. I told him so, but he said he just wants to go to Harare to meet the distributors of his newsletters. Sometimes I wonder if he's withholding the truth from me because he doesn't want me to worry.

“There is a truth that I do not wish to withhold from you, my dear parents, but it is too risky to put in a letter. I will tell you all about it when we get back from our two-week trip.

“Your loving daughter,

“Daphne.”

“You can't tell me not to worry now,” said Miemps, folding the letter.

“What does Reginald say about it?” asked Monica.

She shook her head wildly. “I read him the letter and left out the last part.”

Monica wished that Daphne had been less of a dutiful daughter and done the same. Miemps wouldn't be able to sleep until her daughter and grandchild returned in three days.

“At least you know Silas hasn't decided to stay in Zimbabwe. Daphne says she's coming home.”

“I hope Daphne and Victor stay behind with Silas's parents when he goes to the capital to see his colleagues,” said Miemps. “I thought our family was finished with political business for good.”

“You were active in the struggle against apartheid?” asked Monica.

“Not me! Or Reginald. Only Daphne. She's been arrested three times for taking part in protest marches.”

Monica was not surprised. Daphne had been the first to climb up on her roof to begin the protest sit-in when Mr. Yang's bulldozers had arrived to knock down Sandpiper Drift. Daphne had been the first to throw her shoes at Mr. Yang when he'd arrived to order the women of the neighborhood down from their roofs so the bulldozers could get busy. Daphne and Silas were even more suited to each other than Monica had previously thought. And now that she knew of her past, she was not so sure Daphne would not become involved with Silas's political cause.

Zak walked into the living room, greeted Miemps and helped himself to one of the scones.

“When's my most senior nurse coming back?” he asked her.

Miemps glanced at Monica. “In three days.” Then she added quietly, “I hope.” But Zak didn't hear because he was busy helping himself to another scone.

“These are delicious, Miemps.”

“I'll make you some more then. I've got to keep my hands busy.” She stood up to go.

“I'll walk you out,” said Monica.

“Give my regards to Reginald,” said Zak.

At the front door, Monica told Miemps to call if she heard anything further from Daphne. Monica watched her elderly friend walk back down the road, and although the cake tin Miemps carried was now empty, Monica wished she had been able to lighten her friend's load.

 

Daphne did not arrive home on the day she was expected, and Miemps called Monica in a panic. Monica listed all of the reasons why Daphne might have been delayed: car trouble, little Victor had an upset stomach from strange food, a long line at the border. But Miemps believed that something terrible had happened and would not be consoled.

Monica did not admit it to her friend, but she was just as worried. Daphne had never missed a day of work at the hospital, and for her to miss one without an explanation to Zak meant that something serious had happened.

The next day a telegram arrived for Zak from Daphne, apologizing for being absent from work. The only explanation she gave was “trouble at the border.”

Monica searched the news headlines but could find nothing about the border post being shut down. Zak was the one who came up with the most plausible explanation—Silas had tried to smuggle his parents into South Africa and had been caught. Monica showed the telegram to Miemps, and Miemps reached the same conclusion.

“Daphne and Victor are South African citizens by birth. Silas is a naturalized citizen by marriage. Why would they have trouble at the border unless they tried to do something illegal?” said Miemps.

There were no reports on the wire service of South Africans being arrested for smuggling illegal immigrants into South Africa. Miemps told Reginald that Daphne had phoned to say they'd decided to stay an extra few days because Victor was having such a good time.

 

A day passed with no word from Daphne, and a dream Miemps had had about Silas floating on the Limpopo River became a waking fear.

“He's going to bring his parents and sister over on a boat,” she told Monica.

“But that would be crazy after all the rain up there,” said Monica. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd made an error. She tried covering it up. “But someone will have to drive the car over the border and that will be Daphne, since she's the only South African by birth among them.”

Miemps sighed. The stress had taken its toll on her the past few days. She no longer looked a decade younger than her sixty-five years. “Reginald is growing suspicious,” she said, “because I've been baking day and night.”

“Zak said the staff and patients went wild for the cakes you sent to the hospital.”

“It's difficult keeping all this worry to myself. I have to do something,” explained Miemps.

Monica wondered how Silas would manage to hide his parents and sister in Lady Helen if he succeeded in smuggling them out of Zimbabwe.

 

Shortly after midnight, Daphne, Silas and Victor returned to Lady Helen without Silas's parents and sister.

The next morning, Miemps told Monica what had happened. After hearing that immigration officials at the Beit Bridge crossing were open to bribery, Silas had loaded his family into the back of their car with Victor, locked up the house and set out for what they thought was a one-way trip to South Africa. As they'd waited in the line of cars to cross the bridge, they'd noticed immigration officials confiscating travel documents, even South African passports held by Zimbabweans. Another driver waiting in line explained that this was a crackdown ordered by the South African government, which had discovered that corrupt immigration officials had been selling fake passports to desperate Zimbabweans.

Silas and Daphne watched as shocked men and women turned their vehicles around, or, if they were traveling in minibus taxis, unloaded their suitcases from the roof, and then walked away from the border post, back into the country they were so desperate to leave. Another driver told Silas that, farther upstream, local entrepreneurs would ferry people across the Limpopo River in rickety rowboats for a fee. Returning to their villages in Zimbabwe was not an option; their families would starve without the money they earned in South Africa.

Daphne was terrified that the immigration officials would accuse Silas of having false papers if he offered a bribe for his family's crossing, and so, agreeing that it was too dangerous, Silas had turned the car around with a heavy heart and driven his parents and sister home.

Silas promised them that he would work from within South Africa to get them a visa to join him, and in the meantime he would continue sending money. Filled with sadness and not a small measure of fear, Silas and Daphne had approached the border crossing again.

Though Silas did not try anything illegal this time, the official who checked his documents declared them fake. Daphne was so incensed that she got out of the car and began a tirade against the man for daring to prevent her husband from coming into the country where he had legal residence. The official was so shocked that he immediately backed down and let them pass.

“He's lucky she didn't throw her shoes at him,” Monica told Miemps.

But Miemps did not see the humor. “They could have refused to allow Silas to cross, and then Daphne would have stayed with him.”

Monica thought of Silas's parents and sister, who had packed their most precious possessions into tiny suitcases that would fit in the trunk of Silas's car, then left their home, not knowing how long it would be before they saw it again, only to return a few hours later without having made it across the border.

The leaders of South Africa were no strangers to the struggle against oppression and suffering. Monica prayed that they would now take up the challenge to alleviate the suffering of their neighbors to the north.

M
andla's suitcase had been packed for two weeks when the final day of school came and the December summer holidays began. Monica had worried that his head might be too full of excitement about their trip to the United States to concentrate on his end-of-year exams, but his report card showed otherwise.

His enthusiasm was tempered by regret at leaving his grandparents behind. They'd arrived from Italy at the beginning of the summer, as they always did, and were happily settled into the Old Garage. They understood that the family had to leave to visit Sipho, but Mandla did not feel that it was right, and suggested that they make the trip, too.

“There are only two places I go, son,” said Monica's father. “Italy and South Africa. The rest of the world can get on without me.”

Mandla had traveled on airplanes before to visit his grand-parents in Italy, but the passengers sitting near them would have been forgiven for thinking this was his first time. He played with the personal television screen, flipping it in and out of its place in the armrest; he pushed the buttons for the air-conditioning and lights and twice the flight attendant came to check why he had called for assistance. And this was before the airplane had even taken off.

“Sit still,” Monica told him after he'd tried the window shade for the fifteenth time.

“He's excited about seeing his brother again,” said Zak.

“And the land where movies are made,” added Mandla. “Sipho wouldn't even know if he was standing in the middle of the street where a movie was filmed.”

“I don't think they make many movies in Houston,” Monica told him.

Mandla was not listening. He had stood up to peer over the headrest at the passenger sitting in front of him. “I'm going to America,” he announced loudly.

“Me, too,” replied the man.

“Sit down,” Monica told him again. “You'll have plenty of time for socializing after takeoff. It's a two-hour flight to Johannesburg and then eighteen hours to Washington.” She hoped that the people sitting near them were the talkative type.

Nine hours into their international flight, the airplane refueled in the Cape Verde islands, off the northwest coast of Africa. Monica wished that they could get out and stretch their legs as passengers used to be able to do in the past, but security concerns now meant that they had to wait on board the airplane.

Nine hours and five full-length movies later, Mandla couldn't wait to get out of the airplane, and was irritated to learn that they had to board another flight to get to Houston.

He fell asleep with his head on Monica's lap just before landing in Houston, and was not pleased to be awakened to put on his seat belt and bring his seat back to the upright position.

Sipho's host parents had offered to meet them at the airport, but Zak said that they would make their own way to the hotel.

“Why's Sipho not at the airport?” asked Mandla.

Monica and Zak looked at each other. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to turn down Sipho's host mother's polite offer, even if it had been to spare her a long drive.

Mandla fell asleep again in the taxi on the way to the hotel and did not wake up when Zak carried him to their room and put him to bed. It was only lunchtime in Texas, but in South Africa it was evening, and he had only slept for five hours the previous night on the flight. Sipho was due to arrive at their hotel at three, after he finished school for the day, but at this rate Mandla wouldn't be awake to see his brother.

Zak and Monica stretched out on either side of him on the bed, and the next thing Monica knew, the telephone was ringing, and she was fumbling on the wrong side of the bed to answer it. After ten rings, Zak got to it. Sipho was in the lobby of the hotel.

Monica had meant to shower and change before meeting his host mother, but now there was no time. She ran her fingers through her hair and left Zak with Mandla, who had not even changed positions in his sleep, and went down to the lobby.

Sipho's eyes lit up as she stepped out of the elevator, but he did not, as she'd hoped, hurry over to meet her. He was with another boy, almost two heads taller, with the broad shoulders of a natural athlete. This had to be Connor. The blond woman next to him was just as tall, and dressed in sweatpants and sneakers, as though she had just come from the gym.

“Sipho,” said Monica, with her arms outstretched. She refrained from calling him sweetie in front of his host family.

He hugged her back, but when she wanted to hold on a few seconds longer, he pulled away.

“Mom, this is Connor and my host mother, Nancy.” There was a new confidence in his voice, and for a moment Monica felt a twinge of jealousy at his easy use of a word she had waited so long to hear him use with her.

As they shook hands, Monica noticed that Nancy was wearing a diamond-studded gold bracelet, which was an unusual accessory to wear while jogging or working out at the gym. Perhaps this was just how she normally dressed.

“He's been counting the days,” Nancy said.

Her Texan accent did not seem as pronounced now as it had on the telephone.

Connor slapped Sipho on the back and Sipho laughed. It was a new laugh, one Monica had never heard before, that seemed to come from deep in his chest.

“We'd like to invite you to our house for a barbecue tonight,” said Nancy, “but since we've never taken such a long flight ourselves, we don't know if you're up to it.”

Monica smiled at her in appreciation for her thoughtfulness. “I don't think Mandla, my other son, is going to wake up until it's morning time in South Africa.” She looked at her watch. “Which means midnight Houston time.”

“Oh, dear, you'd better all get your sleep then. What about you, Sipho?”

“I'll stay awake,” Monica told him.

Sipho and Connor exchanged looks. Monica wondered why there was any doubt that Sipho would spend the rest of the afternoon and evening with them. She had even requested a roll-away bed so he could sleep over.

“Connor has a game tonight,” explained Nancy.

“It's up to you, Sipho,” said Monica. “If you want to watch football, that's fine. Maybe we can meet afterward.”

“Games usually end pretty late,” said Connor, who up until now had not said anything except a polite hello.

“I'm sorry, Mom, I—”

“He promised us, Mrs. Niemand,” said Connor. “It's the opening game of the season.”

“I didn't know that it would be on the night you arrived,” explained Sipho.

“Oh, okay,” said Monica, feeling disappointed, but not wishing to embarrass Sipho in front of his friend. “Then we'll see you tomorrow after school.”

“The guys are all going bowling, since it's the last day of school before the Christmas holidays,” said Connor.

Monica was beginning to be irritated by this boy's assured manner. She and her family had just traveled thousands of miles to see Sipho, and Connor presumed Sipho would choose a get-together with school friends who he saw every day over a reunion with his family.

“Do you want to go bowling?” Monica asked Sipho.

He looked at Connor. “Is it okay if I miss it this time?” he asked.

Monica was shocked at the submissive tone of her son's voice. Sipho had never enjoyed group activities with his classmates in Lady Helen, and Monica had even had to push him to invite boys to their house to help celebrate his birthdays.

“I suppose you have no choice,” said Connor.

Monica sensed the young man was perfectly aware his remark was callous, but did not care.

“Do you want to come up to the room to say a quick hello to your dad?” she asked Sipho. “He couldn't leave Mandla asleep alone.”

Sipho looked at Nancy to check if it was all right.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Connor and I will grab a soda at the coffee shop over there.”

In the elevator, on the ride up to their floor, Sipho asked about their flight, and Monica told them how difficult it had been for Mandla to be confined for so long.

Just before the elevator doors opened, he said, “I'm glad you came, Mom.”

Monica had to bite her tongue not to reply, “Well, then why are you choosing football over us?” The instinct she had developed over the years as a mother told her that this would be more harmful than helpful.

“I'm glad to see you've settled in and made friends,” she said pointedly.

“They're Connor's friends, but they like me. They think I'm cool, being African and all.”

“I see.”

She unlocked the hotel room door, and Zak came to greet Sipho with a big bear hug.

“We missed you,” he said, not letting go. “Your mother hasn't stopped worrying about you, and your brother has been counting down the days from the minute you left.”

Sipho walked to the bed where Mandla lay sprawled across the sheets.

“He's absolutely wiped out from the trip,” said Zak, coming to stand behind Sipho and resting his hand on his shoulder. “Sit down and relax. I'm feeling better after my snooze. How about you, Monica?”

“Sipho can't stay. He's going to a football game,” said Monica, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

Zak's eyes widened. “Is that so? Who's playing?”

“It's the opening match of the season. My school's playing last year's champs.”

“Interesting,” said Zak. He had tried to involve Sipho in soccer, cricket and rugby, just as Sipho's mother, Ella, once had, but he, too, had been unsuccessful. Sipho had even refused to watch their national team play others on television. “Maybe while we're here, I can come with you to a game. Not tonight, though. I don't think I'm physically capable of setting foot out of this hotel.”

Monica wondered if Zak was genuinely not hurt by this development or if he had simply decided that it would be better to involve himself in Sipho's new interest rather than alienate him by questioning it.

“I'd better go. They're waiting for me in the lobby,” said Sipho.

“That's quite an American accent you have there,” said Zak, smiling and squeezing his shoulder.

“I don't have an accent,” he declared. “Do I, Mom?”

“A little bit,” said Monica. She thought Sipho looked pleased to be informed of this fact.

“I'll come down with you again,” she said.

“It's okay. You're tired. I'll find my way.”

Monica took him into her arms and gave him the long, enthusiastic hug she'd wanted to give him earlier in the lobby. Eventually he pulled away, but instead of being irritated as she thought he might be, he was smiling. “I'll see you tomorrow, Mom. Tell Mandla I was here.”

After they'd watched him walk down the hall and disappear into an elevator, Monica turned to Zak and burst into tears.

“It's normal. He's growing up,” said Zak softly. “A girl he's interested in is probably going to the game.”

“A girl? He's ditching his family for a girl? He's never been interested in girls.” If Zak thought he was making Monica feel better, he was wrong.

“He's not ditching us, Monica. Anyway, we need to sleep.”

Monica went into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Why did he insist on making this less than it was? In the shower she went over the conversation in the lobby, but that only upset her more. She gave up trying to find her nightgown in the suitcase she was too tired to unpack and settled on a T-shirt to sleep in. Mandla had not left much space for either her or Zak in the bed, but she slipped in beside him and drifted off to sleep while Zak flipped through the television channels.