Fly Away Home (14 page)

A
s Monica had predicted, Mandla woke at midnight, ready to start a new day. After waking Zak to show Mandla how to operate the television, she went back to sleep.

She awoke at five to find Mandla sleeping with his head on her shoulder. He looked younger than his eight years, and for a moment Monica thought of the first time Ella had brought him to her house, as a chubby toddler. He'd charmed Francina, who at that time was still working as Monica's full-time housekeeper. Hopefully, he'd be able to sleep until at least seven, and then stay awake all day. She had heard that jet lag was far worse after the return journey to South Africa.

Trying not to wake Mandla, she shifted his head onto a pillow and slipped out of bed. Through a chink in the curtains she saw that the sky was turning pink. The sun would soon be up. They were not staying downtown, but there were a number of high-rises surrounding the hotel. Sipho's host family lived somewhere to the northwest. It still hurt that he'd chosen his new friends over his family.

By eight o'clock they had eaten breakfast and were ready to start the day. Mandla wanted to go to the shopping mall across the street.

“You can see malls at home,” said Monica.

“Not in Lady Helen,” replied Mandla.

“Thank goodness,” said Zak.

But Mandla didn't think it was funny. “We never go to a mall when we're in Cape Town.”

He relented when Monica told him about the full-size dinosaur skeletons at the Museum of Natural Science.

Since they would be leaving to visit a theme park in Los Angeles in two days, there was no point renting a car in Houston, and so Zak called a taxi to meet them downstairs.

As expected, Mandla was enthralled by the dinosaur collection at the museum, and the day passed without any more whining from him. But by three o'clock, he was exhausted and wanted to sleep. It was past his bedtime in South Africa.

Sipho had not said what time he'd be coming, so Monica decided that it would be best to return to the hotel, put Mandla to bed for a nap, and wait for Sipho to call.

At four, Monica woke with a start at a knock on the door. Zak had fallen asleep, too. She looked through the peephole and saw Sipho outside.

“Come in,” she said. “We all fell asleep. This jet lag is something else.”

He smelled of an unfamiliar fabric softener, and he was wearing new sneakers.

He noticed her looking. “My host mother bought them.”

Sipho never wore sneakers unless he was going on a long walk or a climb up the koppies.

Zak was awake now. He gave Sipho a hug. “It's good to see you,” he said.

“How you doing, Dad?”

“Listen to that. You're sounding like a real American.”

“I am not. Do you have any bottled water?” He had started to say water the American way, and then switched to his old accent and said it the way South Africans did:
wartuh.

Mandla did not want to wake up, but if he was to adjust to the time difference he was going to have to try and stay awake till a normal bedtime. Finally, he heard Sipho's voice among those trying to rouse him, and opened his eyes.

“What took you so long?” he asked his big brother. “I've been waiting for two days to see you.”

“I was here yesterday but you were fast asleep, dozy head.”

“You should have come to the museum with us. There was a skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus rex.”

“I've been to that museum before.”

“Did Connor take you?” asked Monica.

Sipho shook his head. “We went on a class trip. Connor doesn't go to museums.”

Monica wondered how Sipho could have chosen to go to a football game with a boy with whom he had nothing in common over spending time with his family. He had never been influenced by peer pressure before, but something was different about Sipho in this new country.

Mandla announced that he was starving after his nap, and Sipho explained that since many Americans ate dinner early there would be many restaurants open at this time. They chose an Indian establishment two blocks from the hotel. Mandla was excited when the waiter gave him a hot towel so he could eat with his hands. Halfway through their meal, Sipho showed Mandla a tiny portable music player that his host mother had bought him. Mandla put on the earphones.

“What's this?” he asked.

Sipho named a band Monica had never heard of.

“They're from Seattle,” added Sipho. “Connor's going to get us tickets when they come to Houston.”

Sipho listening to rock music? Monica looked at Zak to see if this was hard for him to register, as well. But he was mopping up the sauce of his murgh makhani with the last of the naan bread and seemed oblivious to the monumental change in his adopted son.

As they walked back to the hotel, Monica tried to eavesdrop on the conversation between the boys, who were walking in front.

She heard something about a party, and then Mandla asked if there would be girls there, to which Sipho replied that there would. Monica did not have to strain to catch Mandla's loud response of disgust.

How could this change in Sipho have happened so quickly? Zak would say it was long overdue, but Monica was not ready for it and found it shocking.

Sipho had brought with him an overnight bag, and settled into the roll-away bed, while Mandla climbed in again between Zak and Monica.

Although Monica was pleased to have Sipho back, she couldn't help hoping that the old Sipho would reappear once he was away from Connor.

 

Monica's hope became more fervent the next day at Sipho's host family's barbecue, where she watched Sipho interacting with Connor. Surprisingly, Sipho did most of the talking. Connor laughed often. Monica could only imagine the adolescent hilarity.

Connor's family lived in a neighborhood with lots of trees, and houses and gardens far larger than any in Lady Helen. The public high school was within walking distance, a fact Monica had been pleased to learn, because she didn't want Sipho in a car driven by a sixteen-or seventeen-year-old. In South Africa, young people had to be eighteen to drive.

Connor lived in a sprawling ranch house from the sixties that had been recently renovated. Monica and Zak's whole house would fit in the open-plan living room and eat-in kitchen. It was expensively furnished and everything matched perfectly, including the artwork on the walls. The artists Monica knew in Lady Helen would have been appalled. To them, art should be the focus of a room, not an accent piece like a throw pillow.

Monica wished Sipho would stop being so uncharacteristically talkative so she could relax. Nancy was a charming hostess and went out of her way to make them feel at home. Mandla did everything Monica should have done; he complimented Nancy on her home and garden and told her the bruschetta was delicious.

“How did you know what these hors d'oeuvres were?” Nancy asked. “Connor would call them sandwiches.”

Mandla told her that he had been to Italy and that his grandfather was teaching him Italian.

“Is that so?” Nancy was impressed.

There was a large heated saltwater pool in the backyard. Nancy gave Mandla one of Connor's old bathing suits and he was soon splashing around on his own. Monica was glad she'd brought a jacket so that she could sit outside to keep an eye on him. Sipho and Connor stood with Zak and Bill, Nancy's husband, at the barbecue.

“It's been wonderful for Connor to have company,” said Nancy, sitting down beside Monica on the wrought-iron patio furniture. “It's not easy being an only child. It wasn't our choice. We tried to have another, but no luck.”

Monica was shocked at the easy way with which Nancy had shared this personal information. She could not imagine telling a stranger about her own fight against infertility. She was at a loss how to reply to Nancy's confidence, but the need quickly disappeared.

“I wanted to adopt, but Bill was against it. You're lucky you have a supportive husband.”

“Zak and I hadn't yet met when I adopted the boys,” said Monica.

“I didn't know that. Sipho doesn't talk about the past very much.”

Monica was happy to hear that Sipho hadn't succumbed to this family's easy familiarity. “He's a private sort of boy,” she said.

Nancy nodded. “I hear you've been trying to have another baby.”

Monica froze, her glass of sparkling mineral water pressed to her lips. How could Sipho have told his host mother that? She didn't know which urge was strongest, to cry or to march Sipho inside for a talk. Nancy was waiting for her answer.

“Yes,” she croaked, and then took a sip of her water.

“You poor thing. I know what it's like. Bill and I did all the treatments, tried three different doctors. It just wasn't meant to be. You should join a support group. It helped to be able to cry on the shoulders of women who were going through the same heartache. Men just don't understand.”

Monica wished that Bill would announce that the hamburgers were ready, so she could politely withdraw from this conversation.

Nancy leaned forward and placed her hand over Monica's. “The only way you can cope is if you open up to others.”

Monica could have clapped in appreciation when Bill walked up carrying a plate of cooked hamburgers and asked Nancy where she wanted them.

“On the dining room table,” she said.

Monica escaped to get Mandla out of the pool, and while he dressed, she found a place at the dinner table between Zak and Bill. Nancy told Connor he and Sipho could take their dinner into the family room so they could watch television while they were eating. Monica would have preferred them to remain at the table and take part in the conversation, but, of course, the boys jumped at Nancy's suggestion. Mandla was offered the same option but chose to remain with the adults, and Bill moved one seat along to allow Mandla to sit next to Monica.

After dessert and coffee, Mandla fell asleep at the table and Monica said they ought to leave.

“You can put him on my bed,” Nancy told Zak.

“Let them head back to the hotel if they want,” said Bill testily. “I'll get my keys and drive you.”

Nancy looked disappointed, but Monica was relieved that the evening had come to an end.

Sipho went upstairs and collected the bag he had packed.

“Enjoy yourself,” Connor told him.

Monica detected sarcasm in the boy's voice. Sipho had expressed enthusiasm for this trip to the theme park when she'd spoken to him about it on the phone from South Africa. Did Connor think he was too mature for this type of fun?

That night in the hotel room, Monica asked Sipho about the atmosphere in his host family's house.

“Connor's parents each have their own bedroom. And everybody eats dinner and watches TV in their own room,” said Sipho.

“But Nancy and Bill get on okay in front of you boys?”

Sipho nodded.

At least she didn't have to worry about Sipho witnessing emotional or even physical abuse. A cold-war situation was unhealthy, but Sipho wouldn't be upset by it.

Monica knew that she was being hypocritical. Her own relationship with her husband wasn't as it should be, and this was her fault. If she would stop bottling up her emotions and open up to Zak, things might return to normal, but she was too wrapped up in her own disappointment and misery to do what was sensible. Nancy had said men couldn't understand what infertile women went through, but Monica had first been attracted to Zak because he was not like most men she had known. Zak hadn't changed; she had. And if things were to be normal between them again, she would have to stop being so insular and let him in.

M
andla stepped out of the airplane into the crisp California air, his arms spread wide as though he were a dignitary arriving to cheers and banners.

“Now we'll see where movies are made,” he said.

In the rental car on the way to their hotel, he identified a number of locations where movies had been filmed. Monica had no idea whether he was correct or not, but she was pleased to see him excited.

Sipho wore a black T-shirt with the name of a rock band she had never heard of, given to him by Connor. As soon as he'd climbed into the rental car, he'd put on a pair of sunglasses, another gift from Connor.

Zak was not used to driving on the right-hand side of the road, but the rental car had automatic transmission, so at least he didn't have to remember to change gears with his right hand instead of his left. And most of the trip was on the freeway, which also made it easier. The hotel, only a short distance from the theme park, provided a shuttle service for guests, but they planned to use the rental car to drive up Highway 1 as far as Monterey, where Sipho wanted to visit the famous aquarium.

Halfway to the hotel, they stopped at a sprawling mall for Mandla to use the bathroom.

“You can use one there,” said Monica, pointing to a coffee shop that was nearly deserted.

Monica asked for directions to the bathroom from a young man wrapping silverware behind the counter.

“The restroom is for customers only,” he told Monica, not looking up. “Buy something and you can use it.”

“My son will only be a minute,” she replied.

“Order something and he can use it.”

“I've got to go,” whined Mandla.

“You go,” Monica told him. “I'll buy a coffee from this gentleman.” She did not bother to disguise her sarcastic tone.

When Mandla came out of the restroom Monica was still waiting for her coffee to be poured.

“I've paid three dollars fifty, so we might as well wait,” she told him.

Zak and Sipho had wandered next door to look at the computers in the window of an electronics store.

“Three dollars fifty to use the bathroom!” exclaimed Mandla. “How many rand is that?”

“About twenty-five.”

“We can get five milk shakes at Mama Dlamini's for twenty-five rand.” He turned to the man who was putting a lid on Monica's coffee. “How can you stop a little boy from using the bathroom—I mean restroom?”

Monica touched his shoulder. “It's okay,” she murmured.

Mandla shrugged her hand off. “No, it's not.”

The man looked at Mandla with a bemused smile.

“Everybody told me Americans were friendly, but you're not.”

The man's smile slid from his face. “Listen, brat. Store policy is store policy. Now clear out of here.”

“Don't call me a brat,” said Mandla, raising his voice.

Monica noticed a customer behind them, listening intently.

“Shh, let's go now,” she said. “I don't need his coffee.”

Mandla turned his back on the man behind the counter and addressed the handful of customers in the shop. “You should all find somewhere else to buy your coffee. This man is rude—and his bathroom is dirty.”

Some of the customers grinned, others commented quietly to each other.

“Excuse me,” said the man who had been waiting behind them. He spoke directly to Mandla. “I was impressed with what I just saw.” He handed him a card. “Give me a call. I think I can find you work.” And then he turned and walked out of the shop, apparently taking Mandla's advice to buy his coffee elsewhere.

Mandla stuffed the card in his pocket and ran out to tell Sipho what had happened with the store manager. Monica met Zak's eye as Mandla related the story. He, too, seemed surprised at how upset Mandla was. She wondered if the atmosphere at home over the past few months had done Mandla more damage than she'd realized, and if his outburst today was an emotional release.

Sipho told Mandla that an American would have simply ignored the manager and used the restroom without buying a thing.

“He wouldn't have you arrested,” said Sipho. “Now Mom paid for a coffee she didn't get.”

Mandla looked crestfallen.

“There's no harm done. Let's forget all about this and go to our hotel,” said Monica.

After they'd checked into the hotel, Mandla was eager to set off for the theme park. Monica agreed, and told him to put on a long-sleeved shirt, since it was not as warm in California as in Texas.

Mandla disappeared into the bathroom and came out wearing a sweatshirt bought at the botanical gardens in Cape Town. “Mom, what's a talent agent?” he asked.

Monica told him that it was someone who searched for people to be in movies.

Mandla shrieked with excitement. “I'm going to be in a movie.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sipho.

“That man who gave me his card in the coffee shop is a talent agent.” He handed the card to Sipho.

“We could go to an Internet café and check him out,” suggested Sipho.

But Mandla wanted Monica to call him right away. “Please, Mom, before he forgets about me and I lose my chance.”

Monica looked at the card. She had never heard of the man or his agency. She told Mandla that Sipho was right; they would have to do some investigating before calling him.

“Let's go to the theme park now,” she said.

Mandla was quiet on the shuttle ride to the park's entrance and answered in monosyllables if Monica asked him a question. If Zak spoke to him, however, he was his usual self. He was punishing her for not doing as he wished, she knew. Perhaps for a lot more.

While they were at the park, Mandla forgot to sulk and Monica felt more lighthearted than she had in years. The look of gratitude on Zak's face at seeing her enjoying herself was almost enough to make her cry. She was the center of the family, and over the past few months she had let them all down.

When they returned to the hotel room that night, Sipho flopped onto the bed next to Zak to watch the television news, and Mandla said he was going to take a shower.

Ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, still dressed in the clothes he had worn to the park, and beaming.

“I woke him up, but he wasn't angry. He wants to see me tomorrow,” he said triumphantly.

“Who does?” asked Monica. “Oh, no. Tell me you didn't phone that talent agent, Mandla.”

“This could be my big chance. And if it were up to you, I'd miss it.”

“But Mandla, we're going back to South Africa soon. Is there any point?” She sat down next to Zak with a sigh. “Did you hear this?” she asked him over the noise of the television. “Mandla's got an appointment with a talent agent tomorrow.”

Zak looked away from the screen. “Mandla, you should have let us check him out first. That man could be a scam artist. He might tell you that, before he gets you work, you have to do a course that costs thousands.”

“We were supposed to go to the other park tomorrow,” moaned Sipho.

Monica saw that Mandla was close to rushing back into the bathroom in tears. “I suppose we can delay it an hour or two.” She looked at Zak, and he shrugged. “Okay, Mandla,” she said, “we'll go and see what this man is about.”

Mandla did lock himself in the bathroom again, but this time to shower in preparation for his big meeting the following day.

 

Mandla was up at seven the next morning and made more noise than usual as he dressed, presumably so that the others would get up, too. They were expected at the talent agent's office at ten, but with Mandla so excited there was no point in trying to continue to sleep.

Monica came out of the shower to find Mandla describing to a yawning Sipho how he planned to divide his time between South Africa and Hollywood. He was not amused when Sipho asked where he would attend school.

Monica wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up, and then decided that he would misinterpret that as an expression of no confidence.

Zak found the correct high-rise office building in downtown Los Angeles with an hour to spare. “It's going to cost us a fortune in parking,” he grumbled, and then gave Mandla a playful squeeze at the back of the neck. “We'll take it out of your movie star earnings.”

Mandla laughed, but he clearly thought that was quite feasible. Monica prayed that if the man was going to let him down, he would do so gently.

The talent agency was on the tenth floor, and Monica was surprised to learn that it was a large company with offices in Europe and Japan. A receptionist led them to a waiting room with replicas of designer leather chairs from the nineteen thirties. Although early, they did not have to wait more than five minutes to see the talent scout.

Monica didn't remember much about him except that he had a beard, but he greeted her as though they'd all had coffee together that day and become friends. Zak, as he always did in the presence of effusive personalities, retreated into his shell. The talent scout asked if they would like to accompany Mandla into his office. Only Monica took him up on his offer, and the scowl Mandla gave her indicated that he would have preferred to go on his own, but she would not allow that.

For half an hour, the talent agent asked Mandla questions about his life and ignored Monica completely. She did not mind. It was interesting to hear Mandla describe their home. She had never before realized that he was bothered by Lady Helen's distance from a big city. He was always keen to accompany her to Cape Town whenever she needed to go there, but he had never expressed any dissatisfaction with small-town life. Perhaps she had overlooked the signs.

Although the talent agent was probably as old as Monica's father, his hip black clothing and rectangular glasses belonged to a younger generation. The walls of his office were lined with posters of films that, judging from the fashions and styling, went back to the seventies. Many had never made it to South African screens, perhaps due to strict censorship by the apartheid government.

The man saw her studying the posters. “I represent all those stars,” he said.

“Did you hear that?” Mandla asked Monica, wide-eyed.

“Your son could be on a poster like these.”

Mandla almost jumped out of his seat.

“Mrs. Niemand. I'd like to send him on an audition tomorrow.”

Mandla gave a little yelp of excitement.

“It's only for a bit part, but it will be the start he needs.”

Mandla really did jump out of his seat this time. “Oh, Mom, please say I can do it! Please say I can do it!”

They had planned to drive the rental car up to Monterey tomorrow to visit the aquarium Sipho was so keen to see. Monica asked the talent scout to write down the details, and said she'd discuss it with her husband. Mandla glared at her, but he perked up in order to charm the talent scout on their way out.

“Thank you, I'll give the audition my best shot,” he told the man. It was obvious that Mandla intended to go to the audition, whatever it took.

As was to be expected, Sipho was upset that they were even contemplating postponing the trip to Monterey. Monica told him that it would only be by one day.

“But what if Mandla gets the part? He can't stay here for months to be in a movie. It's ridiculous even going.”

If they hadn't been in the car on the way to the next theme park, Mandla would have stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door, but all he could do was turn his head away and study the passing buildings.

Monica and Zak did not have a chance to discuss the matter any further until both boys were on a ride together at the theme park.

“There was no point in driving him to this meeting if we didn't intend to let him take the next step,” said Zak.

Sipho's disappointment, when they broke the news to him, was understandable.

“We can go to Monterey the day after Christmas,” said Monica.

Sipho did not respond.

Dinner that evening at an Italian restaurant was not the fun occasion it should have been for a family on vacation together. Sipho sulked, Mandla accused him of being selfish, and Monica felt too weary to deal with either of them. For a while on this trip, she had started to feel herself again, but now she wanted to go to bed and not get up for days. Only Zak, it seemed, was unaffected by the emotions running high around him. After trying to engage the boys in conversation and failing, he concentrated on the signed celebrity photographs on the walls and enjoyed his meal in silence.

Then a group of carolers entered the restaurant and captured everyone's attention. Monica's heart ached. On any other occasion, Mandla would have been the first to join in with the singing, Sipho would have looked on with good-natured patience and Zak would have applauded the loudest. She needed to do something to pull her family together. But what?