Francina smiled at her daughter, who had sat in silence for most of the way to Cape Town, thinking no doubt of her sick aunt. Today might hold a major shift of direction in the history of Francina’s own little family. Would she be able to change the course of events, or would the ties she had to her daughter be insignificant compared with the ties of blood?
Cape Town no longer seemed the innocent city where Francina and her family had whiled away happy hours wandering through museums and browsing at outdoor markets. Now it threatened to be forever remembered as the site where the family that Francina had waited half her life for had slipped from her grasp. Johannesburg would seem joyful in comparison. She squeezed her daughter’s knee. Zukisa’s worried smile only made Francina more uneasy.
The area where Zukisa’s aunt lived was undergoing a halfhearted renovation. The blocks of government-subsidized flats were being given coats of fresh paint, teams of municipal workers were attacking the graffiti that lay over the neighborhood like cobwebs, and potholes were being patched. The local government’s efforts had been spurred by vocal residents who, sick and tired of the gang activity in the area, had vowed to take the law into their own hands if the authorities didn’t act. In other sections of the city, similar groups had burned down houses where suspected drug dealers lived, and so, wanting to avoid such actions, the authorities had promised more frequent police patrols and had thrown in the renovation as an act of good faith.
Hercules parked next to the stairwell that led to Zukisa’s aunt’s flat. Extra police patrols or not, Francina knew that he would worry about his car until the visit was over.
Zukisa led the way, taking the stairs two at a time. She had already knocked on her aunt’s door by the time Francina caught up. From inside came the sound of a blaring television. Zukisa’s aunt’s grandsons would never do well at school with the amount of television they watched.
Zukisa knocked louder. Still there was no answer. Hercules tried the door. It was unlocked. Francina reminded herself to scold those boys. Imagine leaving the front door unlocked in a neighborhood such as this. Francina and Hercules looked at their daughter. It was her decision whether to enter the flat uninvited. Zukisa pushed open the door.
What Francina noticed first was the smell. Zukisa led them into the kitchen and closed the open cupboard doors. In the sink, a pile of dishes was stacked precariously on top of a roasting pan filled with rancid fat, the source of the stench. Francina rolled up her sleeves and began removing the dirty dishes so she could fill the sink with hot water. Hercules gave her a rueful smile, recognizing this as the first of many contributions his wife would make today, and then followed Zukisa into the living room.
After putting the rancid fat into a plastic bag and sealing it, Francina quickly realized that the roasting pan and dishes would not come clean without a long soak in soapy water. When the sink had filled with hot water, she dried her hands on her dress, since the dish towel was crusted with old food, and hurried to join her daughter and husband.
She found them in the living room, attending to the youngest of Zukisa’s aunt’s grandchildren, five-year-old Fundiswa. The little girl was eating peanut butter out of a jar with a spoon and watching men wearing only tight pants and masks fight each other in a ring surrounded by thousands of screeching fans. Francina picked up the seat cushions from the floor and put them back on the couch. Zukisa had ascertained from Fundiswa that the boys had not returned since going out the previous night, and that her aunt was sleeping. From the child’s delight at seeing Zukisa, it was obvious that the little girl spent a lot of time on her own.
Zukisa looked at her mother, the question clear in her eyes. Francina nodded and followed her toward her aunt’s bedroom. Zukisa did not want to be alone when she opened the door.
When Francina saw the figure of Zukisa’s aunt asleep on the bed, she was reminded of her father lying in a hospital bed next to a window with a view of the ocean that he never saw. Illness, she had learned, made people seem shrunken, like children again. The last and only time Francina had seen Zukisa’s aunt, terror that the woman would not allow Zukisa to be formally adopted had filled her. But although Zukisa’s aunt had given the appearance of a strong, gruff lady, underneath she was like every woman trying to make it alone in the world with too little money and too many responsibilities. She had agreed to Francina becoming Zukisa’s adoptive mother.
“Hello, Auntie,” said Zukisa, touching her arm gently.
Her aunt awoke, saw Francina, and for an instant seemed confused.
“My mother and father brought me to see you,” explained Zukisa.
The wonderment of hearing herself called “mother” had not dimmed over the past years, and Francina doubted it ever would.
Zukisa’s aunt coughed and the wheezing sound made Francina wince. Zukisa shot Francina a look of helplessness.
“It’s my heart,” whispered the ill woman. “The doctor called it congestive heart failure.”
Francina had never heard of this disease, but judging from the tone of her voice and the pallor of her face, it was serious. Serious enough to warrant full-time care. Full-time care from a girl who already knew firsthand the commitment and endurance that would be required. Full-time care from a girl who should be at school.
In the vain hope that she could distract her daughter from swirling thoughts of sacrifice, Francina moved around the room, collecting dirty glasses and a half-empty plate. Someone—perhaps one of the elderly woman’s grandsons—had brought her food, but not stayed to see if it was eaten. Francina left the room and almost ran into Hercules outside the door.
“Is it bad?” he asked. For the first time in her life, she heard fear in her husband’s voice.
She nodded.
“Where are those boys?” he asked. “They should be looking after their grandmother and their sister.”
The couple looked at the little girl, who waited shyly in the doorway to the living room. Her face and hands were now clean, but her dress needed to be changed. Mercifully, Hercules had turned off the television.
Dear, sweet Hercules. He was the only man Francina knew who thought boys had just as much responsibility as girls to care for an ailing relative.
“They’ll come home sooner or later,” she said. But her tone was flat, because she knew—as did Hercules—that the kind of boys who left their young sister and sick grandmother and stayed out all night would not be competent caregivers.
“Nothing has been decided yet,” said Francina, looking intently into her husband’s eyes.
Hercules nodded, but she could tell he didn’t buy it. She didn’t, either. Before something was said that would make her cry, she hurried to the kitchen to discard the half-eaten food and wash the soaking pan and dishes. When she came out with bacon and cheese sandwiches for Zukisa’s aunt and Fundiswa, Hercules was sitting on the couch reading a story to the little girl. Francina wondered if Zukisa’s aunt, even when she was well, had had the time to do this. Looking after three grandchildren was not easy for a woman her age, especially when she had to keep a job to supplement her meager pension.
When the story was finished, Francina led the little girl to the other bedroom and hunted for a clean dress. There were boys’ clothes in all the drawers but not a sign of any dresses. Hercules, aware of her search, began looking around in the living room.
“Found her clothes,” he called.
Francina and the child joined him in the other room, where he had discovered a box containing girl’s garments on a bookshelf piled with pirated videos.
Francina took the little girl into the bathroom, bathed and dressed her in a clean skirt and T-shirt. As Francina’s hands worked, her mind was on another girl, only a few years older, who undoubtedly was contemplating her future.
“That’s better,” said Hercules, when Francina led the little one out of the bathroom.
At the same time, the door to the aunt’s bedroom opened and Zukisa stepped out.
Francina took one look
at her face and knew immediately that Zukisa felt she ought to stay. But there was no time for Francina to try and change her mind, because at that moment the boys walked in, bringing with them a stale odor of sweat and cigarettes.
“Howzit going?” the eldest boy asked Zukisa.
He was three years older than her, but only one year ahead of her in school.
“Where have you been, Xoli?” Francina demanded.
Xoli looked at her with surprise, as though she were a bird that had flown through the window. Neither he nor his brother, Bulelani, answered her question.
Francina did not try to drag an answer out of them. “How can you leave your sick grandmother alone all night? And what about your sister? The front door was unlocked. Do you know what could have happened if she’d wandered outside on her own? Are you listening to me?”
Xoli turned on the television.
Francina snapped it off. “This is serious,” she yelled.
Zukisa, who rarely heard her mother raise her voice, bowed her head.
“We’re going to come back here next week to check on you, and we better find this place in better shape,” said Francina.
The boys gave halfhearted nods, but would not meet Francina’s eye.
“Let’s go, Hercules, Zukisa.”
Hercules patted the little girl on the shoulder and took Zukisa’s hand.
Before Francina closed the front door, she gave the boys one last searing look and shook her finger at them.
“That should sort them out,” she said, going down the stairs.
Zukisa was silent in the car on the way home, and Francina knew she was thinking about moving to Cape Town to help her aunt.
Forgive me, God, my selfish thoughts, Francina prayed silently, but I cannot bear to think of life without my precious daughter.
Chapter Five
Monica stared at the clock on the kitchen wall, wondering what would be an appropriate time to call a stranger in the United States. The boys were clearing the table after dinner. In America, it would be noon. What time did American church services end? She did not even consider that the family might not attend church.
It had been three weeks since Monica had given Sipho permission to go. The days had passed quickly—too quickly—and now only four remained before his departure, on Friday morning.
Although Sipho had expressed only a casual interest when Monica had mentioned that she’d like to talk to the lady who was going to be his host, she knew that he was curious about the family. Monica hoped she’d be able to form an accurate opinion from her voice alone.
She dialed the string of numbers and waited for the phone to ring on the other end. It wasn’t long before a young person answered, perhaps the boy with whom Sipho would be going to school. He sounded polite and agreed to call his mother. Monica heard high heels clicking on a wooden floor.
“Hello?” The word sounded long in the lady’s accent.
Monica explained who she was, and was astonished at the enthusiastic reaction she got.
“I’m so happy you called,” said the lady. “I would have done the same in your place.” She insisted Monica call her by her first name, Nancy.
Monica did not know how to proceed without making Nancy feel as if she were being interrogated, but there was no need to say another word because the woman spoke enough for both of them. She told Monica all about Houston, about the school Sipho would be attending, the curriculum, sporting activities—Monica didn’t have a chance to tell her that these wouldn’t be necessary for Sipho—and about the church the family attended.
“He won’t object to coming to church with us, will he?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, no,” said Monica. “Actually, next year he’s going to be a Sunday school teacher at our church.”
Monica could only conclude that, aside from the sporting activities, Sipho’s life would follow much the same pattern in the United States that it did in South Africa.
The conversation lasted for almost twenty minutes. Nancy did most of the talking. Monica didn’t mind, since the purpose of the call was to learn about Sipho’s host family. When the two women finally said goodbye, Monica was as reassured as possible for a mother whose son was about to travel thousands of miles away from home.
Sipho was hanging around the doorway to her bedroom when she got off the telephone.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“Phew, a lot. But she sounds nice. And you might not approve, but you will be thoroughly supervised.”
“What about her son?”
“He plays a lot of sports.”
“Oh.” Sipho sounded disappointed.
“But he has other interests. Debating, charity work. Actually, I don’t know when he has time to eat, with all his activities. And you don’t have to join in with anything you don’t want to.”
She hoped that he would understand that this piece of advice applied to more than extracurricular activities.
“Did she say if I needed warm clothes?”
Monica laughed. “By the sound of it, Houston might have a shorter and milder winter than we have here on the West Coast. But school uniforms aren’t required like here so you need some extra clothes.”
“Can you just pick them out?”
Sipho hated shopping. He’d be content if she bought him five identical pairs of pants with five identical shirts. Mandla, on the other hand, always wanted to choose his own clothes. When he was little, he’d refuse to wear anything decorated with tractors, cars or sports logos. The design had to be plain, the fabric soft and nonirritating against his sensitive skin.
Monica had already decided to take off Thursday to help Sipho get ready, and she bargained on getting him to miss school that day. She put the idea to him now.
“I suppose so,” he said. “But it will only take ten minutes to throw some clothes into a suitcase.”
Most children she knew, Mandla included, would jump at the chance to miss school, but Sipho was a dedicated student. To him, schoolwork was not a chore but a long task to complete before he could do what he really wanted, which was study medicine.
Monica thought that she and Sipho could spend most of the day engaged in their favorite activity: walking, either up the koppies or along the beach. Sipho was an informative companion on these walks. He could name every bird, animal and sea creature that came into view, as well as their diet, habitat and method of reproduction.
“Thanks for letting me go,” said Sipho. “I know you don’t really want to.”
Monica gave him a weak smile. “You’ll understand one day when you have children of your own.”
“What would my mother have done?”
The question did not take Monica off guard as it had when Sipho first started asking it, when he became a teenager. For years, his own memories of his mother had been enough, but then it seemed to Monica that he had begun to worry that they were becoming hazy, and so he’d started drawing her into this game of hypothetical parenting. She had never sought to eclipse Ella’s memory, so she went along with it, even when she wasn’t quite sure of the answer. This time, however, she was.
“Your mother lived in South Africa, Zambia, Canada and Cuba. She and her parents left their country of birth against their will, but your mother was an adventurer and made the most of it. She would have wished her sons to do the same, if that’s what they wanted.”
Sipho nodded, and Monica wondered whether the vision he had of his mother right now was of her lying sick in bed, or when she was still capable of hiding the disease from her family and friends.
“Can I tell you a secret, Mom?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
“I know I should go to America, but I’m not so sure I want to.” He searched her face to judge her reaction.
This was one of those moments, Monica knew, when her mettle as a parent was being tested. She wanted to say, “Don’t go, stay here with me.” But Monica the parent had to weigh her words. She didn’t want Sipho to one day regret
a missed opportunity. He was scared, understandably so. In his place, Mandla would not be, but Sipho was more cautious. Any change he made was because he had thought it through and made a considered choice to fulfill a purpose.
“You don’t have to stay there if you’re unhappy,” she said.
His eyes lit up. “You won’t be disappointed if I want to come home after a month?”
Monica shook her head. The expense of airfare was unimportant. She would be proud that he had conquered his fear of trying something new.
“Well, then that’s different,” he said.
They heard a car in the driveway. Zak had returned from taking his daughter to her mother’s house in Cape Town. The constant moving between two households had, at first, upset Yolanda, and her schoolwork had suffered. But now, at seventeen, in her second to last year in high school, she’d mastered her dual lives with ease. She no longer even bothered to pack a bag, but kept clothes and toiletries at her father’s house.
Yolanda’s mother had married the man for whom she had left Zak, and although Yolanda had once left home and come to stay in Lady Helen for a while because she did not get on with him, she had learned to live in peace with him. She said, however, that she would never love him because he hadn’t respected the sanctity of her parents’ marriage.
Zak came through the front door, rubbing his hands together.
“It’s freezing out there,” he said. He kissed Monica and sat down next to her. “So what have you been doing while I was away?”
“Sipho and I have been talking about his trip to the United States.”
“Are you sure you’ll be able to get someone to replace you at the hospital over Christmas?” asked Sipho.
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