Chapter Eleven
Johannesburg’s main hospital sat high on a ridge overlooking the leafy neighborhoods north of downtown. As Francina and Hercules crossed the parking lot to the reception area, she thought of the day she had stepped out of a taxi after traveling all the way from Lady Helen to Durban to see her father in the tall hospital that overlooked the ocean. He had held on to life until she arrived.
Francina’s only other experience with a hospital had been after her first husband, Winston, beat her so badly that doctors had to remove her left eye. At that time, hospitals were segregated, and an ambulance for blacks had taken her more than twenty miles, to a black hospital, even though there had been a white hospital within spitting distance.
Francina watched the elegant young woman behind the reception desk purse her painted lips as Hercules put forward their request. “Are you family?” she asked.
Francina knew that an explanation of the facts would be confusing and only bolster her resistance to helping them.
“Yes,” Francina stated. If not by blood, they were family by law.
“Wait over there,” said the young woman, pointing at an alcove next to a window.
Francina and Hercules found a sleeping man stretched across all five of the chairs, so they leaned against a wall close by and prepared to wait.
Francina was a tangled ball of nerves. What if Lucy hadn’t survived? Did that mean they’d have to leave Zukisa with her aunt?
“Mr. and Mrs. Shabalala?”
They had not noticed the man approach. He wore a crisply ironed white shirt, black pants and a name badge on his pocket that identified him as a clerk in the medical records department.
Hercules shook his outstretched hand, which was quickly withdrawn. Old-school, thought Francina, but not being one for shaking hands herself, she didn’t mind if the man left her out.
“Follow me,” said the clerk.
He led them to a large office divided into cubicles containing other clerks in identical dress, most pecking at computer keyboards. The man found his cubicle and indicated for Francina and Hercules to sit down in the plastic chairs in front of his desk.
Hercules read over the document that the man gave him to sign, then shot Francina a desperate look. It asked his exact relationship with the patient for whom records were being requested, and required a signature to the sworn statement at the end.
Francina took the pen from Hercules’s hand and wrote, Adoptive parents of cousin of patient.
She could have lied, but her principles would not allow it.
The clerk took the document from her, read what she had written and frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can only give out information to immediate family,” he said.
“We don’t want any medical information, only her address,” explained Francina.
“Oh, medical records can only be released to the patients themselves, unless, of course, they’re deceased.”
“She’s dead?” asked Francina, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Hercules, she’s dead.”
The clerk shifted in his chair. “I didn’t say she was dead.”
“Then she’s alive?” asked Francina.
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“Well, either she’s dead or alive. So which is it?”
The clerk sighed heavily. “The rules state that—”
Francina did not allow him to finish. She knew she had made him uncomfortable, and took full advantage of it. “How can you let us suffer like this?”
The clerk leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the cubicle on his left, then his right. Then he leaned forward and dropped his voice. “She was admitted to ward 310. Ask for Sister Agnes. She’s nice.”
Francina was ecstatic. Lucy had survived—at least long enough to make it from the emergency room to a ward. And ward 310 sounded a whole lot better than the intensive care unit.
The clerk brushed off their thanks and stood quickly to usher them out.
Since morning visiting hours had begun, Francina and Hercules were not deterred from wandering up and down the corridors in search of ward 310. The hospital was much bigger than the one in Durban and nobody approached them.
Finally, they reached their destination and discovered it was for surgery cases. Lucy had undergone an operation and had made it back to this ward. Francina flashed Hercules a broad grin.
Sister Agnes wouldn’t be in until noon, they were told by a nurse, at which time visiting hours would be over. They were welcome to come back during afternoon visiting hours.
Francina and Hercules found a place to sit and wait.
“If she’s as nice as that clerk says she is, then she’ll give us five minutes of her time even if it’s past visiting hours,” Francina commented.
It was warm with the sun streaming through a window behind them, and before long she found herself dozing in her seat. She awoke to feel Hercules nudging her in the ribs.
“It’s almost noon,” he said. “Most of the visitors have left. We’d better pretend we’re leaving, too.”
But their subterfuge wasn’t necessary, because just then they saw a nurse entering ward 310 with a heavy sweater over her white uniform and a handbag over her shoulder.
“That must be Sister Agnes,” Francina declared.
They gave her a minute to settle in and then approached the nurses’ station again. The same one who had warned them about the end of visiting hours looked at them sternly.
“We’d like to see Sister Agnes, please,” said Hercules.
“She’s busy, and visiting hours have ended.”
Francina noticed that the new arrival had appeared from her office, mug in hand, probably on her way to boil the kettle in the nurses’ station.
“But we have to see Sister Agnes,” Francina said loudly.
“Come back at three o’clock,” the nurse repeated.
“But it’s important.” Francina noticed that the newcomer was listening. “It’s to do with our daughter.”
She moved closer to them. “Can I help you with something?”
“I told them to come back when visiting hours started again,” explained the nurse.
“Would you like to step into my office?” Sister Agnes asked Francina and Hercules.
“Thank you, Sister,” said Francina. She was tempted to give the junior nurse a look of triumph, but stopped herself.
Sister Agnes’s office was a windowless square space lined with books. Francina and Hercules sat down across from her desk, and launched into an explanation of their search.
Sister Agnes nodded as she listened. When Francina was satisfied that she had clearly conveyed the risk of losing Zukisa if Lucy wasn’t found, she sat back in her chair and waited.
Sister Agnes was in no rush to speak, and Francina wondered if all the nodding was just her manner, and she didn’t remember Lucy, after all. She didn’t consult the computer on her desk to jog her memory. Perhaps she was considering the ethical implications of divulging information about a patient. The clerk had said that Sister Agnes was nice, and to Francina, “nice” meant willing to disregard red tape when someone was in need.
Sister Agnes got up and asked Hercules to help her move a stack of journals out of the way so the door could close. Then she sat back down at her desk.
“I wish you had come here two months ago,” she said.
Francina gasped. “She died?”
The woman reached across the table and placed her hand over Francina’s. “No, she didn’t. She was seriously injured, but God showed her His mercy.”
Sister Agnes explained that when the time had come for Lucy to be discharged, nobody came to collect her. “She couldn’t walk on her own. We couldn’t possibly just put her out on the street.”
“She had a boyfriend,” offered Francina.
Sister Agnes shook her head. “We never saw him once while she was here.”
It turned out the kind soul had arranged for a church charity that cared for women at risk to collect her.
> “Bethany House is not far from here,” she added. “I can’t tell you if she’s still there or not, but someone at the hostel might be able to help you.”
“God bless you, Sister,” said Francina. She stood up, and Sister Agnes allowed herself to be hugged. Hercules shook her hand.
“I hope you find her,” she said, opening her office door. “Now where’s my mug? I was about to make tea.”
The nurse at the front desk looked at them suspiciously when they came out, but didn’t say a word.
“What a nice woman,” Francina whispered to Hercules as they navigated their way out of the hospital.
Bethany House, Francina discovered as Hercules followed the route he had plotted on his map, was close to where Monica used to work as a radio journalist. Melville was a fashionable area, but on the outskirts, where they found Bethany House, the homes had not been renovated and some even looked ready for demolition. Hercules parked on the busy street and rang the doorbell alongside the security gate in the perimeter wall.
A young woman opened the front door of the house and shouted, “Yes?”
Hercules raised his voice. “We’re looking for Lucy.”
“Who?”
“Lucy?”
The young woman disappeared, and Francina and Hercules heard the door slam. A short while later, the door opened again and the same young woman walked down the garden path toward them. She unlocked the security gate and locked it again behind them when they’d entered.
“You can wait inside,” she told them.
As they followed her to the house, Francina glimpsed a tattoo on the back of her neck. The young woman told them to take a seat in the living room. Francina and Hercules chose a worn beige couch, sinking down so deeply that Francina wondered if she’d ever be able to get up. The other furniture was in no better condition and the curtains were almost worn through, but there was a shine on the battered coffee table and the lemony smell of wood polish. The place was clean and well cared for.
Hercules stood up when he heard the door open. The woman who entered was thinner than in the photograph, her hair was covered by a scarf and she leaned heavily on a cane, but there was no mistaking that she was Lucy.
The worried look on her face indicated that she had no idea who Hercules and Francina were or why they wanted to see her.
Francina quickly explained their connection to Zukisa.
“You’ve seen my mother?” asked Lucy. Instead of the smile of relief Francina had expected, she seemed even more fearful.
Francina nodded.
“What did she tell you?”
Francina knew exactly what Lucy didn’t want to hear, and felt relieved. Shame was the natural response of someone needing forgiveness. If Lucy felt shame, then Francina and Hercules might succeed in getting her to return to Cape Town.
Francina evaded the question. “Your mother misses you. Your children miss you.”
“My mother said that?”
Francina could not lie and tell her that her mother had used those exact words, but she knew it to be true. How could a mother be separated from her daughter and not miss her?
“Your children need you,” she told Lucy.
Zukisa’s cousin sat down heavily in a threadbare armchair. “No, they don’t. I’m not a good mother. I’ve done some bad things—”
“Shhh,” said Francina, cutting her off midsentence. “That’s all in the past now.”
“I haven’t had a drink since I came here from the hospital. I’ve been working in the kitchen and thinking about my life.”
Francina realized then that it had not been God’s plan for them to help Lucy dry out. He had already taken care of that. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
“Your life is in Cape Town with your children,” Francina said gently.
“I can’t face my mother after what I’ve done.”
“Your mother and children will forgive you.”
Lucy buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
Francina got up and put a hand on her trembling shoulder. Seeing Lucy in this state, she decided not to tell her that her mother was ill.
“We can take you home,” said Hercules quietly.
Francina knew that Lucy had heard him because her shoulders stopped trembling. She did not uncover her face, but Francina sensed this was the pivotal moment in which she could decide to grant her her heart’s desire—unwittingly, of course—or dash her hopes forever. Francina felt a twinge of guilt for thinking of herself when the future of Lucy’s three children was also at stake, but it was not a sin for a mother to want to be with her daughter at all costs.
Lucy lifted her head. “Fundiswa won’t even know me,” she said.
Francina’s stomach lurched. She and Hercules were going to get their daughter back!
“A child knows her mother,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. What she really wanted to say was, “Hurry and get your things so we can leave now.”
“Are you sure it’s no problem to take me all the way to Cape Town?”
“Of course not,” said Francina. “We’re going home, too.”
“What were you doing in Johannesburg?” asked Lucy.
She didn’t realize that the two of them had traveled all the way to Johannesburg to find her. Perhaps it would be preferable, Francina thought, if Lucy remained oblivious of this fact. She had agreed to come back with them; this was all that was important, and anything they said now might undo the progress they had made.
Hercules, however, had other ideas. “We came to find you,” he said. “That’s how important you are to your family.”
Francina watched Lucy try to digest this new information. “My mother is ill, isn’t she?” she asked at last.
He nodded.
Francina worried that Lucy might start crying again, but her eyes were dry, her voice calm.
“Then I must go immediately.” She stood up. “I’ll tell the director I’m leaving, and get my things. I don’t have much, just a toothbrush and some toiletries. I’ll leave the clothes that were donated to me.”
Francina and Hercules watched her go, and both let out a sigh of relief.
“Let’s bring all the potatoes and onions inside,” said Francina. “I told you we’d find a place for them.”
They hurried to the car and carried the bags back into the house. Lucy was waiting for them in the hallway.
“Just what we need,” she said, looking at the bags. “Someone dropped off a crate of carrots and celery this morning, so now we can make vegetable soup. The girls love it.”
Seeing Lucy smile, Francina was struck by her resemblance to Fundiswa, who had spent more than four of her five years apart from her mother.
From Johannesburg to Kimberley, a distance of two hundred and ninety miles, Lucy sat in silence, which she broke only to say thank-you whenever Francina passed her a bottle of water or offered her a butterscotch drop. But as they entered the flat, dry landscape of the Karoo, Lucy began to talk about her early years as a mother, when the boys were babies, and about how their father had never been a constant presence in their lives.
As the temperature rose, they all rolled down their windows, and the smell of dried herbs filled the car.
“Wild rosemary,” said Lucy. “It’s wonderful with Karoo lamb.”
“You’re a cook?” asked Francina.
“I used to love cooking,” said Lucy. “My favorite part was inventing something wonderful with the ingredients I had. I never used recipe books.”
Francina’s mind began to tick furiously. If Mama Dlamini was offered a permanent position as head chef at the golf resort, her café would need a replacement cook. Lucy’s boys would be far better off growing up in Lady Helen than in that dangerous neighborhood of Cape Town. And Zukisa could be near to her aunt. Francina felt a flutter of excitement as the plans formed in her head. But, as Hercules would say, first things first. Let Lucy and her family become reacquainted with each other before Francina had the
m moving to a new town.
Chapter Twelve
While Francina was away, Mandla sat every afternoon in Monica’s office, doing his homework without protest, or staring silently out of the window—both very out of character for him. He was missing his brother.
Emergencies at the hospital kept Zak busy, so he’d not been able to go to Cape Town to convince Jacqueline not to take Yolanda to Australia, but he’d told Monica he planned to go this evening. Since he’d be back late, Monica decided to take Mandla to Mama Dlamini’s Eating Establishment for dinner.
The queen of the café was nowhere to be seen.
“Is Mama in the kitchen?” Mandla asked Anna, the waitress.
Monica had secured a full-time job for Anna at the café so that she wouldn’t have to rely on her usual source of income, which was illegal abalone picking.
Anna shook her head. “No, she’s not here. Your gogo is cooking,” she told Mandla, referring to Francina’s mother-in-law.
“Gogo!” Mandla leaped out of his chair and, without waiting for permission from Monica or Anna, went into the kitchen.
A minute later he came out, dragging Mrs. Shabalala by the hand.
“Hi, Monica,” she said.
“Hello. What a surprise. Why are you working here?”
Monica noticed that for an instant Francina’s mother-in-law evaded her gaze. “Mama Dlamini has other work to do,” Mrs. Shabalala said eventually.
“Oh.” It was a reasonable excuse, but Monica could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. Mrs. Shabalala seemed uncomfortable, and glad for the distraction of Mandla’s questions about the day’s specials.
Eventually, Mandla decided on baked haddock with mushroom risotto, a combination of two of the evening specials, and he accompanied Mrs. Shabalala back to the kitchen to watch her work.
When the food arrived, it was clear that he had distracted her because the risotto was like porridge, the haddock dry and Monica’s calamari fried to a crisp. But Mandla did not seem to notice, and Monica didn’t say a word.
Later that evening, when Mandla was asleep and Monica had just stepped out of a relaxing hot bath, she heard Zak’s car in the driveway and braced herself to bear the brunt of his frustration with Jacqueline. But when he came through the door, she saw his triumphant grin and knew that she had been correct to suggest he talk to his ex-wife.
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