Fly Away Home
Page 11
The next day, Saturday, Monica tried to appease Mandla by taking him and Yolanda to lunch at Mama Dlamini’s Eating Establishment. Zak had to be at the hospital for an hour or two. Mandla always acted as though the café were his own private club, and would leave the table to greet friends and neighbors. Today was no exception; he had spied Francina, Hercules and Zukisa in a booth.
Yolanda ordered Mama Dlamini’s speciality: snoek done West Coast style over an open fire, served with lemon juice and homemade apricot jam.
“I’m not sure if Mrs. Shabalala is up to cooking that,” said Monica.
Yolanda shrugged. “I’ll try it anyway.”
When the food arrived, Monica tasted Yolanda’s snoek and found it surprisingly good—up to Mama Dlamini’s standards, even.
“I should apologize to Mrs. Shabalala,” she said.
“Francina told me she’s not here,” said Mandla. “Mama Dlamini is cooking today.” He pointed at the door to the kitchen. “There she is.”
Mama Dlamini wiped her hands on her apron and began to greet her patrons, as always.
“Mmm…I’m in the mood for a chocolate milk shake,” said Mandla. Mama Dlamini always gave her “two favorite boys” a milk shake on the house.
“Who’s my best boy?” Mama Dlamini called out to Mandla. She came over and pinched his cheeks. Sipho hated that and had been grateful when she’d stopped doing it to him, the day he turned fifteen.
“We haven’t seen you for a while,” said Monica.
“Yes, yes, I’ve been busy,” replied Mama Dlamini vaguely. “How about a milk shake, you two?”
“Yes, please,” said Mandla and Yolanda in unison.
“Busy with what?” asked Monica.
Mama Dlamini’s eyes followed Anna as the waitress moved about the café. “Business stuff.”
“What business stuff?” persisted Monica.
Mama Dlamini studied her face. “If there’s something you want to ask, just ask it, Monica.”
Monica knew that this was not the time to confront Mama Dlamini about her divided loyalties, but she had started it and now she’d finish it.
“How can you work for Mr. Yang? Have you forgotten that he tried to bulldoze Sandpiper Drift? How do you think Daphne, Miemps and Reginald would feel if they knew you were cooking for the man who tried to destroy their home?”
“That’s their business, not yours, Monica.” Mama Dlamini’s tone was curt.
“Have you told them? No, you haven’t. It’s because you’re ashamed, aren’t you?” Monica noticed Francina and Hercules staring at her.
Mama Dlamini raised her voice. “Who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be ashamed of? I shouldn’t have to remind you, Monica, of the differences between you and me.” She wagged a finger in Monica’s face. “My daddy didn’t send me to university. The only way I would have gone to university is if I’d got a job cleaning classrooms.”
“What’s that got to do with—?”
“You’ve had opportunities I could only dream of.”
“But—”
Mama Dlamini did not give her a chance to finish. “If you think that I’m going to say no when someone offers me a chance to prove myself in a world-class restaurant, then you’re a foolish woman.”
“Well, I just think Mr. Yang should ask forgiveness of the people he has wronged,” said Monica, her tone defensive.
“Enough, ladies,” interrupted Francina, stressing the word ladies as if to remind both women that they were behaving badly.
“I’ll go and make the milk shakes,” mumbled Mama Dlamini, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Francina sat down at Monica’s table. “How are you, Yolanda?” she asked, as though nothing had happened.
The girl looked nervously at Monica before speaking. “Okay, I suppose.”
“And you, Mandla? What are your plans for the weekend?”
Mandla glared at Monica. “Spring cleaning.”
Anna arrived with the milk shakes. While the youngsters were unwrapping their straws and arguing over which glass had the most whipped cream on top, Francina put her hand on Monica’s arm and dropped her voice. “What were you thinking, Monica? Why argue with Mama Dlamini here, at lunchtime, in front of all her customers?”
Monica sighed. “I know, I know, I was wrong.”
“You and I both know that this is not just about Mama Dlamini working at the golf resort. You’re upset with your life. You’re angry, you’re disappointed. But you can’t take it out on other people. Mandla tells me you don’t get up on time in the morning, you forget to make him lunch for school, you don’t sign his homework. You have to pull yourself together.”
Monica knew Francina was right, but what she advised was easier said than done.
Chapter Sixteen
Monica 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 meant
ime 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.
Chapter Seventeen
Mandla’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.”