Fly Away Home

by Vanessa Del Fabbro

  “You see that, Sipho? My name is on his list.”

  Sipho, who had been lectured not to ruin his brother’s day, gave a polite smile.

  The family was not allowed to accompany Mandla into the studio, but were shown to a small lounge, to wait with the families of other young hopefuls.

  “Great way to spend Christmas Eve,” muttered Sipho, looking at the television, which was set to a soap opera channel.

  Monica watched the child actors’ younger siblings playing with a basket of grubby toys in the corner. Her attention was particularly caught by a little girl of about eighteen months. The child had blond hair, an infectious laugh, and didn’t mind when her older brother pushed her away from the car he was pretending to drive. Each time, she laughed, as though he were playing a game with her. Monica could not keep her eyes off the little girl and hardly noticed Sipho’s groans of impatience. When Zak and Sipho announced that they were going to take a walk, Monica elected to remain in the lounge. The little girl had found a new game: switching the television on and off. Her mother tried to stop her, but the only way she could do that was by restraining the girl on her lap.

  The mother noticed Monica’s interest. “One day they’re babies and the next they’re into everything,” she said, smiling ruefully.

  Monica nodded. She had not known Sipho as a baby, and Mandla had been about the same age as this little girl when she’d first met him. Feeling melancholy, she got up and put her head out the door to see if she could spot Zak and Sipho.

  The road outside was deserted. She was wondering whether to sit back down or take a stroll when she saw Mandla sauntering toward her, whistling. His audition must have gone well.

  He pulled her outside and closed the door to the waiting room behind her.

  “I got the part,” he said in a theatrical whisper. “It’s a secret because they’re still auditioning the other boys on the schedule for today.”

  Monica went to hug him but he put up his hand. “No, someone will see,” he said.

  She was proud of him but dreaded the answer to the question she had to ask. “When will they need you?”

  “Filming begins in six days and will take two weeks.” He looked at her defiantly.

  “I see.” There was no point in discussing it here, especially within earshot of one of the parents whose son would be given the part when Mandla told the director he couldn’t take it. “I wonder where Zak and Sipho have gone.”

  “I’ll find them,” said Mandla, and walked off as though he knew the lot as well as his own back garden.

  Monica grabbed him by the hand. “I think it’s best if we wait for them here. I don’t want you getting lost, too.”

  “Oh, Mom, the director showed me around already. I have to report to studio A at eight o’clock in six days.”

  Zak and Sipho rounded the corner, and Mandla ran to tell them his news. Monica could see from their faces that they felt as trapped as she had.

  In the car on the way back to the hotel, Sipho said what was on everybody’s mind. “But Mandla, you’re returning to South Africa in a week.”

  He folded his arms. “Mom can change the tickets. Can’t you, Mom?”

  She told him they could be changed for a fee, but that there were other considerations, such as Zak’s job, her job.

  “Dudu was doing all your work, anyway,” Mandla said sulkily.

  “Mandla! Apologize to your mother,” said Zak.

  “It’s true. Everyone says so. And I’m always late for school because Mom doesn’t want to get up in the morning.”

  He was angry, but Monica could hear that he was also about to cry.

  “I’m sorry, Mandla. I’ve been having a rough time,” she said.

  “Does that mean we can stay for the filming then?”

  Monica put her head in her hands and waited for Zak to say something.

  “Your mother and I will discuss this,” he stated.

  A car behind beeped at them. Zak looked in the rearview mirror. “What’s his problem?”

  “I think you’re going too slowly, Dad,” said Sipho.

  “I’m driving at the speed limit.”

  “Nobody else is,” Sipho explained.

  For the rest of the ride, nobody spoke. Zak concentrated on the traffic and the others were lost in their own thoughts.

  At the hotel, Zak sent the boys upstairs to the room and he and Monica pretended to look in the window of the gift shop so they could have a few moments to talk privately.

  “It’s up to you,” Zak told her. “But I can’t stay on here.”

  Mandla looked up expectantly when they entered the hotel room.

  “And?” he said.

  Monica sat down on the bed next to him. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we have to go home. Maybe you can try for a part in a movie in Cape Town.”

  Mandla rose to his feet. “How many of those do they make? Mom, this is Hollywood. If a newspaper here offered you a job you wouldn’t turn it down.”

  “Yes, I would,” she said quietly.

  “You just want to be mean,” he shouted. He stormed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

  Monica looked at her husband helplessly.

  “He’ll get over it,” said Zak.

  “No, he won’t,” said Sipho.

  “I have to go home to relieve the locum,” Zak murmured. “But I don’t mind going on my own if you want to stay.”

  “And after this movie? What if there’s another—and this time with a bigger part that requires him to stay longer? If we allow this to start—”

  “One step at a time, Monica.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the one going home.”

  “Monica, I can’t stay away from the hospital any longer.”

  “And, of course, the newspaper is not a real job.” Monica’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Monica, calm down.”

  “I am calm,” she shouted at him.

  Zak looked at Sipho, who took his cue to excuse himself to visit the hotel’s heated pool.

  Monica watched her son leave and then turned on Zak. “You’re supposed to be helping me make a difficult decision, not washing your hands of it.”

  “Monica—”

  “That’s what you always do. Let me do the worrying all by myself.”

  Zak’s voice was icy. “You’re not talking about Mandla and the movie anymore. Are you?”

  “Why? Do you have a guilty conscience?”

  “Monica, I have been there for you every step of the way with this whole baby business.”

  “Yes, but in silence.” She knew Mandla would be listening to every word from inside the locked bathroom, but she could not help herself.

  “That’s unfair.”

  “I’ll tell you about unfair,” she shouted.

  “Keep your voice down,” snapped Zak. “Just listen to yourself, Monica. You’re not being rational. Mandla’s right. You have been neglecting him.”

  “How dare you?” she screamed. “What do you know? You’re not a full-time parent.”

  Zak stared at her in disbelief. She had gone too far.

  “I’m going to ignore that vicious comment,” he said icily. “Because I know you’re not yourself. You need help, Monica. We need help. This obsession about having a baby is destroying us all.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You already have a child of your own.”

  They heard the lock turn on the bathroom door.

  Mandla’s face was deadpan. “Let’s go for a walk, Dad,” he said in a small voice.

  Zak picked up his wallet. “Good idea.”

  Mandla refused to look at Monica.

  As soon as they’d closed the door, she burst into tears. Mandla would never forget what he had heard. All along he had been enthusiastic about her having a baby, but now that he had heard her refer to a baby as a child of her own, he would think that he was not enough for her. What had she done?

  Late in the afternoon, Monica got up
from the bed and went to the bathroom to wash her face. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her skin was blotchy. She had fallen asleep, only to be woken by a knock from a hotel employee wanting to know if they had enough filter coffee. After that, Monica had put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, but she couldn’t fall asleep again.

  As she dried her face, she heard a key in the door. Zak and the boys had returned. She looked at her miserable expression in the mirror. How difficult would it be to agree to stay on in this country for two more weeks? If Mandla could choose any gift for Christmas, she knew it would be to appear in the movie, so why not make this her Christmas gift to him?

  She opened the bathroom door.

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” said Zak, as though she might have forgotten.

  She did not meet his gaze.

  “Let’s go to a movie down the street and then have a look at the Christmas decorations in the store windows,” suggested Sipho, the only one who had not been party to Monica’s earlier outburst.

  She shook her head. “I think we should go to church tonight.”

  Zak nodded. It was as though he, too, realized that the only way this family would find peace on Christmas Eve was in the presence of God.

  The clerk on duty at the front desk gave them directions to two nearby churches. After calling both, they learned that only one had a Christmas Eve service.

  Their choice of a restaurant was also made easy. The only one within walking distance that could offer them a table at a time that would enable them to make the Christmas service was a Chinese buffet—not exactly what Monica would have chosen for the occasion, but the boys were excited.

  As soon as the waiter had served them their drinks, Monica turned to Mandla and made her announcement. “Okay, Mandla, we can stay for two more weeks.”

  He almost fell off his chair in his rush to hug her.

  “Oh, thank you, Mom. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’ll see. It won’t be a waste. One day I’ll be famous and I’ll buy you anything you want.”

  She smiled back at him. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am now,” he shouted. “Dad, are you going to stay, too?”

  Monica knew she should have discussed her decision with Zak before announcing it to Mandla, but she didn’t feel like being mature. This was petulant of her, and potentially destructive, but she believed that he had betrayed her; she wanted a baby and he was telling her to give up the idea.

  She was surprised to see Zak smiling at her as though everything had been sorted out. For the sake of the boys, she smiled back at him. Their problems hadn’t been solved, but there was no need to ruin Christmas for her family.

  The Christmas service was exactly what their family needed. Though they didn’t recognize any of the Christmas hymns, the boys joined in as best they could, and when the reverend prompted the congregation to greet their neighbors, Mandla charmed the family in the pew behind by wishing them a merry Christmas in Sotho, Zulu and Afrikaans.

  “He’s adorable,” the mother told Monica.

  This sort of remark would usually have prompted Sipho to roll his eyes, but he, too, was caught up in the joyful atmosphere of the Christmas service.

  Afterward, when they returned to the hotel, Monica and Zak gave the boys their gifts.

  “What’s this?” said Mandla, affecting surprise. “You’ve already given me mine. I get to stay to be in the movie.” But he wasted no time in tearing off the wrapping and then assembling the mini telescope that Zak had picked out while Monica distracted Mandla at the museum in Houston.

  “I’m not sure you’ll see much in this city with all the light and smog,” said Zak. “But it will be useful back in Lady Helen.”

  Sipho was equally pleased with his illustrated guide to the national and state parks in the United States.

  Zak handed Monica a small brown paper bag. “Sorry it’s not gift wrapped,” he said.

  Inside she found a beautiful pair of earrings of silver and turquoise.

  “The woman assured me that they were made by members of the Apache tribe in southern New Mexico,” he explained.

  “You bought them this afternoon?”

  Zak nodded.

  Monica felt tears come to her eyes. After all the vicious things she had said to him, he had gone out and bought her this gift.

  “Thank you,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips. Their eyes locked and a message of understanding passed between them. Their relationship needed mending, but it was built on solid ground and would survive.

  Her gift to him seemed dull in comparison.

  “Thanks,” he said, holding up the sweatshirt she’d bought at the theme park.

  She hoped that when he wore it back in Lady Helen, he would remember only the good times they’d had on this trip.

  After their late night, they all slept in the next morning. They found a pancake place that was open for breakfast, and then joined other tourists who were without their families for Christmas on the beach. A few eager children entered the cold water up to their waists, but everyone else was content to enjoy the bright winter sunshine on the warm sand. Before long, Mandla had collected a group of children and engaged them in a sand-castle building contest. Even Sipho, who would normally have stayed away from the action and read a book, joined in.

  Monica wondered if her parents had enjoyed their Christmas meal at Abalone House. Kitty and Francina had fought over who would host them for Christmas with Monica away, and in the end, Mirinda and Paolo Brunetti had agreed to spend Christmas with Kitty, and the day after, Boxing Day, with Francina. Monica had called her parents the night before and caught them on their way to the early-morning church service. They missed the boys and were upset to learn that Monica would be staying on in the United States.

  After Zak had judged the sand-castle contest—and declared a talented team of brothers from India the winners—he suggested to Mandla and Sipho that they join a soccer match some older boys had started. Sipho agreed reluctantly and Monica watched the three males in her life tearing after the ball, falling on the sand and sharing high fives with strangers they would never see again.

  It was not a traditional Christmas, but Monica had a feeling it would be one she would remember for many years to come.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On the first day of filming, Monica, Zak and Sipho all accompanied Mandla to the studio. The night before, Zak had tried to talk to Monica alone, but she’d become angry when he kept saying that she was depressed and needed help.

  “If you think that a bottle of pills is going to help me, then you’re wrong,” she’d said.

  “I meant you need to talk to someone,” said Zak. “You don’t talk to me about it. It’s not healthy.”

  She could only shake her head at him; she knew that if she said anything she might start crying.

  The director of the film, a young man with a meager goatee and artfully ripped jeans, allowed the family to stay on the set, as long as they turned off their cell phones and didn’t utter a word.

  They watched Mandla listen to the director’s instructions, and then he must have cracked a joke because the director tipped his head back and howled with laughter. Monica knew Sipho was probably itching to comment about his brother’s confidence, but they had all promised to be silent.

  Mandla took one last look at the script he had been studying for three days, and threw it aside on a couch as though he’d never again need it. Sipho rolled his eyes. Mandla went to stand on a cross marked on the wooden floor with duct tape, and lifted his arms while the wardrobe lady fussed around him, untucking and then partially tucking his crisp white shirt into his gray flannel pants. Mandla was playing the part of the friend of the main character at a private boarding school. Of course, he wished he had the leading role, and Monica saw him sizing up Steven, the petite blond boy who had been given it.

  The director shouted, “Action,” and Mandla underwent a transformation. His posture changed, his eyes showed the pain he
was supposed to convey, and his voice dropped to a whisper. He was the boy who had been wrongfully accused of stealing the main character’s watch.

  “You don’t belong here,” sneered the main boy.

  A tear trickled down Mandla’s cheek and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. This was not in the script, Monica knew. A minute ago, Mandla had been joking with the director. Now he was crying real tears. She had known that he had talent, but she hadn’t realized how much. The director, she noticed, couldn’t take his eyes off Mandla, and the assistant director had to nudge him in the ribs to yell “Cut,” when Steven fluffed his lines. The director walked across to Mandla and put his hand on his shoulder. Monica watched Mandla smile coyly, presumably in response to words of praise. She noticed, too, Steven watching with a look of malice on his face. Life, as it so often did, was imitating art in this cavernous movie studio.

  When the director gave the order to break for lunch, Mandla asked Monica if he might skip lunch with the family in order to eat with the director and his crew.

  “Your dad’s going home tomorrow,” she said.

  “That’s okay. Go ahead, Mandla,” said Zak. “We’ll have dinner together tonight.”

  “Um, actually, I’ve been invited to the opening party tonight.”

  Out of habit, Monica looked at Zak for support. Even he appeared doubtful, and he was usually the more lenient parent.

  “I don’t think so,” said Monica. “It’ll be an adult party. They’ll be drinking.”

  “But I want to meet everyone,” whined Mandla.

  “You’ll meet them over the course of the next two weeks. No, Mandla, you can’t go.” She had given in to his wish to stay in the United States to make the film; she was not going to give in to this.

  “Please, Mom.”

  “No, Mandla. You’re a child, not an adult. But you may go to lunch with the cast after I speak to the director.”

  “Ah, Mom. It’s just sandwiches in the next room.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, okay, but I’m going to walk past and check up on you.”