Fly Away Home (7 page)

T
he telephone rang early on Saturday morning, two weeks after Francina and her family's last visit to Zukisa's aunt, and before Hercules had even picked it up, Francina knew that was who was calling. Hercules listened for a minute and then went to wake Zukisa.

“Is she okay?” Francina whispered to her husband, as Zukisa took the receiver.

“I don't know,” he whispered back.

They watched their daughter's bowed head as she talked quietly to her aunt and then replaced the receiver with care. She took a long time to face them, so long that Francina knew what to expect.

“My aunt wants me to look after her,” said Zukisa quietly. She waited for them to react, and when they didn't, she added, “She said family comes first.”

Francina felt as though she might faint. “We are your family, too,” she said in an unsteady voice.

Hercules took her hand.

A sob caught in Francina's throat. “We have court papers to prove that you are our legally adopted daughter.”

Zukisa began to cry, and Francina realized that she had been wrong to show her distress. She gathered her daughter in her arms and wiped the tears from her face.

“I don't want to go, Mom,” she whispered. “But my late father would expect me to look after his sister. She was very good to us when my mother was sick.”

“I know, I know,” crooned Francina, rocking Zukisa like a baby.

“I'll fall behind in school. What if I can't go back?” she lamented.

“Over my dead body,” said Francina, and then immediately regretted her choice of words. She softened her tone. “You're not going to end up like me, a woman without an education, cleaning, washing and cooking for someone else. You might have to repeat the year, but you will be back.”

“Don't worry about your education,” said Hercules. “I will bring you the course material and, if you have time to do homework, I'll take it to your teacher. We'll all get through this. Won't we, Francina?”

“Yes, we will,” she said in a strong voice that belied her trepidation.

 

As Hercules drove them to Cape Town, Francina thought of Monica's trip to the same city one week earlier, to take Sipho to the airport. Fifteen years ago, when she was still a housekeeper in the employ of Monica's mother, Francina would never have thought that she and Monica would ever share common experiences, but now they both, with heavy hearts, had to drop their children off in Cape Town with a suitcase full of clothes. God certainly worked in mysterious ways.

Zukisa's aunt's flat was again unlocked, even dirtier than the last time, and as before, the boys were nowhere to be seen. Fundiswa, dressed in a grubby nightgown, was asleep on the bed next to her grandmother.

Zukisa's aunt held out her hand to her niece. “Thank you for coming,” she said. And then, addressing Francina, she said, “Thank you, my dear, for bringing her back.”

Francina felt tempted to remind the woman that this was only a short-term arrangement, but thought better of it because of the larger significance her words might take on. The aunt's time left on this earth might be short.

The boys arrived home after Francina and Hercules had spent an hour cleaning the flat.

Francina wanted to shout, “Where have you been?” but she allowed her daughter to lead the conversation.

“Granny didn't take her medicine last night,” said Zukisa.

Xoli shrugged. “I put it next to her bed.”

“Yes, but she needs water to take it,” answered Zukisa.

He shrugged again. “I can't be expected to think of everything.”

“And how can you leave your sister alone?”

Francina had never heard Zukisa use this tone of voice with anyone before. From the boys' expressions, they were as surprised as Francina.

“Things will have to change around here,” Zukisa continued in the same tone. “Granny has been looking after you for most of your life, and now it's time for you to do something for her. And you'll start by cleaning this flat. It's filthy.”

“Who put you in charge?” asked Xoli.

“I put myself in charge,” said Zukisa. “Now start cleaning.”

Complaining bitterly, the boys shuffled off to the kitchen.

“Good girl,” said Francina, hugging her daughter.

She noticed Hercules blinking furiously and knew that he was more upset than he would let on to be leaving her here.

“How long—?” he began in a strangled voice.

And in the silence of his unfinished question, Francina felt God directing her toward the answer. He wanted her to find the children's mother, Lucy, and bring her back. But how could that be? Lucy was a drunk. She couldn't take care of herself, let alone three children and her elderly mother.

Francina told Hercules what she believed to be God's plan. “The person who should be caring for Zukisa's aunt and the children is Lucy, the woman who abandoned them four years ago.”

His face showed incredulity. “But the children have not seen her since she left, when Fundiswa was one year old.”

Lucy had divorced the boys' father years ago and he had not been heard from since. Nobody knew the identity of Fundiswa's father.

Francina saw that Zukisa's eyes had brightened at the possibility of Lucy's return, and she realized how hard this all was for her daughter.

“I don't know why God is directing me to find a woman with a drinking problem,” said Francina, “but perhaps it's in His plan for me to help her. We have to start searching immediately. Zukisa, can you see if your aunt has a photograph of her daughter, and also try and find out her last known address.”

Zukisa bustled off to her aunt's room.

“Are you sure you want to start the search today?” Hercules asked his wife.

“The sooner we find Lucy, the sooner we can…” Francina didn't say what was in her mind:
…the sooner we can take our daughter home.

“And how will we persuade this woman to come back and give up drinking? She has an addiction that has kept her from her children for years.”

Francina would not allow her practical husband to dampen her enthusiasm. “This is God's plan. He will help us,” she replied in a firm tone.

Hercules knew better than to argue with that.

Zukisa returned with a dog-eared photograph of a woman smiling dreamily at the camera. In her arms, she held a newborn baby, her daughter.

“My aunt says that the last time she heard from her she was staying at the Dorchester Hotel. But that was more than a year ago, and she doesn't have the address.”

“Well, that's where we'll start then,” said Francina. “Will you be okay if we leave now, Zukisa?”

The apprehension on her face belied her confident nod. Francina pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. “You are a good girl.”

Zukisa wrapped her arms around Francina's neck. “I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, too.”

Zukisa hugged her father's middle. “I'll miss you.”

“Don't worry. We'll be here more often than you can imagine.”

His tone was jovial, but Francina could tell that her husband was deeply disturbed.

“Don't go outdoors,” he told Zukisa. “We'll bring you groceries, and if you need anything in an emergency, send one of the boys to get it.”

Zukisa nodded.

“And don't open the door to anyone.”

“Yes, Father.”

The boys appeared from the kitchen, Xoli with a broom, Bulelani with a mop. From the way they held them, like swords, it was clear that cleaning was a new experience.

“You start on your bedroom,” Francina instructed Xoli. “And Bulelani, you can put down that mop and get a duster.”

The youngest boy dropped the mop on the floor where he stood, and stalked back into the kitchen. It was obvious that Zukisa had a challenge on her hands.

“We had better start our search,” said Francina, taking the photograph. She bent down and stroked Fundiswa's cheek. How different this little girl's existence would be if her mother came back into it. There were many things in life that one could not change, but this was one instance where Francina and Hercules might make a difference.

They stood at the door, hugging their daughter in unison, neither wanting to pull away. Then Zukisa's aunt called from the bedroom. In the end, it was Zukisa who broke from the embrace.

“Every night I thank God for bringing you to me,” she said. “Now you'd better get going so I can lock the door behind you.”

Francina and Hercules raced down the stairs with surging energy. The sooner they found Lucy in Cape Town, the sooner they'd get their daughter back. Neither thought about what would happen if Lucy didn't want to return, or how difficult it would be to help her to give up drinking.

F
rancina and Hercules did not have a street address for the Dorchester Hotel, but she called the one person who could find anything if she put her mind to it: Monica.

Five minutes later, Francina's cell phone rang. Monica said that the hotel no longer had a number listed, but she had an address for it.

“Why are you going to that part of Cape Town?” she asked worriedly.

Francina explained the situation briefly.

“Be careful. That's a drug neighborhood.”

Francina assured her that they would get a police escort if necessary. Monica took particular care about where and when she drove. She knew firsthand the trauma of having a gun pointed at her face, and being forced out of her car. Francina still could not think about Monica's carjacking without choking up. The Brunetti family had almost lost their daughter that day. If a kind taxi driver had not found Monica lying wounded on the side of the road, and taken her to the hospital, she would have died.

Francina relayed Monica's warning to Hercules, and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Francina reminded him that they could ask for police help if they thought they needed it.

“I doubt they'd waste manpower on a search for a woman who has not been taken against her will,” he said.

He was right, of course, but this was the only way they'd get their daughter back.

Monica was correct about the neighborhood; the Victorian facades of the buildings were covered in colorful graffiti and the little park at the corner was overrun with weeds and filled with rubbish. Francina tried to imagine elegantly dressed women strolling down these sidewalks in a different era. Some would say a gentler era, but not those who'd lived in poverty and oppression, without any rights in their own country.

Hercules drove slowly down the street, looking for numbers on the buildings, but most of them had disappeared.

“We can ask someone,” ventured Francina.

There was not a soul about.

“Stop at that corner shop.”

Hercules parked the car outside the store and insisted on going inside with Francina.

There were bars on the windows. A loud bell sounded when he pushed open the door. A petite Indian man behind the counter asked if he could help them.

As soon as Francina mentioned the name of the hotel, the shopkeeper shook his head. “That closed down two years ago,” he said. “Someone set fire to the top floor. The owners were charged with insurance fraud, but the case was thrown out because of a lack of evidence.”

Francina's heart sank as she saw their only lead come to nothing.

“There are still people living there,” added the shopkeeper. “Legally, illegally, I don't ask questions.”

Buoyed by the prospect that their search might not be in vain, Francina looked around the shop for something to buy so as not to appear ungrateful for the man's assistance. She selected a packet of butterscotch drops and took two cold drinks from the fridge. After paying and thanking the shopkeeper, she and Hercules got back into the car and drove slowly down the street, looking for the building with the burned out top floor. It did not take long to find it, but Hercules drove straight past when a group of young men who had been walking down the sidewalk stopped outside. There appeared to be an argument going on; eight youths were shouting at once. Hercules stopped the car a block away from the building, and he and Francina turned and watched.

A punch was thrown and the group jostled into a circle to give two combatants a stage.

“What if one of them takes out a gun?” asked Francina.

“Then we drive away as fast as we can,” replied Hercules.

But that didn't happen. The cries grew louder and louder, and then Francina realized she was hearing a different voice, that of a woman. On top of the short staircase leading to the front entrance of the hotel, an elderly woman was waving a rifle at the young men. The two youths who had been fighting stopped rolling on the sidewalk and stared at her in astonishment. The group grew silent and Francina and Hercules were able to hear what the woman was saying. Her language was crude, but her meaning was clear: if the youths didn't go away she would shoot them.

The young men on the ground picked themselves up and the whole group skulked off. When they were several yards away—in line with Francina and Hercules's car—they shouted obscenities at the lady and promised they'd make her sorry for threatening them.

The old woman took aim, and the gang took off, running. Francina watched her go back inside the building, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

“She's the one who'll help us,” said Francina.

Hercules let out a slow breath as he turned the car around and drove back to the burned out hotel.

The smell of cooking meat hung in the air as Hercules and Francina stood outside the door. They decided that this was probably the entrance to a common area in the building, and Hercules tried the door handle. It was locked. He knocked. When there was no reply, he knocked again, more loudly. A key turned in the lock and the nose of a rifle appeared through a crack in the door.

“If you've come back for more, then that's what you'll get,” screamed a voice. A string of profanities followed.

The door opened wider, and Hercules and Francina found themselves staring into the wild eyes of the old lady.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Francina thought it better if she, and not Hercules, explained the reason for their visit.

“I remember that one,” said the lady, looking at the photograph. “But she's not here anymore. I run a clean house and she wouldn't play by the rules.”

“The rules?” said Francina.

“No drugs, no alcohol. I'll take you in if you're poor, but I won't tolerate any nonsense.”

The hotel had been abandoned by its owner after the fire, and the old woman had moved in as its unofficial new manager. She cooked and cleaned, and residents paid her whatever they could afford. Zukisa's cousin had been able to pay her way, but her money, said the lady, was dirty. The words she used to describe what Lucy did for a living made Hercules blush.

“Do you know where she is now?” asked Francina.

The woman shook her head. “She was involved with a bad character. Her room was always full of stuff—stolen stuff. She told me he had a business in Orange Grove. Business, my eye!”

Francina looked at Hercules. The name of the area meant nothing to him, since he had lived most of his life in Dundee, KwaZulu-Natal, but she knew that it was a neighborhood in Johannesburg. Her heart sank as she thought of leaving Zukisa in that flat.

“Is there anyone here who might have her address?” asked Hercules.

“No, my tenants move all the time. Sometimes they go back to their families. Sometimes they find a job in another town.”

Francina and Hercules thanked the old lady and returned to their car. As they drove down the street, they saw the same group of young men sitting in the park, passing a carton of liquor around, cigarettes dangling from their lips, the fight—and perhaps the old lady—forgotten.

“Can we go to Johannesburg tomorrow?” asked Francina.

“I'll have to speak to Mr. D., the principal, tomorrow morning before he leaves for church. If he can't substitute for me on Monday, then I'll have to wait until a replacement can be found. Who will look after Mandla?”

“He can go to Monica's office after school. She'll understand how important the search for Lucy is.”

They didn't speak much on the journey back to Lady Helen. Francina knew firsthand how big Orange Grove was. Looking for Lucy was going to be like looking for a single locust in a whole hillside of mielie plants.

Hercules's mother was sweeping the shop when they arrived home. “How long is Zukisa going to be away?” she asked.

“I don't know, Mama,” said Hercules. “Her aunt is gravely ill.”

“But what about the grandsons? Why can't they manage? You would have been able to at their age.”

Hercules smiled weakly. “Yes, but not all boys were raised by a mother like you.”

Mrs. Shabalala was not to be appeased. “Why should we have to give up our child?”

Francina gently touched her mother-in-law's arm. “Zukisa came as a gift to us from her aunt. We have to remember that.”

Mrs. Shabalala nodded, as though in agreement, but Francina had never seen such agitation on her face before. She explained the plan for finding Lucy and helping her, so that she could take care of her family.

Mrs. Shabalala's eyes lit up as she listened. “Yes, yes. You must go to Johannesburg and find her. Leave tomorrow morning. I'll pack you breakfast and lunch so you won't have to stop for food.”

“Thank you, Mother,” said Hercules. “I'll have to speak to Mr. D. first.”

“He'll give you permission to go, if he knows what's good for him. You're the best teacher the school has.” Mrs. Shabalala picked up her broom and started up the stairs to the family's living quarters. “Hurry up,” she called. “You have to pack your suitcases.”

Francina and Hercules looked at each other. It was real. They were actually going off to Johannesburg tomorrow morning to comb the streets for a woman they had never met and who might not wish to speak to them, never mind come home with them. But this was God's plan. He would help them in their search. Francina was certain.