by Suzanne Popp
Joseph shook his head but said nothing more. He left for the gathering at the Rotary club. He had heard rumors that his son was ill, rumors he could not face. This was his last son out of nine. All the others had started out well, pushing their way into the business world, going to far places with big dreams. One by one, they had come home and each had passed away. There was no explanation for the wasting, the coughs, then the sudden catching of every disorder. One son had gone to hospital to try the new medicines, but it was too late and he died of pneumonia. Just before he was gone, his wife had hurried back to her village, outrunning the rumors of what had become of her husband. One had claimed her husband was killed as a peacekeeper in Congo, but no one had ever seen him in uniform, or heard of this position being available.
Bwalya was the only surviving son. And he had not come to see them. It was more than Joseph could bear. He found himself arguing with the men at his club, daring them to challenge him. Later that same night, he stepped into his Toyota and drove home at breakneck speed, determined to take his wife and go visit the village of Burrisfuro where Bwalya lived. Joseph’s mind was on his sorrows and what lay ahead of them on this journey. He did not see the rocks that had rolled into his path. When they found his body, the map of Southern Africa lay spread across his lap.
Bwalya’s paintings hung in the National Gallery and in the home of private collectors, but his depiction of life as it was, had altered. He was no longer sought out. Only his wife and his daughter reminded him of his youth, his travels, and the celebrity he had enjoyed. Bwalya could see how his sickness had hemmed them in from their friends and activities and taken away their freedom. He passed away at his home two days short of his 33rd birthday.
Karin arranged for his funeral, which was attended by half a dozen students and no faculty members. Clair and Blessing were beside her along with his daughter Lily Wonder to see his casket lowered into the red earth. His family was notified by mail of his passing, and by that time, his grandfather Bishop had passed away, as well as the sudden death of his father Joseph. Three generations of men were gone from the family within the month.
Violet no longer went into town. She remained in her house, occasionally writing a letter or reading a newspaper, and taking Valium to calm her nerves. She had seen the ward at the hospital filled with young patients dying of this new plague called AIDS, but she didn’t understand how the disease was spread, nor could she admit that AIDS was what was taking her remaining sons; now all nine were dead.
CHAPTER 35
KARIN PREPARES TO RETURN TO HOLLAND
Karin prepared the boxes for shipping. She would be taking one set of Bwalya’s paintings to Holland, along with her personal journal and a single set of clothes. The remainder of her belongings would remain in Zambia.
“Claire, pick out some things you like.” Claire looked with longing at the tape player and the cell phone, but she could not ask for these.
“I would like a bracelet that will remind me of you, Karin that one made of copper from Copperfine. I would like to have a picture of you both.”
Claire wanted to ask for the picture Bwalya had painted of her, but she was unsure what Karin might make of this. She and Bwalya had spent so many hours together when he was finishing her portrait. Bwalya had called this painting of herself a masterpiece. She had not known before that a man could be a friend without taking something from you. They had talked of art, of God, of the world outside this small village. She cherished the respect he had given her, and the trust Karin had shown in letting her spend these hours with her husband. Now, he was gone and no one wanted to admit how much he was missed.
Karin gave Claire the photo and the bracelet immediately, and filed away that it would be good for Claire to have a camera. Karin also planned to leave Claire her comforter and all of the cooking pots in their kitchen. Violet would not need these as her husband had been a supplier in the hardware business, and all these necessities would be in her household. Claire had never shown an interest in Bwalya’s art, so it didn’t occur to Karin to ask if she would like the portrait he had made of her. She had packed it to take with her to Holland.
Karin was not an art critic, but the painting was unforgettable. At the last moment, she decided to leave it for the grandmother to sell, along with two other paintings of landscapes of the area.
The packing was very quick, the tickets were purchased, and within a week, Karin was headed for Amsterdam. She left two letters behind, explaining her departure from the school, her appreciation for the faculty, and her desire to have her child raised by her mother-in-law. She also requested that Blessings Sikala be made guardian, in the event the grandmother could not fulfill her obligations, or chose not to accept the child and her estate. This woman had worked with her in forming the preschool and had loved Lily Wonder since the day she was born.
Then Karin was off, without a party, gifts, or prolonged farewells. She had given their cat to Elise, her neighbor and consultant, and told her to take anything from the garden she could use, including the much coveted garden hose. Karin was focused on breaking away quickly and without loose ends. She did not see the pain she caused her friend Claire, who was grieving a double loss. As she sat waiting for the flight to arrive, Karin recalled the conversation she had had with Claire.
CHAPTER 36
PREPARATION TO LEAVE
Claire looked at her friend in amazement. “How can you give up the child you and Bwalya had, in spite of everything the doctors warned?”
Karin wanted to agree with her friend in what she was saying. She and Bwalya had been so eager to see the birth of their child. The village and the school had been so welcoming when Lily Wonder was born, and concerned that the mother would not survive the birth. It had been a time of challenge to give birth in the basic little clinic of this village, without anesthetics, ultra-sound, or even an x-ray machine. Karin had been proud of her ability to endure the pain and to deliver their child. Bwalya was the ideal father, never indicating that he would have preferred a son, as so many men do.
When Bwalya learned he was HIV positive, he and Karin bonded even closer. Biology and medical issues were foreign to both of them, but they studied up on the disease and did their best to support each other. Bwalya refused any intimacy with her once he learned he was positive, so the closeness they had shared physically, and which had been so healing to her as her MS progressed, was over. She had accepted that this was the only way he knew to protect her and their child. Now, she had to decide what would benefit their child. She also needed to get medical help for her MS that was steadily worsening, and explain to her parents how her life had altered.
Karin knew Claire could not understand what this small village in Africa had to offer. She had heard about Europe and it was like Disneyland to her, a magical kingdom where all children have enough to eat, they enjoy life, and they grow up. She could not know the undercurrents of being a minority child, much less a child orphaned by her father, and with a disabled mother. Karin didn’t explain.
“Trust me, Claire. I know what is best for my child. Bwalya has always honored his mother by telling of how she cared for the children. There was no animosity towards her. I think he was just selfish in not taking the time to travel and see her. His art consumed his passion and his spare hours. You know how intense he was about teaching his students the essence of being creative. There were so many other brothers and cousins; he didn’t really think his mother missed him that much. We were busy with our teaching and our personal issues. We forgot that his family—and mine as well—would be there for us. And we were selfish about our lives as a couple. We loved the privacy and the freedom to be ourselves. By the time we realized we needed them, Bwalya was in a state where he did not want them to see his condition. He did not communicate with his parents. I think he may have talked to one of his older brothers, but anything having to do with sex was taboo. I doubt any of them confided what illness had been stalking them.”
“Now, there a
re no brothers surviving and the wives deny anything that could cause them to be stigmatized. My best recourse is what I am doing. Violet should live a long time and my daughter will have the benefit of her love and full devotion. That is what I anticipate. I will need you and Elise to assure that the woman does attach to this child.” Claire nodded to show she understood.
“Karin, I will be your eyes. If there is any hesitation on the part of the grandmother, I will call you immediately.” Claire wondered if she could have parted with any of her children in this way. She stopped herself from thinking whether more of them would have survived had she been able to get more help from her family. It was water under the bridge.
She and Karin continued packing until all the paintings were wrapped and sealed, all the clothing sorted and packed into containers for taking, dispersing, or leaving behind for the grandmother and child. They hugged when the taxicab arrived and Karin handed Claire a key to the house. Then she was off.
CHAPTER 37
HOLLAND
Karin watched her mother prepare ginger tea, crushing the slices of ginger root, pouring boiling water over them, adding lemons. Her mother was twice her age, but athletic and flexible as she bent over and pulled cups from below the counter. She stored her cups and breakable china beneath the counter, unlike so many women who stored the pots there and the cups and china in a more visible upper cupboard.
“I have never asked you why you put your best cups down below where no one can see them.” she said.
“They could drop if they are overhead and would shatter on the stone counter. I have never lost a cup in thirty years. The pots are durable.” She looked at her daughter, thinking of all the questions she had for her. Maybe after a couple of days, a few cups of tea, she would begin to ask them. How could this mother have left her child behind, her only grandchild? Did she have any idea how much a grandmother would want to see her grandbaby?
Karin sipped the tea and looked at her mother closely. She could tell her mother was feeling strong emotions, the way her neck became rosy and her cheeks flushed. She didn’t really want to know what it was, she had enough to deal with, just getting used to Dutch culture again after so many years away. Her mother had always found it easy to share her feelings, so much so that Karin didn’t want to risk the rush of emotions and avoided opening the spigot. She was thirsty to know what her mother thought of her return, and the death of Bwalya, and the absence of Lily Wonder, but for now, she just wanted the comfort of tea, a crisp newspaper, and the Valium of morning television. Soon enough she would sort out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
“Karin, I want to see my grandchild.” Whoa! Karin saw she was going to have to answer some questions. It had been two days since she returned to her old home in Nijmegen. Karin looked at her mother and put down the paper.
“I have given custody to Bwalya’s mother, Violet. I have not heard from her yet.”
“Call her on the phone and see how she is doing. Tell her she is welcome to come here with the child. I will send tickets for the two of them and they can stay here.”
Karin took a gulp of tea. “Ma, I didn’t expect this. It is so far for them to come.”
“I have waited six years for this visit. I have lost my son-in-law. I do not want to lose my granddaughter.”
Karin was taken aback by the passion of her mother for this child she had never met. She felt her own bottled up love choke her and wondered what had she done to leave her child? Then she recalled how she and Bwalya had talked about what would come of the child should he pass away. He had endured life in France as an art student and had a clear picture of the abuse and ridicule his daughter would have if she lived in Europe. He had never been to Holland, but his experience made him insist that the child remain in Africa where she would enjoy status and acceptance. Now, with his dying of HIV, that future came into question.
In the few days she had been back, Karin had seen the diversity of people on television and on the streets. This was a changing country. Maybe her mother had a point. If she was willing to pay for the tickets, how could such a journey hurt the child?
“Ma, you will love the child. She is bright and loving. She reminds me so much of you.”
“I don’t care if she is short, ugly, and blind. This is my granddaughter. What were you thinking to never bring her to see us? Your father could not even mention her name because he knew how emotional I would become. You contact her other grandmother and bring her here before it is too late. I am not even going to mention it to your father until she is at the airport. Do you know how that man has wanted to see her and Bwalya as well? Enough. Let me know how much the tickets are and when they can come.”
Violet read the letter written by the school headmaster. She had been a widow for nearly two months when the letter came, and she decided immediately that she would travel to where Bwalya had lived and worked. She needed to make some sense of what had come of her family. Her grandchildren were as scattered as free-range chickens. There was the possibility that Bwalya’s child, her granddaughter would need a guardian. She didn’t know what to expect, but she would travel to the region and straighten out her thinking. She tossed the remaining Valium into a drawer and pulled out a map.
Violet was not a traveler. The world of commerce was for her husband and sons, all of whom took long journeys to various countries. Two had been long distance haulers, some had been merchants and wholesalers like her husband. She had expected something far different for her later years. It had included the two of them surrounded by a band of grandchildren, the wives and sons laughing and enjoying hospitality at the ample homestead they had built up over the years Violet was alone in the seven room house near Blancville with the view of the city out her kitchen window. Alone, except for the guard and the housekeeper, who kept a grandchild in her one- room house behind the main house. These were the companions of her days, ignored by her, and she living in dread that they pitied her or talked about her losses. The church and her friends kept her from pitying herself. She had a sister and brother that she could visit. She had been able to raise her children to adulthood, all nine of them, and this is something most of her friends had not been able to do. She was free to follow her dreams, but Violet had never been a dreamer. She had been content to obey Joseph and to keep track of the household, making sure the meals were on time and the place was always furnished nicely, and clean when Joseph brought friends over. Violet enjoyed good health and basked in her worship at the church where she was one of the best singers. She no longer traveled with the choir, or thought about reaching out to anyone beyond her circle of friends. She had a narrow circle of influence which she saw as her strength and her lot in life, and maintained her daily routine of checking the supplies, folding the laundry, and making sure the garden was watered and pruned. Beyond this, she read little, worried little, and thought less about things each day. Until this letter. Now, her world was about to be tested. She could no longer ignore the fact that she had a grandchild and the grandchild needed her.
What would Joseph have said? It had been irresponsible of him to be driving so fast so late at night, and in the rainy season. He had a driver, George. He could have waited a few days until the man had recovered from his fever. Violet cut off this uncharacteristic judgment of the man, and crossed herself once to purify her spirit of uncharity. She recalled the verse that Myrna used to see her through the most difficult time. Light will overcome the darkness, or something to that effect. She would make a small list of questions, get a bus ticket, and go and see this place where Bwalya had lived his adult life. Her planning was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“George, the driver. I am seeing if you need me to drive you somewhere. I am well now.”
“You are an angel sent to me. I need to go to Burrisfuro tomorrow. Can you take me? I will pay you.”
“Just provide the petrol. This trip is one I was planning to make with the two of you. It will b
e my pleasure to take you. Shall I come at 9:00 o’clock in the morning?”
“Yes. I will be ready. And George, thank you for the card. Joseph valued you so much.” Violet dreaded the thought of travel, of confusion, dust, and contact with so many people she did not know, and did not want to know. She could think no further about it, nor did she want to share this sense of new openings with anyone. They might disturb the peace she was feeling now that she had determined her action. They would leave tomorrow. She would stay a week or until she understood what was going on and how to deal with it. Then she would return to her large house and her plants, and her life would continue in tranquility and acceptance of what was her lot. Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Widow. Progression that was normal. Yes, very normal.
She needed to get together with her sister Myrna and her husband Festal. Together, they could make a plan for how to care for the granddaughter Lily Wonder that had suddenly been thrust into her life. Their mother, Beatrice, was 82 and could only shake her head at the mystery of young lives being mowed down. Beatrice still had her children and her brother Dodge, but her legacy of grandchildren from this ideal love marriage was gone. She, too, was a widow wanting to find peace and comfort in her old age, alongside thousands of other women who were losing their children and raising grandchildren without the extended family, or support they needed.
Violet sat in the backseat of the Toyota, watching the road ahead for unexpected ruts and potholes. George played music by artists she no longer recognized, but that soothed her nerves. She was taking action. Regardless of how this interview with the child turned out, it was a chance to have her life back. She would be needed and could help make one life better by showing up. She had read those words in a self-help pamphlet at the doctor’s office when she went to get her Valium. Now, she had stopped taking it. They would soon be in Burrisfuro, and George would help her find the house. It was Number 9 on Black Rhino Drive. That was an easy address, Bwalya had been her ninth son. Nine lives. She still had one left. And that was Lily Wonder.
