The flight was uneventful and I even managed to sleep for a couple of hours while the girls watched films and read. I was surprised at how relaxed they were. I felt as if we were off on some kind of momentous journey, a great life-changing event, and there they were, merrily playing Uno as if it were a Sunday jaunt.
I closed my eyes again and lay back in the seat, trying to follow how we’d managed to get from a temper tantrum in a tattooist’s shop to a war-damaged part of darkest Africa. A brief moment of panic seized me again, a reminder that in some people’s estimations, I was about the most irresponsible parent one could imagine. My ex-mother in law made it perfectly clear that she thought I should be reported to the child welfare agencies for dragging the girls to such “dirty” parts of the world. Never mind the fact that we were going to perform a charitable exercise. Or that no one castigated my ex for his parenting skills or lack thereof, when he left us. Apparently, it is better to lie, cheat and steal within the appropriate social codes than to act a little outside the normal boundaries for the higher good.
Dozing, the gentle buzz of the airplane’s engines lulling me into a lazy acceptance, I thought back over all the “signs” that had occurred since that fateful day in the tattoo parlor. Signs was a big word for what I still considered to be a remarkably – ok, freakishly – large amount of coincidences. Angels, from sweet little old ladies to pert-breasted yoga instructors to sexy men with guitars. Dreadful catastrophes, in the case of Ombeline, to cheap airline tickets to predestined destinations. The loss of clients and the timely emotional crisis of my daughter.
If I was honest, I could see a timeline of events that led from one to another, with a commonality of theme that served to link everything together. The only problem was that I did not have any idea where any of this was leading. It was all very well to listen to mad old chaps in tattoo parlors hand out the great lessons of life but for the moment I seemed to be even more confused about my future than ever. A serious person, a responsible parent would have stayed home and focused on getting a job. If anything, all of these coincidences had made things worse. Before, my life was in a mess but it was a well-ordered mess, whereas now it was just aimless chaos.
“Mummy?”
A small voice piped in my ear and I sat up to see my little Grace sparkling with excitement. She drew my attention to the window.
“Look! I can see Africa!”
I peered out of the window and right there, through the fait haze of the high-level cloud, was a great expanse of land, punctuated by the straggling grayish blue line of a river. Every now and then what appeared to be settlements rose from the dust. Suddenly I was seized with the same excitement as my daughter. Effectively, life at home had been a right royal mess and now we were on the other side of the world, about to embark on a fantastic adventure as well as do some good. It wasn’t really costing me anything much other than time, and in return, my family and I were about to enter a new culture, a new world where we could create our dreams out of dust.
Looking over, I saw Lillia, head bent, deep in conversation with the small African man seated next to her. They hadn’t stopped chatting since we boarded, to the point where I hoped that my daughter wasn’t being intrusive, although that seemed unlikely give that Lillia was usually more than economical with her words, especially in the presence of strangers.
Under the guise of going forward to the toilet, I walked past their seats, leaning in gently to try to catch a drift of their conversation. As I casually implemented my spying program, careful not to disturb Lillia and thus suffer the slings and arrows of adolescent disdain, a sudden burst of turbulence knocked me off my feet and I landed – to all intents and purposes – in the lap of the man.
Lillia looked at me, horrified, as I hastened to apologize and right myself.
The man clucked worriedly at me, patting my arm anxiously as I reassured him that I was fine. In truth, I was more worried about him than myself – he was quite frail looking and I wasn’t exactly a lightweight. Once we had managed to reassure each other that nothing was broken, I held out my hand and presented myself.
“Aah, you are the mother of this delightful young girl, Miss Lillia. I must congratulate you on your charming daughter; she is a credit to you. We have enjoyed the most fascinating conversation. Indeed, I have learned quite a bit form your daughter about a subject most dear to my heart.”
Lillia was too excited to acknowledge the compliment. She tugged on my sleeve and told me, “Mr. Van der Kock is a naturalist, and you’ll never guess what he studies?”
She answered before I could even begin to hazard a guess.
“Unicorns! They really exist, or at least they did…”
I smiled indulgently at her and looked over to Mr Van der Kock, expecting to share a sympathetic smile, but instead, he nodded vigorously.
“Indeed, indeed,” he smiled broadly at my daughter.
“I am on the path of the great unicorn hunter, Dr. Sparrmann, the Swedish naturalist, who visited the Cape of Good Hope and the adjacent regions in the early 1700s. He saw, with his own eyes, the fabulous beasts!”
Here he gesticulated so wildly that his glasses, already precariously balanced upon his nose, fell off onto the seat. Lillia reached over and passed then to him; in accepting them, he graced her with a tender smile, that of acolytes alone in a world that is unto themselves. A shiver passed through me as if the breath of the future herself sought to reassure me, and I suddenly saw my daughter not as she was now, in the glory of her precious youth, but as a regal but aged dame, surrounded by the admiring and respectful suitors to her knowledge. The image disappeared in a flash and suddenly I realized that both Lillia and her traveling companion were staring at me strangely.
“Are you alright, Mum?” asked Lillia, still looking at me with a degree of concern. I hurriedly reassured her, and just as she was about to encourage Mr Van der Kock to speak more of his magical creatures, the flight attendant, asked us to regain our seats in preparation for landing.
As I strapped myself in, I thought about the strange flash of prescience that had occurred a few moments ago. The oddest thing, to see your child in a future so far removed that it implies your own death. And yet I felt at peace, as if I knew the vision was a gift, to show me that my daughter would find her way and follow it to her destiny.
I looked back over at the unusual couple made by my ethereal daughter and the peculiar chap next to her. Now that I could see more closely, at least in context, I realized that he was not so much older than her, and that despite his unusual appearance, he was more appealing than unattractive, with a natural omniprescience that only passion inspires.
As we drew closer to landing, I turned to look at Grace. She was staring out the window, absolutely transfixed by the image of Africa as it rolled out beneath us. It was as if she were in love with the place before we had even arrived, and while it made sense to be in love with the idea of the place, I felt that her focus was deeper than a childish whim.
Leaning back in the chair, I realized that if we had been led to this place in our lives, if I could see clearly the route that brought us here, and indeed had been given glimpses of the future that could be after this place, then perhaps indeed we were tracing destiny’s lines. I could see how this notion encompassed Grace and Lillia, but for the life of me, I could not see how my own salvation could lie in this direction. If anything, I was heading away from the security and balance I so desired.
11
Children with guns
and dreams