Journey by Nadia Kingsley
Michael gave his wife and young child yet another final kiss and hug, before she eased herself away from him and carried their son through passport control. He stood there, watching, stretching from side to side to keep them in sight, even getting on his tiptoes, steadying himself on the barrier, to drink in the last views of his family before they disappeared for a whole month. And even when he couldn’t see them anymore he stayed standing there.
He lifted his hands to his face and sniffed them. He could smell the oils that Gladness used in her hair and it reminded him of when they had first met, five years ago, on their first day at University:
She was standing in the registration queue, in front of him. All he could see of her was her glorious hair sculpted out of ebony, or so it seemed, with not one strand out of place. He had thought She’s just the right height for me. Her hair had drawn him nearer her and he had smelled it and had felt quite dizzy, but soon he had noticed that she was shivering.
“Are you alright?” he had asked, as he gently touched her arm. She had turned and smiled at him, and from that moment he had been in love.
“I am used to hotter weather” she had said. Her voice was warm, her face - open and trusting, her whole being emanated dignity, a knowledge of who she was, an interest in who he might be.
She didn’t want children, but when, soon after they graduated she had become pregnant she had accepted her condition with grace, and they were both thrilled when David was finally born. Up until that moment thought Michael everything had been perfect.
He turned away from the passport control, but still stood, bewildered, wondering what to do, now that he felt so alone.
“I know - I’ll get a coffee here” he said. “I’ll get to know the place a bit - maybe that’ll help.” He looked around for a café in the vast departures hall of Terminal Four. When he spotted one he walked towards it, with purpose. This was inevitable he thought, I mean as soon as I fell for a girl from Tanzania, I should have known she would want to visit home, at some time.
But that wasn’t the point. They had been saving up. The plan had been to go together. And then he would have met her family, been shown her village, travelled down the dirt roads that she talked about, seen the places of her childhood. And even though he had never flown before, with Gladness by his side, he would not have been afraid.
Still, Gladness had become pregnant. David had been born. Her mother’s phone calls had become more frequent. Gladness had started talking about home more, and she hadn’t meant the one they shared in Walsall. She had suggested that when David was one they could all go to Tanzania together, and after he had got permission from his work for a whole month’s leave, he had happily agreed.
Then, every week, one of her family had phoned Gladness, and each of them told her how silly it was to travel so far, for such a short stay. They reminded her that they hadn’t seen her for five years now, and that there was a lot of catching up to do. He would get home, tired from work, and find Gladness pensive. Sometimes she would be looking at her old photographs, sometimes she would be telling their young son stories of her life - before England, before she ever met Michael. Over supper she would often tell him how much easier it had been for her mother, and her sisters, back home. They all had help round the house - a cook, a gardener, a maid, a nanny - at £3 a month, help was cheap. And the staff were grateful for the work.
So, finally, he had agreed to her suggestion that she would go out, with David, a month before him - to give her a chance to see all her family and to catch up with her old friends, and that he would join her for her second month out there.
But now, as he sipped his coffee in Heathrow airport, he wished he hadn’t. It was as if he had allowed his wife and child to fly into a black hole. Of course he knew that Gladness would ring as often as she could, but how could he picture them there, when the furthest he had ever travelled was by ferry, to France. There was so much for him to worry about. He could feel a headache coming on. He could feel himself starting to panic. But then, he thought about his own mother, and he heard her advising him, as if she was there, now, sitting by his side:
“Get your pen and paper out” she seemed to say, “and start writing down your concerns. If you break it down into little chunks, then you’ll soon see that really there is nothing to worry about.”
Good idea he thought, and he took out the page of directions from his pocket, and on the back, he wrote:
I’m going to miss them.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder” his mother’s voice reminded him.
Alright he thought, I can live with this one. But my heart doesn’t need to grow any fonder. Still - I can survive it. I’ll just put more hours in at work. Then I’ll have less time at home on my own, and I’ll be earning some Brownie points from my boss.
“Good” said his mother’s voice, “What next?”
I can’t picture them there.
He looked at the words and then imagined the frown on his mother’s face.
“Don’t be so silly, Michael” she seemed to say, “They could be just down the road in Telford, and you still couldn’t picture them there, could you? As a boy you never had much imagination.”
Alright he thought. I can live with this one too.
“Good” said his mother’s voice.
But I’ve never even met any of her family. I don’t know what they’re like. I don’t know what they think of her marrying a white man, or even of her living in England. This might be all a plot. They might spend the next month convincing Gladness she’s made a terrible mistake. In fact, she’s been saying how hard it is to bring a child up here, without any family support. She might not need much convincing. Maybe, when she gets home, her real home, and remembers how good her life was there, she won’t want to come back. And her mind will be made up before I even get out there.
Even if that’s not true, why would her family like me, when we finally meet? I’m not going to be at my best. People tell me how exhausting these long haul flights are, and on top of that, I don’t know how I’m going to react to the flight, or the heat, or the mass of black faces wherever I go, or the dust, or the trees, the houses, or even my lovely Gladness - when she’s in her own environment. Gladness might be different. Gladness might see me in a totally different light.
“You might love it.” his mother’s voice said, “You might want to live there. After all, if you can get a job there - well, you might not want to come back. And what is there, here in England - what is really keeping you here? You don’t have to worry about me. Keep an open mind, son, and see what happens.”
Michael folded up the piece of paper, and put it in his pocket. He looked up at the tall airport ceiling.
“Thanks Mum” he said, “You’re still looking out for me.”
“Well, I’ve got a good view from here” she seemed to say.
The bright glare of the airport ceiling reminded him of the glorious day when he had got down on one knee, in front of Gladness, and proposed. He had asked her if she would walk along the road of life with him. She had cupped his chin in her hands and drawn him up - until they were standing face to face. She had kissed him gently.
“It would give me great pleasure to travel with you, dear Michael. But I must tell you now that it will not be a road that we travel upon, but a river. For a road is dead, but a river has its own life and is always changing, always moving.”
He smiled. He felt ready to go home now. He walked towards the lift that would take him to the short stay car park.
“I’ll see you in a month” he said to Terminal Four, “Meanwhile, I’ve got things to do.” |
Prose
Shopping List
Diary from Maya
> Journey
Poetry
Security blanket
If the dead could speak
This is love
When you left
On a sunny day |
