Authors: Katherine Leiner
Finally, I call Dafydd at work.
“Dafydd Davies,” he answers on the first ring.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mom,” he says in his work mode, talking quickly. “Did you get Hannah off to camp?”
“I did.”
“How’d it go?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine. It looks like she’s going to love it. I met her roommate and helped make her bed. She’ll be fine.” How can I leave her? It’s crazy to travel so far away. What if she should take ill?
“And how are you?” he asks. “Alone for the first time, maybe ever?”
“Well, actually, I’m fine, too.” Interesting that he should notice that it is in fact the first time. I wonder if he is worried about me being alone. “In fact, I’m going to Wales tonight.” Only half of me believes it.
“Wales? You’re joking, right? I thought you were never going back to Wales?”
“My father is ill.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “How ill?”
“I don’t know. My mother says she can’t tell how serious it is,” I lie.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I think I should do this on my own.”
“Well, I’d like to go, really. You know I’ve been thinking about it. I’ll take a long weekend. It’s a good time for me to take off here. I’d like to meet my grandparents. I’d like to meet my father. I’d like to know what part of me is like them, Mom.”
I flinch. His father. “You will, Dafydd. You absolutely will have a chance. But not now. Next time, okay?”
“Oh, come on, Mom. You really want to go alone? You being there would make it more comfortable for me. It would be great.”
“No. I think I really do want to go alone. I can’t tell you why. I don’t really know why.” And then I add, “I guess I need to.”
“Okay. But it doesn’t seem exactly fair.”
Another pause.
“Dafydd. This is not about being fair. He’s my father and I haven’t seen him in twenty years.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. It’s about the same deal for me.” I hear his anger, covering his disappointment. I almost relent, but then he says, “Forget it. But if you change your mind, I’ll come. All you have to do is call.”
“Dafydd, thanks.” I am relieved. “I appreciate that. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Momma. Be careful,” he says.
As I imagine getting on the plane, taking off, arriving in London and driving down to Cardiff, my stomach muscles tighten.
What clothes should I take? I have not been in Wales in more than twenty years, not since I was four months pregnant. What will we all look like to each other? Jeans, T-shirts and hiking boots, a long cashmere dress and cowboy boots, an old army jacket of Marc’s. It’ll be cold and damp even though it’s summer. Pushing the fact that I will be thousands of miles away from Hannah out of my mind, I throw things into my suitcase like time really is running out.
I call Beti. “I’m going home.”
“To Aberfan? Are you serious, Alys?” Same reaction as Dafydd.
I try not to be defensive. “Yes, I am serious.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. You’ll make Da so happy. He’s wanted to see you for so many years. But you must be nervous about seeing them, after all this time. Are you?”
I tell her I am mostly worried about being so far away from Hannah. “Remember, she’s at camp.”
“Oh, of course. Since you’ve decided to go, try not to worry. If anything comes up, you know I’ll be glad to deal with it. I’m sure you gave them Dafydd’s number but please give them my telephone number as well.”
“I really appreciate that, Beti. Thanks.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“About ten days.”
I ring off before she can ask me any other questions. Although admittedly Beti has always been there for me in a pinch, I know it’s
been hard. Through the years I’ve gotten used to our cool manner of relating. Our shared genetic code. Since Marc’s passing, she seems to want to help in some new, more comforting, way. Perhaps because of Hannah. But still, we don’t talk much. One of our commonalities seems to be we don’t like to look back. Beti left Aberfan as quickly as she could and doesn’t like to be around anything that reminds her of it. And I’m one of those “things” that force her to remember what she fled.
I wish I could leave without telling Hannah. She will only worry about my being so far away from her, in another country. The directors have asked parents not to call. Letters and faxes are okay. I leave my hotel number as well as Dafydd’s and Bed’s with one of the directors, letting them know that both Dafydd and Beti should act on my behalf in case of an emergency.
I try to fill my mind with more innocuous thoughts, wondering what Cardiff is like now. After all, it is the capital of Wales. I never spent time there except that once, when Da took me in cousin Greg’s car to see a celebration for Prince Charles. It was years after the Prince’s investiture, two years after the disaster. “A kind of prebirth-day celebration,” Da said. “You don’t turn ten every day!” No one else would go with us. Parry had moved out and Mam said she had no desire to go to “that stinkin’ Cardiff.” Gram was up valley with Auntie Beryl for a few days since Beryl would no longer come to the house because of Da.
I was glad to be alone with him. The day was sunny and warm; cousin Greg’s car smelled new. We kept all the windows open as we drove out of Aberfan, along the old familiar roads bordered along with the high full hedges, toward the cutoff to the M4.
The motorway was the widest road I’d ever been on: two lanes of traffic going in both directions. As we got near to Cardiff, the traffic backed up for miles. In the end, we couldn’t even get close to the castle where the festivities were being held.
“Oh, well, we’re here. We might as well enjoy ourselves.” Da realized my disappointment.
We parked about two miles from the city center and walked along the dockland Da called Tiger Bay. Fishermen were everywhere, with their nets and burlap bags full of fish. The fishy smell stayed stuck up my nose the rest of the day. The crowd was so thick, I feared I
could be lost forever if I let go of Da’s hand. From the direction of the castle we could hear a band.
On the drive home, we stopped and had lunch at a pub in Pontypridd where Da knew the owner. I sat outside while Da had a quick beer inside and ordered our lunch. On that sunny day, I pretended my life was as normal as those of the other children playing on the grass.
That memory seems to take me through the rest of the day, all the way to the airport. But by that time I feel like I’ve had six cups of coffee. I am shaking like a rattlesnake about to strike, and I’ve a headache from clenching my teeth. On the plane I am seated next to an attractive older man, about sixty, white hair slicked back. He’s wearing a blue pinstriped suit. He smiles at me as I buckle up. I return the smile but look away, out the window, not intending to spend the whole trip chatting with him. I quickly put on my earphones and turn up the volume so I am wrapped up in the
Goldberg Variations
.
The flight attendant offers me a glass of wine, which I gratefully accept. After several sips I put my head back and breathe a little more evenly until suddenly Gabriella comes to mind. I am furious all over again. She was not just my husband’s lover; they shared a life, a house, a child. They shared part of my life. Everything she had with Marc meant there was that much less of him for me, for us. The really terrible truth is that, for all of those years, I had not known how much more there might have been of him. The question now is, how can I make all of this go away before Dafydd or Hannah gets wind of it?
When the plane starts down the runway the fist of fear lands a sudden punch in my stomach. I close my eyes, imagining myself running next to the plane and as it lifts off the ground, I lift, too. A small voice inside tells me I am going home. Aberfan. When we are at a cruising altitude, I ask the flight attendant for another glass of wine.
I sleep on and off for most of the eleven-hour flight, missing dinner and breakfast. When I awaken the flight attendant is bringing around hot towels. The earphones are still plugged in my ears, and when I remove them, the pilot is announcing we will be landing at Heathrow in twenty-five minutes. As the plane banks to the left, a patchwork of land comes into sight. There seems no color in the
world like the deep green of Britain. My stomach reels with a mixture of excitement and overriding anxiety and fear.
I am glad for my British passport. There is a long queue at the customs windows, where those with American and other foreign passports must stand.
Marc always wanted me to become an American citizen. I used to kid him that it was mostly so we could stand in the queue together.
As the automatic doors slide open I see a tall, suited man holding a sign that reads Ms. ALYS DAVIES. In jeans and a sweater and Marc’s army green bomber jacket, I suddenly feel underdressed.
“Hello, Ms. Davies. I’m Tom Jenkins. How was your flight, then?” The lyrical rise and fall of his Welsh accent makes me smile with pleasure and disbelief.
“Lovely, thank you.” I don’t give him my backpack. It looks so scruffy alongside his neat black suit and white shirt with the starched collar that, when he offers to take it, I smile and shake my head. After we collect my bags, he leads the way through the tunneled maze of Heathrow’s bowels toward the car park. When the doors open, the familiar smell of diesel and the damp, thick, cool morning air take up residence in me.
Mr. Jenkins brings the car, and as I start to go round to the front passenger seat, he says, “Sit in the back, Ms. Davies. I think you’ll find it more comfortable.” I pile into the backseat of the gray Daimler, a little embarrassed to be making my reentry in such an extravagant manner.
The ride home is alternately bone-deep familiar and completely strange. We pass field after field of the black-and-white Jersey cows that Gram so longed for. But the small lone stone white farmhouses of my childhood memories have mostly been replaced by larger factory towns. Ridiculous things pop into my mind, all of them about food: treacle, tiny Brussels sprouts, new potatoes, courgettes, rhubarb pie with dollops of Devon cream thick as butter, gooey chocolate puddings and trifle. I realize I am hungry.
It is about two p.m. in Colorado. I wonder what Hannah is doing. Should I have taken her and Dafydd with me? Mr. Jenkins barrels the car forward. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to make conversation. I just let my eyes wander over the scenery and the backside of village after village as we eat up the miles.
Two hours later we cross the Severn Road Bridge with its sign that reads W
ELCOME
TO W
ALES
and, under that, C
ROESO
I G
YMRU
. I roll down the window and in the rushing wind I swear I hear the rise and fall of a hundred Welsh voices, their melodious ringing piercing me to the marrow. I try like mad to hold the tears back. Mr. Jenkins sees me in his rearview mirror.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I guess I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“Oh, I thought you might be from these parts, like.”
“Up the valley, actually. I haven’t been home in more than twenty years.”
Mr. Jenkins nods in the mirror. “Whereabouts?”
“Aberfan.”
Silence.
And then he says, “Not the easiest place to have been from.”
I have forgotten that most everyone around my age would have heard of Aberfan.
I do not know downtown Cardiff well enough to determine if it has changed, but the number of people we pass on the roads tell me that, if once it was a small city center, it is now a large and crowded one.
As we pull in front of the hotel, I remember that when we’d seen it on that day so long ago, Da had called it the poshest in the city.
I walk up the marble stairs and into the spacious, slightly faded lobby to find the check-in desk. Mr. Jenkins refuses a tip, saying, “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Davies. It’s all included. Will you be desirous of my services before your return to Heathrow?” I shake my head, explaining I have rented a car. He hands’ me his card. “I live close by, if you need anything. Anything at all.
“Welcome home.” He bows to me, tips his cap and starts to turn away. “Do you mind me asking a personal question, like?”
“Not at all.”
“I knew a boy once from Aberfan name of Parry Davies. Is he in your family? I lost track of him after my parents moved us away from the valleys.”
He catches me completely off guard and for a moment I just stare, trying to remember Tom Jenkins from way back. And then, breathing in deeply, I say, “No.”
I haven’t actually talked about Parry much since I married Marco. Even before that, when it was fresh, I tried not to talk about his death. And now, it seems, I still can’t say much.
He nods at me awkwardly. “Small world sometimes. I just thought I’d ask.”
I look away, hiding whatever trace there might be of Parry in my face.
“I’m around if you need me. Don’t forget now.”
Before going up to my room, I fax Hannah:
Have arrived in Cardiff, Wales. Thinking of you!
I push all of the numbers and watch the paper being pulled through the machine, feeling far, far away.
In my room, I throw the drapes open. Next door, Cardiff Castle looks like something out of a fairy tale, beautiful, with its turrets and balconies, the vines growing up the sides. In fairy tales, the castle is the stronghold, where everything inside is magical. But I’ve learned there is no fairy tale castle and no life is untouched by hurt or harm.
I fall asleep for several hours, and when I wake, my muscles are cramped and I’m feeling starved. Probably because of the long flight, lack of water, time change and, most of all, the distance from home and Hannah. My head is splitting. After two aspirin and some yoga, I remind myself that there is no past for me in Cardiff, and Aberfan is still a day away. Today can just be tourist stuff. The guidebook on the coffee table includes a map. Before I can change my mind, I dress and grab my backpack. Out of the hotel and onto the road, I turn right and walk up St. Mary’s Street, hit again with the familiar smell from childhood. Diesel oil. The castle towers behind me.
The next few hours are full of the business of getting organized, changing money, remembering to cross on the left side of the road, getting oriented. I feel irresponsible and guilty remembering Dafydd’s response and me not wanting him to come. But I remind myself it is as necessary for me to be on this sojourn alone as it is for Hannah to be at camp.