by Thordis Elva
The question surprises me, and yet I understand where it comes from. The emotional processing of the last few days was the equivalent of many relationships, even though it was entirely platonic. I shake my head. ‘No.’
He exhales in relief. ‘Good. I would’ve hated that.’
‘Besides, Vidir was with us in every step,’ I add. ‘Without him, I would never have been able to embark on this journey in the first place.’
‘He was surely a welcome support,’ he says quietly. ‘What time is your flight tomorrow?’
‘Three thirty,’ I tell him. ‘And yours?’
‘At noon. Want to meet up in the morning and have a last coffee together before I go to the airport?’
‘Yeah, let’s do that. As a matter of fact, I was going to suggest that we go together to the airport.’
He looks at me, hopeful. ‘You’re up for that?’
‘I think I’d just feel lonely and stranded in Cape Town on my own.’
‘Agreed,’ he says with a smile. ‘See you in the morning then.’
When I lay my head on the pillow, I’m painstakingly aware that this will be the last time I’ll sleep in a bed for the next two days. I wonder if it’s also the last time I will see Tom? Forgiveness was our goal. Now that we’ve reached it, why don’t I feel like screaming from rooftops and dancing a victory dance? Sure, I reaped relief and liberation this week, but never did I expect the grief that envelops me now, thick like the darkness of my hotel room. My thoughts seesaw over the steady hum of the air conditioning; agile and restless. For years, I was chained to the bed where Tom left me. My escape from there became a lifestyle that catapulted me through a jungle of people, challenges, and experiences. By saying goodbye to Tom, I’m parting with my defense mechanisms. Finally, I can stop pulling on the chains.
The startling discovery shocks me to an upright position. My unease has less to do with the thought of parting with Tom than parting with everything he’s represented in my life.
I lie back down on the pillow, but I can’t stop myself from staring wide-eyed into the darkness, scared of the uncertainty ahead. Relax, my heart coos. You’ll grow, love, challenge yourself, lose yourself, find yourself again, and take off to crazy destinations, like you always have. Nothing will change that.
Nevertheless, I find myself tossing and turning until my mind seeks solace in a little boy who will be ecstatic to reclaim his mother from the airplane. The last dregs of consciousness wash away my chaotic thoughts, leaving only one word behind. Home.
From Tom’s diary
Wednesday
I pushed through the gate and left the front yard of Rape Crisis, scanning the street for some shade. I stepped towards a large rusted fence that was casting the desired cool shadow. I leant my back on the corrugated iron, swallowed the potato-sized lump in my throat, and put my head on the ribbed metal.
The exhale was half sigh, half gurgling groan now that I’d found the shore. What had come before had been a three-hour episode of part swimming, part drowning, with all the anxious symptoms of trying to keep my head above water in large unruly seas. That internal voice was producing powerful roaring waves, each pushing into me the sense that I was being disrespectful just by being under that roof. The relief I felt leaning against that fence was a gasp of guilt-free air.
I’d predicted the stabbing guilt I would feel. I knew the labels of ‘rapist’, ‘hypocrite’ and ‘perpetrator’ would inevitably surface, and there was no illusion about what my head would produce. In entering the safe haven for women, I knew I’d be figuratively beside myself, firing a volley of berating and shame-laden terms. I’d readied myself for the noise.
I am one of the ‘they’… the ones who have inflicted such hurt. The ones to be feared. A bad man. A man who has committed sexual violence.
I’d anticipated the attempts to unsettle myself, but also hoped that the immensity of being there would envelop me in its importance. I hoped that the opportunity to just be there would have more power than any campaign I could set up against myself.
I knew I wanted to be there.
I wanted to feel what it was like to be on the right side.
I’ve worked with many immensely resilient young people who have survived abuse and sexual violence. Going to the Rape Crisis service represented the coalface for me. The very front line of the issue I need to know more of. I hoped that walking with Thordis into that environment would help me better understand the experience of others.
Some of the remaining concerns faded out momentarily when I surrendered to today being part of this whole journey. Like every other turn and twist this week, I knew it would result in growth and healing.
I wasn’t prepared for the shock that registered when learning of the details of the problem in South Africa. The sheer number of people affected, the legal minefield to navigate when the survivor’s trauma is so raw. Young children being abused. So much hurt in the heart of this country.
I had many questions for Shiralee, but I stuck to the safe ones.
Amidst the intimidation I felt while listening to Thordis and Shiralee speak with such crystal clarity, I was so grateful to be there as a ‘youth worker from a service in Sydney’. I tried to reassure myself that I’ve worked in community services for a while now, and comprehended the majority of issues that Shiralee and Thordis spoke about. I also genuinely knew anything I was to learn today would have professional use for me, and not just personal.
I’m glad I was able to quash the anxiety attack that threatened when we were speaking with Shiralee, even though parts of my shirt were saturated. Why did I wear that red t-shirt?! My composure was cracking at the end there, though. With that awkward quip about the ‘Man’ book, I was scrambling for the door.
After all, I went in there with Thordis for personal not professional reasons. And that is perhaps why I was leaning on a metal fence afterwards, full of relief that my ‘performance’ was over. Being inauthentic in such a space, at such a crucial service … came at a risk.
If that was a test I set for myself, if I urged myself to go in there as some form of challenge, then I risked being disrespectful in order to confront that.
I’m so glad we spent some time by the ocean after that. Just being able to put my feet in that icy water settled me down.
She said the words today. Those words you’ve been waiting to hear, Tom. That three-word sentence that felt like it could possibly end another kind of sentence.
I didn’t expect to react the way I did. I even feel a bit embarrassed about grabbing and hugging her … but those tears were held onto for more than sixteen years. I guess they were always going to be hot and irrational. Thankfully, it felt like that hug was shared.
I also like to think that I didn’t need her forgiveness to be spoken aloud. I haven’t been counting the days, waiting for it. I didn’t want for there to be any pressure on her, either. This week, just by being able to talk it all through and sit near each other, it’s as if the air between us had a quality of being forgiven.
But in saying that, to hear her say it was sublime. I understand why I was a mess.
Who knows if these words can carry the weight we’ve put on them. All I know is that she gave me something today that sends me skyward with hope, and that giving it was something that she knows more about than I ever will.
DAY NINE
4 April 2013
When the alarm goes off, my body refuses to get up. Not until I’ve said a proper goodbye to the luxury of having a bed and a pillow at my disposal. After all, sleep is best when it’s practiced horizontally.
The journey I’m about to take calls for comfortable travel clothes and I pick out my coziest jeans along with a soft cotton shirt. The combination isn’t likely to win any fashion prizes, but given that I have to sleep in these clothes for the next two days, they’re not bad.
After I’m don
e packing, I reward myself with a long hot shower. The water gurgles in the drain along with a stream of fleeting ruminations about what life will be like AC: after Cape Town. What will come out of this molt? Will it leave me soft-skinned and at ease with myself or did I grow a tough hide while wrestling my fear? Until now, my contributions to the field of sexual violence were a result of a constant itch that was only soothed by rubbing up against the rough surfaces that enclose it: the flaws in the justice system, the social inequality, the silencing. How will I carry the lessons learned in Cape Town into my future? Or will it perhaps be the other way around; will they carry me to places that I can’t even guess? Rubbing the water from my eyes, I’m reminded how geckos become visually impaired when shedding their ocular scale. Perhaps I should lay the questions to rest and accept the fact that I’ll be temporarily blind until I’ve grown into my new skin.
A little while later, I’m enjoying my last meal on South African soil; my standard bowl of yoghurt and a boiled egg out in the hotel garden. The sun is shining brightly, and it looks like it’ll be the prettiest day since I arrived in South Africa. Ha! Just when I’m about to leave.
I’m sitting on the floral sofa, reading a local newspaper, when Tom walks into the Ritz lobby with a giant rucksack on his shoulder. ‘Hi,’ he says, cheerfully. ‘Please tell me there’s good coffee here.’
‘Coffee yes, but good? Not even close.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
On our way to the breakfast room, we pass Nigel’s little shop. He is just finishing a phone call when we step inside.
‘How was the chocolate?’ Tom wonders.
Nigel’s face lights up and he places one hand on his chest while shaking his head humbly. ‘Too beautiful. I couldn’t eat them. And with the note …’ He sighs. ‘Too beautiful. I almost got into trouble, though. They were lying here,’ he says, and points eagerly to a drawer by the back wall, ‘and my wife came here and said “What is this?” I told her to read the note and she says: “Who is this and what is going on?” He pauses and frowns theatrically. ‘I told her to read the other side and then she nodded and said, “Oh. Something must’ve happened at the tree of life. Something that changed their lives.”’
Tom and I exchange looks and nod.
‘Maybe he proposed to her, my wife said.’ Nigel’s eyes are glittering with excitement; his sincerity is so genuine that the moment is neither awkward nor embarrassing.
Smiling, I tell him: ‘Nothing like that, but it was just as life-altering and powerful,’ and Tom agrees with a nod.
Nigel crosses his arms and sizes us up, content. ‘Well, let me say that you two would make a beautiful couple.’
‘We went down that road many years ago and it …’ My words dry up and I shrug.
‘… didn’t work out?’ Nigel asks softly.
‘No, it didn’t. But I did receive a proposal recently. It just wasn’t from him,’ I gesture towards Tom.
‘Well, I wish you happiness,’ Nigel says, smiling with his entire face. Something about this man melts my heart. Suddenly, I feel like crying.
Tom leans on the desk. ‘Regarding the mystery person who asked you about the baobab tree … did she ever come back?’
Nigel looks at me, unsure of how to answer, before looking back at Tom. ‘She just … came in here, asking about this tree. She really needed to know where it was. She didn’t tell me why.’ He glances at me before adding: ‘But it was very important to her.’
I shrug, in no need to question the matter further. ‘I was obviously intended to find the tree of life.’ Life simply made it happen.
‘We’re headed upstairs to have a quick last coffee in the sun,’ Tom says to Nigel.
‘Come by before you leave and say goodbye.’
The tanning chairs in the garden are hot to the touch. Tom sits down carefully to avoid spilling his horror-coffee.
‘I have to warn you, that tastes like ear wax,’ I tell him.
‘How would you know? Do you know what ear wax tastes like?’
‘Of course I know what ear wax tastes like! Don’t you?’
‘No!’ he answers, aghast.
‘Bullshit. You expect me to believe that you’ve never scratched your ear and accidentally bit your nail, afterwards?’
‘God, no.’ He shudders.
‘Well, I have and it’s gross. Almost as gross as that coffee.’
‘Oh wow,’ he says after tasting the brew. ‘This is unbelievably bad.’
The sun warms my face as I stick my hand into my jean pocket. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
‘What’s that?’
I pull out a purple button. ‘I organized a fundraiser for the Women’s Shelter in Iceland recently, selling buttons. The idea was to challenge people to do something creative with their button, take a picture of it, and put it online. For me, the message was how we need to think creatively when it comes to battling violence. I hereby challenge you to do something creative with this button, take a picture of it, and send it to me.’
‘Challenge accepted,’ he says, and plays with the button. He pulls a beaded key-ring that forms the letter ‘A’ out of his pocket and hands it to me. ‘They gave me this at the villa when I checked out this morning. It could be a nice reminder of Cape Town. So much beading in this city,’ he says in an admiring voice. ‘I don’t know what the ‘A’ should stand for, though.’
I take the key ring from his hand and run my index finger across the colorful beads. Always, maybe? The lessons we learned in Cape Town will always stay with us, that’s for sure.
On the way back down to the lobby to say goodbye to Nigel, I realize that in spite of all his help, he hasn’t taken any of our money. That’s it. I’m buying souvenirs. Just as I get the idea, I walk past a glass cabinet in front of Nigel’s shop. I must’ve passed it every single day and yet I’ve never noticed it. My jaw drops when I see five hand-carved turtles in the cabinet. No way. I’ve been treading Cape Town back and forth in search for turtles that stared me in the face every day.
I reel in my jaw, walk straight up to Nigel, and tell him: ‘I want to buy one of your turtles.’
Shaking his head with a smile, he tells me: ‘No, let me give it to you. It will be a gift.’ He ignores my pleas to pay and opens the cabinet.
I pick up a turtle made of soapstone, like so many crafts around here. All of the turtles are sporting a carving of an animal on their backs. At a glance, I recognize a leopard, a rhino, a lion, an elephant, and what looks like a buffalo. ‘Are these the big five?’
‘Yes, the big five game animals are only found in Africa. Nowhere else in the world,’ Nigel says with pride.
The turtle I’m holding has a rhino carved on its back, and he brushes it lightly with his fingertip. I hand it to him. He reacts with a generous gesture. ‘You can have it.’
‘The idea was to buy it from you, Nigel—’
He interrupts me: ‘It’s a gift.’ Placing a hand on his chest, he adds: ‘From the bottom of my heart.’
My eyes water as I nod in humble appreciation. Suddenly, I get a genius idea. ‘Can we have our picture taken with you?’
Nigel smiles in surprise. ‘Yes, of course.’
A moment later, we’ve found a helpful lady from the lobby who’s willing to take our picture. Tom stands on Nigel’s right side, I’m on his left, and he puts his arms around us. When the lens shuts, the smile on my lips is genuine. Two birds with one stone. A long-awaited picture of Tom and me, with Nigel the Fate Shaper as a bonus — a bonus who also makes the picture look relaxed and natural. Bingo.
After the photo, Nigel prepares to shake my hand goodbye. Looking at his outstretched hand, we both get the same idea and open our arms simultaneously. The hug is tight and warm.
‘Come here, you,’ Tom says, and they hug too. A handshake wouldn’t have been enough and we all know it.
Outside the Ritz, a taxi awaits us. My heart grows heavier with each step, almost as heavy as the suitcase I hoist with difficulty into the trunk. The itch at the back of my throat has developed into a painful lump. To add insult to injury, the ballad ‘Hero’ by Mariah Carey is being blasted in the taxi. I look to the sky and scoff. A bit on the sentimental side, are we?
As the taxi takes off, I quietly say my goodbyes. First to the Ritz, to the lobby that hosted our awkward reunion, the palm trees, the street. When the taxi driver enters the highway and Cape Town stretches out before us in all its glory, Mariah Carey is belting out the most epic part of the song. The lump in my throat balloons. Hell no, this is too much. My eyes fall upon Tom’s iPod, lying next to him in the car seat. ‘ Will you play me some of your music?’ I plead.
‘Sure. Now?’
‘Yes. Now. This minute.’
‘Wanna hear “Stranded on Earth”?’
‘I’d love to!’
He looks up the song and hands me the earphones. ‘Normally, it’s an eyes-closed song, but we can make an exception. This would be a great backdrop.’
The song slides across my eardrums like a rattlesnake, full of mystique and grace as the landscape flies by at lightning speed. It forms an amazing soundscape as I say farewell to Robben Island, the busy street corners, and the tourist buses. It grows and incorporates more instruments as I say goodbye to Shiralee, Rape Crisis, and the church. Just as I say my farewell to the tree of life, a female vocalist starts to sing in a powerful voice. The effect is so captivating that when I hand Tom back his earphones, I admit: ‘I see what you mean by a spiritual experience.’
The stylish airport overlooks the city, and the taxi drives us right up to the sliding doors. Words are unnecessary as we drink in Cape Town one last time. The sun is hot and the air doesn’t stir. Goodbye, Mother City. Thank you for letting us rest in your arms, is the last thought I have before entering the terminal building.