The presence of love

I wake up early this morning.

I see he's gone,

He and the children are gone,

He to work, the children to school,

Except for the small one, who is sleeping late.

I turn around to dream a little longer,

An hour or two.

I have the right; I work until late.

I enjoy occupying the whole bed,

Spread myself across its width luxuriously,

Smilingly cuddle his pillow in my arms.

His smell in it, he in my arms through his pillow.

I'll sleep some more, dream some more.

Many times the telephone does not let me.

Many times it rings at seven in the morning,

Wakes me too early to work well until late,

Ringing, ringing and me racing to the living room,

The more I race, the more I wake, resenting it,

And unable to sleep again.

Usually the call is not for me,

Somebody rang the wrong number,

And usually not even saying he is sorry,

Upsetting many of my days past.

But not any more.

I have learned to turn the sound low

Most evenings; when I remember;

Before going to sleep.

There is nobody I want to talk to at seven.

Gone, he and the three bigger children,

He to work and they to school.

The small one sleeping;

She goes in the afternoon when I am working.

A good arrangement for everyone,

Carefully planned, all the details worked out,

Nothing left to chance, no upsetting surprises.

A happy family living on solid ground,

The children nurtured on confidence and harmony,

Acquiring roots, yes, and also wings.

I wake at nine, get up, wash, have breakfast.

I wake the little one.

I do chores: wash, clean, fix, tidy up.

At ten or eleven I turn on the TV.

We watch, Sesame Street, together.

It is a lovely program. We enjoy it always.

The songs linger and we are happy together.

While I wash dishes at the kitchen sink

And prepare lunch; which we'll eat punctually at

twelve,

My little daughter and I

And which I keep on the stove for the older children

who come later,

The little one sits at the kitchen table and does her

homework for school.

We are a well-organized family; everything runs

smoothly.

The children love each other and mother and father,

The parents love each other and the children.

The house is cosy and beautiful and clean,

There is plenty of space for everyone.

The rooms are large, the terrace too,

The living space and eating space and the kitchen,

Nobody gets in anybodys way.

There is a garage; there is another small room,

There is a little yard and garden.

We are a structured family.

We live in the presence, for today, each new day.

There is no sorrow, no anger,

There is no regret, no love lost, no animosity.

There is no carrying disputes from one day to the

other.

There is no destructive body language, nor resentful faces,

No violent outburst to upset the peace.

Every day is a new day.

Every day is a good day.

We have the main breadwinner; we have a secondary breadwinner,

We have the loving constancy of the man of the house,

Who comes punctually each evening at six thirty,

Invariably, and he is never late.

We have the devoted organizer and homemaker.

We are insured against all evil influences,

We have the children safe in their nests.

We have stability and we have love.

We are the best family in the world.

He wakes up and sings in the shower.

He never leaves without kissing.

Sometimes I stand at the window and see him leave with the children.

A knot forms in my throat and I wonder why I always want to cry.

I have recurrent dreams of his leaving me, not with another woman,

Never with another person, never for a reason, just leaving.

The dream never shows why or how, just his leaving.

I wake desolate, empty and helplessly crying.

He takes me in his arms and holds me, enfolds me,

He wraps himself around me and I try to forget the despair.

Sometimes he makes love to me because my nearness arouses him,

It is as if possessing me, he wants to be present in me, here and now,

And always, chasing away bad dreams.

He calls me every day around eleven to hear my voice.

He has nothing to say, he wants to hear my voice; he needs to hear my
voice.

I always say something funny,

Something I did, something I saw.

Something about the little one.

He always laughs and never wants to hang up.

He wants to listen some more.

I thrive on entertaining him.

For him I can be the little girl, funny, intelligent, enticing him,

Making him feel Man who has a woman.

I am his and he is mine.

I know his job is letting him down.

I know he needs to be cheered.

I know he needs to know I am there,

The distance of a phone call away.

The phone! It is still on low.

I put it on high and immediately it rings.

It rings urgently, relentlessly,

Tearing apart the serenity of the morning.

It is our eldest son.

He is in a small clinic nearby.

Our children took their father there.

He had to stop the car whilst driving.

He had to cough convulsively at the curb.

He lost control of his right leg.

The eldest took over and drove to the clinic.

The doctors said it was neuralgia,

They had given him an injection for the pain.

The pain was strong, very strong.

The children were afraid.

The eldest said he had been calling me since earlier,

I had not answered the phone,

The phone had been on low.

I DID NOT HEAR!

I had not taken into account an emergency,

The thought of one occurring never entered my mind.

I run to my room, I dress.

I have to dress for work later.

I grab jeans and a red and white checked blouse,

Sent to me from my younger sister,

Sent the long way, 3000km away,

From over the ocean into the tropics to me.

I can see myself in the outfit now:

A youngish woman, pretty too, appealing

With an accent, looking out of blue-grey eyes

From under blondish hair,

In a nation of black eyed, black haired people,

Always the stranger,

Always considered the outsider,

One who does not understand,

One who is different, to be stared at,

One who cannot be accepted, not wholly,

One who reads in a nation of non-readers,

One who works in a family, whose women stay home,

One whose husband does not go astray

Does not want to and says so,

What is it she does to hold him so enchanted?

One whose husband travels to other towns,

But on arrival does not race to prostitutes,

About which his colleagues joke with him and her

Secretly fishing for the secret

The secret of their sex life

That excludes all outside temptations

In a nation whose husbands routinely stray,

For vain and obscure reasons of masculinity.

I snatch the little one; we would come back a little later:

For her to lunch, for her to go to school.

Only now I have to be with my man,

To see him, to comfort him, to hold his hand

As he uses to hold my hand at all moments,

In pleasure and pain.

And the phone had been on low

And they had tried to reach me, tell me

And I had not known

I HAD NOT KNOWN!

He is lying in a room with one bed,

Fully dressed, eyes closed.

Our eldest daughter is passing tenderly

A piece of cotton wool soaked in alcohol

Steadily over her father's brow.

The oldest son looks on from the window.

He opens his eyes, sees me,

Says: what are you doing here?

I came to be with you, I say.

He asks me to help him to the bathroom.

It is in the corridor and he walks

One arm around me, one hand on the wall.

He walks slowly, does not speak.

I take him back to bed; he says his head aches

And closes his eyes again.

Our daughter resumes the passing of alcohol,

Which does not relieve the pain.

I look for the doctor; he says it's nothing serious.

I tell him I'll be back in a minute,

Race home, feed our little daughter,

She puts on her school uniform,

Will Daddy get better? Yes, of course!

I race back to the clinic, daughter in tow,

Nothing has changed,

He looks at the little one and touches her cheek,

He forces painfully a little smile for her,

She smiles back and bravely lets me take her to school,

And nobody knows, that all the while

The blood is flooding his brain.

I race back, run into his room,

I do not remember where our oldest daughter is,

Nor our younger son, did they go home to eat?

The older son meets me at the door and says

Daddy has had a convulsion.

What is a convulsion, what does it mean?

I take over and he leaves.

My husband, lover, friend, is on oxygen,

He does not open his eyes.

He lies still, does not move,

I sit in the window seat, knees drawn up under my chin,

Watch him for the slightest sign of movement.

I pray, please let him live, please God, let him not die,

I'll love him forever, I'll never let him down, please let
him live.

We need him so much!

A doctor enters, ignores me, as if I were not there.

He sticks a needle into my man's foot.

There is no movement from him, no movement.

The doctor explains to another one in white

Something about reaction and shines a light in his eyes.

Explaining to the other, giving a lesson, teaching him!

I ask the doctor, what is the matter?

The doctor does not deign to explain.

They take a cardiogram and the doctor says

His heart is o.k. And I pray, thank you God, thank you.

His heart is o.k. He'll be o.k. If his heart is o.k., he'll
be o.k.

I ask the doctor, will he live? He nods and smiles.

What kind of monster is he?

Suddenly they tell me he'll be taken to another hospital,

They'll be better able to care for him there and I believe,

Despite their incompetence, their lack of consideration, their cruelty
to me,

Their not telling me anything, not telling the stranger,

Probably thinking she will not understand anyway,

She is a stranger, isn't she?

So what's the use? What is the use of being human?

And the doctor bustles in and out,

Speaking of reactions and dilated pupils.


While they prepare him for the trip, I quickly call my workplace,

Tell them I won't be able to work, my man is very sick.

I call one of his brothers; tell him my man is very sick.

I sit in front with the driver and look back through a little window.

He is lying on the stretcher behind me on the left,

Two paramedics bend over him.

The driver does not talk, concentrates on the traffic.

The paramedics shout something and he switches on the siren,

Accelerates and winds his way through cars, trucks and busses, racing.

I keep looking back, he is moving in spasms,

They have stuck something in his mouth,

My heart is beating inside me like a drum.

I do not know what is happening. I do not know!

We stop in front of the hospital. I tear open the door.

I run and shout, I run and shout.

The place looks like a building site, nobody to be seen.

Paint and brushes, ladders and newspapers on the floor.

I run along the corridor, I shout for help, my husband is dying.

A woman appears and says she'll call the doctor

As they bring my man through the door.

A doctor comes running, opens the door on the right

And they carry him through.

They do not let me follow, but I can see they put him down

On the floor, just to the left.

They leave the door a little open.

I hear and sense more than I can see:

They are giving electrical shocks to his heart,

So his heart has stopped. But they said his heart was o.k.

Please God, do not let him die.

He cannot die; his heart is o.k.

How can it stop beating?

I sit immovable on a bench just outside.

I do not think, I do not feel, I do not hear,

There is a rushing in my ears, in my head,

My entire mind repeats please God, please God,

Do not let him die.

I don't know for how long.

Time has lost its meaning.

A young woman comes and holds my hand.

I must be crying because she gives me tissues.

Suddenly my sister in law sits down next to me,

She does not touch me; she does not speak.

I look up and see two brothers in law

Standing with a doctor, their family's cardiologist,

They listen to him. They huddle seriously around him.

A nurse gives me my man's shirt and pants; I press them to me,

His underpants are wet and smell of urine,

And I know what that must mean.

I can only cry harder. He has left us.

Somebody hands me a pill and a glass of water,

Says, swallow that, and I do, automatically.

The cardiologist and the brothers in law look at me.

Nobody tells me anything. What is going on?

I look at my sister in law, sitting next to me,

Not touching, not speaking, not even looking at me.

I ask her, what is happening? I think she says he's dead.

I do not remember, but I know.

I know he has left.

Her husband comes and says I'll take you home.

I get up and say I want to see my man.

Why are they treating me like this?

Why doesn't anybody say anything?

What is wrong with them?

Have I become invisible?

Hey, I am the wife!

I have got to see my man.

They ask their cardiologist guru. Where did he come from?

What on earth is he doing here?

He nods and they point into the room.

I walk in and see the confusion of gear on the floor.

I walk on, into another room and into another.

The walls are tiled in white.

There are two narrow beds with two bodies.

There are two white sheets covering the still shapes.

There is nobody else in here and I walk to the first bed

And lift the sheet from the face

And see my man.

I touch his cheek, his hair; I look at his closed eyes

I ask why did you do this to me?

My tears fall on his face and I say I do love you.

I have always loved you. I shall always love you.

I am alone with the two bodies and I look at his face.

I cannot understand. How can he not be here?

He looks as if asleep. For God's sake, he is dead!

Somebody comes and leads me out.

I go and do not look back.

In the car I ask the older brother in law,

Who is as silent as his wife,

Why he? We were so happy, as if that is reason

For not having to die. A passport for life.

Happiness a passport for eternal life.

Life insurance for happiness.

There is nobody to embrace me

And I need to be embraced!

Brother in law explains it is better for him,

He would not have lived if saved,

Or if, then as a vegetable on a bed.

The other body is of a young girl,

She also had died of an aneurysm.

First time I hear the word. What is it?

I have to know. I'll look it up.

And how did he get it?

We drive through the city, by the clinic.

Will you stop, please? My car is here.

But my car is not there and we drive home.

He stops in the middle of our street,

Shouts at my son in my car going the opposite way,

There is a girl with him.

My son in my car with a girl!

What does he think he is doing?

Brother in law commands him to turn back, go home.

I feel like a robot, I walk slowly into our house.

All the children just stand there in the room,

My dear friend Rosie is talking to them,

I do not wonder why she is there,

How she came, what she is doing.

The older son brings in the girl,

She sits on the sofa and stares at us.

Why did he bring a girl we have never seen before?

My children are stunned, only one question in their eyes.

I nod and don't know what to do.

Do we embrace? Do we all cry together?

Does each one hide in his room?

I do not know.

I have stopped being mother.

I have stopped being organizer.

I have stopped feeling anything but pain,

I have stopped knowing my children need me.

I should have been with them, comfort them,

Telling them they still have me. But I do not.

I too, yet alive, have stopped living.

The funeral is the next day,

I have nothing black to wear.

All the children want to go,

The small one too, she insists.

The neighbour lends me her sunglasses

To hide behind, to be invisible;

My eyes are swollen shut.

Someone comes in a car, someone drives,

Someone sits me down in front of the raised coffin.

Here he lies, cotton wool in his ears and nose.

Why did they put cotton wool in his ears and nose?

I do not want to look at him.

I do not want to keep this image,

I want him alive in my mind.

I want to remember his laughter.

Our little one sits on my lap: I hold her tight.

I want my daddy, she shouts, heartrendingly

And I soothe her.

I had asked not to be talked to,

I had asked not to have to talk,

I do not know who was there,

I do not know what they did,

I only know there were many people,

Moving, crowding around, walking past,

Looking at my man exposed on his pedestal.

Then they close the lid; they take him away.

Everybody walks; someone takes my hand,

My other hand holds my daughter's.

I do not know where the other children are.

I do not know what they are doing.

I have stopped being mother.

May God forgive me for abandoning them

In their immense pain.

It is not I who is walking on the gravel

In a cemetery.

There is a hole in the whitewashed wall.

They put the coffin in and close the space,

Brick by brick with mortar and the people stand around.

He is going to be in there, locked away, all alone.

How can we bear it, looking on?

I say I want to go and someone sits me down on a bench,

The little one by my side, holding my hand.

I look on the floor, gray sand with little stones.

Someone comes, sits down on my right,

Takes my hand and I squeeze it, hold tight

For a long, long time. It is my Japanese neighbour.

He does not speak; we just sit and hold hands

And some of his energy, compassion, love,

Floods into me, lightens a little the burden.

It is the only reality that breaks through to me.

Someone comes and takes us to a car

And drives us home.

Are the children with me? They must be.

I do not know. I know nothing; life has stopped

And I am not a mother today, nor was yesterday.

I am a hollowness walking on this earth.

My friend Rosie is at our home, she had taken over

The cleaning, the cooking, the caring

And I can sleep and cry, and cry and sleep.

I feel desolate, without hope, without cheer,

Nothing left to live for, nothing to make sense,

Nothing left to do. A void, only a black hole in my soul.

May our children forgive me.

Their father has left and their mother also.

All I can feel is sorrow; sorrow for myself

And I cannot function.

I shall see you again one day.

You will be waiting at the entrance;

I know you will,

I have been there before

Will I know which one is you?

Or will you be among the others, indistinguishable?

The loving ones: white fluffs of cotton, shapeless souls,

Only presence;

A living presence but no individuality.

Travelling with me towards the light.

I shall see you again and then perhaps I shall heal,

Be whole again in the all-embracing love

Which you have become part of forever.