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POEMS & SONGS
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To set the scene, this piece was written in May 1976 when Shalom, my dear husband, died:
THE WIDOW
People come and sit around
To try and keep me
Cool
And calm
And collected.
Everybody takes my hand
To express the sorrow that they feel.
No-one wants to meet my eyes
And see the tears they've resurrected,
The tears I try to hide
Inside
But still they rise
And fall
Against my will.
My children hurt me with their words
Those words so innocent and unintended.
They agonise "Don't cry!",
but I
Can't stop
This awful aching pain.
I wear his watch,
His ring,
Reluctant to relinquish what has ended.
There are too many precious memories
Alive
And burning in my brain.
The hours, the days, the weeks go by
And still my world
Is full
Of empty spaces.
The world that not so long ago
Was filled with life
And love
Right to the brim.
I walk around and find myself
Looking
In other people's faces,
Searching,
Searching desperately
In hopes
Somehow
I'll catch a glimpse of him.
Sometimes I wake at night
Amid those lonely
Empty hours of silence.
It's then I really cry
To try
And ease the anguish in my heart.
I reach out with my mind
Into the void
To seek his presence.
And suddenly
I realise
That we are finally
And irrevocably
Apart.
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STORIES & ARTICLES
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I did a series of articles which looked at the humorous side of life:
WOMEN AT WORK!
Tap Dance
It started at suppertime on Thursday, when our maid was not on duty. I decided to warm up some leftovers in the microwave, and pressed the "Open" button, but instead of the door opening, I heard something give, and the button was suddenly in instead of out.
Fortunately, with some maneouvring, it still worked, so I was able to rescue my supper, though I certainly wouldn't have died of disappointment, since my leftover meal had been in the freezer for some time.
But that wasn't all that the fates had in store for me. After going to the theatre with my sister, Ros, and her friends, I came back for the bath I had promised myself, and turned on the taps.
Having armed myself with a cup of coffee and a snack, I returned to check the water level, and turn the taps off - with little success. The hot water kept gushing out and the water kept rising.
Frantically, I removed the head of the tap, which was just turning freely, and quickly got a pair of pliers - but nothing I did helped. 'Ros! There's something wrong!' I called in panic, and she came running from her side of the house.
The water was now within an inch of the top of the bath, so Ros plunged her arm into the scalding water, and pulled out the plug, so there was no danger of flooding.
"Must we turn off the water mains?" I asked. "I don't know what else we can do" she replied, so I grabbed a torch, and we made our way to the water mains on the grass verge outside our fence, only to find the hole was filled with water, mud and muck, (which at least took care of the spiders I had been anticipating), and the tap was just a square piece of metal.
Now this was past midnight in Johannesburg, in a dark, silent street of the most crime-ridden city in the world. Had there been a passing criminal, we would have been, quite literally, in 'stuch street' (if you want a translation, think dirty!). There we were, two 'mature' women, on our knees, scrabbling in a small hole in the ground, trying to turn a piece of metal with a pair of long-nose pliers (the first I had found).
It kept slipping, so I hurried back through our gate in the hope of finding some other pliers (which thank goodness I did), and stopped on the way back to grab a container to scoop the water out so we could see what we were doing. Which way to close? Clockwise, or anti-clockwise? We weren't sure, so I hurried back to the bathroom to see if the deluge of water had lessened.
Yes! No, not really! Yes! No! Then definitely 'yes!' as I heard Ros call out 'I've got it!'.
So we closed the lid, and returned to our house, covered with mud, only to realise that there was no water in the taps, and just suds left of my hoped for bath. I used those, and Ros, to my horror, washed in my lavatory. 'Don't pull the handle,' I shouted, 'I still haven't been to the toilet!'
I must admit, I found it difficult to get to sleep after that, and turned every which way before I dropped off, only to wake early to phone the plumber, who seems to have become a frequent visitor lately.
It's fixed now, with a new washer, but he thinks the spindle might have gone, and it could occur again, which means more expense because it's an imported tap, and he might not get the part.
What a drama! But what if it had happened when my maid Lizzie turned on the tap during the day when we were at work? It doesn't bear thinking about! I guess the fates were kind after all.
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