Stiletto (English). Karin Eloff

one can tell me, and I don’t understand. Love isn’t dirty, is it?

      And I remember her shoving her fingers up into me when I had a bladder infection. I swear she thought I had some venereal disease or other. Her fingers were cold and hard and hurt me. “You filthy little slut!” she shrieked.

      I miss my dad.

      Like you wouldn’t believe.

      I phoned him. He cried, but I didn’t tell him where I am. He was always so gentle and nice with me; he never hurt me, and now I’m doing this to him. I probably am a cunt. I felt safe with him. Safe.

      Safe-safe-safe.

      I long to be safe.

      I prayed that they would get a divorce, because I wanted to stay with him. Away from her in peace and quiet. But I had to stay with her and I couldn’t stay there any longer.

      You know I couldn’t, but I never told you exactly why.

      Now I’m here. I don’t know what will become of me.

      Where are you?

      Where are you?

      Where are you?

      You must come and fetch me. If you don’t come and fetch me, I will die.

      Hillbrow took many lives. It’s heartbreaking. I was lucky; I danced in the monster’s mouth but got out in time. I was not swallowed. Elize’s parents were never found – not as far as I know.

      It’s ironic that one of the main reasons I studied psychology was to understand my mother better. She really didn’t cope after the divorce. My sister saw her condition as a chemical imbalance. A condition that could be officially and accurately diagnosed, which was probably correct, but I believe one must look deeper than mere science allows.

      I believe that because she made the choice, later on, to live a loveless life, she hardened herself to everything around her, and that it inevitably drove her to a psychiatric institution.

      Lovelessness, I believe, drives you insane.

      Elize told me once how she believed she could fix her own life by fixing her mother’s; I tried to do the same to a certain extent. Even with other people later on. I now think it’s arrogant; you cannot fix people or change them. Who are you to decide that they’re broken in the first place? If they are, they must acknowledge it themselves and declare their willingness to heal. What would you achieve without co-operation?

      God helps those who help themselves, proclaimed a poster in one of the shelters. This advice is not to be sneezed at. (It’s going better with my mom now; she’s on the right track, I think. One that works for her – and that’s all that’s important.)

      Hillbrow made me both streetwise and spiritually aware. It made me increasingly aware of how stupid and ignorant I in fact was. I understood very little about life. I would discover why people sell their bodies for sex only later when I tried it myself, and then I would also understand why someone does drugs with so much conviction.

      Maybe it’s about a deeper yearning for the knowledge of good and evil; the knowledge to distinguish properly between your own light and darkness. Should we even try? Is it not perhaps mortally dangerous to dig too deep in our search for such knowledge?

      I was a spectator in Hillbrow; I saw all the things that I would later do myself. Why did the time I spent there, and the incidents I saw being played out before me like scenes in a horror movie, not serve as a warning? Each of us follows our own particular path to reach ourselves. Hillbrow was the preparation for the road I had to travel to reach myself.

      And don’t for one minute think I recommend it.

      It is mortally dangerous.

      I know it’s easy for me to mouth off. I survived. Let’s face it: I should have been dead already.

      But I’m not.

      And there is a reason why.

      2

      FOUR GUYS GET OFF TOGETHER

      (A job interview in four acts)