by Thordis Elva
The bus stops close to Greenmarket Square, and we get off. In the middle of the plaza is a large stage. Loud music starts to blare as we sit down at an Italian restaurant by the square, and I gesture for Tom to move his chair closer to mine, so we can hear each other. A waitress in a laced shirt tells us that it’s a sound-check for tonight. ‘For the Cape Town International Jazz festival,’ she shouts, and takes our order for oven-baked vegetarian pizzas.
‘Sounds good,’ Tom says. His tanned skin seems even darker in the sunlight and he pulls out his sunglasses just as the drinks arrive at our table.
‘So, there’s no peace or quiet here but at least we’re sitting down now,’ I say, speaking loudly into his ear to compensate for the jazz singer. ‘Want to share what Rape Crisis felt like for you?’
‘At first, it felt like this,’ he says, lifting one arm to reveal a huge sweat stain. ‘For the first few minutes, I was looking at myself from the outside. It was like a full-blown panic attack, heart pounding and sweat pouring out while I sat there questioning myself and what the hell gave me the right to be even sitting there, under that roof, in that space … that safe space.’ He takes a sip of his water and thinks for a moment. ‘Hypocrite, liar, rapist: such labels were bouncing around my mind. It took a while, but I managed to slow down and stop judging myself. When I was calm, that’s when I could start contributing to the conversation. It was certainly something to witness, you and Shiralee discussing everything and questioning one another. I guess I just haven’t seen you in your professional shoes, discussing policies, forensic testing, education.’ He looks into his glass while formulating his words. ‘I want to be a part of this, Thordis. I want to be comfortable in this space, not feeling part of the problem but a part of the solution.’
His words lit up the deserted teenage room in my mind that is rapidly becoming a sanctuary.
‘I made many discoveries when I’d calmed down enough to think rationally,’ he continues. ‘If we’re going to go public with our story, then I feel I truly want to know more about what survivors go through … I need to know more. Bloody terrifying, but I learnt something … about the “other side” of sexual violence. It’s crucial that places like that exist. Just like telling your story out loud is incredibly important, talking through the chain of events and filling in what actually happened. Like you did, in the email you sent me some time ago.’
I know exactly to which email he’s referring. I wrote it after Tom claimed that there hadn’t been any ‘cognitive thought process’ on his end when he decided to rape me. Not convinced, I replied by putting forth a detailed description of the events of that night to underline just how many decisions he had to make to complete the deed. Everything from undressing me when I was gravely ill to protecting himself with a condom. ‘You didn’t react well to that email, though.’
He frowns. ‘No? How did I react?’
The words still sting. ‘You accused me of putting you on the stand for a crime you’d long ago confessed to.’
He flinches a little. ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? What a selfish reaction.’
I shrug. ‘You were scared.’
‘Forgive me, Thordis, it wasn’t right to say such things to you.’
‘I already have, Tom.’
In more ways than you know.
After lunch, we go back to the jewelry store, where I purchase the ring that will seal my marriage to my soul mate. ‘Congratulations,’ Tom says when we step out of the store, heading for the bus stop across the street. ‘Now there’s nothing stopping you from marrying that incredible man of yours.’ He whips off his backpack and fishes the map out of it. ‘And now for our next destination …’
My ears are still ringing from the sound-check we’d just endured on the plaza and all of a sudden, I know exactly what I want to do. ‘You know, Tom, I’m really not up for more wind, with all due respect to Table Mountain. To be honest, I’d like to go to the beach, where we can chill out and have a conversation without having to shout at one another.’
He looks up from the map, surprised and happy. ‘I’m so glad you said that. I was thinking the exact same thing.’
‘Pretty soon we won’t even have to talk, any more. All we’ll need to do is look at each other and nod.’
He folds the map up and puts it in his backpack. ‘This may sound silly, Thordis, but I’ve been wanting to have our picture taken, together.’ Blushing, he quickly adds: ‘I think deep down, I wanted proof that this really happened, you know?’ He shrugs. ‘Anyway, I’m ridding myself of that idea. I’ve got plenty of pictures from this week in my head.’
I understand him perfectly. Neither the purpose of this trip nor the connection between us can be captured in a photo; least of all a sandal-clad, chummy, summer-vacationy photo. Yet I would like a picture too. ‘There’s got to be an opportunity that isn’t terribly awkward, don’t you think?’ I say, hesitant. ‘As long as we’re not sitting by a candlelit table at a restaurant, smiling stiffly to the camera like we’re on some messed-up date.’ I recall that we’re on our way to the beach so I add: ‘… and as long as I’m not in my bikini.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he says teasingly, just as the bus appears.
My cheeks flush when I realize what he means. ‘What?! No! That’s not what I meant! Christ! I wasn’t insinuating that you want a bikini picture of me!’ I practically yell at him.
‘No?’ he asks, still in that teasing voice.
‘No, it’s got nothing to do with you! I … for crying out loud, I’ve had a kid! This is a post-baby body!’
Despite having yelled at him about one of my most personal hang-ups in public in one of the most commonly spoken languages in the world, all I reap is a look of disbelief on his face. Great. Here I am, letting it all hang out and he’s not even convinced. I turn away, frustrated with myself. I made it sound like I’d fallen victim to some ridiculous, sexist beauty standard. No wonder he doesn’t buy it, he knows me better than that. But I’m sure as hell not going to clarify that my awkwardness has less to do with the changes motherhood brought on, and more to do with how my body has changed since Tom last saw it. Why the hell do I even care? Am I being self-conscious because he remarked that my looks haven’t changed, as I know that isn’t true for every inch of my body? Oh vanity. What a fucking drag you are.
The bus stops in front of us, and I stride onboard. The seat I choose on the upper deck is hot from the sun, matching my cheeks. Tom gets into the seat next to me and says in a comforting voice: ‘Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m the guy who had laser treatment to be able to take his shirt off, remember.’
Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I sigh. ‘So we both have our hang-ups.’
‘The best thing to do is to say it out loud, laugh at it, and move on,’ he says with a grin.
‘You’re a fast learner, Stranger.’
‘I’m thinking about stealing that and making it my own, actually,’ he says, and leans back into his seat.
Minutes later, we climb off the bus at Camps Bay. It’s late afternoon, the sun is hot, and the beach is crawling with people. As we walk down to the shore, my thoughts are on the emotional remnants of the past I share with Tom. This time around, I’m determined to leave no loose ends, nothing that can be allowed to fester. Unsure of how to word my thoughts, I speak with hesitation. ‘Shame is a feeling that bears no fruit. It’s a breeding ground for destruction, does nothing but silence you and stunt your emotional growth. Anger is an active feeling and can even be constructive, as an outlet. But not shame. If you harbor shame, that’s where you need to be working on yourself, to treat the cancer that it is.’
He nods, and I know he understands what I’m trying to say. The paralyzing effects of shame are all too familiar to him. We come to a halt amongst kids playing in the waves and families building sandcastles. A second after Tom’s backpack hits the sand, so does mine. Our sh
oes land in a pile, his shirt next to my dress. Finally, we’re standing opposite one another wearing nothing but swimwear.
‘Fuck shame,’ I whisper.
Without further ado, we run into the water. Tom takes a swim but I’m content with wading in the freezing water up to my knees, which in turn drives my shoulders up to my ears. Refreshing, nonetheless.
After getting our fill of salty splashes, we walk back onto the shore and towards the rocks we climbed a few days earlier.
‘Of course,’ I hear Tom say when he sees the tattoo on the small of my back. ‘Now I remember.’
On our way, we pass a couple in their forties engrossed in their smartphones, side by side yet light years away from each other. Meanwhile, the man walking next to me leads a life that’s far removed from mine in every way possible, and yet he’s closer to me at this moment than most other people I’ve met.
He squints his eyes and gazes at the sky. ‘We ought to be able to see the green flash when the sun sets.’
‘The green flash?’
‘Yes, when the sun slips down behind the horizon and the last rays shine through the surface of the ocean, there’s a green flash. It’s very brief — if you blink you can miss it.’
After throwing our clothes back on, we climb up on a nearby cliff. The rock is warm under our bare feet, and my heart beats heavily in my chest when we sit down and gaze out over the golden sea. Beneath us, a retriever plays happily on the shore, shaking water from his glittering fur with gusto.
Tom gestures with his head towards the ocean. ‘I brought a wetsuit, to be able to bodysurf here.’
‘Bodysurf?’
‘If you know the right technique, you don’t need a surfboard to be able to surf, you can use your own body,’ he explains. ‘The waves today aren’t good for that, though. They’re too … straight.’ He turns to me with a more serious expression. ‘It’s something that I’ve learnt, that I need daily physical exercise for at least half an hour. If I don’t, I can feel myself getting tense and impatient. I’m hyper-sensitive about getting to this point, and there is an element of selfishness that I hate about being … pent up, or feeling like I need to expel something. For me, movement is necessary for a balanced head.’
I look at him — a man who has developed a workout system to defend against himself. Yet I don’t believe him to be destructive. I see no blood-thirst in him. At this very moment, I trust him wholeheartedly.
‘When exactly did you send me that initial email?’ he asks.
‘May 2005.’
‘Eight years.’
‘Yeah.’
He shakes his head and sighs. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve written paragraphs and deleted them.’
‘I have too.’
‘We’d have three hundred emails by now …’
‘I know. The correspondence has been so …’
‘… impersonal at times. Never too familiar, too funny nor critical in any way.’
I nod. ‘Careful.’
‘Devoid of excitement or anger or anything that could be misconstrued …’
‘… emotionally … stale.’
‘Yes. You’re right.’
His eyes rest on me. ‘I … feel I’ve learned so much this week. About the nature of rape, about myself and the effects of my actions on you. I definitely now know that there is nothing to be gained by being the judge, jury, and executioner of one’s self-imposed sentence. I feel like I should share this … this awareness of the damage you can cause, and maybe some of the … “why”. Not that I have some “catch-all” explanation, but still, I know I’m not unique or alone. I’m one of many. And yet there’s an awkward silence. A fear of digging deeper, maybe. I just want say something. Like you did in your book. I want to speak up, and minimize the chance of our history being repeated, Thordis. Plus, if we’d kept on writing to each other, and not met face to face, I know I wouldn’t be talking like this. I wouldn’t be speaking about going public, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be on the path I’m now on … learning to love Tom again.’ A smile flashes across his face. ‘That was one of the easiest things I have ever said to you, so it must be how I feel. If I do speak out, there would be an acknowledgement of the patience and understanding you’ve shown me all these years.’
His elbow brushes mine when he adds: ‘You have kept a momentous secret for me. Perhaps it’s time it isn’t a secret any more.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’
We sit in silence, watching the last sunlight color the horizon from vivid amber to a shade of peach that gradually fades into blue as the stars light up above our heads, one after the other. Out on a nearby cape, people gathered to enjoy the sunset turn into tiny shadow puppets forming a razor-sharp contrast to the glowing background.
‘You ready?’ he asks. ‘Here comes the green flash.’
We both hold our breath as the last strip of sun lets go of the horizon and slips down behind it. I don’t dare blink, but no matter how hard I stare I can’t see any flash of green. ‘Did we miss it?’
‘No, I don’t think there was one, this time,’ he says, perplexed. ‘What a shame.’
I shrug but honestly, I’m not surprised that even the laws of nature are changed after this week in Cape Town. Nothing will ever be the same.
The sand is still warm as we climb down from the rock and slip into our shoes. He gives me an inquisitive look as I hand him my phone. ‘Will you take my picture?’
My body celebrates the opportunity to sprint up on a three-meter-tall cliff that protrudes into the sea. Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I reach the top and gaze into the glowing, rippling eternity stretched out in front of me. When I leave tomorrow, I want to leave my past behind. Here, in the healing embrace of the Mother City herself.
‘I think I got a couple of good ones,’ he says once I’ve climbed down. Our eyes meet as I accept my phone from his hand, and, before I know it, the words are upon my tongue. ‘I realize I’ve never said “I forgive you” to your face, but I do. I forgive you, Tom.’
His eyes open wide. ‘Oh my God, did you just say that?’ he gasps. Before I know it, his arms wrap around me and sweep me tight up against him like a ragdoll. I hug him back, surprised by his strong reaction when the sobs tear through his throat. His crying shakes my body, and I hear myself whisper into his ear: ‘It’s over. I forgive you. It’s over.’
We embrace for a long while before he lets go of me, wipes a tear from his cheek, and says: ‘I accept your forgiveness.’
The Tom who walks off into the sand a moment later seems different, somehow. His step is lighter; his head held a bit higher than before. I’m moved by the sight. I wonder if forgiveness can literally change the way people walk?
I stop to quietly enjoy the effect: the peace of mind and the load that’s been lifted off my chest. Strange, this all too common misconception that forgiveness is somehow sacrificial, which leads to it being wrongly associated with selflessness and nobility. As I’m standing and watching Tom walk away into the golden sand, every cell of my body confirms that my forgiveness was no less beneficial to me than to him, allowing me to stop drinking the poison of bitterness, stop torturing myself with unanswered questions, stop living life looking over my shoulder.
The colors grow even more vivid after the sun sets on this last night of ours in South Africa. The palm trees along the beach rise out of the blazingly golden horizon and their leafy heads stretch far up into the violet night sky. The splendor is one of the most romantic things I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and, before I know it, I’ve punched Vidir’s number into my phone. When he answers, a goofy smile lights up my face. ‘I bought your ring. It’s one size too big, but hopefully we can have it resized.’
‘Or I’ll just wear it on my right hand instead,’ Vidir answers lovingly. ‘We’ll figure it out.’
‘Yeah, I’m told it’s real
ly about your lifelong love and devotion for me, in the end.’
I can hear him smile when he replies: ‘Funny, that’s exactly what I had planned.’
I bask in the blazing sunset before adding: ‘The last night in South Africa before I come home to you …’
‘Soon, honey.’
‘Very soon.’
Tom arrives at my side just as I slide my phone back into my bag. Shaking my head, I gesture at the dazzling sky. ‘That’s clearly Photoshopped.’
‘I know. Just … breathtaking.’ He shakes his head, too.
‘When you meet the love of your life, you need to bring her here. Never before have I seen a backdrop that screams as loudly for romance.’
He smiles faintly but remains silent.
‘I think she’ll come knocking soon,’ I tell him. ‘Sooner than you think.’
‘Who?’
‘The love of your life.’
He shrugs a bit awkwardly. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘I do. I’m certain of it.’ Because now you don’t have an excuse to lock people out of your heart any more. I can feel it, just like I can feel the cool sand between my toes.
It’s odd to think that this is the last time Tom and I will walk together along the paved sidewalk in Sea Point. The darkness is thick with buzzing insects, and I try to memorise the sound. Two people may leave this place permanently changed, but life here will go on as usual.
Tom is also lost in thought when we sit down on the low wall in front of the Ritz. He rubs his hands together, opens his mouth but closes it again. Finally, he asks: ‘Is there any part of you at all that feels like you’ve been unfaithful this week, Thordis?’
