Anthem, Silent

Schalk

I felt an anger burning through the very front of my brain, my hands clenching and unclenching around the cigarette and lighter, as I stared at the box of Marlboro cigarettes and the silver lighter. I swallowed, each time that I blinked, I saw my wife’s perfect face marred with the scratches that my mother put on her. My mother had always been my number one, there was no woman that I loved more than her, no woman that I was devoted to more than her, no woman that I respected more than her, until now. My Ivy came first, always. 

“Son…” I heard her voice call out to me in a soft toned voice as she walked into the kitchen of her home. I didn’t look up at her, didn’t need to. I had the ability to study people and memorise every bit of their movements, actions, thoughts, it was an ability I couldn’t explain, and I guess I picked it up form simply being a du Toit. I knew that she wrapped her silk gown tighter around her waist and crossed her arms under her chest, I knew that she was looking at me in question because I was at my childhood home and not at my home with Ivy, taking care of her as I’ve been doing. “Would you like a cup of coffee, tea, or some lemonade?” she asked me, walking closer towards me and placing a hand on my shoulder. 

I didn’t answer her, instead she looked on at the table at what I was looking at. “I promised Ivy I’d stop smoking for her, and for the baby,” I repeated. My mother already knew this, I hadn’t smoked in three months, and it was the longest and hardest three months of my life, but I had to get healthier, for Ivy and for our future children. I used to smoke a pack a day, and right now, as I looked at the Marlboro pack of cigarettes, my fingers tingled at the familiar feel of the ‘cancer stick’ as Ivy calls it, between them, the feel of the toxic smoke filling up my lungs, the cold feel of the silver lighter. 

I missed it. 

Don’t do it Sakkie came through, his voice encouraging me to do whatever to make our pregnant wife happy. Sakkie was head over heels for Ivy, wore his heart on his sleeve, was willing to do anything to please her and put a smile on her face. He was the most smitten from the four of us, no more smoking, Schalk. For Ivy. We have to be better, for Ivy. 

You’re focusing on the wrong thing, Schalk, Botha came through, his smooth and calm voice seeping past Sakkie’s one. Ma’s touched Ivy, and she needs to be a taught a lesson. She called her a black bitch, slice her tongue and shove it down her throat. She’s overstepped her boundaries, and now…we unfortunately have to make her pay. Pull out the mask of shame. 

I did as he said and pulled out the mask of shame that I’d had in my pocket. I unfolded the skin of Ricky boy, smiling at the memory of how amazing that day was. Ricky boy and Reeva were the first unmarked graves in my new home with my darling Ivy. Sometimes, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to her crying, looking outside our bedroom balcony into the graveyard that was actually just a levelled and cleaned patch of land, and obviously remembering me digging the shallow graves of her friends.

“Ma, I’m afraid you already know why I’m here,” I began, smoothing out the mask onto the table and slowly lifting my head to meet the eyes that belonged to a woman that I’d never stop loving. I loved my mother dearly, and the fact that I was willing to teach her a lesson proved that. 

Her eyes widened and she looked at me with a shocked expression, “what are you talking about, my child?” she asked me, her eyebrows furrowed, a frown deep on her lips, “I’m…I’m your mother. I gave birth to you, you don’t come here and try to teach me a lesson. Is that what this is about?” her voice got louder as she looked at me with betrayal swimming deep in her eyes. 

“You crossed the line, ma.” I answered, simply, my voice low, calm and collected while she began to lose her cool. 

“What do you mean, I crossed the line, Schalk?! I’m your fucking mother! I don’t cross any line. You don’t teach me lessons, I’m not one of your women! What’s gotten into you? You’d never do this to me!” she began to shout, slamming her hands on the table and grabbing the pack of cigarettes and squeezing it in her hands as she glared at me. “This here,” she gestured towards it and the lighter, “this is you! This is Schalk, not this man who stands in front of me telling me that I’ve crossed the line.” She threw the pack of cigarettes in my face, but I hadn’t moved.