Yve on the Chair

In the morning he is there, he,
she, it,
Envy. 

Gnarled and mean
Small, stunted

I call he,
she, it,
Yve

Yve is gnawing on the entrails
Of my mind
Over night she has been working
Frenetically
Frantically
Fussily
In the dark
Fingering each fearfully shiny thing
Worrying over it
Holding it up to my
trying-to-sleep
eyes

Look! wails Yve.

Die Ky’daars!

My mother told us this was her father's pet name for (lower class) tourists
Kyk daar! (Look there! Look there! Look there!) Rubbernecking.

Yve’s neck coiled like a spring, twisted, bent, restless.
Restless Yve
Sleepless Yve
Worrying, worrying over shiny things.
Monstrous Yve.

In the morning I go downstairs
Yve sits on my head
With her wrinkled, bony desperate fingers
deep in.
Did you see. Does he love. Look what they. How could she. It’s always him. If only
you. If only you. If only you…
My voice struggles to sound “I am here. Am I?” I say to the empty house.
I am you, says Yve.

In her bloodied fist Yve holds the last entrail of my sanity.
Her teeth prepare to worry through.

Save.

“Yve,” I say, gentle (So tired.), “Get out.”
Yve climbs down, 2ft tall at most. Compliant Yve. Momentarily breaking his
trance of chants. But have you seen... Remember when... Can you believe...
“Yve.” I point at the low pink chair by the window. My favourite. “Sit.”
Yve sits and rocks back and forth. Frenetic. Frantic. Fussing.

I walk back to the kitchen. Down to one last piece of mind. Can I survive? Is it too
late? Yve is behind me – Let me back in.

“Yve” I say, “Sit!”. Hunchback Yve scuttles away, back to the chair.

I make some tea and go and sit on the cream faux leather sofa next to the low
pink chair by the window. No thoughts come.
Let me back. Says Yve.
“Yve, be still” I look past he, she, it out the window into the garden,
the frost on the evergreens and sheen on the ground appear to freeze time.

I hold on to my last, slippery piece of mind.

I am you, says Yve.
“I know,” I say.

A ginger cat makes her way gingerly over the cold flagstones that
precede the lawn. She catches my eye. Pauses. Then leaps nimbly up onto the
fence that divides me from my neighbour. And disappears.

“I know,” I say.

The sun pokes fingers through the settled early morning mist.
Light strokes the garden leaves and approaches the window. Light catches my
eye. I breathe. Yve’s restless eyes scan the horizon, scan the memories, scan the
future – my memories, my future… I am you, says Yve. Yve's restless eyes scan the
past – my past… I am you, says Yve. Yve’s eyes implore mine: Have you seen, do
you believe, he really loves, she will always be, it is just the way, you will never
have, did you see, what they, what she… all the shiny things, all the shiny things,
all the shiny things… Yve, the hypnotist, has slipped from the chair and sidled up
to my side, when I look down I see his fingers snaking round my last piece of
mind. As if from a trance -
“Yve! Sit!”

Yve is not brave.

“I’m not sure what to do with you yet,” I say, hands out, shoulders shrug. I
imagine setting the chair on fire. I imagine shrinking Yve and keeping he, she, it
in the small terracotta pot with a lid, the one beside the low pink chair. I imagine
opening the sliding door behind Yve, taking her by the hand and leading him out
onto the frozen flagstones that precede the lawn. I imagine unwrapping her
grasp from my hand and watching him scurry about, directionless, restless,
looking out, looking out for whatever she is missing, all the things he is missing…
I imagine the ginger cat pouncing on Yve from the wooden fence that divides me
from my neighbours. I imagine the ginger cat breaking gnarled Yve open, tipping
her head back and slaking Yve’s dark insides down her throat like an oyster.

I am you, says Yve.
My last piece of mind wriggles in the palm of my hand – slippery and pulsing like
a small eel out of water. I become aware of the entrails of my brain that lie
against my forehead and over my ears, bloody and wet. I push the whole lot back
through the top of my head and gently plop the eel in. I imagine it swimming
quickly to the bottom, into the darker waters. “Don't disappear,” I whisper.

“Just stay there where I can see you,” I say to Yve with a stern voice.
Look there, look there, look there, look there –
I stand up and glance briefly out the window. The weak sun has melted the frost.

Look there, look there, look there, look there – Yve is looking all around,
everywhere but there.I walk back through the kitchen and start up the stairs.

Look there, look there, look there, look there – Yve is scanning, scanning
everywhere but there.

As I climb the stairs, I imagine the tourists my grandfather hated so much in their
beat-up cars come from the Transvaal to Durban for a cheap seaside holiday
Look there, look there, look there -
I imagine my mother in the back seat trying not to look, imitating her father’s
sneer – Die Ky’daars.
Look there, look there, look there – I can hear the feet of the low pink chair
against the floor from Yves rocking, rocking, frantic, frenetic, fussing –
Look there, look there, look there –

I imagine my mother as a child in the beat-up car that has brought her all the way
from the Transvaal to Durban for a cheap seaside holiday. Her nose against the
car window, her breath appearing and obscuring her view. The tops of palm
trees just catching her eye as they fly by.
Look there, look there, look there –
“Die Kyk Daars, look at them all,” says my grandfather with all his disdain.

“You stay there!” I yell down at Yve. Certain now. At the top of the stairs I hear
my breath. In and then out and then in. I wind down the car window for my child
mother. The hot, salty Durban air rushes in, whips her long blonde hair back and
away, she lifts her chin against the force of it as a smile slowly spreads across her
face. Her eyes close as her head goes back and she breathes it in. Her lungs fill.
Her head dives down now and with both hands she grips the car door and
throws herself forward, her head out the window, her sharp blue eyes shining,
her smile free, unbroken – she sees the buildings, the palm trees, the dark men
with their ice-cream carts ringing small bells, the people sunbathing, the
colourful umbrellas, the pale sand, the blue twinkling sea. She catches her breath
as the car speeds ahead with the window down, with the wind in her hair, with
the sun on her cheeks

Look there!