Open Writing

I celebrate the life of Minnie de Kok……
I never hear the mellow sounds of Swan Lake
without seeing Minnie pirouetting and j’eteing across the lounge room
emitting shrieks of manic laughter. Minnie was
sturdy as a tree trunk, her skin the colour of strong tea, tiny moles
like tea leaves sprinkled sparsely on the surface… she always wore
a starched white cap and apron, and sometimes a whopping set of strong
white teeth, with gold caps. She could pick up a washing machine and walk it
to wherever she wanted it to go. She could do the same to people.
You could be sitting at your desk working hard at an overdue third year essay,
only to find yourself flying through the air, chair and all, and dumped
unceremoniously on the landing: Come on now, Miss, she’d say,
I got to clean this room.

I don’t remember
Minnie arriving to take up her job as cook-general:
Just suddenly,
There she was
Larger than life,
Crazy and powerful
dominating the household, ruling us all with a rod of benevolent iron.

Syrupy tones, endless cups of tea, and gifts on payday
enslaved father: Mother was a pushover, willingly surrendering
the keys to the linen cupboard and everything else in exchange for
well-cooked family meals three times a day, and everything shining ,
including the dog: waxed floors, glittering windows,
and silver so reflective that it seemed to float.

The minor characters, brother, sister, self
and peripatetic suitors: with our close maiden aunt, were
skilfully, like puppets in a play, each assigned our designated roles:
and lied to, cheated , soothed and coaxed into enactment of them.
There was no court of appeal: the courts had been well oiled
to ensure that justice was indeed, and remained, blind.

Minnie may have been illiterate, but she knew a lot about
An awful ‘awe-ful’ lot of things, and we learnt to respect her opinion.
History, geography, current affairs;
Love, life, birth and death:
She had seen it all, summed it up,
and drawn her own conclusions.
Which she would defend to the death.
She was particularly loquacious each pay-day,
when she had downed the customary celebratory bottle of ginger brandy
in one long gulp –

and, returning from our day’s labours (or whatever)-
as we approached the house,
we might pick up,
hear from far down the road,
the joyous cacophony of Minnie-on-the-piano,
her hands cascading wildly from one end of the keyboard to the other,
head thrown back, mouth wide open -
HOW GREAT THOU ART …….

Posterity may have Minnie to thank
That many a student plot to revolutionise and save the world was
nipped in the bud
by a furious figure erupting from the kitchen, dishcloth over shoulder,
passionately declaring: “master Herbert, miss Betty, master George…
(for instance) -
You is all talking BALLS!”
Thus stopping everything dead in its tracks –
Breaking up the party – or perhaps starting one,
As disbelieving guests were treated to one of Minnie’s unstoppable tirades
Replete with historical and personal references - and always
Ending in laughter and a pot of strong Five Roses tea

One day she was gone.
We woke up one morning and there was no tea steaming at our bedsides.

Her room was empty.

Her place was taken by
An altogether more docile, colourless,
And, be it admitted, rather less competent, person.

Suitors who had been rejected and denied access by Minnie
Now had a chance to make a comeback….
Which was both a good thing and a bad thing…
With no focus, we siblings quarrelled a lot more among ouselves……

Sometimes, then, I would set in motion
My large, two-record album of
Swan Lake, played by the London Symphony Orchestra.
Several half-inch bands were worn dull against the dark grooved gleam
Of the heavy discs.
Dull, furry, scratched, and crackling,
As much as I was grieved and angry,
I could feel the ghost of a smile looming
As the shade of Minnie, arms extended and gliding gracefully
Leapt across the room:
Sw-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-p, da de da de sw-o-o-o-p
De da
De sw-o-o-o-o-o-o-p , de
Daa de daa de
Pointe

A long time afterwards
We heard tell of her.
In another suburb.
On the other side of town.

We never saw her again though.

And I wept when someone stole my record collection
A few years later.

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