See No Evil

1

June 18, 1988

I’m scared. There, I’ve written it. After twenty minutes staring at the empty page trying to think of a way to begin this diary, I’ve realized I can’t start until I get this down.

I’m scared.

Of whom? Of what? Of Neels, for sure. When he lost his temper last night and clenched those meaty fists, for a moment I thought he was going to strike me, more than that, beat the life out of me. But what scares me most about Neels is that I’m losing him. Losing him and I don’t know why.

I’m scared of South Africa, or maybe for South Africa. I’m scared of what white is doing to black and black is doing to white. Like Neels, I’m scared the whole place will go up in flames at any moment. And I’m scared of myself, of what’s happening to me.

I feel all alone, alone in the middle of my family. Neels spends so much time in the States now. Caroline is sweet, but she’s just twelve and such a quiet little thing. I only realized how much I wanted Todd back home when I got that letter from him today telling me he wasn’t coming. He’s planning to stay in Hampshire with some friends from school over the summer vacation. What is my son doing thousands of miles away in a boarding school in England? And why do I need him so much?

I thought it would help to write it all down. Somehow I need to figure out who I am, what I’m going to do. I bought this fancy notebook in Paris last year. It’s black moleskin, the kind of notebook Bruce Chatwin carried across Africa and Australia. It’s begging to be filled with great thoughts and insights, but I don’t have any of those. I don’t know what I think. I didn’t want to use a journalist’s spiral notebook. I’m not a journalist anymore. So what am I? Wife? Mother? Stepmother? Prisoner? Prisoner of my ideals? Prisoner of my fears?

All questions, no answers.

Goddammit to hell.