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“I have kept the chair she did not sit in.”
Miriam has kept a book by the door since 1986. Every woman who crosses signs it. Most only ever leave a name and a date.
Underneath each name, in her own hand, Miriam writes what she saw — afterwards, sometimes years afterwards, when whatever she saw at the door finally finished happening.
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From the book
Some women write more than they meant to. Two have written nothing at all, and both of those are recorded, because Miriam records the ones who could not.
No name given · August 1989
—
In Miriam’s handWould not write. Would not sit. Drank the rooibos standing at the counter with her coat on, and told me a thing about her father that I have not repeated to anyone. Then she thanked me and left. I have kept the chair she did not sit in.
Rose Abrahams · December 2007
“For Danny.”
In Miriam’s handArrived four days after the funeral with his reading glasses in her handbag. Left them on the windowsill in Room 3. They are still there. She knows. Neither of us has moved them.
Nomsa Khumalo · August 2018
“Left something under the cup.”
In Miriam’s handMoney, folded small, far more than the room. I have not spent it. It is in the drawer with the receipts and it will stay there. Some payments are not for the person receiving them.
What arrives
No schedule to keep up with and nothing to catch up on.
Still here
She has never shown it to a guest. She has never once refused to show it to someone who asked.