The Colour Black

by Maia Walczak

  There was an uproar of shouting and clapping after the band finished their first song. The girl introduced them in a deep southern accent, beaming at the crowd and saying thank you to everyone who’d made it to the gig. The crowd cheered some more and then the band went straight into their next song. It was so incredibly upbeat that in a second the whole room was moving with bodies dancing. Suddenly Jack took my hand and we too were dancing, smiling like two happy-go-lucky youths, and it just didn’t feel strange at all. The beer had made my inhibitions disappear and the music led me. I felt a happiness I couldn’t remember having experienced for many years. I felt completely carefree and it felt wonderful. And I was sweaty, very sweaty. Strands of wet hair stuck to my face as my whole body shook to the music. I didn’t care; I was dancing. I was smiling.

  Later that night, when the music had mellowed and quietened, we sat around talking. The alcohol had made us lose the self-consciousness and the words were flowing freely, passionately. I was letting suppressed thoughts out for the first time, vocalising things that I had kept inside and hidden away from even myself.

  So this was how it felt to share one’s mind.

  I suddenly realised that Jack was actually very beautiful. I hadn’t noticed it before. No, that’s a lie, a total lie. Of course I had noticed, I’d just never wanted to find him attractive. And why had I allowed myself to truly notice and admit it now? Well, I was drunk. Drunk and happy.

  ‘You know,’ I said, ‘it’s good to talk.’

  ‘And dance.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s definitely good to dance.’

  Before I knew it, we were kissing.

  *

  We may have had sex in an uncomfortable van in a parking lot in a sudden fit of lust, but it was beautiful. Afterwards, when we lay huddled together, his body against mine, I understood that I had never yet had this kind of sex. I had never been touched like that by a man. His touch seemed completely untainted by arrogance, hesitation or self-protection. Jack didn’t seem to restrain himself in any way. After sex I usually avoided ‘cuddling’ – even the mere word made me feel nauseous. It usually felt insincere, self-conscious… obligatory. This seemed the complete opposite. It felt natural. There was no shame in Jack’s affection.

  As I lay there awake, smiling to myself, I realised something else. It wasn’t just him that had made this experience unique. It was me. This was the first time I’d ever in my life properly let go with a man. It was usually me who restrained myself, but this time I didn’t need to because Jack already knew most of my secrets. I had little left to hide. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I felt that night, lying in the back of that van, his body around mine.

  The next morning was surreal and beautiful. All the cars had gone and The Shack was now closed and boarded up, looking as though it had been abandoned many years ago. Around us there were no signs of the buzzing human life that had been there only a few hours ago. Lenticular clouds hung over the jagged sandy lumps on the eastern horizon, and the sun was only just rising – slowly waking and peering out. It had come to greet only me, for in this open dusty space there was not another soul in sight. The long dark shadows cast by the hills and mountains slowly receded, and light poured into the valley.

  I had woken before Jack. I put some clothes on and climbed out of the van as quietly as I could so as not to wake him. My head rudely reminded me that last night’s alcohol consumption had been a little excessive. My feet hit the ground and I breathed in the air. It smelled like freedom.

  I wasn’t deluding myself. It’s not as though I wasn’t aware of the fact that at any point this could all end and something far worse than what I’d ran away from would become my reality. All this I knew and feared. But for a moment, as I stood there looking out at the landscape and the sky, fear vanished, and all I had was my present reality. And presently I was free.

  I paced forward a few steps into the sunshine and sat down in the dirt with my back to the van. The air was crisp but not cold. I spotted a bald eagle soaring high up. This was a bird I could recognise and remember way back from my early childhood. Unmistakable. Every now and then a gentle breeze tickled my skin. Silence reigned. All was still. Even the voices in my head seemed to be sleeping.

  I sat there for a while trying hard to hold onto this meditative state, until the sun had fully risen over the horizon, spreading its carpet of light across the valley floor, and I heard Jack shuffling around in the van. I didn’t turn around at first, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. So what now? I thought to myself. Would there be any awkwardness? I heard him get out of the van and then I heard his footsteps coming towards me. I should probably turn around now, I thought.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, rubbing his eyes, ‘you’re up early.’

  ‘Hey,’ I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  He reached me, sat down and put his arm around me. We sat in silence for a few moments looking out at the landscape. For a while my body remained stiff. I was reluctant to show affection back, in case I’d misunderstood the situation. But what was there to misunderstand? For the first time there was nothing complicated going on, so, finally, I leaned into his hold, to which he responded by holding me a little more tightly. We sat like that for a while longer, saying nothing. I would have gladly sat like that for hours.

  ‘We should probably get out of this place and get some breakfast,’ he said.

  For a split second I’d totally forgotten we were on the run, I had been lost in a blissful state of oblivion.

  We weren’t too far from hidden places. As we drove further along, mile after mile, we reached a stretch with thick pine forest on both sides. We turned off onto a small path and once we were far enough from the road Jack stopped and switched off the engine.

  I wondered what it was like for him. I knew I was crippled with fear every time I remembered I was hiding, but I wondered if he felt any of that same fear at all. He never showed it. My fear came through personal experience. I feared that at any moment the same people, organisation, whoever killed my parents could show up and kill me, at any moment. Kill us. But perhaps he knew better than me how big or small any threat was, and how likely it was that such a thing could happen. He’d studied cases like this, hadn’t he? Though, in reality, surely neither of us could really know anything for certain.

  Jack had packed a lot of things. He had come well prepared. There were boxes full of cans, bags of pasta, oatmeal, garlic, jars of tomato sauce, apples, sultanas, nuts, crackers, cocoa powder, spices. That morning we had oatmeal and banana for breakfast. But I found it hard to eat. Ever since we’d left the vicinity of The Shack my mind had slowly sunk back into that dark place. A carousel of thoughts had taken over me.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Nothing,’ I muttered.

  There was a few seconds pause in which we both knew I was lying.

  ‘What if they’re here?’ I whispered.

  His shock brought me both relief and embarrassment.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Well they could be,’ I said, suddenly feeling defensive.

  ‘Of course they could be. “They” could be anywhere. Or they could be nowhere. Or there may not even be a “they”. We don’t know. We don’t have a clue. We don’t even know if what we’re running away from is real.’

  ‘This was your fucking idea,’ I said, without thinking.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. Anything is possible. Right now though, we’re in a forest eating breakfast and that’s all there is.’

  I didn’t understand how he could be so relaxed.

  ‘How are you finding all this?’ I said.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, that epiphany of yours. How is it to have had a realisation like that, to know that apparently all is well and there’s nothing to fear. How is it to know all that and yet be involved in what we’re doing now?’

  ‘What, eating?’ he laughed.


  ‘Oh, ha ha, don’t go getting all Zen on me, you know what I mean. This whole thing, running away from a potential danger. I’m fucking scared. Aren’t you?’

  It took him a while to reply.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I guess sometimes I am.’ He paused. ‘But I check myself, and ask what it is I’m actually scared of and why.’

  ‘So you question your fears?’

  He shrugged and then nodded, ‘of course’.

  ‘I do that too. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just running away from my own imagination. But I’ve also thought about death a lot. I’ve had to,’ I said.

  He looked at me. He reached out his hand and placed it on my arm.

  ‘I don’t just mean about my mother,’ I said. ‘I’ve thought about death in more ways than one. I kept quiet all that time because I feared that if I didn’t keep the secret they’d find me and kill me. That’s what I fear most. That someone will come when I least expect it. That’s probably paranoia, I know. But because I’ve lived with this fear for so long I’ve also had a lot of time to address it. Death is inevitable, and potentially always just around the corner. Sooner or later it’ll come. I’m terrified of death, Jack. But I’ve also had moments where I’ve wanted to just disappear. Existence is fleeting, no matter who you are. So I guess I just wanted to know why it is I fear death. What about death makes it so scary? Is there a possibility of losing the fear of it? I haven’t come up with any definitive answers yet. Obviously. And I don’t believe in God. Or heaven. So…’

  He was nodding.

  ‘Actually, I’ve often thought about death and fear in exactly the same way,’ he said, ‘I guess the fear of death is the fear of the unknown. And the fear of loss maybe, of losing life, but then, what is life anyway? And is life something you have or something you are? And is death really the opposite of life? Or the opposite of birth? Can life have an opposite? Isn’t life all there is?’

  ‘But, if I die, I lose my life.’

  ‘You lose your life… it’s a funny phrase, isn’t it? Makes it sound like there are two things there: something called “you”, and something called “your life”.’

  I thought about what he said for a few seconds.

  ‘So…?’ I said. ‘That’s just playing with words, it doesn’t mean anything. The “I” and “my life” are the same thing.’

  ‘I get what you’re saying, but I guess I’m just wondering what the I is anyway.’

  He turned himself towards me.

  ‘Where are you?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s not a trick question. Where are you?’

  ‘Here,’ I said, pointing to myself.

  ‘What… here?’ he said, pointing from my head to my feet.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said shrugging, ‘that’s me.’

  ‘So your body? You are your body?’

  ‘Well yes, I guess. But obviously not only my body. My brain as well… I mean my mind.’

  ‘Do you mean your thoughts?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘But if you are your thoughts, then what is the thing that knows you’re thinking?’

  I contemplated this question for a little while.

  ‘Awareness, I guess.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and after a long pause he added, ‘but now what is this thing called awareness?’

  ‘Death can’t possibly be the end,’ I circled back to the topic at hand after a long pause, ‘because why would any of this have happened – my life, this life, Silvia – if after death that was just the end of it. It wouldn’t make sense.’

  ‘Maybe death is the end of Silvia, the end of Jack,’ he said, ‘but maybe it’s not the end, because maybe there’s more here than just a Silvia and a Jack… more going on here than just two stories and two identities with a beginning and an end. Maybe you’re more than just a Silvia.’

  We packed up the van and started the day’s drive, while I carried on thinking.

  ‘So sometimes you get totally caught up in the story of Jack, in your story,’ I said, ‘and other times you see that Jack is just a story… but is it almost like you live in two realities then?’

  He was silent for a long while.

  ‘I’m not sure…I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why? Because you see only one of them as reality and the other as an illusion?’

  ‘No,’ he laughed, ‘it’s just, I don’t even know what reality is.’

  After our late start, our stops on the road were limited and short that day. My mind was full of thought throughout the journey, and by the time we reached a suitable place to park up for the night, I was exhausted. I climbed into the back of the van by myself, whilst he worked on his laptop at the front.

  Does Silvia experience life, or does life experience Silvia? This was the question that floated round in my head as I drifted off to sleep that night.

  A Thousand Needles

  I looked at him and didn’t say a word but just laughed and shook my head. He was smiling back at me.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘shall we?’

  I nodded, bit my lip and laughed again. But there was not even an ounce of doubt in me. I was actually looking forward to it. I threw off my sneakers, socks, shorts and sweater. A sudden biting gust of wind made me gasp. He laughed.

  ‘Okay,’ he said.

  He turned around and ran towards the lake’s shore. I followed him, hugging myself from the cold, and hopping to avoid sharp stones. He was already knee deep in the water and had turned to await me.

  ‘And?’ I said.

  ‘And it’s cold!’ he said.

  The water was far, far colder than the air. My toes felt numb as soon as they touched it. But I waded in further. Foot deep… ankle deep… calf deep… knee deep, all the while clutching my hands at my chest and repeating the word fuck! He turned back around to walk further in. And when he was hip deep he let out a little yelp and dove in, submerging his whole body. He was under for a few seconds and then emerged, shaking the water off his hair and looking at me with the biggest grin I had yet seen on his face. It was ridiculous.

  ‘It gets much warmer after a while,’ he said.

  I couldn’t say anything. I was concentrating too hard. And after a while I simply decided to run in further as fast as I could, still shouting fuck fuck fuck, and I finally threw myself down like a sack of potatoes and yelled at the top of my voice. Shit fuck shit, oh my god, fuck. He was laughing uncontrollably. Oh my god. I was gasping. We were both gasping, stunned by the cold. And then I too couldn’t stop laughing, like a maniac. With our heads bobbing above the surface our laughter was interspersed with the chattering of teeth.

  ‘Go under,’ he said, ‘and open your eyes. You won’t regret it.’

  Without giving myself time to think or question it, I gulped, held my breath and dove under. It felt like glass shattering over my head, like a thousand needless piercing my skin. I opened my eyes. It was a little murky, but I could see rays of light streaming in and hitting rocks and algae. I was back up in a split second, too cold to stay under for any longer.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Yup.’

  It was beautiful, though I imagined that what he could see looked far more beautiful. The colours must have been incredible. I almost felt a pang of jealousy, but that subsided immediately. The cold didn’t give me a chance to think stupid thoughts. I quickly took a few strokes back to the shallows. My feet felt totally numb as they slid around on the slimy rocks below. My muscles were stiff. But I was grinning like an insane person. I felt like a child. We were screaming, gasping, laughing and splashing. We were children.

  I jumped up, tilted my head back, looked up at the sky and roared, as a wave of euphoria soared through my body.

  Not even a whole two minutes after entering the water, I started striding back out, still laughing, still elated, teeth chattering. I looked down at the goose bumps on my body. I had the impression that my limbs were about to fall off, and I co
uldn’t feel my feet as I walked. But slowly, as I jumped and shook about on the shore, feeling started seeping back into my skin.

  With my shaking hands I picked up my sweater and attempted to dry my body off with it. But I didn’t have the patience, and so instead I started layering the clothes back onto my damp body. My frozen fingers fiddled and struggled so much with the buttons on my sweater that in the end I gave up on them.

  Jack was still in the water, properly swimming now, doing the front crawl. I was doing star jumps and stamping my feet. I was shivering. And yet, somehow, the exhilaration didn’t leave me. I danced about on the shore like an idiot, trying to soak up the last rays of the evening sun. When Jack finally came out about five minutes later, he found me curled up, kneeling on the ground, head down, hugging myself and rocking back and forth.

  ‘You need to get out of those damp clothes,’ he said.

  ‘My boobs…’ I said, still rocking back and forth, ‘feels… like… they’ve fallen off.’

  We went back to the van, dried off with a towel and changed into dry clothes. Dusk was approaching. We got the stove out, and cursed ourselves for not having prepared the equipment earlier as we struggled to put the gear together and open packets and tins with our numb hands.

  We sat opposite each other with the stove between us as we waited for the spaghetti to cook, taking turns to heat our hands above the steam every now and then. With the blood rushing back, my scar seemed to glow more obviously than ever. The shivering subsided and slowly a glowing warmth came over me. Finally I felt better able to hold a conversation.