The Colour Black

by Maia Walczak

  And I needed to feed Oak. I went to the boot, rummaged through the boxes and found her some food. The mess of cans and boxes made the boot hard to shut. I tried my best to rearrange it all, but cans kept rolling out of nowhere. I tried shoving the boxes further in and jamming loose cans between them to temporarily hold them in. I was struggling and getting irritated. And in this absurd feat of humdrum human existence the box of Jack’s documents suddenly fell out and onto the ground. The files and pages exploded out and loose bits of paper started flying off in the wind. I limped after them, grabbing at the air and trying to retrieve each one as fast as I could. I managed to recover them all and place everything neatly back in the box within a minute. But it was only when I was scampering around and grabbing each one so urgently that I realised how important these pages were. How important the contents of this box would be. This box was my future plan.

  *

  I sat down in a sunny spot outside the van, leaning against it. With the box by my side, my body shielding it from potential gusts of winds, I pulled out one of the files, gripping it tight in my hands. I opened it up and I scanned the words, page by page. A lot of it was incomprehensible, written in English but in a way that made little sense to me.

  I carried on looking through the contents of the box, determined, as though I knew what I was looking for. I reached down to the bottom and pulled out what looked like a small notebook. It was a passport. I opened it up. James Alan Harris. Presumably this was Jack’s fake passport. Who was James Alan Harris? Why did Jack have this fake passport and how did he get it?

  Who was this man who’d briefly crept into my life and consumed it so completely?

  I slumped all my weight into the side of the van, I sighed and I looked out into the space in front of my eyes, as if searching for inspiration. And suddenly I knew what I had to do with all of this. I knew what I had to do with my unfinished case and all my questions.

  What was his name? Jack’s lawyer friend, the one who gave him the mescaline? He’d mentioned him so many times… Adam! I rummaged through the box, looking for Jack’s little black notebook, where he kept his list of contacts. It wasn’t in there. I got up and went round to the front of the van. I checked the glove compartment and the floor under the driver’s seat, and finally I found the notebook in the left car door compartment, jammed between a copy of The Milepost: Alaska Travel Planner and a guidebook on edible mushrooms.

  I felt I was onto something. I felt determined. I opened the notebook and flicked through it, scanning each page until I got to the part with contacts. I searched for Adam’s name. Then I searched again, even more carefully. He wasn’t there. But there was one address on a separate page, which had no name. I knew San Diego well enough, I recognised the address as being near the Horton Plaza mall where we’d started the journey. I remembered Jack had said that Adam lived very near there. I remembered he’d told me that Adam was the only person he knew who lived so close. This had to be Adam’s address and number. I was sure of it. Suddenly I was overcome with a strange sense of relief.

  This story wasn’t over, I was taking it to Adam.

  But first, I would go to Alaska.

  Closure

  I had spent a whole two weeks in that place. The van stayed put. I had been waiting for my ankle to heal. And all that time there was an imaginary hope, a lingering pathetic hope that somehow he would still miraculously turn up. Of course he would. Jack wasn’t gone. No way. That wasn’t possible. No. He would appear. Any minute he’d be back.

  On the fourteenth day I sat down where I had once told Jack I loved him. How all-consuming yet fleeting that moment had been. Sitting in that spot now I looked out across the valley. I sat and stared for hours with Oak resting by my side. The sun kept us warm.

  Sometime in the afternoon, I found a closure of some kind. I was watching the sky and remembering the colour blue when I noticed a dark dot flying high up there. As it grew I saw that this dot was in fact a large bald eagle, soaring in my direction. I thought perhaps it was going to swoop down to catch a fish from the water, but it missed the river and was clearly heading towards us. I grabbed Oak out of fear, to protect her. The bird landed only a few metres away, as though it was totally oblivious to mine and Oak’s presence. I was utterly stunned. I had never been so close to one of these birds. This one must have been a female because it was so big, possibly over a metre in length. She perched herself there on those rocks and looked out at the valley with us. Unmoving, like a statue, though she clearly knew that we were there. And what seemed even stranger was that Oak had also noticed the bird, yet she hadn’t reacted either. I sat there motionless, holding my breath and in awe of what I was witnessing. It was unreal. This beautiful vision had managed to snap me out of my paralysis.

  Suddenly I was overcome with a sense of peace. I found it symbolic in a way I couldn’t quite fathom. Energy never dies, Jack had once said, it just transforms. I saw the sheer beauty of that valley and I felt comfort in knowing that Jack was now totally immersed in that world. He died doing what he loved. Energy never dies. It didn’t make the pain of losing him go away, but it felt like a goodbye. Whatever all this was, for me it was closure.

  Adam

  Reaching Alaska had given me some kind of purpose and an unexpected sense of hope. Strangely it felt like the right thing to do, even though I knew there were no right or wrong decisions to be made, there were only decisions. Jack wasn’t with me, but he was the reason I was going, and I still felt we were doing this together. What exactly would I do in Alaska? How long would I stay there? A few days? Weeks? Months? Years? Who knew? I couldn’t see that far into the future.

  But those weren’t the biggest concerns. After the last week of delirium in which my thoughts had made little sense and I hadn’t been able to think straight, I was now finally able to reflect upon my situation with some clarity. And things were far more complicated than I had realised.

  How would I get to Alaska? That was the problem. How on earth would I cross the border?

  According to that letter, border crossings weren’t a problem anymore, because I’d never had to run away in the first place. No one was looking for me. I had been running from a ghost. The knowledge of this should have freed me up to go wherever I wanted, without fear. But actually it was perhaps more complicated than that. I had entered Canada illegally. I wasn’t supposed to be here. So who knew what might await me at the Alaskan border?

  And so I decided that, before I did anything else, I had to get in touch with Adam.

  For a long time, a million miles away from clarity and at the depths of sorrow, I hadn’t felt any responsibility at all to let anyone know. Jack’s friends and family must have been starting to wonder where he had disappeared to. From the list of Jack’s contacts, Adam would be the only one I could explain everything to and ask advice from. He was the only one I imagined could possibly understand anything about me, and what had happened. It would have to be his responsibility to tell the others. I couldn’t possibly do that.

  So, finally, after two weeks of mourning in that valley, I hit the road again. I vowed to myself that even though I didn’t know quite where I was, I would have to somehow try to remember this place forever. As I drove I tried to memorise the route, telling myself I would one day return to that place.

  *

  I used a pay phone to call Adam. I rehearsed my lines a good few times before dialling the number. I would keep the call as brief as I could, let him know that I’d fill him in on the rest when I saw him.

  It rang for a long time and then went to voicemail. I tried again. My heart was beating fast. This time, after the fifth ring he picked up.

  ‘Hello?’

  I paused, unable to speak quickly enough. I was unsure what to say. I had memorised it all but now the words fell away.

  ‘Is this Adam?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Who is this?’

  In a final moment of panic I put the phone down. I would write him a letter. I could say so muc
h more in a letter. I was a coward. I decided I’d write him a detailed letter, send it, give it a week and then call to check if he’d received it. I’d let him know everything in the letter. Then we could talk. And in the meantime I’d start heading north. That’s what I decided. And it felt good to have made a decision.

  Lost

  Attempting to memorise the exact site of Jack’s disappearance had turned out to be futile, my mind soon fogged over, so I pulled over and marked out my best guess on a map. Everything seemed to have lost its significance, blurred into one muddled memory. All I knew was that I was heading north. That was enough for now and I didn’t feel like I needed or wanted to know much more than that. I wasn’t yet ready for complete lucidity.

  I checked myself in for two nights in a motel somewhere along the Alaska Highway. I hadn’t properly washed myself for days. As I rummaged through the van and pulled out the things I’d need for my stay, I came across the shopping bag with the packet of blonde hair dye. Never used. There was something sinister about it. It was a grotesque reminder of the fact we’d never had to run away.

  The middle-aged lady at the desk was friendly, despite the fact I looked a mess and must have smelled terrible. She didn’t ask questions, just smiled and told me to enjoy my stay. She even bent down to stroke Oak before showing me to my room.

  It was small and simple, but comfortable. A single bed, a small wooden bedside table, a lamp and a guidebook to British Columbia and the Yukon. A chest of drawers, a television, and a small window. I sat down on the bed. It was too springy and soft for my liking; I had grown used to sleeping in the van. I got up, undressed myself and took a shower. The warm water felt incredible. I stayed in the shower for far longer than I needed, allowing myself to indulge in the simple pleasure of feeling warm water stream over my skin. I scrubbed every pore on my body. I washed my hair and spent a whole three minutes brushing my teeth. And then I sat down and let the water pour all over me while I closed my eyes and drifted in and out of what felt like a dreamlike state. Finally, I turned the shower off and dried myself with the towel provided by the motel. It smelled like fresh laundry. I hadn’t smelled that scent in a while. I rubbed and rubbed my skin repeatedly, as though I was trying to get rid of some kind of dirt. I hand-washed all of my clothes and hung them up to dry on the pegs on the door and handles on the chest of drawers. I lay naked on the bed and fell immediately into a long, deep sleep.

  I woke up feeling healthier than I had in weeks. I used the extra clarity I had gained from the long sleep to formulate the letter to Adam. It took me six hours of frustration, tears and endless revisions. The letter turned out to be a fourteen-page essay in which I told him everything as best I could, asked questions and demanded answers.

  I had predicted that writing that letter would be like opening up every wound of my psyche and pouring salt all over each one of them. I wasn’t wrong. After everything, all my epiphanies and revelations, after gaining and losing so much, I found myself back on the knife-edge. Darkness eclipsed me. I was lost again.

  Jack

  From all over the world people came to seek asylum in the US, and of all the nations, the US’s southern neighbour had it the worst. Every day, in an attempt to escape violence and persecution, Mexicans arrived at the US border, and only a tiny percentage of these people were let through and granted refugee status. The rest were denied entry, turned away and sent back. Illegal crossings were an option, but an option only open to a few. They were too expensive for most, and too risky for others.

  Jack Rhodes and Adam Harding used to go to Mexico together regularly when they were at university. Adam was a surfer and he went there for the waves, and Jack came along to try to perfect his bodysurfing skills. With Adam’s boards strapped to the roof of Jack’s van, and the inside of the vehicle a total mess, with tents, sleeping bags, towels, sunscreen, surf wax and all sorts of paraphernalia strewn across every inner part of the van, the two friends ventured south as often as they could. They were young and single and the endless hours spent in the water were punctuated only with parties, tequila and overindulging in Mexican food. A total escape from their studies and everything they identified with back in San Diego.

  Sometimes they even just broke free for short weekend trips across the border, going not much further than Ensenada, but often they went for longer, and much further. They had been to Mazatlán a few times before. Adam had met a girl there. There were a variety of surf spots for Adam to choose from, and soon enough they’d made a lot of friends, so even after Adam’s romance had fizzled out, the two would often make Mazatlán their final destination during a road trip, or stop off there before heading further south if they had more time.

  During one of those visits, while enjoying a beer after a long session out in the water, Jack and Adam enquired after two of their friends – two brothers, Cristian and Felipe, who had been working at the bar. After a bit of investigation they got news of the fact that the two brothers and their family were in hiding after having been witnesses to a cartel crime. They had been denied asylum by the US and didn’t have enough money to afford the illegal means of crossing the border that had been offered to them. The full story was horrifying, and Jack and Adam spent the rest of that trip discussing the possible options for the two brothers and their family. A plan was devised. Jack and Adam headed back to San Diego to renovate the van, while their Mexican friends went about obtaining fake documents: driver’s licences, social security numbers, a license plate and even credit cards. Everything to prove their new identities.

  It took a total of three trips over a period of almost two months to transport the two brothers and their family to the US. Straight-faced machine-gunned guards lurked around on the road as you waited in traffic queues at the Mexico-United States border. You avoided eye contact at all costs. Those long queues gave you enough time to stress and panic even if you had nothing to hide. But as usual, Adam and Jack strapped two surfboards to the top of the van, threw towels, board shorts, rash vests and sleeping bags around the van, so as to make it all look as unassuming as possible; just two friends heading out for their usual surf trips. Nothing to be suspicious of. They even made a habit of making sure all the curtains on the windows were open. We’re not hiding anything.

  Once back in the US, Jack and Adam handed the family over to a team of human rights and immigration lawyers. Pete, my model, who Jack had stepped in to cover that first day I’d ever met him, had been an important part of that team. It’s funny how much you don’t know about people.

  The trips changed the two students, making them even more passionate and active in the sphere of politics and human rights. Perhaps they were naïve and reckless to think they could ever get away with it. But they were cunning. Keeping up to date with current affairs, they always timed their crossings with major events or crimes. They chose days when border authorities had their minds fixated on catching the bigger criminals. And so, despite the existence of X-rays and heartbeat detectors, which could have been used at any time, they did it. They outwitted border control. Full of empathy, passion and drive they repeated similar trips over the course of the year that followed, risking their own lives and security. And although they were regularly offered money, or other kinds of compensation, they never took a cent for any of it.

  They finally stopped when they got a reality check and lost that feeling of invincibility after a close call with border control. Just over a week after they made their last such border crossing, Jack was in New York visiting his family. And that’s when it happened. There on that Montauk beach. On that day. In that moment. The meaning of life changed so suddenly and so absolutely.

  Jack had never told me any of this – about the illegal crossings, about the fake IDs, about any of it – just as he had never told anyone. It had remained a secret. I doubt Adam had ever wanted to tell anyone this either, but keeping secrets from me now would have been pointless. After all, I too was no longer a secret to him.

  An Explosion of Star
s

  The evening sun flickered between the silhouettes of the tall trees that lined the highway. Flashes of glowing light caught my eyes and warmed my face as I drove along the long empty road. The beauty only saddened me. That all-consuming sorrow had come back again, it was clinging on hard, and I felt helpless and resigned. There was a big part of me that just wanted to get lost, to give up.

  I drove like a robot, my every movement automatic. My body felt drained and empty. This unshakable sadness was threatening to become me. I was a ghost. I closed my eyes and watched as light danced and flickered on the blackness of my eyelids. Helpless and hopeless, I wanted to give up and give myself over. In fact, I felt ready to wake up from this illusion, this nightmare I called my life. I felt ready to die. And the lights, how they danced on my lids, like an explosion of stars…

  Oak’s violent bark sent a spasm of shock through my body, from my toes to the crown of my head. I opened my eyes, heard a loud honk, saw the lumber truck approaching us fast. I swerved just in time. The truck ground to a halt and I pulled into the grassy verge immediately. I looked back to see the truck driver’s angry face peering out of his window. I shot out of the van. I didn’t make out what he was saying, in my dizzy state, I only heard a jumble of words and a blur of sounds. ‘I’m sorry,’ I kept repeating, ‘I’m so sorry!’

  It was on that day, before the sun had set completely, that I finally realised just how much I wanted to live.

  Colour

  I was still crying from the shock. I was so incredibly grateful to be alive.