The Colour Black

by Maia Walczak

  In a flash all this would have ended, would have gone. I would have never been able to smell the earth again, to feel this breeze or the sun on my skin again. The sky and the trees would have disappeared. I was so incredibly happy, euphoric, to still have all this. To still be alive.

  For ages I walked and walked and walked along the verge, in this enchanted state, marvelling at everything… at life. How magnificent my life now seemed, despite all its flaws, now that I’d so narrowly escaped death. This human experience, with its highs and lows.

  I sat down on the verge, still recovering from the shock, and I looked at the forest around me. These trees were tall and ancient, and a gravelly sandy path led into the forest – it was drenched in the evening sun and seemed warm and inviting. Oak sat next to me. My true friend.

  Trees. How strange a thing trees were. Tall spikes of wood shooting out from the earth beneath them. Energy growing towards the sky.

  Rays of light pierced through the forest. The sight of them took my breath away. I felt their gentle warmth caress me. A deep sense of love suddenly surged through my body: an infinite, all-consuming explosion of love, for everything. So explosive it stunned me and brought tears to my eyes. I heard a flutter of wings to my right, my head turned towards the sound. A group of five swallows rose from a large branch, as though without reason or purpose, for they simply floated and danced in the air above me, back and forth, round and round, up and down, pirouetting and suspended in space.

  ‘Jack,’ I whispered into the air, without even realising I had done it until the sound echoed in my ear.

  It’s like the fish swimming around and wondering what water is and where to find it. When something is so obvious, you can’t see it. And it remains hidden from you because you are looking for it. You look for it everywhere and yet it’s the very make up of who you are, of everything, of life. Being. Just being. It’s closer to you than breathing itself. Life is the treasure.

  These words of Jack’s suddenly flooded back to me, so clear, as though he were there, speaking them again.

  I stretched my arms out towards the big blue open sky as though it was the most natural thing to do. Colour. Breathtaking colour. Gold light glowed through the gaps in my fingers. I smiled like a child. Light. That strange and mysterious thing called light. The prisms dropped away and life, in all its glory, was finally seen. I breathed a sigh of profound relief.

  Epilogue

  New Life

  Seven months later, I sat on the step of the wooden veranda, cradling a cup of coffee in my paint stained hands. Blues, turquoises, emeralds, jades. Navy, silver and gold. I had been painting the sea and stars that day. It was cold out, but I was still glowing with the warmth from indoors. The rug over my shoulders smelled of burnt wood from the fireplace. I loved that smell. Here I was outside my home watching the sunset over Cox Bay once again. Oak lay beside me, resting her head on my lap.

  I had made a ritual of this, yet each time I sat there the beauty astounded me. It never faded.

  Today as I sat there, pressing the warmth of the cup very gently onto my swollen belly, I thought about that last stormy night in Whistler all those months ago. Our beautiful night of reckless passion. That night was emblazoned in my mind. I smiled. Remembering Jack was not painful any more. Remembering him was remembering what it meant to be alive.

  After the last ray disappeared behind the horizon, I got up and walked back into the warmth. I was feeling sleepy, but I wanted to add the final touches to the stars I had been painting on the ceiling that day. Yes, little Philip’s room would be my most beautiful work of art yet.

  *

  Acknowledgements

  I thank Valerie Brandes and Jazzmine Breary at Jacaranda Books for believing in my work from the start. You have provided me with such an incredible means for expression, and for that I am truly grateful.

  My editor, Lucy Llewellyn, for her excellent work in sculpting this book from a lump of rock to something more akin to (hopefully!) a polished gem. It’s been a blast working with you!

  All those involved in the completion of this book, including the copyeditor, the proofreader, and friends and family who read and critiqued the book.

  My family and friends for their patience and support when I was at times forced to become a social recluse whilst working on this book. I feel so very fortunate to have such great people surrounding me.

  My mother, Julita Walczak, for inspiring in me a love of books and all beings. And for, in my final moment of panic and doubt, making me realise that it’s totally okay to write a love story.

  My father, Marek Walczak, for his enthusiasm and sparks of inspiration when I came into pickles at certain points of the story – especially that one time in Thetford Forest.

  Both my parents for igniting in me a love for the outdoors and the natural world. For their continued belief in me and for their support, despite the odds.

  My sister, Zosia Walczak, for very probably having been my biggest inspiration to be creative in the first place. For our most recent deep chats about this funny ol’ thing called life and the nature of reality and existence, while gazing up at the moon or during long walks, or while dancing like no one’s watching in the early hours.

  All the libraries and charity shops that have over the years made books more accessible to me.

  And finally, life – this weird and wonderful thing – for being the greatest inspirer of them all.