Black Chalk

by Yates, Christopher J.

  ‘What did you just say to me?’

  ‘I said. You. Are. The stupid one. And you are. You must be a bit dim. Why else do you think you’ve had more consequences than anyone else? It’s not unlucky cards and bad rolls. It’s because you’re just a bit thick, Mark.’

  Since the earliest days of their making friends they had all, except for Emilia, freely and liberally insulted one another. Anything was permissible, desirable even. Each night they would eat and then they would drink and then they would argue. And no one would flinch. Or Emilia might flinch just a little. And while Chad enjoyed the verbal roughhousing, he felt more comfortable tussling in his language of fricksand shoots. But all insults were acceptable, debating points that were forgotten by the next drink. And obscenities were not terms with which they could hurt or offend one another, such words meant almost nothing beyond ‘I strongly disagree’. But never, not once, had any of them around that coffee table used such a word to describe another. Never had any of them called another stupid.

  Mark leapt to his feet. ‘Fuck you, Jolyon. I mean really fuck you.’ You could see Mark’s teeth when he swore as if he were tearing the obscenities clean out of the air. ‘Oh, Jolyon’s so masterful at cards like everything else in the world. Well, fuck you. Yes, you, Jolyon, the wannabe Renaissance man. Jolyon who knows everything, who everyone loves. But you’re such a fraud. And I’ve seen how you play your game. You’re just a con man peddling vapid ideas to people, empty little theories that sound pretty, and then you pretend to care what they think. Like with Chad. As if you give the slightest shit what Chad thinks about anything.

  ‘There’s not a single person on the whole planet you don’t secretly despise for a thousand obscure reasons while at the same time you try and sell everyone this bullshit shtick about believing in human decency. And it’s all one big power trip like this dumb fucking game of yours. It’s pulling the wings from insects and picking on fat kids. So fuck you, really, this time.’ Mark’s body began to lurch back and forth as if he were hurling his words. ‘You’re a bully, as plain and boring as that, Jolyon. Just like the worst kids at our schools we couldn’t wait to get away from. You’re wrong in the head. You’re a phoney. And when everyone else round this table figures this out, they’re going to make you pay for it. Joe.’

  Jolyon started to rise but Emilia caught hold of his shoulder and it was she who stood up instead. ‘Enough!’ she shouted. ‘Stop it now, the both of you. Don’t you dare say a word, Jolyon. I’m serious, not one word. And, Mark, sit down and shut up, I bloody mean it.’ Mark sat down and crossed his arms. ‘And now I’m telling you what we’re all going to do, OK?’ said Emilia, although having said this she began to look uncertain. ‘Right then, well, we’re going to vote. Yes. On Mark’s veto. That we all get one and only one. And if we vote in favour he can use his today if he wants to.’

  Jolyon slapped his hand against the coffee table. ‘You can’t do that, there’s no –’

  ‘Yes, Jolyon, yes I can. I’m sorry but you’re bloody well wrong. Now isn’t the time for your cast-iron principles because what we have here isn’t theories or justice systems in textbooks. This is friends and real life and sometimes you need to know when to turn it off. And I’m telling you, Jolyon, it’s right now or I’m walking straight out this room and never coming back.’

  Jolyon fought to keep the words from flying out. If his words surged too quickly then soon he would follow them and everything would soar away, out of control. ‘Refusing a veto for Mark today has nothing to do with what I want,’ he said. ‘It’s about the Game, Emilia, it’s about rules and fairness to everyone.’

  ‘Listen very carefully to me, Jolyon,’ said Emilia. ‘If I walk out that door then it’s not just this game I’m walking away from. You understand that?’

  ‘Fine then,’ said Jolyon. ‘Have your little ballot. You know my vote.’

  Emilia slumped back down in her chair, an emptiness fading away, a warmth bleeding back. ‘Thank you, Jolyon,’ she said. ‘Right. Jolyon votes against the veto and we know Mark’s vote, don’t we? So now it’s down to everyone else.’

  ‘I’m with Jolyon,’ said Chad immediately.

  ‘The evil twins vote as one, what a surprise,’ Mark snapped. ‘Little fucking lapdog.’

  ‘Leave it, Mark,’ said Emilia. ‘That’s two each then,’ she continued, ‘because I’m voting for the veto. But I want to say why. I’m voting for the veto because our friendship is what matters the most. There are things about this game we couldn’t have guessed beforehand. And no one’s to blame, no one at all. But I think if we’d seen more clearly how the Game would go, we’d have done things differently.’

  Chad snorted. ‘How does Mark’s veto change anything, Emilia? He’ll get another consequence and we’ll be right back where we started. You’re delaying the inevitable. There’s kindness, and there’s decency, and then there’s utter pointlessness. And this veto idea doesn’t have any logic to it. It doesn’t do anyone any good in the long run.’

  ‘His master’s poodle barks out his latest tune,’ said Mark.

  ‘Screw you, man. If you haven’t got the balls for any of this then that’s your problem. Fine, I’ll say it, I don’t care. I’m better than you at the Game, Mark. You might understand ten dimensions but you have no idea about our game. I’ve had the fewest consequences of anyone but if I draw the worst I’ll do it, no complaints, no tantrums. I almost wish I could vote for your dumb-ass veto just to see you screw everything up again. You’re losing, Mark, so do what you’re supposed to do and then you can call it quits like a man. You’re not going to win, not in this lifetime.’

  ‘Woof woof woof.’ Mark snapped his hand like jaws. ‘Yap yap yap.’

  ‘Jack,’ said Emilia, ‘your turn to vote.’

  ‘I know, I know. But before I vote I want to say something.’ Jack looked down mournfully.

  ‘OK, Jack,’ said Emilia, ‘of course you can say something.’

  Jack looked quickly to the ceiling, pausing to gather his courage. And then he said, ‘Am I the only one here who thinks Dee’s hat makes her look like a medieval troubadour? I mean, where’s your fucking lute, Sir Prancelot?’

  Emilia swung her foot at Jack but he was prepared and already dodging the kick before her foot came close. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Bad timing?’

  ‘Just vote, Jack,’ said Emilia. ‘Jesus!’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I just thought I felt a certain chilly atmosphere in the room,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if anyone else in here noticed. But it must be the hat, I can’t think of anything else. And someone had to fuckingwellsay something.’

  Dee snorted and something in the room softened. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking that medieval fashion is passé, Jackie-oh.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Jack, ‘that’s a mistake I’ve made once too fucking often.’

  ‘Come on, Jack,’ said Emilia, ‘this is serious,’ she said, but she couldn’t keep a half-smile from appearing at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘I vote veto,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sorry, Jolyon, Chad. In theory I’m completely with you. A hundred per cent. But in practice I have to go this way right now.’ Jack swallowed and his eyes darted to Jolyon but Jolyon was looking elsewhere.

  ‘Three votes in favour of the veto, two against,’ said Emilia. ‘Dee, it’s all down to you, I’m afraid.’

  Dee removed her hat and smoothed her hair. She seemed not to have to think very hard before giving her answer. ‘I’m against the veto,’ she said.

  ‘Fuck that,’ Mark shouted. ‘Why? What the fuck, Dee?’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself,’ said Dee. She put the hat back on her head and then cocked it forward and slightly askew.

  Emilia gave Dee a confused glance and then looked consolingly at Mark. ‘I’m so sorry, Mark,’ she said.

  ‘But I didn’t lose the vote,’ said Mark.

  ‘You didn’t win it, mate,’ said Jack.

  ‘But I didn’t lose the vote. I didn’t
losethe fucking vote. So fine. I’m out of this horror show and you can keep your stupid childish little game. And I get back my deposit. Because the vote was inconclusive.’

  Jolyon and Chad had visibly been making an effort to remain detached from the conversation. But before Chad could think of what he wanted to say, Jolyon was shouting. ‘No you don’t, Mark, no way. That’s not in the rules. A player performs all consequences drawn before leaving the Game or the Game keeps that player’s deposit and adds it to the prize fund. We were always explicitly clear about that.’

  ‘Fuck you, Jolyon.’ Mark’s anger flared again but its energy was sapped. He had to stir himself for the fight this time.

  ‘Oh, not this again,’ said Jolyon. ‘It’s becoming tiresome, Mark. Fuck me? OK, fine. That’s me fucked then. And now we’ll have another vote if you like. I say no deposit, so that’s one. Dee?’ Dee shook her head. ‘Chad?’ Chad did the same.

  ‘Fuck the three of you,’ said Mark. ‘But you, Jolyon, you listen to me. I’m getting my deposit back and I’m holding you personally liable. You, Jolyon, you. This doesn’t end until you place that money in my hand. Personally. You don’t sleep, you don’t get to read quietly in the refectory on your own, you don’t get to walk down the street without . . . without something . . . You’ll see. You just wait. Until this injustice . . . Until then.’

  Snap. And it was Jolyon’s teeth now. He was untethered, the last cable severed. Throat and gut and spleen, words were not sounds any more, were no longer vowels or consonants. Words were feelings and the feelings were good. His words were soaring, Jolyon was flying.

  And then Mark was on him, his flesh but even more his bones. Knucklebones, kneebones. And then a crush as other bodies piled above him, above them both. Jolyon felt a panic, the lack of a breath, two breaths, three.

  Then at last the relief of fresh air, the hard suck and swallow of life returning. And Mark receding. Jack and Chad receding. Mark shouting again. ‘I’m telling everyone, I’m telling everyone about your stupid game.’

  Suddenly Middle jumped to his feet. ‘No,’ he cried out, ‘no you can’t.’

  ‘Everyone,’ Mark shouted back at him.

  And Middle moved toward him but not with any sense of threat. Placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, he glanced at the door and then spoke in a low voice as if afraid that someone might be listening. ‘Please,’ said Middle, ‘you don’t want to do that, Mark. Please.’

  And everyone in the room became quiet as they were surrounded by the gently echoing sincerity of that final word.

  Jack and Chad were not holding him tightly now and Mark’s body slackened. He looked confused and uncertain.

  Chad opened the door. Three bodies departed. The door closed.

  XXXIX I am overcome with joy.

  This happens to be true. I’m not saying this solely to please my visitor.

  Yes yes yes. I agree to all rules, guidelines, frameworks . . .

  And I mean this as well, absolutely I do. But my feelings of joy at seeing that my visitor had left me a note were soon transformed into a sense of breathless panic. Because, you see, I don’t remember the pool table or being thrown out. I don’t remember my drunken declarations of love. And therefore I have no idea whose name I called out. And if I reveal this to my visitor now, if I admit to forgetting her a second time . . .

  Yet neither name seems any more likely than the other.

  Emilia, Dee.

  Dee, Emilia.

  I loved them both. If things had only turned out differently . . .

  And so now there is something important I must do with my story, something I need to tell you about. Henceforth, when I type in italics, these passages will be strictly for your eyes only. For you and only you, my reader. Which means there now exist two versions of my story. Not that I will be writing an entirely different account. Both versions will be the same file copied and recopied to keep them identical. The only difference will be the italicised passages, these italicised passages, which my visitor simply must not read.

  This italicised version will lay hidden, buried like pirate gold, nestling inside a folder inside a folder inside a folder . . . the last in a series of Russian dolls, folders with names like Utilities, Dialogues, Cookies, Mnemonics and Preferences. I have created blind alleys and false leads like the wrong turns in a maze. At certain dead ends I have thrown in older versions of this story, or articles I worked on years ago for the paper. There is no way that my visitor can find the hidden treasure of this second version.

  Because I want to be honest with you, my intended reader. I want to be honest with the world. But my visitor will expect me to start using her name, hence my panic. And I don’t want to lose her again. I don’t want to lose her for good.

  *

  I pace around my apartment in a state of high anxiety. Emilia or Dee? Dee or Emilia? I lie on my bed, sit at my table, stand by my window. Nothing comes to me. I pull on my sneakers.

  *

  I start to walk aimlessly, my mind whirling pointlessly without anything physical that might nudge me toward remembering her. Emilia or Dee? Dee or Emilia? My system has failed me. Or maybe I have failed my system. I loiter in a drugstore staring at its shelves of cigarettes. I go into a liquor store to pore over its bottles of whisky. And then I stand outside a women’s clothes store blinking at the window display, its crowd of draped mannequins. But nothing comes back to me.

  Evening has arrived when I find myself in the park.

  And that’s when it happens.

  *

  I hear a voice calling out, Hey! Hey, you! The voice is getting louder. Looking up, I see a young man staring angrily at me, striding closer and closer. When he is in front of me, he pushes my shoulder and yells, I said,asshole, you owe me twenty bucks.

  I look at my shoulder and then the young man. I have no idea who you are, I say.

  Bullshit, motherfucker. Twenty bucks now. He pushes my shoulder again, harder this time.

  And I try to push him back. Get off me, I say. But, the final word is swallowed as I feel a sudden pain in the left side of my face. I stumble forward, something catches my shin and I fall, my head hits the ground with a hollow thud.

  I roll over and the young man is above me. He has my lapels in his fists. Twenty bucks now, he says. His face is dark against the sky bright above. The pain rings out in my head. And that’s when it comes back to me with a jolt. I let out a laugh of childish delight. Yes, I say, yes, I do owe you twenty dollars.

  So where is it?

  Let me get up, I say.

  The young man keeps a hold of one of my lapels as we get to our feet.

  I reach into my back pocket and find a twenty-dollar bill. I laugh again as I hand it to the young man. There we go, twenty dollars, I say. And thank you, so much.

  The young man looks nervous now, confused as he takes the money, pushing me away as he lets go of my shirt. Dude, you’re on some serious crack, he says.

  You’re right, I say, tapping my head as if my finger is the needle of a sewing machine. You’re absolutely right, I say.

  The young man examines the bill in his hand and starts to back away from me. When he turns, he puts a little more speed in his step.

  And now I know. It came to me quickly, behind the pain. The whole scene played itself out in my mind in the space of less than a second.

  *

  How about we make it interesting? I say. Twenty bucks a game?

  Sure, the young man replies. Whatever, dude. One of his friends begins to massage his shoulders.

  We put our money in the slots. The young man’s friend starts to chant. Skee ball, skee ball, skee ball.

  Nine balls later – nine awful, drunken arm jerks later – I look up at the score.

  I have ninety points. My opponent has trounced me. My opponent has five hundred points.

  Five hundred.

  Moments later I am on the pool table. I am calling out her name, drunken declarations of love.

  *


  Yes yes yes. I accept your terms, Dee. Anything and everything. Unequivocally and overwhelmingly yes.

  XL(i) Now they were five.

  Monday lunchtime and the bar was empty but even so they all leaned in, elbows on table, so as not to be heard.

  ‘You mean he followed you?’

  ‘No,’ said Jolyon, ‘he didn’t follow me. You couldn’t call it following. He walked beside me as if we’re still friends.’

  ‘Mark still isyour friend,’ said Emilia.

  Jolyon didn’t acknowledge her words. ‘I went to a lecture this morning,’ he said, ‘and he sat right next to me.’

  ‘Mark got up early to go to a lecture?’ said Jack. ‘Then he’s definitely lost it.’

  ‘What did you do?’ said Chad.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Jolyon. ‘I didn’t acknowledge him but I didn’t ignore him. I don’t want him to think he can affect me. He can’t affect me.’

  ‘And what happened when you left the lecture?’ said Emilia

  ‘The same as before, walking beside me. I went into a shop for cigarettes and he waited outside like a dog tied to a lamp post. When I came out, he picked up where he left off, at my shoulder as if we might start discussing the finer points of the eggshell skull rule or Lord Denning’s greatest judgments.’

  ‘But he never said a word?’ said Dee.

  ‘Not until I went back to my room. And he didn’t follow me up, he just held the door for me. And then he said, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, oh, and Jolyon, don’t forget about that thousand pounds you owe me.’

  ‘What did you do?’ said Dee.

  ‘I told him very politely that it wasn’t going to happen.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said, see you tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s so creepy,’ said Chad.

  ‘But that was the odd thing,’ said Jolyon. ‘It wasn’t creepy. I mean it was, it was creepy as hell. But only because he seemed so unthreatening. He acted just as if yesterday never happened.’

  ‘Where is he now then?’ said Jack. ‘He didn’t follow you to lunch.’