Black Chalk

by Yates, Christopher J.

  I look up and notice the light beginning to drain from the sky. And then something comes back to me, a memory from years ago, just before I shut myself away. Already in Dee’s presence my mind is beginning to open. I have another surprise for you, I say to her, but we have to wait a few minutes. And we have to keep our fingers crossed.

  Dee sits tall and crosses the fingers of both hands.

  And then it starts to happen. Slowly at first, a blink here, a flash there. But yes, the fireflies are emerging. There they are, bright strings, orange threads in the air. One by one the fireflies wake up and slide into the dusk.

  Dee gasps, her head darts around. A blink here, a flash there. With her wrists together Dee claps, her fingers pattering with delight.

  And soon the fireflies are aswarm. Gliding, unfolding. Their hearth lights puncturing every cupful of air.

  I turn Dee around to point something out to her. Look, I say, spreading my arms. And for my next trick, I say, I have turned on the Christmas-tree lights.

  The fireflies flash between the branches.

  It’s beautiful, Dee says, it’s really beautiful.

  XLVIII(i) They were shooed away when they arrived on bikes twenty minutes after the ambulance. The nurse told them to come back tomorrow.

  The next day they took a bus to the hospital. They brought her music and books and Polaroids of the people who knew her at Pitt, everyone waving, blowing kisses or holding up ‘Get Well Soon’ signs.

  ‘Sorry, don’t know why she won’t see you. Headstrong that one,’ said Emilia’s father. The nurse behind the desk shuffled some papers, pretended not to be listening.

  ‘We had a fight,’ said Jolyon. ‘She didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Says she doesn’t remember much.’

  ‘And they’re sure it’s nothing more than the broken leg?’ said Dee.

  ‘That’s what they reckon,’ said Emilia’s father. ‘Other than that just bruises, scrapes, concussion. Say they’ll hold on to her, run tests, keep their eye on her. Reckon if nothing more shows up she’s fine to carry on for rest of term.’

  ‘Tell her we’re sorry,’ said Chad. ‘Sorry about the fight.’

  ‘Whatever the fight were, don’t worry, she was never one to hold grudges.’

  ‘And tell her we love her,’ said Jack, swallowing hard.

  ‘Will do,’ said Emilia’s dad. And then he peered harder at Jack. ‘Hang on, are you Jolyon, the boyfriend? She’s been non-stop about you every time she rings.’

  ‘No, I’m Jolyon,’ said Jolyon.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Emilia’s father. ‘Well, pleased to meet you, lad. Hopefully next time’ll be different circumstances and we’ll go for a pint.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Jolyon. ‘Next time. Let’s hope so.’

  XLVIII(ii) Mark was waiting for Jolyon outside his room, sitting down with his back against the door and reading a newspaper. When he saw Jolyon on the stairs, Mark folded the newspaper, placed it under his arm and got to his feet.

  Jolyon made an extravagant show of examining his watch. ‘What happened to all that sleep you need so badly?’ he said.

  Mark shrugged. ‘I now have a purpose in life,’ he replied.

  ‘To haunt me?’

  ‘Haunt you?’ Mark sneered. ‘I’m not your ghost, Jolyon, I’m your mirror.’

  ‘Come in,’ said Jolyon, waving his door key, ‘you might as well.’

  Mark acted scared. ‘So you can do away with me in private?’ he said. ‘I heard about Emilia. This thing is turning nasty, Jolyon, I can only think it must be your influence. Sounds like I got off lightly.’

  Jolyon opened the door and went in. He sat on his bed pulling off his shoes. ‘Why are you speaking to me, Mark? I thought the plan was a brooding presence and unnerving silence.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I came to tell you,’ said Mark. ‘It’s time for phase two. This whole escalation thing is actually really exciting. I have seven phases planned. And new ideas keep coming to me all the time. My mind’s really come alive since you screwed me over, Jolyon. I should thank you. I understand now why you’re so into all that fairness and equality stuff. A sense of injustice is quite a buzz. Almost better than drugs.’

  Jolyon lay back on his bed and lit a cigarette. ‘Well, thanks for serving notice,’ he said. ‘Very gentlemanly of you. But if you don’t mind, the others will be here soon.’

  Mark looked at the coffee table. The boxes of cards, the dice in their cup. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to carry on playing after you nearly killed Emilia. My God, you people are sick in the head. Winning really matters that much to you?’

  ‘Thank you for coming, Mark. And phase two sounds like a blast.’

  Mark looked closely at Jolyon’s pile of mnemonics on the desk as he turned to leave. Looked closely as if he were studying them. But Jolyon didn’t see, flat on his back and blowing his smoke at the ceiling.

  ‘See you later then, Joe,’ said Mark. And as he left he started to hum.

  XLIX The first thing I want to do when I get home is read the poem Dee has written for me. But there are three whisky glasses staring at me from my kitchen counter. So much to plough through each night, their black lines so high like marks to commemorate record spring tides, legendary floods.

  I pour as fast as I can, when I lose trust in routines, bad things can happen. And then I settle down on my bed, cradling the drink to my belly as I turn to the end of Dee’s book and work my way back through the blank pages. And then I find it, poem number four hundred and ninety-nine.

  CDXCIX (Jolyon)

  (i)

  His trust is the pressed willow bark

  camphor, eucalyptus and menthol

  His faith motherwort for the fluttering heart

  and berries and herbs quintessential

  (ii)

  I first saw him . . . was it really?

  fourteen years ago

  Skin like dandelion milk

  hair like its chaff

  Cheeks piqued with blood

  red clover bud

  I loved him then

  and he another

  (iii)

  And when stung, he is mellow green leaf

  and in mourning the draught for my grief

  my garlic, my grain and my fish

  sweet liquorice

  (iv)

  We lived in the smoke

  the many mirrors

  of our youth

  Such bliss to be young

  indomitable

  unshakeable

  The family that plays together

  stays together

  (v)

  Clove for sore tooth

  and honey for throat

  In fever my broth

  Angelica root

  (vi)

  Our time was too brief

  but I remember its musk

  its flare

  its thunder

  And then time rent asunder

  Dark days

  ended

  Dark thoughts

  remain

  Too many years

  but I found him again

  (vii)

  My lavendered sleep

  my soul antioxidant

  Balm for my cheek

  and my heart’s smooth emollient

  (viii)

  So I will not go down in the water

  And I will not go down in the air

  And I will not go down in the fire

  And I will not go down in the earth

  (ix)

  Love

  salve

  saved

  I read Dee’s poem and cry. I transcribe her poem for you and cry. I have never been anyone’s saviour, only in need of one. And now we are each other’s.

  Love salve saved. Is Dee being merely poetic, referring to the love that exists between friends? Or do you think . . .? Could it be . . .? Is Dee still in love with me?

  I want to read every poem but there isn’t time, so I work my way back. I mark a f
ew favourites but allow myself only thirty minutes of reading. There is still so much to write about. Partings, absences, escalations. And most of all, Jack.

  Jack and the beginning of his end.

  L(i) While Emilia lay in her hospital bed they played on like the ship’s band as the Titanicsank. They were English, after all, or most of them. And Chad had begun to think of himself as being closer to English than American. He thought of Englishness as being defined by stoicism, determination, intelligence.

  And Chad’s play was undeniably smart. It was Jack who was sitting to his left on that occasion and therefore Jack who suffered from Chad’s best hands, his careful strategies.

  Several of Jack’s consequences had been suggested by Dee and when the time came to pluck his fate from the pot, it was one of Dee’s ideas that surfaced. She had intended the consequence mostly as punishment for Jack’s dubious opinions. It would have pleased Emilia, it was a shame that she couldn’t be there to witness it.

  It began three nights later in the bar, Jolyon ready to begin the show, Tallest sipping sparkling water from a green pear-shaped bottle and now only four glasses on their table. But before they could start, Tallest cleared his throat and said there were a couple of trifling matters that needed taking care of first. He reached inside his jacket and placed an envelope on the table. Emilia’s name was written on the front and you could see the outline of the stack of notes contained inside. Jolyon picked up the envelope but Dee snatched it away, suggesting it might be better coming from her. Jolyon nodded. And then Tallest continued with a statement. Middle would no longer be attending any sessions of the Game, he told them, and Game Soc would not be answering any questions on the topic. The matter was closed.

  Chad acted as shocked as the rest of them while they peppered Tallest with questions he refused to answer. And then there fell over them a silence that started to gather weight, so Jolyon nodded to the table that, yes, it was indeed time to initiate Jack’s consequence. He finished his drink, wiped his mouth and stood up.

  L(ii) David sat alone and on the same stool most evenings in Pitt’s bar. His homosexuality was something he wore awkwardly, the other gays at Pitt averse to his company, something starched and antiquated to his queerness. And the straight students preferred their gays cool and charismatic, David made them feel guilty.

  He always had an old book for company in the bar, something by Wilde, a history of the Byzantine Empire, the Industrial Revolution. And nightly his eyes would hover the page, leaping up from time to time to survey the scene. Who was with whom tonight, where might he be wanted, with what sort of quip might he open?

  Jolyon touched him on the shoulder to rouse him from his reading. ‘David, why don’t you join us for a drink?’ he said.

  ‘If you’re sure I’m not too gauche for such esteemèd company,’ said David.

  ‘Can I be honest with you, David?’ said Jolyon. ‘I think we’re all washed up tonight. Jack is resorting to fart gags and Chad has been telling us about his favourite episodes of The Cosby Show. Our conversation is in desperate need of an injection of genuine wit.’

  David shut his book with a snap and followed Jolyon to the table. He had a large blond beard, its whiskers splayed out like the bristles of an overworked toothbrush. Jack’s other nickname for him was the Bearded Clam. Such sprouting around so young a face made David’s head appear shrunken and his eyes small among the wisps. He wore tortoiseshell glasses and often a cream fedora to match a cream linen jacket. He was wearing both that night over tight black jeans.

  ‘Well, I’m surprised that Pitt’s most guarded cabal has any time for little old me,’ said David, sliding cautiously into the chair. ‘I thought you were all quite strictly entre vousthese days.’

  Jack swallowed. ‘You’re always more than welcome to join us, David,’ he said, playing his part without gusto.

  David laughed. ‘And this from the man who likens my face to a vagina. Which is just about the most ugly analogy one could choose for a man of my . . . circumstance. Oh, no offence, Cassandra.’ Dee waved away David’s attempt at a look of concern. ‘And just how, exactly, am I welcome?’ David continued. ‘The whole band of you guard the spots at this table like les tricoteusestheir front-row seats at the guillotine.’

  Jack sniffed. ‘We’d love you to join us more often, David.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure,’ said David. ‘But only until eleven, one assumes. At which hour Brigadier Jolyon leads the parade to his room each night. And by and large the exact same group.’

  ‘Well, you’re more than welcome to come with us tonight,’ said Jolyon.

  ‘And what, may I ask, is the cocktail de nuit?’ said David.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Jolyon, ‘we’re going to Jack’s room and I have no idea what he has planned for us.’

  Jack shrugged.

  ‘Oh, Jack’s room tonight,’ said David, his voice vaguely suggestive. ‘A sanctum whose walls I have yet to penetrate,’ he added, archly.

  Jack was not permitted to respond as he would have wished. Instead he forced an unconvincing laugh, but David didn’t detect any falsity and looked rather pleased with himself.

  ‘And am I to be let in on your secret?’

  ‘What secret is that?’ said Jolyon. ‘There’s no secret.’

  ‘Oh, come, come,’ said David. ‘Everyone at Pitt is intensely curious. You must know there’s a great deal of talk, you all seem to be behaving in peculiar ways since you became your own private sect.’ David paused and sipped but could see that his mischief was not yet sufficient to provoke a reaction. ‘Well, at least it gives the huddled masses something to chatter about at their jejunelittle gatherings for the rugby club or political discourse.’

  Chad saw the danger and spoke quickly before Jolyon could say anything. ‘People can talk a lot of BS, David, you do realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Chad,’ said David. ‘Let them have their idle fun. As Oscar Wilde said, the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.’

  Jack sighed, slipping out of his role. ‘You do know you’re not Oscar fucking Wilde, don’t you?’ he said.

  David gave Jack a pitying smile. ‘I believe that I said, as Oscar Wilde said. And I’m almost certain that quotation is not the same as transubstantiation.’ He appeared pleased with the line and turned his attention to Tallest. While he did so, Jolyon threatened Jack with his eyes. Jack mouthed an apology.

  ‘Meanwhile, you are a new member of the club, I believe,’ said David to Tallest. ‘Although I feel I’ve seen you around on other occasions. Tell me, how did you gain access to this cult? Is there space for part-time members? Please do tell, I’d pay good money to know . . .’ he paused, before concluding triumphantly ‘. . . if such a thing as goodmoney has ever existed.’

  Now Tallest paused. He appeared to be measuring silence against a response. And then he said simply, ‘Hello, David, I’m Tom.’

  ‘A man of few words, Tom,’ said David, and then he turned to address the whole of the table. ‘Fair enough. And maybe that is my failing and Tom’s appeal. But meanwhile there appear to be members missing. Whatever happened to Sleepy and Dopey? I thought Dopey had been released from hospital and was hobbling happily round.’

  David’s words were met with shock and blinking disbelief.

  ‘So Mark is Sleepy, right?’ said Jack, laughing at the severity of David’s gaffe. David beamed. ‘Very good. And obviously, from the hospital and hobbling, Emilia is –’

  ‘Jeez, man,’ said Chad furiously. ‘Did I really just hear you call Emilia Dopey? What the heck? Do you ever wonder why people stay away from you up there on your stool all night long?’

  David threw his hands to his head in panic. ‘Oh, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.’

  Chad was turning red. ‘Do you have any idea just how rudethat is? She’s lucky to be alive. What makes you think you can just sit there in front of Jolyon calling his girlfriend stupid?’ he shouted.

  ‘Oh
dear, oh no,’ said David. ‘Oh, Jolyon, please do forgive me. I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry, I get so carried away sometimes.’ David removed his glasses and started to thump his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Such . . . an idiot . . . such . . . a stupid . . . idiot . . .’

  Jolyon reached over and touched David on the shoulder. ‘David, it’s all right. David, that’s enough now.’ David stopped thumping himself, took a deep breath and rubbed at his moist eyes. ‘Look at me, David,’ said Jolyon, ‘it’s OK. It was only a joke, a harmless joke.’

  ‘I don’t think your girlfriend’s a dimwit, Jolyon, I promise I don’t. I mean, in this place –’ David gestured around him – ‘who is? No one, we’re the –’

  ‘David, stop,’ said Jolyon. ‘You don’t need to explain.’ Jolyon squeezed David’s shoulder and, when David had nearly composed himself, patted him on the back. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘No harm done.’ Jolyon took a drag of his cigarette. ‘In any case, Emilia’s not my girlfriend any more,’ he said.

  ‘She’s not what?’ said Chad, shocked.

  ‘It’s over,’ said Jolyon. ‘I went to see her and . . . Look, there are no hard feelings, she doesn’t blame anyone for what happened. It was amicable enough. She just needs some time to herself, that’s all.’

  ‘Jolyon . . .’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Chad.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jolyon, and he did appear to be in good spirits, it was true. ‘But now the topic is closed, all right?’

  So everyone became quiet because Jolyon had spoken. And after the necessary silence seemed to have lapsed, they all looked to Jack to lighten the mood, Jack the expert at shifting the gears of conversation. But Jack was making himself small and biting his nails, his imagination playing and replaying the scene to come.

  L(iii) They left Pitt to buy cava and crème de cassis to make cheap Kir Royales. Kir Rochdales, Jack called them, his humour awakening in occasional bursts.

  Jack walked alongside David, they were both studying history and they argued about the Glorious Revolution. Jolyon and Tallest walked behind them, listening in on their conversation to ensure that Jack said nothing untoward.