The Colour Black

by Maia Walczak

  This was my favourite thing: the tips of his fingers running over my skin. Before Jack, no one had ever done this to me, no one had ever touched me like this. Gently. Gently. Light as a feather. We could lie there for what seemed like hours on end, touching each other like this, our eyes closed, encapsulated in the silence of the moment. I’d never known sex could be so… beautiful.

  Finally, I lay back on that soft carpet of moss, feeling as though I would melt into the earth. Through half open eyes I watched as above me the silhouette of branches and leaves swayed against a white sky. Rays of light shimmered through them. They danced to the rhythm of a slow breeze that blew high above and that only they could feel. I watched them, hypnotised. Jack towered over me. Those dancing silhouettes and light now surrounded his face and were like an aura glowing around him.

  Time stood still. The world stopped and I wanted to hold this moment forever.

  I didn’t want anything else of this world.

  *

  We walked back to the van in a long silent bliss.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked, piercing the stillness, as we got close to the van.

  I looked up at him.

  ‘I actually…’ I said, searching for words, ‘I actually feel… incredible.’

  We laughed.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘me too.’

  All around us the forest was a lush explosion of contrast, light, shadow, texture. And if I listened carefully enough it sounded as though the forest was breathing. It was full of life and abundance. Before we got into the van, we stood outside kissing each other for a while. Then he stopped suddenly and pulled himself back so he could look into my eyes. He smiled, it was clear he was about to say something.

  ‘What?’ I asked, smiling back.

  ‘Are you sure you feel incredible?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  He paused with a mischievous smile fixed on his face. I searched his face for clues and then my confused eyes stared straight into his and I made it clear I had no idea what he was getting at.

  ‘Remember we agreed that we’d do the mescaline only if we were both in a really great place?’

  I didn’t have to say anything, my eyes and my grin had said enough.

  Seeing Trees

  The foolish reject what they see, not what they think; the wise reject what they think, not what they see. ~Huang-Po

  The day we had chosen for preparing and consuming the mescaline looked like it would be clear and warm. Jack said that was a very good thing, as there’d be quite a lot of sitting around and waiting to do. It was 6am and only just getting light but we wanted to start early.

  Jack pulled out an oblong box that, before we’d crossed the border into Canada, he’d hidden in a secret compartment in the side panel of the van. Inside was a cactus wrapped in clear plastic. I’d expected a Peyote cactus, the one I recognised from my childhood in Mexico, those small, flattened bulbous buds with the white and yellow flower on top, but instead it was a San Pedro cactus. Adam had told him that this one was from the Peruvian Andes, from a very good batch.

  The San Pedro had lengthy, girthy, ribbed stems, and when Jack cut into one the cross section looked like a star with seven points. He cut off a section around two feet long for the two of us. He said it was enough and that we’d have a little left over if we decided to do it again. He put the remaining bit of cactus back in the box, careful not to prick himself with the spines as he did it. He unfolded some notepaper – the instructions for the preparation from Adam. I sat down, put a rug over my shoulders, and stroked Oak, who had decided to rest her head on my lap. I watched while Jack got out all the things he needed and laid them out on the earth in front of me. A gas canister, camping stove, several large bottles of water, a large cooking pot, two knives, two lemons, a wooden spoon, and a battery powered blender. The blender was also a gift from Adam, Jack told me, solely for the purpose of extracting the mescaline. He kept checking back to his small page of handwritten notes. Then he mumbled something to himself and went round to another part of the van and rummaged through some things. A few moments later he came back round to the back of the van with a cotton t-shirt in his hand and he placed it down with the other objects. He started packing the items in a large empty backpack.

  Soon we were carrying the kit deep into the forest. We followed a path for a while and then veered off, wading through fern and shrubs I didn’t know the names of. Within about twenty minutes we reached a small clearing and decided it would be our spot. I put my bag down, looked around me. An ocean of foliage surrounded us. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the colour green. I breathed in deeply and I could smell a delicious mixture of decaying bark, fresh greenery and fungi.

  Jack unloaded his backpack and arranged the contents onto a large rug he’d spread out onto the uneven ground. We sat down opposite each other with all this stuff between us, and I watched him as he consulted his instructions and proceeded to arrange the objects in a way that made more sense to him.

  ‘What can I help with?’ I asked.

  He cut the cactus in two, passed one half over to me carefully, and handed me a knife. ‘Here, cut this up into slices,’ he said.

  And so, together, we began to prepare the cactus. He’d warned me that the preparation would take a long time. We cut it up into slices, then into smaller pieces. Then he reached for the blender and put a few handfuls of the cactus pieces in with some water. After blending them he poured the mixture into the cooking pot and then repeated the blending of cactus pieces with water until all the cactus pieces had been used up and the pot was two thirds full of a frothy mixture. Then he put the pot on the gas stove and started heating it.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘now we have to be patient. This is going to be heating for at least another three hours.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Do you think it’s safe? What if someone finds us?’

  He shrugged and smiled.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’re already on the run anyway. Being caught for making cactus soup is hardly a big deal considering the circumstances.’

  I laughed. He was right. I’d almost forgotten we were running away. And, strangely, now that he’d reminded me, it didn’t seem to bother me as much as it perhaps should have. I wasn’t overcome with anxiety. Besides, running away was hardly the right term for it anymore. No one was running.

  ‘And anyway,’ he said, looking around him at this beautiful secluded secret spot of ours, whilst he stirred the mixture, ‘we’re not going to get caught.’

  *

  So we had at least three hours to wait. During the first half hour or so Jack stirred the mixture regularly and checked its consistency. Later on it was left to mostly just simmer by itself.

  Jack wanted to make sure it had boiled for long enough, so in the end he left it on the heat for over four hours. He ripped the t-shirt and placed it over the mixer, using it as a strain as he poured over the contents of the pot little by little. Gradually the liquid seeped through the t-shirt into the mixer, and a pulp was slowly left behind. He waited a good while until the pulp had cooled down enough, wrapped the t-shirt round the pulp completely and then squeezed any remaining liquid out.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ he said, pointing to the juice.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Finally! And what… we just drink it?’

  ‘Yes. Once it’s cooled.’

  He cut a lemon into quarters. He consulted his piece of paper one last time, and then finally poured the juice out into two cups.

  ‘Okay, here,’ he said, passing me a cup. Then, with a grin on his face, he placed a full bottle of water and the lemon quarters between us. ‘We’ll need these,’ he said. ‘It’s going to taste disgusting.’

  How right he was. It was the most disgusting, slimy, bitter thing I had ever tried in my life. Though I’d imagined it would taste bad, I hadn’t expected it to be quite as horrible as it was. After just on
e tiny – barely a – sip, I retched. I rinsed my mouth with water. I sucked on a lemon piece as hard as I could, screwing my face up from the sourness. I glanced over at Jack. He was doing pretty much the same. Then, I counted to three, pinched my nose and gulped that small amount of cactus soup down as quickly as I could. Finally I sucked hard on another piece of lemon, as though I was doing a tequila shot – if only! I wanted to laugh at us both but I felt too nauseous. I got up and walked towards a tree. I leaned against it, doubled over. I was convinced I was about to throw up. But somehow I didn’t. I walked back to Jack who looked like he was concentrating on some deep breathing. I sat down next to him, took his hand in mine and smiled, not just at him, but at everything.

  *

  Green! An explosion of green! I see green, and blue and red and yellow! My god! Colour! Glorious colour! I am so moved, I want to cry.

  Oh god! The trees! They’re bursting with life. Each insect, each drop of water, and each leaf in this living forest is seen in its raw form: astonishing, beautiful and improbable. A miracle. I am captivated.

  Life is vibrating and pulsating all around and within. What is inner and what is outer? I no longer feel the separation between the two.

  Direct vision. Immediate life. Total mind-shattering clarity.

  All the things I ever learned are suddenly unlearned; all those words and concepts fall away to reveal life as it is, not as I had dreamt it was. All acquired knowledge is replaced by a direct, absolute and intense knowing. Knowing everything, knowing the mystery, without knowing how. No need to ask why.

  In a puff of smoke Silvia’s story drops away and I stand in front of life. Raw naked life. Delicious and stunning.

  I have no hallucinations. Instead I see everything as if for the very first time… and it is all extraordinary. Everything’s changed, but in a sense nothing’s changed at all. The ordinary has become extraordinary. What was here before is still here, except there is no longer a veil blocking me from seeing it. Actually seeing it. No longer a prism distorting my vision. I finally see the world.

  And it is all so clear and simple that I can’t help but burst out laughing! It was always so obvious and yet I couldn’t see! How ridiculously wonderful, stupidly magnificent!

  And everything is light. Beautiful resplendent light.

  My mind is empty and I’m just so… relaxed.

  *

  It was getting dark when we began to pack things up. We hadn’t really spoken to each other much, but there was no need for talking. Words seemed unnecessary. We smiled and we knew. We just knew.

  We walked back to the van and I relished every sensation, my feet pressing the earth, the plants brushing against my skin, the crunch of branches beneath my feet, the tink tink sound of the metal cup strapped to Jack’s backpack that shook with his every step. I couldn’t see colour anymore, that only lasted a moment, but I didn’t need to. Everything was perfect as it was.

  We weren’t hungry and we couldn’t sleep, so we just lay there in the van for hours holding each other, until the morning sun rose again.

  *

  As a young child I saw the world for what it was. Every waking moment was filled with awe at the inexplicable magic trick of existence. It’s been here ever since, except the difference now is that I have grown used to it. I take it for granted and so I cannot see it. It is hidden behind a veil of normality. A veil of concepts, words, labels and ideas. A veil of perception. I think I know what a tree is, therefore I cannot see the tree.

  What can I say of my mescaline experience except that it reminded me of something I’d sensed as a child, and that I’d come close to during my moments of flow whilst painting. What the eye sees when it truly sees… it takes your breath away.

  I was still buzzing from the memory of the experience the next morning as I lay by Jack’s side waiting for him to wake up. The mescaline had now definitely worn off, and I felt like I wanted to talk again. He stirred and finally opened his eyes.

  Jack was amazed to find out that I had seen colour during my trip. We discussed and compared our trips at length and we found ourselves finishing each other’s sentences because of the similarities. We laughed together in a way that we had never laughed before. The laughter of mad men – or perhaps those who have just been cured of their madness. And at other times we were silent. We’d just stare at each other with wide eyes and knowing smiles.

  ‘Jack,’ I said at one point, ‘remember at the beginning you were worried that the trip might be a disappointment? Well, was it?’

  ‘No, definitely not disappointing.’

  ‘But was it similar to what happened on the beach?’

  Jack took a while to reply.

  ‘Similar perhaps, but not the same. In a sense they’re incomparable.’

  ‘In what ways?’

  ‘I guess on the beach it was completely unexpected. So the whole thing was more powerful and… absolute.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know Silvia. They’re both just memories now though, it doesn’t matter what happened and what they were like. The details don’t matter. It’s this though, isn’t it?’ he said, his face once again alight with a smile, ‘It’s right here. It’s not about yesterday or Montauk. It’s this. Now.’

  Then we both began to laugh again because really it was all so absurd and wonderful.

  On that July day that I swallowed a bitter cup of San Pedro mescaline extraction, under a canopy of giant cedar and western hemlock, I saw the world with the clarity of a child’s eye. How good it felt to have seen the world in this way again. To be reminded. And how easy it would be to forget.

  Calm Before The Storm

  Before I knew it we’d spent over three weeks on the island. I was learning the art of relaxation from Jack.

  It was as though we had totally forgotten why we’d ever started this journey, now we were just carefree travellers. My time on this enchanted island had been a sensuous mix of swimming, sex, eating, walking and watching Jack perfect his bodysurfing skills while I soaked up the sunshine on the shore. I learned to forage. Sunsets, sunrises, moonrises, meteor showers. It was as though time had melted away along with my fears.

  But it was finally time to go. I would miss this place. I still felt that somehow, no matter what happened and what came of my life, I would return to this island. I felt it strongly, and that feeling reassured me. But according to Jack there were still so many other places to see. I had grown used to his attitude of treating this journey like an adventure and an excuse to travel. In fact, I had almost started to feel the same way. However, despite all the blissful moments and experiences on the island, there still remained lodged somewhere deep within, a tiny, tiny part of me that held on to my fears. But those next few days in Whistler, I would break free entirely. I’d step out of the Silvia I knew and I’d become a different person.

  *

  We walked through alpine meadows and open forest. We smiled at and said hello to any passers-by. We saw many animals, including a herd of deer and marmots – we often heard the shrill whistles of these pudgy rodents as they warned other marmots in the area of any potential danger, apparently that’s how Whistler got its name. And on the second night I even awoke to watch a bear sniffing around for food remains outside our van.

  All in all, we were as good as on vacation. One night, we set up camp by a large lake. While Jack prepared dinner, I took myself over to the shore and sat down. The moon was high and a couple of days off being full. It was casting a bright trail of light on the black surface of the lake. The air was still and there was barely a ripple on the water. Serenity filled the air. I got up and went to the water’s edge, bent down and dipped two fingers in. I splashed some water. Plip plop. The sound seemed loud amongst the vast silence. I looked back up at the moon. The moon and I; I wondered how many full moons had passed since the day I’d been born. I stood up and strolled along the edge of the lake, careful not to wet my shoes. That night the moonlight was so bright that it
didn’t feel like night at all. All around me the earth was lit up, as though it was covered in a translucent sheet of silver.

  Every now and then I stopped and turned to look at the moon’s long silky reflection in the water: a long and thick vertical line of white that ran from the lake’s horizon to my feet, widening the closer it got to me. No matter where I went the moon’s reflection always followed me, its line of light always ending at my feet. It was like a rope attached to my feet that ran to the horizon. If there had been a whole line of people standing along the length of that shore each one of us would have seen our very own line of light. But if instead, there’d been no one there to see, there would have been no trail of light at all. And though I couldn’t quite comprehend it, it struck me that this lake was both totally illuminated and in darkness all at once.

  *

  I was exhausted. We’d been walking for seven hours straight since the early morning and my feet were sore. The sun was beating down on us and I’d already almost finished my water supply. We reached a deep, clear, beautiful stream. We took a break. Before I could muster up the energy to take my shoes off, Jack was already testing the water with his feet.

  ‘How is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Refreshing,’ he said, ‘it’s lovely, not as cold as I expected.’

  I joined him. He was right. The water was still and smooth, the current wasn’t particularly strong in this part, and it was right in the path of the sun. Jack stripped down to his boxers and then plunged all the way in.

  ‘Ahh,’ he sighed, after his head rose back to the surface, ‘amazing.’

  The sun was shining straight onto his head, making the drops of water on his face and hair shine like diamonds. I stared as his movements emphasised the muscles on his arms and back. God he was beautiful.

  ‘You should come in,’ he said.

  I hesitated but after a while I decided to join him. I walked in slowly and shivering, with my shoulders at my ears and my arms wrapped around my chest. And as I finally submerged my body I had a strange flashback. I was a little girl, long ago, in a place I didn’t know because my mother was always traveling to new places. We were sitting on the green overgrown banks of a river. We must have been very far away from the rest of the world because she went into the water completely naked. She took me in her arms and held me while I splashed about in the water. Then she pointed me downstream and told me to start doing strokes like a frog, whilst still holding me. Ribbit ribbit, she said. I remembered her voice and the way that she said it. I must have been only around four years old. I was tiny.