The Little Black Book

The sun was high in a cloudless sky, its blazing heat making even the shade a little too hot for comfort. Clear blue water outlined white coral sand that was utterly dazzling in the early afternoon light, almost whiter than snow. Bird calls were soft and intermittent, the main noise coming from waves lapping gently against an inclined shoreline, six or eight feet of steepness giving way to the flatness of the beach. The tides on this tropical islet were not dramatic, twenty feet of foreshore at most, the exposed portion bearing evidence of the water’s ebb and flow in its sandy forms tipped with flecks of detritus. More pronounced was the high tide mark with its linear arrangement of larger fragments of vegetation and the odd vestige of marine life, this band a foot wide the narrow nexus of the worlds of flotsam and jetsam. Here, spine upwards and pages flared over a bleached branch, lay a small black book, its dark leather cover enclosing cream-coloured paper that bore the evidence of an ink pen, marks all but blurred after a presumably watery ordeal. This sodden notebook, now recrisping in the baking sun, conferred the poignancy of a human story onto an otherwise untroubled scene.

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Jake was from Kentucky. He was fourteen, and lived with his parents and younger sister at 21823 Seymour Street, a comfortable, if unremarkable, suburban dwelling in greater Louisville. Jake didn’t mind school. His last term of junior high had been made especially interesting by a science teacher who often shared stories of his travels as a trainee marine biologist. Together with his best friend Dylan, Jake would sometimes stay after class to put his extra questions to Professor Weiss, particularly enjoying anecdotes that related to marine mammals. Sea lions in California and dolphins in Florida were recurring themes, and Jake became determined to seek out similar experiences as soon as the opportunity arose. Now that the summer was approaching and Uncle Brent had put out a standing invitation to his condo in Hawaii, it only remained to be seen whether he could convince Mom that he was now old enough to take the flight. Perhaps this might indeed be the year he had been waiting for...

One Wednesday after soccer Jake was sitting on a bollard waiting for his Mom’s ride. AirPods inserted and phone in hand, he flicked carelessly through TikTok, his gaze diverted by the occasional message from a friend that appeared briefly at the top of the screen. Just as he was beginning to wonder why his lift was taking so long to arrive, a message from Dylan caught his eye. It was a link to writing competition offering a first prize of $20,000. Jake grimaced sceptically, but he was intrigued enough to read further. “Hmm, maybe Mom could help me enter,” revealed a more positive mindset. “I’m going to give this a try.” The plan came to Jake that night. He would write a story about himself entering a writing competition and winning a cash prize, and the plot would revolve around how he chose to spend the money. Standing in front of the world map in his bedroom, Jake chose a few places of interest to feature in the narrative.

It was Saturday before Jake actually began writing, but intervening days had convinced him of the fertility of his own imagination. He purposed to write the story by hand and type it up afterwards. In fact, this would be essential to the plot itself. Taking a small notebook that he had received the previous Christmas from a bedroom drawer, Jake finally put pen to paper in the early afternoon. This was to be a story with a twist. Jake’s narrative was about himself, and it described how he wrote a story in a black notebook, won a cash prize for it, and used the money to travel and see the marine world. After an incredible island-hopping voyage across the central Pacific region, the Jake in the story ended up at Henderson Island, one of the most remote in the world and where many a castaway had met their end. It was at this point that Jake felt he had his stroke of genius. In his story, something most unexpected happened in a cave on that island, an event that would completely and utterly surprise the reader. However, this part of the narrative did not feature in the typed up version that he submitted to the competition. Instead, the last two lines of the text he entered read simply: “Reader, if you would like to hear the end of this tale, you will have to visit Henderson Island. It is written in a little black notebook that is buried in a small metal chest at the back of the cave.”

Jake was at Dylan’s house playing video games when he found out that he had won the writing competition. He had been glancing down each time his phone buzzed with a notification, only to renew his focus on the larger screen a split second later, anxious not to be disadvantaged in the virtual contest then in hand by a conflicting curiosity. Indeed, an email preview containing the word ‘Congratulations!’ was not initially strong enough draw to merit a second look. Then Jake remembered. He asked Dylan to pause the game and quickly opened the app. There, at the top of the inbox, was an email from the writing website that very definitely seemed to say that he was the winner of the first prize. Could it be true? “Surely this must be a scam?!”

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It turns out that some places are not easy to visit, not even if you have money to spend in order to get there. Jake was learning this the hard way, particularly in reference to small, obscure islands in the Pacific Ocean. He had convinced his parents to allow him to use some of his $20,000 prize money to travel. Jake also had an ally in his Uncle Brent, who seemed to have a remarkable amount of leisure time at his disposal and was only too happy to accompany him to one or two destinations during the summer vacation. The tour in Jake’s story was perhaps a little ambitious though. He soon had to acknowledge that visiting all the locations that he had listed would not be practical. Henderson Island, however, was non-negotiable. There had to be some way of getting there, for that would be the most incredible ending imaginable. Surely he almost owed it to the place after winning the prize with that story? Even Uncle Brent took some convincing on this point, especially once he had looked it up on the map. “Have you seen where it is Jake?” he asked in a FaceTime conversation, “that’s hardcore remote.”

The plans were drawn. Jake was to fly to Hawaii and spend a few days with his uncle. They would then proceed on to Tahiti, which Jake had been assured would more than answer his expectations of a tropical paradise. What’s more, there would be opportunities for boat trips and possible sightings of large marine animals, whales in particular. And the best bit, but Uncle Brent wasn’t promising anything, was that it might be possible to catch a flight from Tahiti to another island in French Polynesia called Mangareva. From there they could take a journey by boat to Pitcairn Island, which belonged to the United Kingdom. If they could get to Pitcairn, then this would possibly give them a chance of getting to Henderson Island, although a special boat trip would have to be arranged. They wouldn’t know for sure until they got there.

Tahiti was amazing. Uncle Brent had booked a comfortable hotel and hired a small pickup so that he and Jake would be able to explore the island more conveniently. They seemed to have the knack for getting lost, finding themselves driving up long and windy tracks in the Tahitian countryside that never seemed to lead anywhere in particular, before having to turn round and retrace their steps. Sometimes they ended up at some truly remote beaches with not a soul in sight, places where Jake always looked out to sea keenly for any sign of animal life. Boat trips were especially enjoyable. One of these, billed as a whale-watching tour, brought some amazing close-up views of humpbacks, including a mother and calf that Jake was able to film on his phone. Even more exciting was the encounter shortly afterwards, when a pod of hundreds of common dolphin surrounded and swam alongside the vessel for a two or three minutes, leaping out of the water and emitting their high-pitched calls. Surely this was the best! Jake was determined that they should repeat the experience if at all possible. On this same excursion Uncle Brent got chatting with a pair of fellow sightseers, a couple who were travelling across Polynesia on a yacht with a view to finishing up in Mexico by the early autumn. Seemingly sharing Jake’s passion for marine mammals, they issued an invitation to the uncle and nephew to join them for a trip out on the water later that evening.

Jake wasn’t sure what he thought of Bernard and Linda Patrick, and certainly didn’t take a liking to their noisy and rather pampered Scottie. However, the offer of a yacht ride back to where they had earlier seen the whales was certainly an opportunity not worth passing up. He behaved politely for the first half-hour or so, listening to the rather boring conversation which seemed to concern chiefly the cost of property in Southern California. Uncle Brent was clearly adopting his most intelligent and well-informed persona, a little too enthusiastically Jake felt, although it was obviously working a treat on the Patricks. They seemed almost too relaxed and full of smiles. The ideal moment eventually arose for Jake to sidle away and be at one with the amazing ocean views that surrounded the boat on every side. “Oh will there, will there be dolphins again?” was his overwhelming preoccupation.

As the yacht glided through the blue water, its engine throbbing just low enough to permit the sound of the adult voices to reach his ears, Jake sat down and took a small, black notebook out of his pocket. “This is why I’m here,” he thought, thumbing through the completed pages with deep sense of satisfaction. As he reached the end of the story, a knowing smile spread over Jake’s face. “No one knows the ending,” he whispered audibly. The thought of Henderson Island caused him to stare afresh at the notebook and nod knowingly. Jake walked to the back of the yacht with his story in his hand. The noise of the engine was a bit louder here, loud enough for him to speak without being heard. Turning back to the secret ending, Jake began to read aloud. It was two or three sentences in that his attention was quickly diverted. “Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s the dolphins!” As before, the pod quickly surrounded the boat, the air becoming alive with friendly chirps, clicks and squeaks. There were so many, hundreds surely, and oh, there’s a baby, swimming close to its mother! Scarcely knowing where to focus his attention, Jake leaned over the back of the yacht, dipping the fingertips of his right hand into the water in the hope that he might touch a dolphin.

In a split second, the top of a shiny grey body broke the water’s surface and hit Jake’s outstretched arm. It happened so quickly that he only just managed to steady himself, his left arm also thrown forward and forced to loose its grip on the small object the fingers enclosed. Boy and book parted in that moment, the former scrabbling back onto the deck, the latter upborne on the warm waves of the Pacific.