The Little Black Book

Sasha, crept along, mindful of every step he was to take from now on, he was tiring, and lost. Hiking boots, heavier by the minute, crunched the slippery gravel beneath him, feet blistering to pain. The squelch of socks to shoes an agonising rub at every step. The moon shone a path forward in the scrubby territory, between each monsoonal deluge. Overhanging clouds darkening with every step. His skin had turned raw from the harsh Australian sun over the days, now a burning prickle from every missile that fell from the sky. If only he’d not left so late to get back to the campground. Claps of thunder, and lightning strikes doused the dins of the wilderness, he was after all in dingo, crocodile, wild bull, and snake territory, and God knows what else surrounded him. Life could be worse, back in Seattle, fighting his wife, who’d reaped all his assets from the divorce. He had to get away, if he was lost in wild country, he was lost. So be it. This was a different lost, a better one, and if he disappeared from the face of the earth, what would it matter? No car, no home, left with just enough to escape the cold, relentless, grey winter of Washington. Yes, this was a better place to be.

Under a tree with flaming red blooms, he stopped and filled his water bottle with the water that gushed off its fat leaves. Perhaps he was getting something right in his survival, still hoping that something magical, forgiving, even life changing would come to his rescue. A witch doctor, to heel his pain, a Mimi, the spirit walker to set him in the right path, a Kurdaitcha man with emu feathers and human hair on his feet, a guardian. Sasha looked up to the blackening sky, the wind forming around him, clutching at him as if being squeezed by a Rainbow Serpent, his shirt and shorts a hugging embrace to his skin.

‘Take me. Anywhere but back there.’ He whispered to the passing moon and ominous clouds.

Stuck for pittance, he sat down, removed his boots, leaving them to cool. The botanicals of the Australian bush met his lips, as tears did to his eyes. Now, the first time he’d cried since the day he’d proposed to Tina, eight years before. Sasha, laid down, propped his head to the backpack, curled himself into a ball, and closed his eyes.

Her soft lips met with his, the sun warming them over the boats deck. ‘I don’t ever want this to end.’ Tina whispered in his ear. He wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders, ‘it’ll never end my love. What we have is yours. Ours to endure forever.’ He kissed her over her eyes, cheek and neck, the warm winds over the hull, moved her long brown hair in tickling whisps to his skin. They held hands, and raced each other to their cabin on the island, and then from Pike Place Market to their home on the wharf. Embraced in laughter, romance, tight, their intimacy moved between them, a spiritual aura, a magnetic force, they were not ever to part. Driving the road, through the Pacific Rim, they sang, her hand clutched to his, the children asleep in the back. A kiss came to his cheek, as he rounded the corner, followed by screams, the car sliding off the icy road.

Sasha woke to sounds of children crying in pain. He sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. The morning sun pricked his eyes. Heart pounding the tune of a distant drum, he looked around. The Australian Bustard, two of them, cooed and boomed at each other, like squawking children. He breathed in and out the new day, fresh from rain, the bushland shining new colours, and omitting aromas, not smelt before now. He removed the little black book, his dream book, from his backpack. Recalling the nightmare, he wrote down every detail until he had captured every event and emotion. Once satisfied, he returned the book, his emotional treasures, back to its place with all that he had on his back.

Still damp, he placed his socks and shoes and stood from the hard bed. A large rock protruded ahead, on the path, that was nothing more that of an animal track that he’d been following. He walked to the rock, and then climbed to its peak. Circling the rock, he looked down over the escarpment. The only way out was down, the campsite was on a river, all he had to find was the river, a rainbow serpent meandering the ancient terrain. A glistening came, a shimmer, a reflection moving in a straight line. His heart rose to a pulsating hope. A vehicle. A road. Small dust rising behind the shine. Sasha, jumped from the rock, noticing more that glistened closer, on the ground. He walked towards it, a mound of rocks, quartz, and then he gasped, “it couldn’t be?”, he whispered. He picked up the nugget and placed it in his bag by the black notebook.

Hours of walking, turned to minutes, as he crossed the river to the campsite. Wading across, holding his backpack above his head, he sighed relief, so much relief, not to mind the business of curious freshwater crocodiles lurking around him, underneath. It was a race now to his tent. His Australian home set up beside a Boab tree. Campers milled, and greeted him with “G’day mate”, and smiles. Unzipping the tent, he sat, drank his water of pure Australian botanicals, and removed his boots and socks, then his shirt and shorts. He took out the notebook, and then the nugget. He felt it. Heavy. A pure hold of gold. “Eureka.” He smiled.

Days later, he hitched a ride into a local town, four hundred kilometres from the campsite, and entered a diamond shop full of jewels, and gold. Handing the nugget over to the woman behind the counter, her eyes lit up, wide and blue.

‘Were did you find this?’ she asked.

‘Let’s just say, I found it at a wild animal crossing in the middle of nowhere. What’s its value?’

She laid the precious gem down to the counter. ‘I’ll just get the scales.’

Returning, she placed the gold on the scales. ‘You’ve found eleven ounces of gold.’

‘And …’ Sasha said.

‘About, twenty thousand dollars.’

He gulped down through a dry throat and punched the air.

‘You’re a lucky man.’

‘Only now. My name is Sasha.’

The woman turned her head shyly, then faced him. ‘I’m Lucy.’ She smiled.

‘Are you up to anything tonight?’

‘No.’ She grinned.

‘Can we meet for a drink, say six this evening?’

Lucy nodded. ‘There’s one pub. I’ll see you there and then. Meanwhile, if you’re selling this lump of metal, I’ll have to organise a cheque.’

By evening, Sasha had opened a bank account, banked the cheque, booked himself a room, at the tropical resort, and walked to the pub. He ordered a Carlton Draught, and sat down to a bar stool, pulled out his black book, and wrote. Today comes with some relief. I can’t say it’s the greatest of relief, but amongst the taciturn of the last two years, I have found some hope. Hope that my life will return. It’ll never be the same, never its former glory, for nothing can replace my children, and my wife. I can’t take back the accident. Nothing can replace what I had. I see this as a new beginning. Another life.

A hand touched his shoulder. Sasha turned to her, a picture of beauty stood in a figure-hugging red dress, a smile that swept him away into a swelling sea of hope, and eyes that he could dive into.