We go into the elevator and into complete darkness. There is no sliver of light anywhere, not a faint light, not a star in the sky, not a single photon from the sun we are coming from. 

“This is creepy,” I hear Charlie say. 

“My logical response to this place is 82% stark fear,” I hear Master Mind’s response.

“Hold my hand if it helps,” I hear Justin say. 

“My emotional health is not that fragile,” Master Mind says. 

“I meant Charlie!” 

“Thanks, Joy’s Dad.” 

“There, is that better?” 

“A little bit,” Charlie is scared. But I can hear it in his voice. He’s learning to overcome it. 

“I pressed the button,” Joy says. Inexplicably, she is the only one who can see, and she is the only one who is cheery. “We’re about to stop.” 

The elevator stops. 

I cannot understand how only Joy can see. Light does not work that way. Does not choose a person. It does not make sense that whatever light there is goes only to her eyes, no matter where she is, and to no one else’s eyes.

“The door opened,” Joy says. “Follow my voice. Remember it’s a beach. It’s sandy. Just go in a straight line. Follow my voice. I’ll walk slowly.” 

I hear Master Mind pass me, and I put my hand on his back and follow him. We are all walking in small steps. 

I am out of the elevator and I can feel the heat of the suns. It’s the end of winter in Canada. It should be just the end of summer in South Africa, I believe. I can hear the waves and some people. Kids are playing in the distance. This place is disturbing. 

“Stop!” Joy whispers. 

I stop and Master Mind stops. I assume Justin and Charlie have stopped as well. 

There is a bit of silence, then I hear Joy’s voice a couple of steps ahead of me. “Hi! Nice to meet you!” 

“Oh! Hello!” It’s the warm voice of a young woman. Unlike Justin, I place the accent immediately as South African, though I’m not well versed enough to know which South African accent it is.

“I’m Joy!” 

“I’m Amahle,” she says. She pronounces it ‘Amah-sche’. 

“Amasche?” Joy repeats it unsuccessfully. 

“You’re white, maybe American? You can just say ‘Amahle’.” 

“I am not white, I’m transparent!” Joy says forcefully. 

Amahle laughs. 

“Also, I’m not American. Americans took the land from the Natives then called them Indians.”

“Joy, you don’t say that to everyone!” Charlie whispers to her. 

“Well, they wouldn’t have done it if I was there!” Joy says.

Amahle laughs again. 

“What’s your name? Who’s your friend?” 

“I’m Joy.” 

“Charlie.” 

“So your parents are here?” 

“My dad’s here,” Joy says. She pauses a moment, then adds. “He’s far away, over there.”

“I can’t see him. I’m blind.” 

“I can see him. I’m not blind,” Joy answers immediately. 

Amahle laughs.

“I like your dog.” 

“His name’s Elvis.” 

“That’s a strange name,” Joy says. As she does so, I hear Justin sigh softly. He’s frustrated that there’s one more thing he never exposed Joy to. “What does the name mean?”

“My Mom says she ate at a restaurant called Elvis once,” Charlie says. 

Amahle laughs and exhales. “You two are making me feel so old. Elvis was one of the greatest singers who ever lived. He died the year I was born.” 

“What does Amahle mean?” Joy asks. 

“It’s Zulu,” Amahle says. “It means ‘the beautiful one’.” 

“You’re very beautiful,” Joy says simply.

“Thank you,” I hear embarrassment in Amahle’s voice. Perhaps she doesn’t hear that often.

“ ‘Joy’ means, uh, Joy.” Joy says, clearly realizing she didn’t need to explain that.

“Charlie means,” Charlie begins, “that my mother didn’t want to call me by a native name.” 

“I know what that’s like,” Amahle says. 

“Can I pet Elvis?” 

“It’s actually not allowed, Joy. But since all of this is not real, sure.” 

“What do you mean it’s not real, uh, Amahle?” Charlie says her name like Amahle says it. At least to my ears.

“Oh, this is my dream,” Amahle says. “Do you want to know where I am right now?” 

“Yes!” they say together. 

(To be continued…) 

—Told by Grampa Walt