The Colourized

THE COLOURIZED

A world in black and white.  No colours—no deep hues.  No blood reds, or turquoise blues, or summery yellows.  Just black, white, and grey.  A monotone sky, grey leaves on trees.  No colour, just tone-on-tone grey. 

I often wonder if people know what they are missing not seeing colour, or is it like that saying—you don’t know what you don’t know?  

I can’t imagine a monochrome world.  But I have to because it’s the law.

“But what happened?” I asked Gran.

“Sixty years ago there was a plague, of sorts.  People didn’t die from this plague.  They just lost the ability to see colour.  It affected almost all of the population.  After the plague, less than one percent of the population could still see colour.”

I was shocked.  In a world of over eight billion people, well over seven billion had lost the ability to see colour.  The thought was horrific.

“What happened to those people?” I’d asked, wanting to know the answer, understanding it’s importance in my life.  “The ones who could still see colour?”

She looked at me sadly.  “At first, they were revered.  People thought that they must be special—chosen by God, blessed by the angels.  They were held in highest esteem.  Treated like kings and queens.  People believed that they had special powers, and hoped, erroneously, that they would be able to cure the new scourge of colour-blindness in all the other people.  They were seen as the only true salvation after science failed.”

I thought about all the hopes and dreams being placed upon these people.  They were seen as the best chance for humanity to regain the sight they had been blessed with.  “The pressure must have been enormous,” I said.

“But then the tide shifted very quickly,” she said sadly.  Her eyes filled with tears.  “When they were no longer lionized, they were vilified.”

“What happened?” I asked, not sure that I really needed to hear the answer.

She shook her head slightly.  “Are you sure you want me to tell you this part?”

I nodded my head.

“At first, it was a quiet impatience.  Whispers about “the colourized”—that’s the name given to those who could still see colour—getting special treatment but doing nothing to help mankind.  Then the whispers turned to shouts.  The more evangelical of the population accused the colourized of being spawns of the devil.  They proclaimed that the tonals—people who only see black, white and grey—were, in fact, the chosen ones, and the colourized were the product of satan.”  She shook her head.  “You have to remember that at that time fear was running rampant. People just wanted their lives back, and would believe anything.”  She wiped at her eyes.  “In our country, hundreds and hundreds of colourized were tortured and killed.  They were burned at the stake, hung, had their eyes gouged out.  Murdered just because they could see colour.  It was terrible.”

I had never really known what had happened during the greying.  History books in school conveniently skipped over these details.  But Gran had lived through it, and remembered.  

“People believed that the colourized were not fulfilling their promise society.  That they were a burden.”  She looked at me, seriously.  “The problem was that no one ever figured out how to make that promise a reality.  Doctors tried to figure it out, but they came up empty.  The parts of the eyes that see colour—the cones—are non-transplantable.  So, they tried whole eye transplants.  But the optic nerve, once severed, cannot be reattached.”

I looked at Gran.  “They did the experimental surgery on the colourized, didn’t they.

She nodded.  “They did.  Most people who were operated on were either left blind or partially blind. Then the colourized were rounded up, and sent to internment camps.  Not that they were called that.  No, the government called them Colourized homesteads.  But they were camps.  No different from the Japanese internment camps during World War II.”  She got a far-away look in her eyes.  “We were—”

“Gran!  You were in a colourized camp?”

She nodded.  “I was.  My mother could see colour.  The government wanted to see if the ability to see colour was genetic.”  Her eyes filled with tears again.  “My father couldn’t see colour, but my mother could.  They insisted that my parents have another child.  They did.  My sister Rhonda.  But she couldn’t see colour.  So, the doctors wanted to see what happened when two colourized people had a child.  They used IVF—my mother’s egg with an unknown colourized man’s sperm.  That was my brother Dodger.  He couldn’t see colour either.”  She again wiped at her tears.  “It was horrible.  My mother was treated like a lab animal.  They did all sorts of experiments on her.  It took a terrible toll.  Eventually, she lost her sight.”

“But Gran, you can see colour.  Why didn’t they experiment on you?”

“My mother and father saved me.  They never told anyone that I was colourized.”  She smiled.  “I was only four when we were moved to the camps.  My father, who was tonal was separated from my mother and me.  It was believed that the mother would be better equipped to look after the children, so I was in the camp with my mother.  During the first few years at the camp, no one asked my if I could see colour.  They were only interested in whether the coloured sight gene could be passed on.  But my parents knew that it wouldn’t be long before the doctors and scientists would turn to the children for answers.”  She shook her head.  “There was a terrible flu that went around when I was seven, and because we were all living so close together, it spread rapidly.  Many children died.  My mother snuck me out of the camp to my father, insisting to the guards that I was dead.  I was sent to live my Aunt Gertie who was tonal.  No one seemed to notice that there was an extra child at the house.”

“What happened to your mother?” I whispered.

“She hanged herself.  She couldn’t take the experiments, the blindness, the forced birthing—it was too much.  She was only thirty-three when she died.”

I couldn’t imagine my life without my mother.

“After about ten years, the government closed the camps.  Instead, they chipped all the colourized, who were expected to report in if they had any children, or if there were any changes in their colourized sight.  New laws were passed outlining the responsibilities of colourized.”

I must have looked horrified.

Gran smiled gently.  “No one ever knew that I was colourized, so I was never chipped.”

“But Mom, she’s not colourized.”

Gran smiled.  “She is not.  But you are.  Apparently, the colour gene skips a generation.  I’m sure that the government knows that by now, but because I was never identified as colourized, you my love, are safe.  But you must never, ever, tell anyone.  Pops knows, but only because he’s an undeclared colourized, like me.”

I thought about Pops.  I had no idea that he was colourized.  He an Gran hid their true selves well.

“If you meet and fall in love with a tonal, you cannot, under any circumstance, tell them that you are colourized.  The government will come after you, and you will be arrested.  Undeclared colourized have a bounty on their heads”  She looked at me intently.  “The law is very clear on that.  If you do not declare yourself colourized, you will be arrested and put in jail.  You lose all of your rights under the law, meaning that they can experiment on you like they did your great-grandmother.  Promise me!”  Her fervour was intense.  

“I promise,” I whispered.  

“The bounty on undeclared colourized is one million dollars.”  She scrutinized me.  “You may think it’s love, but a million dollars is enough money to change a person’s mind.  The government is running out of colourized people, and they still haven’t found a cure.  Don’t be a fool.  You have to keep your secret.  Your life could depend on it.”

I nodded, saying nothing.  Gran had realized early that I was colourized.  She told no one, but she schooled me in the ways of deception.  At school we were always tested.  Did I see any differences between the two pictures?  She’d taught to say no, even though I saw one in black and white, the other in vibrant colours.  Ophthalmologists would regularly visit  schools, scoping children’s eyes.  I was always told to not react—colourized and tonal eyes looked the same.  We were given vibrant colours to work with, when making art.  Gran made sure that I knew to make my colour choices random, so I copied my tonal friends.  

No reaction was the best reaction.

There was one boy in our school who cracked, and admitted that he was, in fact, colourized.  He was taken out of school that very day, never to be seen again.

I became adept at non-reaction.  Rainbows were beautiful, but I could never share the wonder that I saw.  The first time I saw a peacock open his tail feathers, I was gobsmacked, but said nothing.  And sunsets.  Truly awe-inspiring, but my wonder had to remain internal.

I’d heard about groups of colourized who had gone off the grid, and were living in remote areas, away from the eyes of the government.  I thought maybe that might be an option.  I was so lonely hiding my authentic self.

“Have you and Pops ever considered leaving, you know, joining the off-grinders?” I asked Gran.

She shook her head.  “No.  I can do more here.  Besides, I couldn’t imagine leaving you and your mother.  You both colour my world, even though you’re only supposed to be black and white.”

I hugged my Gran.  She was my everything, as well.