Pirate ships and pirate sails
Children's make-believe in the dirty streets
Skull and crossbones, hear my tale
Come and sit and listen.
***
"Papa?"
Will Turner looked down at the little boy, who was sitting on a small barrel, and then looked back to his work.
"What is it, James?"
The dark-haired child was silent for a moment, swinging his feet back and forth so that they made regular loud thuds against the wood. Then, curiously, "Why did Mother always call you a pirate?"
Will felt his face tighten and tried to relax it. He didn't know how the boy remembered. After all, he had only been three when she had died.
He turned again, slowly, staring into the brown eyes of his seven-year-old son, so big in his dirty face, and set down his hammer. The sword could wait. Everything could wait.
***
With black sails and dark flags above I sailed upon a pirate ship I left her when I found my love Long days ago when I was young.
***
"Do you remember after your mother died, how I took you out in a boat, and I started to row out, far out, until the shore was almost out of sight?"
"You stopped," James said quietly. "Didn't you? You were bailing water out of the bottom. It splashed all over your clothing. You said it was a poor ship."
"All I could afford," Will said, nodding and marveling silently at James' memory.
"I thought you were going to cry." His voice was ever quieter now. "You said something about never being able to find her. Were you talking about Mama?"
Will took in a quick breath, and then sighed. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe."
"Who else?"
Will smiled faintly. "James, you've heard of the Black Pearl, right?"
"The pirate ship!" James said enthusiastically. "From the stories. The children in the streets, their mothers tell them about it. But it isn't real. None of the things they say are."
"Well, my boy," Will whispered dramatically, sitting on the ground next to the barrel, "I'm going to tell you about it now. And the first thing I'm going to tell you is that it is real. I've seen it with my own eyes. Not only that, James, I've IsailedI on it."
"You?" James looked amazed. "Wow!"
"Have you heard of her captain, James?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow! Everyone's heard of him!"
"Before your mother and I were married," Will said, a distant smile spreading across his face, "Jack and I were best friends."
Brown eyes as big as saucers got wider.
"IYou knew Jack Sparrow?I"
"Oh, yes," Will continued. "Yes, I knew Jack. But I haven't heard from him now in seven years. . ."
"Since I was born?"
"Yes, that's right. He came when you were born, on another ship - couldn't bring the Pearl, see. It was too dangerous. He came just for a day. When he first saw you, your mother let him hold you, and he touched your forehead. Do you know what he said?"
James shook his head back and forth quickly.
"He said, Is this boy going to be a pirate, Will?"
"What did you tell him?" James asked eagerly.
Will looked away a moment, and was silent. Then he said softly, "I didn't answer him. Your mother did."
"Oh," James said in a hushed voice. "All right."
Will met his son's eyes. "She said that you were the only one who could decide."
There was a long silence, and James slid off of the barrel and hugged his father. Will's eyes were far away, but he wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders.
***
I miss the life that I once knew With black sails in the pirate winds With friends and enemies old and new And danger always right behind.
***
A fourteen-year-old boy stood at the forge, sweat standing out on his face. The Iclang-clangI of the hammer was loud enough that he could pretend not to be able to hear what his father was saying.
"What?" he shouted, venting his frustrations (Iclang-clangI) on the slim piece of metal and hoping his father would take the hint and come closer.
But, "James!" his father shouted again, so loudly that (Iclang-clangI) he couldn't pretend anymore. He lifted the blade and examined it far too closely - it was very hot, the heat rolled off in waves and hurt his dirty, sweaty face - then he pretended to fumble for its case, and examine that too, refusing to turn around and look at his father.
A hand, carefully placed but firm on his shoulder.
He turned sharply, looking up into his father's face and shoving the sword into its scabbard far too hard. "What do you want?" he asked bitterly, knowing.
"I'm going out," Will answered predictably. Every Sunday since they had moved to Tortouga, his father had gone out to the local tavern, leaving James at home to cook himself a small supper. Every Sunday, Will had come home just before dawn, sometimes completely sober, sometimes staggering from drink.
"All right," James said, enunciating both words and wrenching his shoulder out of the firm grasp, taking another project and beginning to work on it.
"James," (Iclang-clangI) Will said, loudly enough to be heard but not roughly, "if it makes you angry that I do this -"
He was cut off. James hurled the hammer into the hot piece of metal, denting it irrepairably and lodging his father's tool securely into it, and whirled around.
"Angry?" the boy said, picking up the scabbarded sword from where he had set it down and marching across the room, slamming it into an empty niche. "IAngry?I Why would it do that, IFatherI?"
Will didn't answer, just stared at his son's back as James rearranged the swords needlessly, his fingers running over the intricate workings and stroking the smooth leather with obvious longing for one of his own.
"Do you want me to stay here tonight?"
"I want you to do whatever makes you IhappyI." There was obvious venom and sarcasm in the words, but Will nodded solemnly.
"Then would you like to come with me?"
"INoI," James answered acidly.
***
Dreams of dreams of treasures lost And treasures later found The bow breaks on the morning frost And we travel the waves' breast on.
Out of dawn and into dark Wind takes us where we will Close to nighttime comes a spark The dying pirate's sunset.
***
Well, that's Chapter One finished. Savvy?
***
"Papa?"
Will Turner looked down at the little boy, who was sitting on a small barrel, and then looked back to his work.
"What is it, James?"
The dark-haired child was silent for a moment, swinging his feet back and forth so that they made regular loud thuds against the wood. Then, curiously, "Why did Mother always call you a pirate?"
Will felt his face tighten and tried to relax it. He didn't know how the boy remembered. After all, he had only been three when she had died.
He turned again, slowly, staring into the brown eyes of his seven-year-old son, so big in his dirty face, and set down his hammer. The sword could wait. Everything could wait.
***
With black sails and dark flags above I sailed upon a pirate ship I left her when I found my love Long days ago when I was young.
***
"Do you remember after your mother died, how I took you out in a boat, and I started to row out, far out, until the shore was almost out of sight?"
"You stopped," James said quietly. "Didn't you? You were bailing water out of the bottom. It splashed all over your clothing. You said it was a poor ship."
"All I could afford," Will said, nodding and marveling silently at James' memory.
"I thought you were going to cry." His voice was ever quieter now. "You said something about never being able to find her. Were you talking about Mama?"
Will took in a quick breath, and then sighed. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe."
"Who else?"
Will smiled faintly. "James, you've heard of the Black Pearl, right?"
"The pirate ship!" James said enthusiastically. "From the stories. The children in the streets, their mothers tell them about it. But it isn't real. None of the things they say are."
"Well, my boy," Will whispered dramatically, sitting on the ground next to the barrel, "I'm going to tell you about it now. And the first thing I'm going to tell you is that it is real. I've seen it with my own eyes. Not only that, James, I've IsailedI on it."
"You?" James looked amazed. "Wow!"
"Have you heard of her captain, James?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow! Everyone's heard of him!"
"Before your mother and I were married," Will said, a distant smile spreading across his face, "Jack and I were best friends."
Brown eyes as big as saucers got wider.
"IYou knew Jack Sparrow?I"
"Oh, yes," Will continued. "Yes, I knew Jack. But I haven't heard from him now in seven years. . ."
"Since I was born?"
"Yes, that's right. He came when you were born, on another ship - couldn't bring the Pearl, see. It was too dangerous. He came just for a day. When he first saw you, your mother let him hold you, and he touched your forehead. Do you know what he said?"
James shook his head back and forth quickly.
"He said, Is this boy going to be a pirate, Will?"
"What did you tell him?" James asked eagerly.
Will looked away a moment, and was silent. Then he said softly, "I didn't answer him. Your mother did."
"Oh," James said in a hushed voice. "All right."
Will met his son's eyes. "She said that you were the only one who could decide."
There was a long silence, and James slid off of the barrel and hugged his father. Will's eyes were far away, but he wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders.
***
I miss the life that I once knew With black sails in the pirate winds With friends and enemies old and new And danger always right behind.
***
A fourteen-year-old boy stood at the forge, sweat standing out on his face. The Iclang-clangI of the hammer was loud enough that he could pretend not to be able to hear what his father was saying.
"What?" he shouted, venting his frustrations (Iclang-clangI) on the slim piece of metal and hoping his father would take the hint and come closer.
But, "James!" his father shouted again, so loudly that (Iclang-clangI) he couldn't pretend anymore. He lifted the blade and examined it far too closely - it was very hot, the heat rolled off in waves and hurt his dirty, sweaty face - then he pretended to fumble for its case, and examine that too, refusing to turn around and look at his father.
A hand, carefully placed but firm on his shoulder.
He turned sharply, looking up into his father's face and shoving the sword into its scabbard far too hard. "What do you want?" he asked bitterly, knowing.
"I'm going out," Will answered predictably. Every Sunday since they had moved to Tortouga, his father had gone out to the local tavern, leaving James at home to cook himself a small supper. Every Sunday, Will had come home just before dawn, sometimes completely sober, sometimes staggering from drink.
"All right," James said, enunciating both words and wrenching his shoulder out of the firm grasp, taking another project and beginning to work on it.
"James," (Iclang-clangI) Will said, loudly enough to be heard but not roughly, "if it makes you angry that I do this -"
He was cut off. James hurled the hammer into the hot piece of metal, denting it irrepairably and lodging his father's tool securely into it, and whirled around.
"Angry?" the boy said, picking up the scabbarded sword from where he had set it down and marching across the room, slamming it into an empty niche. "IAngry?I Why would it do that, IFatherI?"
Will didn't answer, just stared at his son's back as James rearranged the swords needlessly, his fingers running over the intricate workings and stroking the smooth leather with obvious longing for one of his own.
"Do you want me to stay here tonight?"
"I want you to do whatever makes you IhappyI." There was obvious venom and sarcasm in the words, but Will nodded solemnly.
"Then would you like to come with me?"
"INoI," James answered acidly.
***
Dreams of dreams of treasures lost And treasures later found The bow breaks on the morning frost And we travel the waves' breast on.
Out of dawn and into dark Wind takes us where we will Close to nighttime comes a spark The dying pirate's sunset.
***
Well, that's Chapter One finished. Savvy?