SUNSET
Jack the child did not cry, for his mother's death. He was young back then and he was filled with fantasies, cock and swagger roaming the streets, taunting the rich foreigners, browsing in the well known markets free as a bird, sometimes singing happily to himself, sometimes walking lightly, lost in his own thoughts. He loved to roam, he wore his clothes, though not rags slightly worn and stained, but he carried himself as important as one of the white men dressed in get up who turned their noses up at children like him. He had no care, in his bright but still small head he could get whatever he wanted, there was no reason why he shouldn't.
He loved the spices and the different languages spoken around him, being able to speak a few of them, enough to get by. The smell of the fresh sea and the white sand, even the sun beating relentlessly down upon the dry tempest country seemed to smile upon Jack. Jack enjoyed the varying country, and he saw no difference between him and the native men, them with their dark skins, turbans and different dress and him with his tanned skin which was once white, no beard and a bare head spare for a mop of unruly dark hair.
Jack believed he was just as them though, just as the other boys were, and he thought he belonged. He believed to survive in a place to know it, the spices the smells, noise and colours, that was what it was to have a home, so Jack survived in it, and he felt fond of it, but he did not love it not with a great passion, and he soon learnt that he did not belong. When some of the boys would speak to him no longer, when the men and women looked with hate and bitterness upon him as that which represented those men which had taken much from them, spare his old ayah, then he learned he was different. Even she, she said that he said odd things, he tried not to but the difference would show, and seeing as no one could understand his notions and understanding, he had learnt how to get by relatively on his own, spare a few boys who still allowed him to join when they forgot that they were supposed to hate and only saw the bright spark before them, who brought exciting things to their games.
Jack sometimes looked to the sea, where he knew his fickle father roamed, not that he cared for the man, but the sea, that moving loving thing he felt something pull inside him as he jumped in it and frolicked, as he floated in the shallows and just looked up at the drifting clouds, sighing with contentment. It was always his last destination after his wanderings and he wanted to float on it happily forever, but he had always returned home…because that was how it had always been.
Jack lived in a good sort of house, it was large, spacious, not a mansion but not a hovel, but he house had become dilapidated over the year, untended, uncared for, it slowly wilted away like the English flowers his mother had brought and tried to tend in this harsh climate. She had given up on that in quick succession, and the loss of hope for the house soon followed. His mother had always been a bit odd, she'd succumb to strange moods, be wild and sometimes she'd look at Jack and not recognize him. Those moments scared Jack but usually they were few, and far between and he did not have to live through too many.
His mother was a fickle person jumping from one thing to the next, one moment sewing the next trying to learn weaving. She never went out, Jack thought he remembered more people bustling around in the house but now it was just him and his mother and his ayah who went to market and cooked for them and assisted his mother.
Sometimes his mother would make such comments of finery and jewels which made Jack have an idea that she had once been a lady with an inheritance but now they lived on meager money, just enough to get them by, and the only thing they really had were their house which was falling apart around them. Jack often wondered what had happened to his mother, to change her wealth into this, what had forced her to travel across the sea, to a land she obviously did not care for. He sometimes had the uncomfortable idea that it had been him, his mother did not wear a wedding band, and she hardly ever spoke of his father, just saying he was a merchant sailor. She had become very angry when he had once asked her about him, and started crying and Jack had never asked again, he hadn't really cared anyway. He had just learnt that his fathers name was Graham Smith and he was a sailor and that was even more then he honestly cared to know.
He had asked his ayah why his mothers name was different to his; she had said that when a woman loved a man and had a child to them they didn't always marry as some men weren't as they first appeared. Jack had not spared another thought to it, but he had an idea that it was something which was frowned upon, though he couldn't imagine why, and was the reason his mother was forced to come all this way, with only a meager income from her family, which was more then they thought she deserved she had read out once from a note they had sent. After that one she had then burnt them when they came and Jack hadn't really worried and soon forgot as children are prone to doing.
His mother had taught Jack how to read and write, and how to do some sums, and Jack had furthered his own education by listening and watching in the market. He learnt how to bargain, how to negotiate, how to tell real from fake and how to lie, though his innocent mind did not recognize it for what it was then. He saw many ways of life, many different people, and he like many others puzzled over why some had so much while others starved. He could not come to any conclusion, so left it for further pondering when he was older and imagined as children do that he would know all the answers.
The day his mother fell ill was like many others, except on this day he had skipped his lessons as she appeared to have forgotten them. She did this often and he saw nothing odd in her behavior, though she had complained of a headache and feeling hot he had taken no notice. He had pranced over town, played with his other children in the sea, splashing laughing and battling with each other. He returned home before night fall, just as his mother had asked of him on his first day out with ayah, she had stopped noticing he went out a long time ago, and he doubted she even realized his long absence or cared, but he always returned before dusk, because even though he knew there would be no punishment, it was nice to think that she would have a pang of worry or fear if he did not return.
When he returned he found a man, a white man in smart attire inside, talking to the ayah, he said nothing to Jack, despite his questions, and walked out the door after finishing the conversation. Jack asked his ayah what was happening but she was wringing her hands and carried a bucket of water up the stairs to his mother's room. Finally instead of waiting for an answer Jack just followed her, he entered his mothers room. She lay among the ratty sheets pale and delicate, sweating heavily and groaning as if caught in a great vice, or evil. Jack stood in the doorway staring at his pale mother, who was crying out, writhing and screaming. Jack did not understand, and his ayah quickly pushed him out of the room, cursing him and telling him he would catch it too if he was not careful. Jack did not understand what she meant, and tried to push past her, to enter the room, she cursed him rapidly in her language, and finally grabbed him and locked him in his room.
Slumped on the floor Jack let the fear of what he had seen envelope him and he shivered and cried, tears making his cheeks wet and falling unchecked into his shirt. He fell asleep exhausted and frightened and awoke at the bird's song. He rose and for the whole day tried to open the window, he could not stand the small room, and he tried to open and finally break the window, but he was not strong enough and there was nothing heavy in his bare room to break the glass. Finally Jack gave up, tired, exhausted and hungry he curled up on his bed and slept once more, fitful dreams ensnaring him. The days melded into each other, often he called out until his voice failed him and instead he kicked the door with a steady rhythm, until he fell to fits of dreams once more, and once he woke the pattern began again.
Jack was dirty, starving and weak when the door was finally opened, but not by his ayah or his mother, instead stood two women, there were many like them on the street, dressed scantily they were what the English had brought, and lived in houses for the English men who came to the country.
"What's e doin here?" questioned one, looking down at him with dislike.
"Oh look," said the other cooing, "E's only a little un." She went closer to Jack, "E's an 'ansome one too, don't you fink Sally?"
"E's smelly," the other one said, turning up her nose, "An' dirty, doubt e as two bob. Do you know where they kept their jewels boy?" she addressed Jack sharply. He looked at her.
"Jewels?" he rasped, "Mother….she didn't have any"
"Poor livin' in a fancy house, you think if they'd gone an' died they woulda least had the courtesy to go tell peoples they were poor, so you wouldn't bother comin' in and risking disease like," she said.
The other one snorted, "Since when you've been worrying bout disease?" she asked.
"Since Bobby offered me is 'and," Sally said with an air. The other one laughed as if this was the most ridiculous thing she had heard.
"An' the only Bob e as is is name," she said.
"Come on lets go," Sally snapped, feeling snubbed, she only restrained her hand because she remembered the rumor that her companion kept a shiv somewhere on her, something she did not doubt.
"Wait," Jack said, he did not know why he did not want them to go, he just knew he did not want to be left alone.
Sally stopped but did not turn to face him, instead the other women came closer, bending down to face him, "What's ya name?" she asked her tones sweet.
Jack frowned for a moment, trying to recall in his scattered memory, sorting through his exhausted thoughts, "Jack Smith," he finally said.
"Leave im," Sally said once more, disgusted at the women's sweetness. "E'll probably be dead soon."
"Wait," Jack pleaded once more, "My….my mother….is she..." he let it hang, unable to say it. Jack did not think his mother loved him as mother's should, she hardly payed attention to him, didn't notice him, never held him or kissed him. But she had still been his mother and he, he had cared enough for both of them.
"Oh, poor mite," the woman said, turning to Sally instead of answering Jack's question. "E's so cute an' gen'mn like, muvver e says. We should take im wiv us Sally, we can't leave im ere, the poor fing."
"There are undreds of scamps on the street," Sally said turning around, "You jus' walk right pass em, what makes im so different?"
"Because," said Jack desperately, he had seen those scamps many were lucky to last a week and in Jack's small thoughts he did not want to be dubbed one, even by women such as this. Because dubbing him a scamp would mean a death sentence and make him as insignificant as the corpses which littered the streets. "Because I'm….I'm Jack…." He said his thought fell though, once he would have had an answer, because he had a mother, because he had a house, because he had food…but now he had none of those things, only himself and his skills and his brain, that's all he had to survive now.
The women laughed at this, "Till you ave a title and a legend to go wiv that name boy it ain't worth a might," Sally said.
"E ain't a furrener an' e's a good little scamp for a laugh," the other woman continued after she'd stopped laughing, "And e's opposite of a bad looker e is,. E might even bring in some money Sally," she looked up at the women slightly, "I mean," she lowered her voice, "It's always good to ave a few elping ands round the place."
"Allrigh," Sally said yielding, so they took him with them, back to their residence as the woman called it. Once Jack stepped over the threshold he entered a new world which changed him. The women lived in and English inn which had been built to make the sailors feel more at home, it was filled with drunks, fighting, yelling, Jack watched all this and swallowed his apprehension. Sally took him to a table and bought him a meal and as Jack looked around him he became more accustomed, he realized that this inn was no more different to the market place, and decided that the crowds roar and liveliness though not beautiful had a sense of life and rowdiness to it.
When Sally brought the meal he had it down his throat in a minute and when he asked for more she laughed without any humour. "There we go," she said to the other woman, "Takin' on another ungry mouth, e wants more e says, well if you want more you'll ave to sing for your supper boy." She said and with that lifted the drowsy Jack up onto the table and grabbing a tricorn hat from a passing drunk she put it on his head.
"Now sing," she said the other woman roared with laughter as if this was uproariously funny, though Jack suspected it had more to do with the amount of drink she had consumed, rather then him. He could hardly see, the hat covered his eyes, but Jack a smart child, did not want to anger two people who held his life in their hands, so he sang.
He sang a song his mother had once sung, the only time he had ever heard her sing. It was on a rare night when she had realized he was there, she had a fit of fancy, what he called her sudden changes, and had taken to painting that day. She held a sad picture, not very accurate or well drawn, but the colours in it were striking and beautiful to Jack and they held him. It was a picture of a bird, bars surrounded it and its little chest was puffed, it's beak open as if singing an invisible song. His mother had lain down on the bed with Jack, held him and they'd both looked at the picture and then suddenly she'd sung.
Jack now sung the same song, his voice, a child's voice so soft and quite yet sweet and unbroken. It flittered and mingled with the noise, he did not know how an earth anyone would hear him over all the racket but apparently some did for they stopped to listen to the haunting tune.
"The Sparrow he calls, he calls to the sea
From his cage of gilded gold,
He call's he call's he calls to the sea
He pleas to let him go
Oh, the Sparrow he calls he calls to the sea
From his cage of gilded gold
He knows not what of that which he seeks
He knows not what he wants
But the Sparrow still calls, still calls to the sea
From his cage of gilded gold
His heart does cry
His wings do they beat
His mind darkened by the bars
And the Sparrow he calls, he calls to the sea
From his cage of gilded gold
He smells her tears, he can hear her calls
And he wants what he knows is divine
So the Sparrow he calls, he calls to the sea
From his cage of gilded gold
One day he will fly
He will fly to the sea
And he shall know of that which he cries
But for now that poor Sparrow shall just call to the sea
From his cage of gilded gold…"
The last notes died away, Jack's chest rose and fell as he stared into the darkness of the hat. Suddenly Sally took it off him and held it out to the staring crowd; some coins dropped in and then came some clapping. Jack grinned, it broke his face as something filled his chest, he found that he quite enjoyed performing as he gave a small bow.
"Give us a cheerful one," one grizzled drunk called, so Jack began a second song 'Bloody Jack', one he had learnt from the old sailors down by the quay who sang it to tease him.
That night Jack went to bed with a full stomach, as did Sally and Mary, the other woman's name, and as he lay on the floor his eyes wide awake, clutching that tricorn hat in his hand, but he did not cry for his mother…. He knew that he would forget her, just as she forgot him sometimes, but he would not remember her…because he knew as a person grew they changed and they forgot important things, and found it harder to remember. Jack was afraid, to forget, to not remember his thoughts and the women who though could not care for him, still bore him and raised him, and he thought it only right he remember her if only for that. Jack did not want to forget or get old; he was frightened of it, and nothing else. So Jack cried, he cried not for his mother's death, but as a child….he cried because he did not want to forget, and he found already he could not recall her face.
Jack did not want to forget and he found a way, finding a piece of paper and ink left behind by a wealthier customer he drew a design from his own fancies, the song and the memory he had of his mother, once it dried he folded it and shoved it in his shirt to keep it close to him and ensure he didn't forget.
The years passed, Jack continued to sing, he grew dirtier, learnt how to talk course so he could blend, and how to fight and steal. Sally and Mary kept him despite some arguments over it where his fate had held in the balance, his singing brought enough money for his keep though, and he stole anything else he needed. Mary had also reasoned that when he grew larger he would be able to protect them, and Sally had complied though by that time Jack had realized Sally was only arguing for the sake of it. The women were good to him in their own way, they didn't beat him, he was too fast even if they wanted too, and they ensured the other patrons left him well alone, they also sheltered him from the worst of a scum's life, and he was able to retain some of his innocence and fancy as well as a few of his refined ways. Along with the singing he began to tell stories of his own invention as he grew and that brought enough too, along with the women's work. As Jack grew though he maintained a bit of the child, and it made him all the brighter, he was certainly turning into a man that people saw and remembered and he…he never forgot despite his fears, not the important things, not how to speak properly, nor how to bow and eat and hold refined manners, nor his mother….
When Jack was about ten according to his estimations he asked Sally how you got a mark, a picture on your skin, as he had to explain a tattoo to her. She told him of the sellers in the market, which did such things to those foolish men and sailors who wished it, stabbing their skin with a needle and putting ink into it. Jack felt slightly apprehensive at this but he kept his resolve and went to the market. With only a little difficulty he found such a man, he handed over the piece of paper silently showed him the coin and bared his arm, to ensure he never lost the memory because if it went he was sure all the rest would follow and he would just be another scamp as he had feared all those years ago.
A few more years passed, Jack did more stealing then singing and stories, he hung by the docks and watched the sailors, and then the worst happened, Mary fell desperately sick and Sally followed. It was bound to happen sometime they always mentioned sickness as if it was a way of life but when it happened Jack felt like a blow had hit him. It was consumption, they weren't young and it did quick work of them, before Jack knew it he was alone once more with no form even of a home.
Jack had never seen a real reason to leave this country, he was fond of it after all, but now there was no reason to stay, quite the opposite there were hundreds of reasons to go but there was only one Jack was concerned with, and that was the call of the sea. He managed to earn a job on a ship, one run by the impressive force of the East India Trading Company, the only force and ships available in the docks. He started as a cabin boy, the ship was filled with promise and when he was on it he felt comfortable…he had called many things his home but this…he understood what it meant now.
As Jack stood on the deck of the ship the tricorn hat firmly planted on his head as he had kept it all these years since that night, he watched the shore recede, that of the country he was fond of. Where he'd learnt many lessons, and understood many things, where he'd learnt of different and normal, rich and poor and people. He looked down at his arm, and at the Sparrow, a remembrance of that song, flying away from the sun, over the sea, free; he knew he would return to his home before the sun set, like he always did.
I know, odd, weird, lame ending, completely not fitting time period, any known countries any reality and certainly not historically correct, it is an unrealistic story. But don't be cruel, just popped and had to be written, I can't help my stupid brain and rejected hands. Don't know if it's Jack, he seems too nice bear in mind he is a child, but I need reviews! Tell me what you think, I want to improve. Come on people I'm aiming for at least five, more would be great. If you read it please review it, or I'll set my monkey on you, and he's got a pile of bananas…oh and he's cursed, still I didn't think I needed to mention that it was scary enough when it began. Oh and the song I actually sadly have a tune for the made up song and it does sound a bit better with it but you probably won't think so, cause I'm just sad and I'll go sit rocking in a corner till the reviews come, in which I'll have a party with my monkey and eat tons of bananas. Please review and I'll review you.
From give me reason to party with monkey and bananas Sairra : p