Alone and Unloved
'What would it be like to have some one to talk to?' This simple question plagued the mind of Captain James Matthew Hook more often then many came to realize. Recently he had come to ponder this late at night when none of his crew were awake to disturb him from his sordid thoughts. Each time he amazed himself with his answer, he honestly didn't know.
'What would it be like to have some one who understood him, who didn't cringe in absolute fear when he came into sight?' For longer then he could remember he had taken uncountable pleasure in doing just that…but as of late he began to tire of striking terror into the hearts of all who beheld him. He, the King of the Pirates, the Sleaziest Sleaze of the Seven Seas was weary of his existence.
'How would it feel to sit back in the evenings not hunting that bothersome Peter Pan or killing Tiger Lily's Indian braves but to sit back in his cabin playing a challenging game of chess or reading aloud a classic to some one who enjoyed them as much as he?' The interior of his tastefully done cabin was littered with piles of novels ranging from Gilgamesh to Homer, from Des Cartes to Shakespeare and every one in between. Amongst them lay unfinished sessions of solitaire and various board based games he played against himself. Never had there been a partner worthy to complete any of these with…James had come to the conclusion that there never would be.
On an island populated by enemies no taller then four feet high, natives who were out for his blood and sea creatures bent on taking any who dared to come to close into their watery world, he felt himself the last of his kind. As in his view he was the only truly educated person there, unfortunately being so well learned meant that if no one in one's acquaintance was just as learned it soon became a very dull place to be. Jolly Rogers crew were useless buffoons who he disposed of as he saw fit, they were no more near qualified to be intelligent companions then those damned Lost Boys and their obsession with mothers.
'But if there were such a person who would they be? What would they act like?' At first the pirate captain had thought that a fellow Etonian such as himself would provide the best company. But after some time of seeing only he crew as close acquaintances he decided that another would only make matters worse. Surely not all men were as patient as he with such incapable member of a ship's company as he was damned to command, whoever else lived with them for prolonged periods of time would of course be driven mad.
'If not that then all that remains is…..a woman…. what of that? A female indeed, what sort of lady would be happy on board his ship?' The first time Hook thought of that he had been hammering away on his beloved harpsichord after yet another humiliating defeat at the hands of that idiotic Pan. But as he put more concentration on his thoughts he music began to grow softer until it near resembled a lullaby. The woman who would prove to be a suitable companion would be a fierce thing to behold, a truly accomplished lady. She of course would have to be well educated in the known history of the world and it's most powerful countries. From there she would have to posses an understanding of the modern languages, as learning a new tongue stimulated the mind. Put together she had to be clever, witty, lady like yet firm enough to handle what Never Land threw her way.
The cords began to form a slighter up beat tempo.
Next she would have to be well read, so as to have civilized conversation on a variety of topics. From there he positively required a vast knowledge of music and singing, for nothing gave him more relief then exactly that, and it was preferable that she played an instrument that complimented his own keyboarding skills.
Notes floated through the air on a more traditional path.
As he played his mind wandered an even more perplexing matter…'What would his lady look like?' First he imagined her dark haired like himself but thought that no, she should be pure, unlike me. Golden hair held his fancy for a moment before he came up with the conclusion that blond was to like that pixie Pan flew with. Captain Hook was at a loss until he glanced down in despair and saw his jacket sleeve-which was a lovely dark red. Yes! His perfect woman possessed hair the color of deep red wine that was both unusual but beautiful, it would fall in soft curls down her back.
And her eyes…….his music took on a more somber tone as he thought.
He came to the decision that as he used gold in both his trade and his decorating that her eyes would be the color of tarnished gold, amber perhaps. In the recesses of his dark mind he could see them, burning like candlelight, a glow only meant for him. They looked at him without fear, lit with knowledge and eager to speak but as yet unable to.
The song became akin to a great symphony, but of only one instrument.
More and more the imaginary lady came into blessed being, and as she did so did choruses and movements onto parchment by means of quill and ink. She was fair of skin, the color of fresh cream, with full pale pink lips and slender too like a nymph of the woods. Her limbs were long, as she was tall for a female, her hands gentle and her feet small. The smile she possessed was for him and him alone, the beauty she displayed so carefree was his to gaze upon whenever he wished. And she adored all the attention given to her, in return she gave herself. Together she was stunning.
Silence.
James Hook looked down at his finished concerto, it looked back up at him in stark black and white paper and ink. This is what years of living in Never Land had given him, music the likes he had never known existed….and only that. So desperate for companionship….for affection he had created this woman of fancy that only he could see. For a moment he felt ashamed, him ashamed, that he had stooped to something to utterly fanciful. A moment before he fed the offending sheet music to the harsh fire a stray finger hit a note. The sound resonated through the cabin like a plea…like a voice almost…begging him not to abandon his dream lady.
And then he knew that he couldn't destroy it-her.
Only one last thing remained then, to give her a name. As her appearance gave away she was clearly of Celtic decent, so a Celtic name she must have. Hook searched through his books and notes endlessly for a suitable name to give his beloved creation. After much time had passed and the moon had come and gone to give way to the raising sun he found one. It was unusual and yet it called to him, he found it in a small book of old Irish faery tales he never recalled having.
Maeve.
In his sprawling script he wrote her name on the top of the music sheet along with a key signature. True only he would know her, but he would have it no other way and he was confident that she, were she a real human being, would have felt the same. And as he had no talent in the painting of likenesses, and none he new did, this song would serve as her portrait. When the world became too harsh even for him, when pressures from being captain came crashing down on his broad shoulders to she he would turn. Maeve would be his solace from this moment on. And from that night to his last James Hook had his worthy companion, if only in his dreams.