Note: There are no characters from Pirates of the Caribbean, this was simply inspired by the movie and has related themes and locations.
Have you ever loved someone? Foolishly, brazenly and desperately loved someone? Try and imagine the feeling, an intense liberation and insufferable heartache mingling into one fantastical adventure. Stop, close your eyes and let nostalgia and fantasy take over. Picture their lips, their eyes, their smell and all the little details that upon first sight sent nerves buzzing your system. Like those pestering rice moths that you tried continuously to kill off, their place in your mind seemed to be bonded for eternity.
I've been there, in fact at this moment my heart pumps furiously for someone else's. But, I must tell you, I once thought it impossible for this emotion to be felt towards another living, breathing human being. For in the years between 1821 and 1845 my heart belonged only to the sea.
I was born a sun baby, in a small house in Barbados looking out to the salty, enticing Caribbean Sea. In my youth, my mother would often scold me, blaming the unusual colour of my pastel blue eyes on my mania for the water and shore.
My father, a tradesman, had flitting passions that kept him at a constant distance from my mother and me, whether he decided to be a fisherman or the village's wig maker it seemed he was always gone. When I was eleven, my mother died of pneumonia and my father vanished. The next few years I spent working at the docks, helping to unload shipments until I was old enough to set sail for the wide expanse of blue.
When I watched the familiar beaches of Barbados become a mere fleck on the horizon it was the first time I felt truly complete. It was as though nothing could ever top this blinding ecstasy that came with the gentle rocking of the ship and rhythmic crashing of the waves. And so I spent the next ten years with my black hair coated in salt and my clothes smelling of the pure wind that howls over the restless waters I find so alluring.
You may see now, that my strange attachment to the oceans is the same that many feel towards a lover or a close companion. You must now understand that, being twenty four and never having felt a female's touch, I began to feel there was something missing. Thereafter I had this realization I landed in Liverpool for a time and met Cora. She made me feel as I have described earlier and became the girl I fell in love with. Now, I must appear to you to be a very happy man with a life passion and a sweet, spontaneous love.
However, there is a fault in this masterful plan I live. For now, I find myself in a situation where I must choose. I must decide whether to stay with my beautiful Cora and plant my feet firmly to solid ground or set sail back to my beloved Caribbean. I am at a crossroad where which ever path I decide to take, my filled heart will be ripped apart with a bloody piece left to stain what will be left behind.
One week earlier
I climbed down from the wooden beauty that had been my home for over a fortnight. My hands were raw and blistered from nights of snarling winds and thrashing hail. I smelled of decayed fish and old sweat and was, for once, happy to stay put for a while. I swiftly jumped down from the ladder to the rotting planks of the dock, my legs giving way beneath me at the strange feeling of sturdy ground.
I picked up my rucksack and trudged along the wharf to the dark, gray mass of Liverpool. The street cobblestones were coated in a layer of grime and drizzle with a sour, putrid smell exuding off of them. Road after road was a profusion of grim faces and black houses. I stopped at the sound of drunken laughs and clinking glasses. My stomach growled in hunger and I moved towards the smell of sizzling onions and garlic, arriving at my destination, the Fickleberry Pub.
I entered the smoky, dim room lit by flickering candles and the glow of cigars. Through the haze I could see a tumbling of dark red curls against a slim silhouette at the bar.
"What can I get ya?" The barman croaked as I sat down beside the woman.
"A pint of ale and…uh, that special you got written up there, the beef and potato."
The woman sighed, "Of course, when a fellow drops in he gets served the moment he sits down." She smiled and held up her pint. "Took me fifteen minutes to get this."
I leaned forwards and gave her a kiss, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Cora, dear, you look lovely as ever."
Her glassy, emerald flecked eyes met mine and she took my rough hands. "It's been bloody horrible with you gone, Zebediah Trout. Two months it's been and all I got was one lousy letter."
"I'm sorry about that, there was a week of brutal storms and they weren't letting any ships through, I got caught in the last of it on the way here," I told her for I had attempted to send her a very long letter from Guadeloupe.
She eyed me wearily and nodded. "I was thinking that maybe, instead of us spending our time together in this city, we could go to my home in Wales. My mother said it would be splendid for you to meet my sisters and father."
I thought for a moment about wandering the dreary streets of Liverpool once again with Cora, spending most of the time indoors by a fireplace or walking in the silent streets. "A smashing notion! I don't think I can stand another month in this blasted city."
She clapped her hands together and her face brightened. "We leave tomorrow! I know it's short notice but the coach ride is long and the sooner the better."
She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her forehead to mine. "We'll have a marvelous time!"
* * *
The carriage rolled over rough stones and wooden bridges, the gloom of the city falling slowly away to endless fields and knitted forests of oak and spruce. My body pounded against the stiff cushions in the coach, twisting knots into my neck and back. Halfway there, we spent the night at a falling down inn with collapsing beds of hay and strong drafts. When morning came I stretched out my tense body and ate breakfast dazedly, preparing for more ceaseless hours of travel. Out of boredom, Cora and I ran alongside the carriage in the thick morning air until our lungs burned for breath and we were forced to stop. Cora's cheeks were flushed like Japanese cherry blossoms and I pulled her close to me and watched the country sway by. It was the most exhilarated I had felt on English soil.
We reached Cora's family home at five past noon, thirty one hours after leaving Liverpool. I paid the driver a handsome sum and he unloaded our trunks and bags.
There was a wet, sloshing sound singing through the trees and I was reminded of the ocean many acres away. I paused and looked around the small estate that was dominated by a two story stone cottage. Small dresses and white trousers hung from a clothing line between two moss covered trees. There was a humming emanating from the woods as though the insects and animals had decided to compose a choir.
The entire scene seemed to echo the idea of everlasting bliss and tranquility. Small violet and blue flowers grew as they pleased among prickly scarlet roses and timid morning glories. I could not fathom why Cora would ever want to leave this place to be with me in Liverpool.
"Corrie!" A high, sweet voice screeched and a very young girl with tangled honey coloured hair, lacking the traditional bonnet, came running from the house.
Her shriek was followed by a soprano chorus of, "Sissy's home!" "And look, her love boy!" "Cora, see my new shoes!"
A cluster of yellow clad girls swarmed Cora and she gave each of them hugs and kisses on the cheek. I stood and watched their family embraces of which I had had so little of in my past.
"Why don't you introduce your friend, Cora," a man said, who I assumed to be her father.
"Yes, of course." Cora straightened herself up and I took a step forward.
"Father, this is Zebediah Trout. And this is my father, Michael Bigelow."
I shook his hand and he smiled, setting deep crow's feet around his eyes.
"It's nice to meet you, sir."
"That's a funny name!" A girl of about six burst out.
"And this is Sally." Cora ruffled the girl's feathery, blond hair.
"I'm Eliza," a tall girl of twelve with wide gray eyes came forward and curtsied.
I blushed at the formality and told her I was pleased to meet her.
I was introduced to two more girls; Deborah, aged seven years, was the wild haired girl. And the last was a very shy girl with red hair just like Cora's. She twisted her shoulders back and forth and sucked her thumb, she was the youngest at four and her name was Juniper.
Cora's mother, Angela, appeared at the doorway. "Zebediah, my boy, how was the journey here? I trust Cora was quite the master at keeping you up in the night with all her chattering."
I laughed aloud at that, remembering Cora's incessant whispering in the old inn. "You are quiet right, Mrs. Bigelow. I don't think I had a wink of sleep."
Cora nudged me and giggled.
"Corrie will show you to your room and dinner will be ready in about an hour." Angela smiled graciously to me then turned a stern look on the little ones. "I expect you all to clean yourselves up for our guest."
The gaggle of girls went sprinting into the house, followed by Mr. Bigelow, who gave a wink in our direction and disappeared into the cottage.
* * *
After a very lively evening with Cora's family, all of whom I found to be very genial and cheerful, I fell into a deep slumber that was disturbed early in the morning by an earthquake. I sat up quickly in bed, only to find that it was Cora, shaking me awake.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I whispered irritably.
"Meet me outside." She swished out of my room, her powder white dress sending a floral breeze to my senses.
I got up quickly, throwing on a brown pair of trousers and a white undershirt, and tiptoed out of the house.
The sky was a watery pink and orange, the sun's first rays cascading over us. Cora was waiting for me, her burgundy hair plaited to the side tied in a silver ribbon. She wore no corset under a natural dress that was cinched at the waist by another silver ribbon. Cora was the picture of male desire. She took my hand and led me into the forest, the smells of pine and morning dew erupted around me.
She pulled me for many minutes; our shoeless feet poked and scratched, until we came to the creek. The sun was higher up now, creating the illusion of dazzling white diamonds in the gurgling stream.
"Come, sit." Cora settled herself amongst rocks and grass as though she were some kind of mythological nymph meant only to tempt me in with her intoxicating voice.
I obeyed and sat down beside her. Strangely, I could feel a kind of tugging on my left side. I judged it to be westbound and knew it was the sea's pull.
"Do you wonder why I brought you here, Zebediah?" She kissed along my jaw and I found I could not answer.
"I…uhh…" Cora traced her lips on the contours of my chest and stomach and my breath whooshed out of my lungs.
"Zebediah," she looked at me fearfully. "I think I love you."
I froze. Then my mind began working and pulling, bewilderment and confusion swamped in until realization dawned.
"I love you too, Cora, and I always will."
She smiled at that and kissed me slowly on the lips. "Then it's me you choose."
The pulleys in my mind slowed and I did not grasp what she meant.
"Choose?"
"Yes, you've chosen me over the sea."
"Why can't I have both?" I asked confusedly.
Her brows knitted. "I thought you understood, after the trip you took this month. I can't be with you while you're gone adventuring in the Caribbean. I will not be left behind always."
My tension eased. "Then come with me, we'll live in Barbados in my old home and when I go out to sea, you can come too."
Her green eyes began to glaze over and a single crystal descended down the porcelain cheek. "Don't you see, Zebediah? This is my home, my family. I cannot leave it to be a sailor's wife in a foreign country where I know nothing about the land and people. I can see you here though; you are so natural among the leaves and soil, as though you were born to it. Zebediah, you understand, don't you?"
I swallowed and tried to remove the swollen lump in my chest and throat.
And so, I am at a crossroads where which ever path I decide to take, my filled heart will be ripped apart with a bloody piece left to stain what will be left behind.
Six months later
She stands in front of me, her white dress billowing around her in the frigid night. Her face is as pale as the moon above her, matching the white curls that drift around her blank face.
"Cora!" I reach out and the rocking ship throws me down, my left arm twisting beneath me, snapping the ligaments.
She glances at me as though I were a mere stranger, barren of recognition. The crashing waves behind her show through the translucent glow of her body. I crawl to my love, grasping for the hem of her dress that flutters through my hand.
She is but a mirage, a deception of my eyes leading me to believe that she is no longer a tarnished memory but a living, breathing human being.
I stand shakily and turn from the ghostly woman I so crave. I grab the ropes of the sails and heave, splintering my hands to a bloody mess. Looking past the sheeting rain to the sea, I feel the ruined man I now am. The rain soaks through my clothing and freezes my clammy skin. I have nothing but an instinct to live, to live for the sea and nothing else.