Introduction: This is the previously removed fanfiction of mine, E Così per Vivere, the story where I explored what might have been John Silver's childhood, and the story in which I was planning to document what might have been his life right up to the voyage to Treasure Planet. Unfortunately, as such is the bane of a lot of fanfiction writers, too much just got in the way of getting the entire story finished, so I removed it, not wanting to keep an unfinished story up on and never completing it. Some time after its removal, though, a couple of readers asked where it went, and most recently S2moviefreak123 emailed me and convinced me to re-upload what I'd written as the completed story of how Silver became a pirate, and not as his uncompleted biography. So here it is, re-uploaded as the story of Silver's childhood and how he became a pirate; Silver's adult life will have to be left up to your imaginations. ;) Enjoy all, old readers and new readers alike!
Author's Note Forgive how arcane this story sounds; I purposely wrote this to emulate the styles of old novels, so it would sound authentic and… really old.
Disclaimer: John Silver is copyright the Disney Corporation; I only borrowed him for fanfiction purposes. All other characters in this story (with the exception of Captain Flint's mention and the use of published TP species), however, are belong to me.
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Prologue: John Silver; particulars about his birth and the circumstances attending the event.
Bent underneath the shadows of the prominent buildings in the town of which was the birthplace of the child, there has been, and perhaps always will be, the blemish on Civilization's drawn face: Homes of poverty; and in one of these impoverished houses he was born—the child of the poor family whose name is ushered to the title of this chapter.
The child, after his birth, had much difficulty taking it upon himself to breathe; and was coaxed, although not gently, by the majority of whom were present by being swatted on the back, rear-end, and chest several times before he emerged from a gasping and sputtering choke into a cough and loud wail. The feat itself was not so much of a relief as a general group achievement for the number of these adults who were present in the exiguous home, and which thusly brought forth congratulations for one another as the newborn put his lungs to full use.
He was a majestic infant, if any infant was majestic; born with beautiful blue eyes, a wide mouth, and ten fingers and toes that looked as if carved from marble. Three men, the doctor and two neighbors of no relation, and one woman—the latter three of them all paupers—stood about the shrieking child, patting him, thumping him, and further inspecting him for any interior deformities. None were discovered, and this found more congratulations for the people in the group. The child was then wrapped in a sheet that was too big, and that drug along on the bare floors of his new home.
The Ursid woman who had given birth to the child lay quiet and peaceful, but seemingly as her new infant gained its own breath, she steadily began to lose hers. Her husband clung to the bedside, for it was all he could do for his wife now and he knew it, and watched as she slowly began to slip farther and farther away from him. Her eyes stared at the ceiling; crystalline, calm, and even though so close to death, smiling and glimmering in the dim light as she listened silently to her son screech and sob.
"Let me see him," she requested in a whisper to her husband, lifting her hand to brush his face with her already cold fingers. The child was brought to his father, but was not taken into his father's arms, for as the child approached the bed in the arms of the doctor who carried him, the woman's frail hand quavered, and after a moment dropped lightly against her side, where it remained, inert.
The husband's eyes remained steady. After a moment, and as the realization crept into him, he rose, slowly, and slid his hand into hers to clutch it firmly, and watched her as though his touch would bring color back to her face. He gazed at her for some time, blankly, surrounded by the sudden boom of silence rendered from his wife's death. As his eyes moved over her slender body, water began to form beneath his blue eyes. After a long time, he bent and kissed her softly on the hand he held, and then he said softly, his voice as fragile as glass, "Let… let me see him."
His child was brought forward once again; the silence pulsing underneath the wood ceiling, and the father gathered his son into his arms and looked down at the squalling infant he now cradled. His child coughed through its sobs, whimpered, and then opened its eyes to look expressionlessly up at its father's face. The Ursid, smiling faintly, now kissed his son delicately on the forehead, and then looked down at him in his arms. "You know," he said to his son, his voice breaking quietly, "She was going to name you John. I have no better name for you."
The two male neighbors began to clean up after the birth, and collect the tools and medicines the doctor and midwife had supplied as a way of escaping the tremendous loss of life in the room. The ample and florid face of the woman neighbor, who was also the midwife, leaned over the foot of the bed to regard the mother's body. The small, old bed creaked against her weight. "It's a shame, bless 'er dear heart," she murmured lethargically to herself as she began to gather her own supplies. "She were lovely, poor thing. And so young! She could've bore several more children, here, if she'd have stayed with us, bless 'er dear, dear heart. But she were fair thin and weak, n' not much strong enough for child-bearing, poor thing."
The doctor, a pale medical gentleman with a cough and a pock-marked face, regarded the body stoically as he filled his pipe, and then lifted his eyes to the man and his son in his arms, who was whimpering again.
Sidling the new father, keeping watch of the tobacco in his pipe thoughtfully, the doctor spoke to him in his low, serious voice. "I'll have someone come out to bury her for you, Jonas."
The Ursid looked at the doctor, his eyes blurred by his tears. "I have no money to pay someone for that kind of service…"
The doctor, still fixated on the tobacco in his pipe, interrupted Jonas with a short hush. "Don't worry about that… don't worry about that. I'll have someone come out to bury her for you."
"…Thank you."
The doctor stood quietly beside Jonas as both men listened to the newborn coo and begin to cry again between his father's arm and chest. Presently, the doctor spoke again. "Jonas," he murmured, "I'm sorry I could do nothing for her, and I understand that putting her to rest will be difficult, but… remember this night could have been a double loss."
Jonas again looked up at the doctor, but then let his head fall to his wife on the bed. "I know. She would have been happy that John survived, and I should be, too… and I am… I just wish there… could have been something to…" Jonas's words melted in his mouth as his grief finally overcame him. The doctor looked away, exhaled a small puff of smoke from the pipe into the air, and then turned away from him, resting a consoling hand on Jonas's shoulder. "Mourn her, Silver," he said faintly, "but do not let yourself be tortured. For the good of your son; it is not what she would have wanted."
"Yes—no, no; you're right," Jonas coughed, his voice steadier than what would have been expected of him. "I'm sorry."
The doctor watched him for a while longer, allowing Jonas to recollect himself, and then departed for the door with one tap of the hand on his shoulder as a last act of solace. When the doctor met the midwife at the door, he turned back around toward Jonas, blew another black puff of smoke into the air, and said, "If anything should come up, be aware I should make myself available any way I can."
Jonas sighed shakily, calming himself. "Again, thank you."
"God be with you," the doctor stated solemnly, and then dispersed with the other birth attendants into the cold night.
