Author's Note: I'm definitely sensing AU-ness . . . I mean, first, Jacob's been watching so many people through the Lighthouse, so how could he not know of the "badness" of the world? Or at least have some idea that it's not perfect. And, well, who knows his off-Island activities, when they took place - so who knows when THIS takes place, haha. Definite, definitely AU. But it's fun to write. :)
Anyways, many thanks to the kind reviews on the last chapter, I hope this one's enjoyable. :)
The gifts brought by Illana and Richard were strange to Jacob. Occasionally, they'd brought him things, little trinkets or examples of things not remotely existent on the Island – but never anything like this.
He looked first at their covers, and then admired their thicknesses, and flipped through them, scrutinizing while not yet understanding. The markings they harbored were of different size, and one was substantially more densely marked than the other. The latter, the smaller one, had drawings, in black and white, as one might make scratching on a rock with a burnt stick. And upon closer inspection, the thicker of the two had glorious pictures, too, but these were in colors so vivid his eyes could scarcely conceive of their beauty. Jacob smiled at seeing them; he understood then what these gifts were.
"Stories." He raised his gaze to meet Illana's face, which was altogether impassive except for the dancing of her eyes and the slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. Richard stood silently by her side, but at the single word he broke into a broad smile – he remembered well the day he'd understood that stories were written and could be read. The joy he'd felt then – the wonder!
"That's right." Illana took the books from Jacob's hands and added, "I'm going to teach you how to read. I think you'll enjoy these. And Ricardus –"
"I've got something else to teach you. To . . . show you." Richard felt awkward at the thought of teaching Jacob anything; here on the Island, he was as near to omniscient as was humanly possible. But soon he'll have to leave here – to go gather up the candidates. We need to show him bits and pieces – the best, really – of what the world has to offer, before he sees the worst.
Illana and Richard had arranged it so she would tackle reading – Peter Pan first, of course – and then Ricardus would take him off-Island, only for a day, that he might explain something before Jacob dove into the known universe with the deep sciences and Carl Sagan's cosmic perspective.
"I think it's important," he'd explained on their way back, "that he understands our place as much as we know it – from a spiritual standpoint – before exposing him to the sciences. I think, in many ways, religion is easier to grasp than science, Illana, and that's why I want him to know the existence of both. I think if he were to read about the sciences before I take him with me, what I have to show him won't matter."
"What will you show him?" Illana had tilted her head, smiling slightly.
"I was religious – before Jacob brought me here. I'm no theologian," Richard continued quickly, "and I don't enjoy theology for its own sake." His face grew dark for a moment. "A priest once told me that I was doomed to hell because I had no time to do penance for the sin of killing someone. What comfort is that to a man who knows he will hang anyway? Who killed someone out of fear for losing another?"
Illana gently took his hand. "That's why I've never enjoyed religion. People become so absorbed in their rules, they forget the humanity."
Richard had laughed. It seemed terribly ironic that Illana would begrudge anyone rules when she and her father lived their lives by rules neither of them fully understood. "Those aren't the kind of rules I'm going to show him," he said at last. "You can't show someone theology. And you can't show them the stars and expect them to understand, without instruction, that we – our world - is just a pale blue dot. It's in our nature to think we're in the middle of everything."
"This is true." Illana had offered a small smile. "You'll be a good teacher, Ricardus. If anyone were to teach Jacob about religion, I would want it to be you."
Illana began first by reading to Jacob, and showing him the illustrations gracing the pages of J.M. Barrie's classic. And rather quickly, over the course of a few weeks, she showed Jacob how words are formed, with the markings, and how each marking by itself makes a sound, and words are composites of those sounds. It didn't take as long as she'd thought, for Jacob was uncommonly astute, and before long he was reading aloud to her – slowly, and still with mistakes, but reading nevertheless.
"The Lost Boys," Jacob announced one evening as he, Illana and Richard sat around the usual fire stoked in Tawawet's shadow. "And Peter – Peter brings them to an island, called Neverland, and they never grow up."
"That's right." Illana grinned at Richard over the fire, and he smiled back. He was astonished at Jacob's progress but took as much, if not more, pleasure from seeing Illana so satisfied with her handiwork.
Jacob's face was shadowed, his brow furrowed, jaw set, eyes grim. Richard felt his hands twist in the sand, a habitual gesture he'd acquired over the years for when he was anxious. How many fistfuls of sand he'd clenched between tense fingers!
"They never grow up," he continued. "Their parents don't even notice they're gone, and so Peter claims them. And every now and then, it says, when there are too many of them, Peter" – he'd brought the book with him (now very sandy, and wrinkled from water, and generally battered so as to make a librarian faint) and frantically searched though it – "'thins them out.'" He raised his head and fixed Richard with a fierce stare. "He kills them, doesn't he? Or feeds them to the ticking crocodile?"
From within the jungle came the unmistakable moan and disheartened mechanic cries of the man in black, the smoke monster, who at one time or another had chased them all, futilely pursuing them as the crocodile had pursued Captain Hook. The sounds were familiar but they never ceased to raise a shiver up Illana's spine.
Glances were exchanged hastily across the fire. Neither Illana nor Richard had expected Jacob to take the story so seriously. At last Richard managed, "I haven't read - ! Why are you asking me?"
"Because I made you ageless!" The fury in Jacob's voice rattled them; from his shaking hands it was clear he was a mere moment away from tossing the book into the flames. "I made you ageless. And I brought people here – and they died, because I refused to intervene! And I made the crocodile, and –"
"Oh, God," groaned Illana. Raising her voice and holding out her hands pleadingly: "Jacob – Father, listen! Please, Father; it's alright, it's alright, I promise . . ."
At her voice Jacob grew still, though his breathing was still audible in the ominous silence and beads of sweat dripped from his brow.
"Give me the book," murmured Illana, and Jacob slowly obliged. She tossed it to Richard, and added, "You take that. Do what you want with it. Bury it. Hide it. Read it yourself, I don't care – just go, Ricardus!"
Bewildered, Richard rose to his feet with the offending material and wandered off along the beach. He didn't understand. He grasped, of course, from Jacob's summary and emotional tirade, what had upset him. In Peter Pan he had seen an awful parallel to himself, to the Island, to the scores of people he'd brought, to gifts he'd bestowed without ascertaining whether or not the recipient fully understood the magnitude of eternity. Illana, of course, wouldn't have thought of these things, or else she never would have given Jacob such a book . . .
But there they were, with an enormous problem on their hands. If Jacob couldn't stand allegory . . .
Richard shook his head sadly and looked up at the vaulted heavens with their wheeling stars and innumerable planets. He'd borrowed Cosmos from Illana, who had been reading it herself while teaching Jacob, and was astounded. Billions and billions of stars, and planets, and worlds were out there, beyond sight . . .
Who was he, to be dismayed at Jacob's reaction? Had he himself not reacted strongly to Biblical stories – ethics, morals, all wrapped up themselves in the same allegory as had so troubled his companion?
He sighed. Tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow he took Jacob off-Island, assuming Illana could properly restore her father to his usual, rational – albeit naïve – self.
