I don't own the Mentalist and I am only playing with the characters in a nonprofit manner. No copyright infringement is intended.
AN: I couldn't proceed on my new "Shadow" story until I see what the hierarchy is in the FBI, so I decided to write this little piece instead. The title is from the beautiful Mary Poppins song. I hope you enjoy it.
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Patrick Jane had been on the island about a month when she first caught his eye – a middle aged village woman, a bit chunky, unremarkable in her brightly colored print cotton dress and sandals. Yet there was something about this woman that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He had just watched her emerge from the small Catholic church with half a dozen others - her extended family, no doubt, attending mass.
The family strolled through the small courtyard, the closest thing the village had to a park, and the woman stopped to sit on one end of a long bench, under the lone tree. She pulled the woven tote she carried off of her shoulder and fished out a paper bag. The others in her group waved and walked away. Clearly, this was a routine occurrence.
Her family was only a few steps away when the pigeons started to gather. The woman reached into her little sack and pitched a handful of cracked corn onto the irregular cobblestones of the courtyard. After a flurry of cooing and twittering, the birds pecked enthusiastically at their feast.
Jane walked over to the bench and addressed the woman, "Do you mind if I sit down here?" She clearly did not understand his words, but when he motioned to the other end of the bench, she realized what he was asking and gave her permission with a small impassive nod.
"Do you speak English?"
"No." The woman threw out another handful of corn and turned to look at him. "Habla espanol?"
"No," he answered apologetically. "Well, just a few words. I'm trying to learn."
She grunted softly and paused, giving him a long, hard look. She hadn't understood his words at all, he could tell, so he was quite surprised when she lifted her bag toward him in a stoic offering.
"For me?" he gestured toward himself, unsure.
"Si." She reached into the bag, grabbed a handful of grain and held it out for him. Jane cupped his hands under hers and she dropped the grain into them.
"Gracias," he said, touched by her gesture.
The woman simply nodded and turned to watch the birds eating. They sat in silence on the bench for another twenty minutes, alternately throwing out feed for the teeming flock. Eventually, when her bag was empty, she rose, gathered her tote, and nodded to Jane without smiling. "Buenos dias." Then she turned and walked away along the path her family had taken earlier.
The next morning, Jane found a little market where the locals bought feed for their chickens and goats, and bought two bags of cracked corn. He returned to the courtyard with full pockets, but the woman was nowhere to be found.
He went back the next day, and the next, only to find an empty bench, but the answer finally occurred to him. The following Sunday he watched as the parishioners left the church, and sure enough, the same woman appeared, accompanied by her family. They walked her to the courtyard and left her sitting on the bench, just like the week before.
She was reaching into her tote when Jane approached her. She recognized him and dipped her head as a greeting. He retrieved the two sacks of feed from his pockets, and held one out to her. As she accepted his gift, she cracked a small smile.
"May I join you?" he asked, motioning to the other end of the bench. "Si," she said, and Jane sat. The pigeons had already gathered and she threw them some grain. After a few minutes, Jane said, "I'm trying to start a new life." He pitched a bit of grain to the birds as well. "I can't go back home. I'm wanted."
The woman replied in Spanish. Jane had no idea what she was saying, but she went on for several sentences.
"Thing is, I really miss my partner. Well," he tilted his head, " I guess she's not my partner any more, actually." He looked down at the pigeons. Somehow, he hadn't really thought about it that way. He still felt connected, even thought the truth was, he might never see her again. He pushed that thought from his head.
The woman spoke again, and this time there was emotion in her voice. She was sad, Jane realized, but he had no idea why. He couldn't grasp the meaning of a single phrase she said.
"I wish I could understand," he replied. When the corn was gone, the woman rose and headed home, nodding to him as she left.
"Buenos dias," he called after her.
Throughout the next week, Jane studied his Spanish/English dictionary diligently. The next Sunday he waited for the woman to arrive, and he handed her another bag of corn, just like the week before. Her smile was a touch wider than her last and they again sat on the opposing ends of their bench. This time she spoke first. She went on for a couple of paragraphs worth, obviously explaining something very poignant, something that weighed heavily on her.
Unfortunately, his rigorous study of the language over the last week hadn't done him any good at all. He listened, absorbing her pain, yet unable to understand her words. When she'd finished speaking, he said simply, "I'm sorry. I can tell you are very sad. Very worried."
There were a few moments of silence except for the coos of the hungry pigeons, and then he found himself speaking. "I like feeding the pigeons. They remind me of Lisbon." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "An evil man was going to kill her, like he did my wife and daughter, and he lured her to an old house that happened to be full of pigeons. Maybe they scared him, I don't know. Maybe they're the only reason she's still alive."
The woman replied in a sentence of unintelligible Spanish.
"If I'd gotten Lisbon killed…" his voice drifted off. "It was bad enough that I damaged her career. It was very important to her, you know?"
The woman looked up at him. She didn't understand his words, but there was sympathy in her eyes.
"Whatever happens now, I'm just thankful that she's alive." He pitched out another handful of corn, causing the birds to scatter and twitter. "After I killed him…I thought I might…end it. But then I thought about Teresa, and…" he sat up and shrugged slightly, "…here I am."
The woman replied with another couple of sentences in Spanish. Then she threw the last of her corn to the pigeons. She gave him a sad smile, and rose to leave. "Buenos dias."
"Gracias," he answered appreciatively. Jane wondered what the woman was so sad about.
Over the next week, he worked on making his little apartment cozier. He got some plants, scrounged a nice colorful bedspread. He started eating his breakfast at a little place down by the beach. Finally, he'd found a man who could make eggs properly. On Friday he'd found a perfect tiger cowrie on one of his long beach walks. This place was beautiful, he decided. Just what he needed for a fresh start.
When Sunday rolled around again, he got to the courtyard before church let out, and was already situated on the bench when the woman and her family approached. There were six people in the group in addition to the woman – a middle aged couple, an elderly man, a young adult male, and two younger girls.
Patrick stood and addressed the group, "Do any of you speak English?" There were six negative head shakes, but the young man stepped forward.
"Yes, I speak good English," he proclaimed proudly. "I am Franklin Morales," he said, offering Jane a handshake. "I work at the Casa Al Paraiso."
"Oh, wonderful, I'm Patrick Jane," he replied, delighted to hear words he could understand, and he shook hands with Franklin. "I'm sorry I don't speak Spanish. I've only been on the island for about six weeks. I'm trying to learn."
"Welcome," said Franklin with a warm smile.
"Thank you. Gracias, rather," Jane said, and added cautiously, "And who is this, if I might ask?" He motioned to the woman who fed the pigeons.
"This is my aunt, Maria Rodriguez . These are my parents, Jose and Isabella Morales, my grandfather Luis Morales, and my sisters, Olivia and Paola." The adults nodded their greetings, and the girls giggled and hid behind their mother at the mention of their names.
Jane ducked his head self-consciously, and smiled. "Hola." That's one word he had learned.
"Listen, Franklin, may I talk to you for a minute?" Jane asked, motioning him aside.
"Yes, sure." Franklin spoke to his family in Spanish, and they turned and sauntered away on their normal route, while Maria sat down on the bench. She found her bag of corn in her tote, and pigeons started to gather around their ankles. Jane drew Franklin over to the other end of the bench.
"Would it be too forward of me to ask why your aunt is so sad?"
"No. No, it is no secret here in the village. Her only son, Patricio, is afflicted with a…how do you say it…congent heart problem."
"Congenital? He was born with it?"
"Si. Yes. Congenital. He will be eleven on Tuesday, and is very ill – confined to his bed in the last couple of months. The doctors here can do nothing for him. He has an appointment with specialists on the mainland next week. My aunt is afraid he will die before his appointment."
"That's certainly a reason for concern," Jane agreed.
"She cares for him twenty four seven," the young man beamed at his knowledge of American slang, "but on Sundays her husband Jose stays with their son, so Maria can go to church. She also likes to spend a few peaceful moments away, feeding the pigeons. Today she is upset that she has nothing to give Patricio for his birthday. They must save their money for the doctors."
"Ahhh." He rubbed his fingers together, thinking.
"He is too weak even to walk to the beach," the young man explained.
"Does Patricio like magic, by chance?" The wheels in Jane's head were starting to turn.
Franklin's face lit up. "Yes, he does."
"Then maybe I can help a little," Jane said with an amused grin.
Jane squared away the details with Maria with the assistance of Franklin's translation skills, and on Tuesday he showed up at the Rodriquez home. He arrived decked out in his three piece suit, and treated the frail young man and some of his friends to the best magic show he'd given in a long time. The boy might be physically weak, but his eyes glowed with intelligence and delight.
After the boy's friends had gone home, he exclaimed something to his mother. Franklin translated. "Patrick, Patricio says he wishes to be a magician when he grows up."
If he grows up, Jane mused sadly. "Here," he said impulsively, and he removed his vest. "You can wear this, and I will teach you some tricks." Maria helped the child put the vest on over his t shirt, and Jane proceeded to teach him some simple coin tricks.
"Practice, and you will get good at it," Jane encouraged. "You have a nice touch." Franklin translated this to the smiling child, and he shook his head enthusiastically. "Si, Senior Jane. Practice." The boy was a quick learner.
Eventually the boy's fatigue began to show, and Jane reluctantly knew it was time for him to leave. Maria reached to take the vest off of Patricio, but Jane waved to her "No. It is his." Franklin explained and the woman looked around her house desperately. Her eyes fell on a beautiful piece of red material - a shawl or a throw - Jane couldn't tell for sure which. She grabbed it up and offered it to him, insisting he take it.
"Franklin, please tell her that is not necessary. I do not need my vest here on the island. I want him to have it."
"Patrick, it would be an insult to her if you do not accept her gift in return. It is custom."
"Oh. Well, gracias, then. Muchas gracias." And he left with the red cloth.
When Jane returned to his apartment, the need to tell someone about his afternoon overwhelmed him. How he wished Lisbon was here. He couldn't take the chance to call her or email her, even though he felt secure that he could not be extradited from this place,. If Abbott and his cronies knew she was in contact with him, it would simply serve to make her life miserable, and most likely damage her career even further. No, he had caused Teresa Lisbon enough trouble already.
He held the red cloth in his hands. It was kind of Maria, but what on earth did he need with this? And then it came to him. He slipped off his pants and underwear, and fashioned himself a sarong. Yes, he thought, this will serve nicely. The bottoms of his pants were very much the worse for wear from walking on the sandy, salty beach. This would be the perfect alternative, and make it easy for him to take his frequent dusk swims that he enjoyed so much.
He wondered absently what Teresa would think of him in a skirt, and imagining the look on her face buoyed his spirits.
On Sunday, he waited for Maria on the bench. When the church bell marked the end of the service, the family came walking out the front door, but Maria was absent. Jane stood immediately, and panic rose in him. This could not be good. He made a beeline to the group, unable to contain his worry. "Hola," he greeted them, but then turned immediately to Franklin. "Where is Maria?" he asked, steeling himself for the worst.
"Oh, do not worry, Patrick, she and Patricio are staying with a cousin on the mainland. He had his appointment with the specialists, and they want to do surgery on him. They think they can fix his heart problem."
Jane let out a huge sigh of relief.
"He wore his new vest to his appointment and did a coin trick for the doctors. They were very taken with him and Maria says they think they can get money for the surgery from a humanitarian fund that helps children like him. They will stay there with a cousin until he is well enough to come home."
"That's fantastic," Jane beamed.
"Yes, we are very happy. The stars have smiled upon our family."
"Ah, well, I will feed the pigeons by myself then, until Maria and Patricio return." He waved to the group with a "Buenos dias," sat down on the bench, and opened his sack of cracked corn.
He was genuinely relieved at the turn of events for this family. The stars had little to do with it, of course, but...wait…the stars. Whenever he thought of the stars, he thought of Samantha Barsocky and her horoscopes. Sam! He could write to Sam and Pete. They knew Lisbon. If he wrote letters to Lisbon and sent them to Sam, she would see that they got to Lisbon, and the FBI would be none the wiser. He hurriedly dumped the entire sack of corn on the ground and headed for his apartment with a new sense of purpose and urgency.
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Dear Sam,
I hope this finds you and Pete well, and Roddy and Caitlin, too. You may be aware that I'm in the worst kind of trouble. I have taken the old school approach, so I won't be coming back. I'm going to send some letters and things to you with the hope that you'll see that Pepper gets them.
Still sorry about Detroit.
Thank you.
On Jane's desk was the perfect tiger cowrie he'd found on a beach walk. He would find a box somewhere and send that with a letter to Lisbon. She would love the shell. He rose to make some tea, moving with a vigor he hadn't felt for some time.
He was delighted with his plan. If Teresa would or could not join him here, at least he could communicate with her. Well, to her. He would write her a letter and then head down to the beach in his new sarong for a swim.
Finally, Jane thought, and smiled broadly. Things in paradise were looking up.
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Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear if you found this a believable filler.