'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.
---
Captain Sparrow was leaning forward, tightly gripping the boom rope, dreadlocks and red bandanna flung to the wind. Singing loud and happily:
"When I was four or five or six, the sea rocked me to sleep,
And simple dreams would float to me like bubbles from the deep,
Sleep was like some opium they smoked on foreign shores,
And dolphins saw me safely on as my heartstrings pulled the oars,
And the ship was my bed, waves were my pillow
And the dark sky breathed, the sheets used to billow
As I'd go sailing on, sailing on,
I'd go sailing on my dreams!"
James had wondered what appeal Jack found in a 'seafaring' song so obviously written by, and for, lubbers. Upon inquiry, Sparrow had replied, with an amorous curl of the lips, that it brightened his mood to recall the circumstances under which he'd first heard it. Norrington had not asked for details.
"Seagulls ricocheted against the diamond-hard blue sea,
Mermaids sang and flying fish would dance on air for me,
I made it home by sunrise, as daylight filled the air,
My face was wet with brine and foam and sand spilled from my hair..."
Admittedly, the ex-pirate's rendition of the silly ballad made it fairly tolerable. Jack's light-baritone voice was of better quality than Norrington had ever suspected. Perhaps he'd told the truth, about having an onstage singing career in the 1870s.
"The north wind took me to God knows where,
Oceans uncharted, drunk with salt air!"
That last line did ring true- being doused with kicked-up sea foam was having effects similar to mild intoxication. On both of them. The former buccaneer and navyman were currently taking a fast afternoon sail around the islet, in Jack's trim little double-sail sloop, the Rum Burner (a moniker which had puzzled Norrington until he recalled Sparrow's naming criteria.) Under bellied canvas and blue sky, all their personality differences evaporated, leaving only their shared love of speed, wind, and open water. James leaned into the rudder, steering the sloop further offshore.
Some minutes later the breeze died down, slackening the sails. As the craft slowed, Jack shifted his grasp to the mainmast rope and stood, eyes on the horizon, smiling brightly as the sun itself. It was striking how, even shirtless, he looked every inch a Captain.
"Our current position, if you please, Mr. Norrington!"
James checked the little stern-mounted screen. "Sir, we are precisely two-point-seven kilometers north-northeast of the point where you last asked!"
The GPS receiver clearly wasn't essential for an excursion within sight of land, but James wanted to familiarize himself with it's usage, and with all current nautical technologies. He was days away from starting his apprenticeship aboard Jack's yacht, the Charming Murderess, scheduled to disembark for Europe in a week. The 'global positioning system' was an innovation he entirely approved of, even if it's workings strained his powers of comprehension. He understood the principle of trilateration well enough, but the notion of floating machines emitting invisible beams, from miles up in the sky... Like the related assertion about men literally walking on the moon, this was an allegation James preferred to keep at the back of his awareness. For now, anyway.
Several online websites, such as 'howstuffworks', were proving to be useful for finding readable explanations on the mechanics of modern devices. At Jack's urging, James was making a special point to read about automobiles, aka cars: motor-powered carriages, fueled by flammable liquid, which were now the primary means of overland travel. Sparrow contended James must eventually learn how to operate one, not only because it was a crucial job qualification, but because "Many lasses consider inability ta drive ta be a real deficit in a bloke." And the opinion of 'lasses' was not completely irrelevant to James' future plans.
"And the ship was my bed, waves were my pillow
And the dark sky breathed, the sheets used to billow
As I'd go sailing on, sailing on,
I'd go sailing on my dreams!"
Norrington politely cut in. "Tell me about this townhouse of yours."
Jack turned against a backdrop of clear air and seabird cries. "'Tain't that much to tell. It's an old building I bought on impulse, jus' to have someplace ta lay me head when I've business in London. Kitchen, necessary room an' sitting-parlor on the first floor, three bedrooms on the second, and a garret barely tall enough ta allow upright standing. Small garden out back- good sun exposure, as you'll soon see fer yerself. Songbirds staking out territories on every windowsill, so I hope you don't mind early awakenings. One other definite point in it's favor: 'tis only a short walk from Hyde Park."
"I always did enjoy outings there." With unintended melancholy, James added, "I imagine it's significantly changed by now."
"Maybe not so much as you'd think. The Serpentine Lake an' Kensington Gardens are still theer." Sparrow regarded his friend sympathetically. "In any event, James, you really do need ta re-familiarize yerself with yer hometown. Haveta be able ta speak about it convincingly, should that come up during job interviews."
Norrington's mood dropped a notch. "Are my misgivings that obvious?"
"Not that yer showin' it plainly, but 'tis no stretch ta deduce. I don't suppose it's a joyous prospect, touring previously familiar locales that've suddenly become unfamiliar."
The former Commodore resolved to buck up. "I assure you, I have undergone more strenuous adjustments. If I could endure serving under Lord Beckett's command for even a brief..."
James hesitated, for he'd rarely seem thunderclouds invade Jack's expression quite that rapidly. "Have I just touched a raw nerve?"
"That is an appropriate usage of the expression." The jib stirred; Jack busied himself adjusting a rope.
"I assure you, that was not my deliberate intent. As you reported your side won it's battle against the EITC armada, and Beckett was among the casualties, I'd not have thought reminder of him would be particularly disturbing."
"I did prevail in the final confrontation, but our earlier skirmishes are rather sore recollections." Sparrow dropped his eyes for a second, then looked to James almost challengingly. "Tell me, as a matter of historical interest: during that interval when you were in that person's employ, did the sod ever mention anythin' relevant to meself?"
"Nothing of a nonmilitary nature. It was he who informed me you'd reportedly been dispatched by Davy Jones."
The pointed scarf ends whipped, almost menacingly. "An' what was your reaction?"
"I regarded that intelligence with some skepticism- not unwarranted, it seems. So I was less than flabbergasted some months later, when further reports indicated you were, in fact, still among the living. Per that revelation, I was given the same orders as every other officer in the British fleet: Jack Sparrow was to be located, captured alive if at all possible, and delivered into Lord Beckett's personal custody as quickly as could be managed."
Jack's face twisted, as though catching a foul odor. "Any explanation fer why?"
"The official word was that you possessed information relevant to the massed pirate threat, of such vital importance that Beckett needed to personally oversee your interrogation." James scowled in turn. "As I recall, there were also a number of scurrilous rumors in circulation, regarding other intentions he might have towards you. Nothing novel about that. Any authority-figure as disliked as Beckett tends to attract such scuttlebutt, which usually has no grounds beyond spiteful imagination. But I am currently receiving the impression that you believe these rumors had some basis in fact."
Sparrow regarded the younger man piercingly. "I was in a position to know, wasn't I? An' can you discern any motive fer me to deceive you about it, this long after?"
"No, I can't." Norrington believed he'd learned to tell when Jack was being straightforward. "You are quite sure you made no misinterpretation?"
"Commodore, there are certain indicators which don't allow fer misinterpretation. Most of which I endured, through a mercifully brief, thoroughly unenjoyable incarceration in a Barbados gaol under Beckett's command." The dark-chocolate orbs smoldered. "But, 'tis far too fine a day to mar with such remembrances. If you'll excuse me fer just a minute..."
Sparrow sat down against the mast base, crossed his legs and laid his hands, palm up, on his knees. It was the same position James'd seen him assume on Isla Cruces. The former pirate deliberately shut his eyes, keeping still as any figurehead.
Norrington manipulated the tiller to keep the boat steady, pressing his lips as he reviewed his own impressions of Lord Cutler Beckett- as unnerving a man as he'd ever met. From their very first encounter, he'd sensed a ruthless quality in the diminutive aristocrat; a willingness to cross legal and moral boundaries to achieve his goals, with little hesitation and less regret. But James had not suspected Beckett of being lawless enough to aggressively pursue a completely unwilling... object of desire.
James grimaced. Neither had he thought a respected Lord of the Realm would be capable of ordering the murder a kindly governor. That had been a harsh education indeed.
Sparrow drew two deep breaths, opened his eyes and clambered back onto his bench. Looking far more at ease. "No cause at all, ta be dwellin' on it. That score's been settled, to my considerable satisfaction." He flashed a wicked grin.
/ 'I'll think about it later'- a defense the two of us employ regularly. It seems we both prefer to have a buffer; he from his past, I from my future, / pondered James.
"So, on to subject matter more in keepin' with our current pleasant circumstances. How goes yer readings of those 'Dummies' books I provided?"
James rolled his eyes. "I may never become accustomed to that series title."
"Now, Commodore, I've already explained. 'Tis not meant ta be insultin'; jus' indicates theer written for the elucidation an' education of folks with no previous knowledge of the subjects."
"Which, I don't deny, describes me. To respond to your inquiry; the volumes about electricity, genetics, wireless communications, and the American Civil War have been useful reading. However..." James arched one indignant eyebrow," I am still at a loss to understand why you included a volume on the subject of professional wrestling."
Jack was a portrait of helpful innocence. "That's jus' so you can hold yer own if it comes up in conversation."
"I'm not sure I'd care to participate in a discussion about such buffoonery."
"Don't underestimate it! 'Tis been said, to understand pro wrestlin' is to understand modern culture."
"Said by whom?"
"Well, by meself, anyways..."
As if in response to a nudge, a sudden gust bellied the jib and mainsail, whirling longish brown hair into both faces. The two seamen hastened to set sails and rudder; the Rum Burner soon regained her previous fleetness.
Jack shook his scarf back and enthusiastically resumed his serenade:
"Every now and then, I feel the need to take to sea,
To give myself to whining winds and just go sailing free,
I only need to lay me down, breath so mild and then,
The ocean's rhythm sweeps me up, and I'm a child again..."
Norrington couldn't resist. "What do you mean, 'again'?"
Sparrow, bestowing an affectionate glower, continued unfazed:
"And the ship is my bed, waves are my pillow,
And the dark sky breathes, the sheets they all billow
And I go sailing on, sailing on,
I go sailing on my dreams!"
The chorus, at least, really wasn't bad. As another leap of glittering drops drenched them both, James joined in:
"The ship is my bed, waves are my pillow
And the dark sky breathes, the sheets they all billow
And I go sailing on, sailing on,
I go sailing on my dreams!"
---
FINIS
---
'Sailing On' Composers: Alan Menken and Dean Pitchford, ©1982
