Chapter: Cover the White
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There is a man sitting near the market who is old and shrunk inside his skin like the oranges that sit too long on the fruit stand, ignored by those who want mangos or breadfruit and not wrinkled old things. His face is like leather and he has mean eyes, sharp as a ragged fingernail.
Come over and give an old man a kiss, eh? He says.
Jacqueline feels sorry for him. She goes over to him and puckers her lips like strawberries ready for his cheek but he pulls her towards him and doesn't let go. Finally I hit him with our basket full of guavas and bananas for Mama Kate and Jacqueline gets away.
Raunchy old bugger, Jacqueline says before she goes.
We leave the fruit in the mud beside the old man, as stark as strips of red and yellow cloth in the dirt. I look over my shoulder and he is peeling back the banana peel like it holds the secret of life. The Holy Grail.
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The gray of rock buildings. Mud, brown and soft like dead coffee grounds. The brown and black and gray and white of skinny horses. Black smoke from the blacksmith. Sometimes the water is gray, too.
There is no color in this town. No green. I want to walk into a bright, dripping forest and stay there. I want orange. I want red. I want purple. I want rainbows.
One day I steal Caro's paints and smear yellow-red-green-purple-orange on my ceiling to cover the white. It stains my fingernails multi-colored and my dress has to be washed but I don't care.
None of the men ever notice. Mama Kate does, though, and yells at me to wash it off but I never do.
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Alexandre DeRissou who is French and speaks with an accent. Henry Jameson with eyes like moss and clumsy fingers when he touches my skin. Jack Sparrow with frightened-bird hands and silly stories. Benjamin McArthur of the pale ears.
Every night they come and drink and take us upstairs. Tonight Alex whispers to Isabel and Henry touches Roma's earlobe. Ben strokes Caro like a cat. Jack takes my elbow and we go up to the bed again.
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My home, Jack says afterwards. In England.
What do you mean?
That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I was a wee boy then, probably just remember it like I do because I'd never been anywhere else, he says.
Oh.
Oh.
He sits on the the white bed and looks up at the rainbow ceiling that looks like heaven in this terrible place. You painted, he says.
It was ugly in here, I say. I smile because he is the only other person besides me and Mama Kate who knows.
It suits the room, he says.
Thank you, Jack.
Captain, he says. Captain Sparrow.
You've had me. You know me, I say. I think I should be able to call you by your name.
He is surprised and stares at me with his brackish-swamp eyes, black like memories I don't want to know anymore.
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You aren't coming back. I know you aren't now. It's been forever. You had black eyes too.
The painting was of a glowing city with channels of dirty water cutting through it like lines on a face. I always picture you in it swimming out to sea. Out to nowhere.
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Tell be about your Italian oil painting, he says. He's leaving. Him and his laughing eyes.
It was beautiful.
You've said that, he says.
I know. It was. It was perfect. It was mine.
And now?
Now it's gone, I say, and turn my face away.
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In the morning I go outside with a pail of water for the sad tree. It sloshes against the dry dirt and disappears before I can blink. I look up through the branches that spider across the clouds as thin as silk and feel like saying a prayer.
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There is a violin's song coming from an open window. A swell and pause of sound. A sweet waver of vibrato. The bow slides like nothing, like air, across the strings. The passion of notes. Of music.
Soon I am crying and the tears lay hot as sour juice against my cheeks. The sky is gray today.
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A/N: Sad. . . More Jack, of course, in this chapter, which is always good.
Anyway, my reviewers get their just reply today. Dawnie-7: Wow. . . thanks for the wonderful comments. I'm glad to see all the readers approve of this unconventional style. zigzag: Heey! Thank you much, darling. I appreciate your approval of my characterization of Jack. . . he's a little tough to do in this style because I have to tone down the humor a bit. Sereture: Don't worry about that; I'll definitely keep this up for as long as it needs to be complete. It's so much fun to write! And updates should come just about everyday because these chapters are veeery short compared to my TFOE ones. . . hpaddictedg: Mmm. Thanks. I'm so pleased that everyone likes this style so much! EternaLei: You give more compliments than I deserve, dearie! Thanks so much. Personally, I find third person past tense more difficult because I always screw it up and have to go back and edit, but once you get into the flow of writing in whatever tense it kind of falls into place, usually. I'm hoping PG-13 will cut it. . . I'm not planning to have any detailed smutty scenes. Rampaging Mischief: Oh my god. . . that is such a wonderful compliment! Sandra Cisneros is an infinitely better writer than me. . .I'm just an admirer. I believe she did write "The Three Wise Guys," I believe, although I haven't read it. If you're looking for more stuff by her definitely read The House on Mango Street. Jack's Sparrow: A masterpiece? Come on now, darlin' be reasonable. It's just the jumbled thoughts of a teenager underneath everything, really. Wow, thanks so much! Just keep reading anything, that's how I got writing. Read read read. I sound like such a dork but it's true. OpraNoodlemantra: I love your name, by the way. . . Johnny Depp forever! Hehe. Well, I'm here to attempt to entrance. It's my job, sorta. Those are some of my favorite lines too. . . there are some good ones in this chapter as well, but I don't think it's quite as good as the first two. Like you, I really liked the Italian oil painting theme, although, in this chapter, you've learned that it's kind of a metaphor for something else :) . LaLuna: "Beautiful" was definitely what I had in mind when thinking of this story. I think fanfiction (and myself, come to think of it) sometimes looses sight of the poetry and absolute beauty writing can produce in the struggle to get chapters out fast. Thanks for the amazing praise! dialtone: Cisneros is very, very inspirational. I can't get enough of her. Wow, for a writer that is truly a fantastic compliment. Characters, especially when they're not your own (like Jack), are difficult to master inside and out. Also, if I remember correctly, decrescendo and diminuendo are synonyms :). Never hesitate to let me know if anything seems iffy because god knows I always need improvement.