This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel 1911 and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens 1904).
Good GAWD, people!!! Okay, for those of you who don't know, I live in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. And for those of you living under a rock the past 2 months, PBG has taken TWO direct hits from hurricanes in 3 weeks! As if I needed yet another reason to procrastinate on this story, eh? LOL.....Anyways, I'm doing okay, and I have regained motivation to continue writing. I hope no one has given up on me quite yet! Eeeeek!
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...but they will do my bidding whenever I press this button.....
Here's Chapter , comments, s'il vous plaît! :-)
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XIX. THE CIRCLEGrayness.
There was little else Neverland knew of these days. An entirely new season had forged itself amongst the usual conditions to which the little island was accustomed. You see, the Sun had taken ill and retreated to its chambers within the clouds to recuperate, forcing the silvery Moon to pull a wearying double-duty in his stead. Funny how the Moon had long dreamed of such a promotion as this, but now that it was at hand, he found it rather exhausting and quietly prayed for the Sun's speedy recovery.
But do not all things appear far more desirous until we finally acquire them?
For weeks, the Indians had been performing endless rites and rituals to entice the Sun back to its rightful prominence. Their crops, already so meager, were dwindling rapidly. All hours of the gray days and cold nights could the frantic drumbeats of their ceremonies be heard echoing off the cliffsides.
There were a few, however, who benefited from these perpetual night-days. The mermaids had reclaimed their authority over the darkened seas, and the incessant click-clacking of their peculiar games lent a dissonance to the Redskin chanting which chilled the bones moreso than the acerbic breeze.
But deep within the hollow core of a gently swaying brig not far off, the unrest beyond the stained glass windows belonged to another, less significant world entirely. Therein sat amid the rusty glow of the candelabras a fair young lady, defiantly content as she swept a needle and thread through the frayed hem of a pair of breeches. The owner of the garment still lay within them, his unstockinged leg slung over the maiden's knees whilst the rest of him sprawled lazily against his garish, makeshift throne, his visage half-obstructed by a gray haze of cigar smoke not unlike the drab clouds outside.
Such the picture of wholesomeness it was that if you had just at that moment peered in through the cracks of the bulkhead to observe it, you would never in a thousand lifetimes ever guess of the callous incident which took place below decks just the day before. And, in truth, had you known and possessed the gumption to mention it to either of them, you would have surely been greeted with a pair of oblivious stares.
The young lady Wendy once more donned her tattered white nightdress, now so dappled with patches and mends that it nearly resembled the costume of Harlequin. Of course she could not have kept the lavender one after all it had been exposed to. And if you had the notion to ask Wendy what had become of the lovely frock – perhaps in the hopes of turning the conversation to her hideous deed – she would have smiled politely and said, "I'm sorry, but I haven't a clue of what you speak."
But how can this be, you would wonder incredulously. Simply put, that which had the misfortune to find itself outside the intimate bubble surrounding Wendy and her pirate lover was as transitory as a summer breeze. Their whole universe consisted only of one another. What else, really, was there to care about within the confines of that apathetic island? Anything and everything which they required to survive could be found just within the other's gentle reach. And it could not have been a more preferable arrangement. All that stood beyond that little circle was meaningless and spiteful. And anything that would dare be so bold as to try to infiltrate it could be swiftly swatted away like a fly – and forgotten just as easily.
Therefore, as far as Captain Hook was concerned, he had never employed on his decks a man named Bill Jukes. He retained only a vague recollection of a fellow with bizarre markings on his face. A man outside The Circle.
So now you may better understand how the scene currently being played out before us can appear so serene after the brutality of Jukes's murder. Because it had never happened, and neither Hook nor Wendy would take too kindly to having the subject broached upon in their presence ever again, thank you.
Instead, they would prefer you sit back – at a distance from the Circle of course – relax, and allow yourself to be regaled, as Wendy was, by the gallant tale of high seas daring-do which Hook was dispatching at the present. He had claimed it to his mistress to be one hundred percent Truth, having happily recalled it just that day during an afternoon siesta, but Wendy took these allegations with a certain amount of skepticism while still maintaining for his sake all the wide-eyed wonder and captivation expected of a competent listener.
"'Avast ye, Captain!' he bellowed at me, striving so desperately to cling to his dignity though I could plainly see his knees buckling. 'You shall have this ship over my putrid, rotting flesh!'" Hook conveyed animatedly.
Wendy looked up eagerly from her sewing. "And what did you do?"
"Why, I shot him of course," he replied with a matter-of-fact shrug.
"You?" was Wendy's dubious response. "You shot Samuel Bellamy?"
"And let no one ever tell you otherwise!"
She gave her eyes a slight roll and returned to his hem. "Oh, go on, James."
The Captain took her disbelief with good humor. "Your history books say that he was taken by a storm, but I know better. That Davis fool was only too frightened and humiliated to own up to the truth."
"Yes, I'm sure he was," Wendy placated.
"Don't you believe me?" Hook feigned a grand distress. "Oh, sweet Wendy, won't you humor a tired old man?"
He looked upon her with such a hyperbolically tragic expression that she could not restrain the tiny giggle which instantly leapt into her throat.
"Alright, of course I believe you, darling."
Satisfied, Hook grinned and returned to his cigar. As his lark continued to echo in Wendy's mind, she was suddenly seized by a curiosity which had now and again tickled her thoughts since their very first embrace. With the subject broached, she decided to take advantage of it.
"James?"
"Hm?"
"If you don't mind my asking, I am curious...just how old are you?"
The Captain disliked immensely any little reminders of his seniority over his mistress, but he found comfort in her own apparent indifference to the issue. And because only her opinion mattered a whit to him, he often quietly scolded himself for such unfounded insecurities.
Thus he reacted finely to Wendy's query. "My goodness, 'tis a puzzling question." He tapped his claw against his chin in thought. "I seem to recall the last time whence I had chance to lay eyes upon a True calendar, I must have been around thirty and six. But I daresay I've aged a few years further from even that. Shall we say, nearly forty then?"
His eyes darted aimlessly about the room under a furrowed brow, as if the epiphany of such a lofty number took even himself a bit aback. As for Wendy, she was not surprised at all by this revelation. It was just about what she had figured on her own.
"Although, with you at my side, dear," Hook continued, "I feel not a day over twenty!"
Wendy tried to appear flattered but was detained promptly by a snicker.
"Oh, very well," Hook smirked, "Twenty-FIVE, then."
With expert hands, Wendy tied off the last of her mending, her eyes never wavering from Hook's, and once her needle and thread were neatly tucked away back inside the housewife which she had absconded from Smee, she crawled catlike onto her Captain's lap and purred sweet and naughty things into his ear whilst coiling locks of his hair around her fingers. Hook whispered in bawdy kind, and before long, he ridded himself of his cigar to free his hand to creep beneath her skirt and pull her closer to him as they kissed, and this they did for a goodly long while.
And then came a most untimely creak of the cabin door as it was thrust open, bursting the Bubble at once when both Hook and Wendy laid eyes upon the bosun Smee entering the room.
"Smee," Hook drawled dangerously from over Wendy's shoulder, "Have you quite forgotten yourself?"
In truth, Smee was, by this time, so accustomed to the couple's public displays of wantonness that he scarcely raised an eyebrow against it anymore, and on this occasion, he had to think over his Captain's question a moment before realizing.
"Oh! Sorry, Cap'n," he said with very little sincerity. And with that, he retreated once more from the room, closing the door behind him. Before Hook and Wendy could even exchange a bewildered glance, then came a very polite rapping upon the cabin door.
"Come IN, Smee," Hook growled beneath rolling eyes. Wendy quickly pulled her skirt over her modesty.
Again, Smee entered, quite unaffected by the awkward exchange, and delved into his business at once.
"Forgive me, Cap'n, but....erm....Ye 'ave a visitor."
Hook had already been fully prepared to scold and toss out his bosun for interrupting, no matter what information he would have to impart, but upon hearing these words – words which had never before passed through Smee's lips – Hook was just a bit thunderstruck.
"I beg your pardon?"
"A visitor, Sir," Smee repeated. "And most anxious to speak with ye, 'e is."
Annoyed yet keenly intrigued, Hook gestured to Wendy to remove herself from his person so that he may rise and greet this mysterious Visitor. Whomever he was, he had to be harmless if Smee appeared so unruffled by him.
As Hook prepared to receive his guest, Wendy retreated behind his chair, distrustful of what loomed beyond the door. But when Smee stepped aside to reveal the visitor's identity, all jaws instantly became agape.
'Twas a boy, no more than nine or ten, standing in the doorway nervously clutching his fur cap. Wendy recognized him at once as the little Irish Lost Boy called Ram Eye.
Captain Hook, so rarely at a loss for words, found himself most frightfully without them now. He did not know the boy – at least he did not think he did – but the mere sight of such a young child inside his cabin without a hint of malice was alarming indeed.
"What...is this?" was all he could manage.
The boy bowed his head mannerly. "'Ello, Cap'n Hook. My name is Ram Eye. 'Ello, Miss Wendy."
Hook half-turned to his mistress, his brow creased. "Do you know this child?"
"Erm, only modestly," came her wary reply. "I believe he is one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys."
Thus the surprises rolled on!
"Is this true?" Hook asked the boy sternly.
"On a farmer occasion, aye, sir," Ram Eye confessed. "Tho not so much anymar."
"Is Pan 'thinning out' his herd again?" the pirate asked with some bemusement.
"Not exactly," the boy replied cagily.
"Then speak up, lad! Why dost thou darken my doorstep?" Hook demanded, and the boy jumped a bit. "Do you suppose to come here and play a prank on foolish old Hook?"
"Not in the least, Cap'n!" he cried. "I 'ave come to join ye!"
Now he had heard it all.
"Join me!" Hook bellowed incredulously.
"Yessir."
Hook was completely thrown. He tossed a glance to Wendy as if she might have some proper understanding tattooed to her forehead, but she was just as bewildered as he.
Focusing his attention back to the boy, only one word materialized in Hook's mouth:
"Why?"
Ram Eye's little face at last boasted a smile. "Well, sir, being a pirate, must be awful excitin', in't it?"
Hook gave a noncommittal shrug. "It has its occasions..."
"An' you, Cap'n – why, yar the most femous an' feared of them all!"
The famous Captain cocked a grin. He could not dispute the lad.
"An' I would be ever so honored if ye were to teech me everythin' ye know!"
What a fascinating notion, Hook thought. He'd never had a pupil before. In all his years of reigning as the cruelest scoundrel of the Seven Seas, not a soul had ever thought to seek his tutelage. But could the lad be trusted? Again he looked to Wendy in search of some concurrence. Should this lost boy be allowed into The Circle?
Regarding the child before them, Wendy felt something stir within her which she would have imagined was long dead. 'Twas the slightest twinge of empathy which incited in her breast. She'd strayed so far from her old ways that she had almost entirely forgotten how to affect this sentiment towards any other human or creature except Captain Hook. To even think of children – those little monsters – caused her great annoyance in recent days. But now, to have one presented to her in the flesh once more, wide-eyed and careless and in desperate need of a mother to be sure, it was all Wendy could do to keep from scooping the boy into her arms and squeezing the very breath out of him. After all, he was there for precisely the same reason as she – Peter Pan had discarded him. How could she say no to him? They were practically kindred spirits.
And up until that very moment, Wendy had not even realized how strongly she had been in need of truly caring for something, or someone, the way a real woman ought to.
Yes, the Circle had possessed a small void this whole time, hadn't it? Only now did Wendy see it, plain as the daylight which currently alluded the island. And little Ram Eye appeared the very beacon of opportunity to fulfill that space.
"Well, darling?" came Hook's voice wedging between her thoughts. "What thinkest thou?" Surely, she was thinking the same thoughts as he, yes?
Had Wendy been of a more attentive mind, she would have highly appreciated the Captain's request for her appraisal of the situation. But instead, she swept past the pirate and crouched to her knees before the child, her entire soul smiling. She took the tiny hands within hers and beamed.
"It would be perfectly lovely to have you aboard our ship," she declared, much to Ram Eye's instant merriment. "Wouldn't it, James?"
Wendy did not look at the Captain when she asked this, but when she received no immediate reply, only then did she cast eyes on him.
Receiving her gaze, Hook let fall his own uncertain countenance in favor of a more generous one.
"If you wish it," he drawled with a half-grin.
"Then 'tis settled!" Wendy exclaimed, pulling the boy into a bruising embrace from which he made no attempt to escape. In the background, Hook strived to share his lover's enthusiasm, but it proved too laborious an undertaking.
"But, first things first," said Wendy firmly, "That name of yours – 'Ram Eye'. Ugh! It has simply got to go!"
The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Ye don't think 'twould meke a fine pyrate neme?"
Wendy waved a hand in dismissal. "You shall have a pirate name later, once you've earned it. But until that time, you need a proper Christian name. So, what would you like to be called?"
"Me?" his eyes widened. "Erm...I...I...I wouldn't rightly know, Miss!" He felt terribly ignorant. "Wha'do YOU think I ought ta be called?"
"Well," Wendy mulled. "How about...Geoffrey!"
"Geoffrey?"
"Yes! I've always been partial to the name."
The former Ram Eye smiled, relieved that this game appeared over. "Thank ye, Miss Wendy. I should very much like to be called Geoffrey. What say ye, Cap'n?"
Hook studied the peculiar scene before him, of his Wendy coddling up to the soiled, pint-sized ruffian as if a little girl who had just adopted a wounded animal. How easy it would be to say No to her, to keep the Circle exclusive between only he and she. But he knew fully that to say No would be to keep the Circle exclusive to only he alone.
Alas, once more, the Captain assailed himself to a smile.
"Splendid."