Norrington walks past the cell. I sit up quickly from the straw.
"Commodore?"
He stops hesitantly. Apparently he wanted to dash by rather hurriedly. Avoiding me, are you, Edward.
"Captain?"
"May I muster the debauchery of invoking ... yet another ... last request?"
"If it is going to be the definite last." He bestows me a smile. One that lightens my heart.
"I believe there is someone out there, waiting for me ... a bedraggled creature ... a canine. A dog ... my dog."
The smile continues to play around his lips. "Go on, Captain Sparrow."
I rise and slowly walk towards him. Raise my hands to clasp the iron bars, but put them down again when I see he is tempted to shrink back.
"Would it be ... can you ... can you let it in?"
"Well ... it is a dog and the guards might argue it will bite."
I chuckle on that. "That dog is nearly 17 years old. It has practically no teeth left in his mouth. But your guards might argue it will spit at them."
Norrington continues to smile while he looks at me. I hold his gaze. His eyes sparkle. I return the smile. I'm not sure my eye sparkles. I'm tired and I feel dried up allover. But I appreciate his presence, and his care. I want to make sure he knows. Maybe I should just say it. Thank you. For the care. Did I say it? He blinks, and finally looks away.
Sighs. "I'll see what I can do, Captain." He clicks his heels and turns. Walks down the corridor.
I step forward and put my hands through the bars.
"Thank you, Commodore." Thank you for the care. Now I said it. I'm sure.
He slows down a little, but doesn't turn around.
"Always a pleasure, Captain Sparrow."
Only like half an hour later, I hear the tapping of familiar paws. Norrington brings me the dog, and a cup of soup.
"Darling.", I say and kneel down. She comes to me, to press her forehead against my sternum, the way she always does. "I missed you so much."
/I missed you, too. And it was wet outside./
She shakes herself, to spray Norrington and me with dirt.
/You could have let me in sooner./
"I'm sorry." I wrap my arms around her, and for some seconds, I just feel her warmth and her softness and her breathing and her heartbeat. Then, Norrington touches my shoulder and holds out his hand with the soup. I stirr, look up at him and reach out. For an instance, I hold his hands that hold the cup.
"I am forever in your debt, Commodore."
"No, Captain, you aren't. I would like to believe we are even. In truth, I can never make the debts up to you, I'm afraid."
I drink from the soup. Swallow, and never cease to look at him.
"No, Commodore. No debts."
I hesitate, before I go on. I risk making a complete fool of myself, kneeling before that man and talking about love. But I decide I'll just risk that.
And so I say: "I loved her, you loved her, and I shall like to believe she loved us. So there is no debt, there is ... there's love. That does at least feel better."
He frowns, ponders, and finally nods. Wants to say something, but is interrupted by the sight of the dog drinking out of the soup cup I offer her. I can tell he is seriously disgusted. I smile on that. But he manages to stay until I raise the cup and take another mouthful of soup for myself again. With a grunt, he leaves.
The dog chuckles. /A weird man, that one./
"Yeah, but he is a good man."
/I can tell he is. He's been treating you nicely./ She turns her head to look at the place where he vanished. /He better. I would have killed him otherwise./
"I can see that."
She throws a glance at me. /Don't make fun of me./
"I wouldn't dare. I can see that indeed."
She smiles, and, with a sigh, places her head on my shoulder. /Good boy./
But again, Norrington comes back, to see the dog and me, in each others arms, on the straw.
"Do you need some medical care, for the ... the head?"
He gestures towards the bloody hairless spot where some person in the crowd tore out one of my plaits, when they walked me to my crewmen's execution.
"No, no thank you, it's okay."
I know I better stopped talking right now. But the words keep rolling forth from my mouth. Maybe I don't want him to leave.
"It doesn't really hurt, it's just ... well ... I just like my hair. But ... y'know ... I think it's the least I am expected to worry about, considering I am looking forward to what is going be my hanging, no? ... and asides, I still have the prettiest tattoos."
I smile, a wry smile, and stroke the dog, and feel tears collecting in my eyes.
I try to face him, but decide I have cried enough in front of this man. So I quickly bury my head in the dog's fur. Swallow the sob. Maybe he doesn't notice. Then, what does it change if he notices. Maybe I want him to notice. To pity me. Pity me! Go away! Stay! I don't need you! I do need you! Do! Don't! Don't. Don't ... leave me alone. I fall from euphoria to hysteria to depression. And back. What is the appropriate state of mind to be in before your hanging?
Are there guide books for that?