Chapter 3
Embroidery
I don't know how he did it. But that William Turner really brought us a sheet and some water, and a most welcome needle. No rum, much to Jack's dismay. The sheet is not clean, and the water not fresh. But this is as good as it gets on a ship in the open ocean, for two unlucky pirates in the hold. Really unlucky we are, falling from one misery into another. Actually, we hadn't planned to leave the Pearl for more than two days. Now we've been gone for ... like ... two weeks I'd say. And I have no idea when we shall see her again.
"I'll get to cleaning your wounds now, alright?"
All that pain has become some much incorporated into my days that I can hardly imagine not to wake up to my aching body every day. I don't even manage to really bother anymore. More pain? No difference.
"Aye, just go ahead."
Jack leans over me and punches me in the face.
"Ouch! Are you mad?" I shriek. I wasn't prepared for THAT kind of pain.
"Can you please invest so much care as to knock me out instantly, and not all my teeth first!"
"Sorry. I didn't do it intentionally. Not so easy to beat me own brother, savvy?"
"You had no problem with that when we were kids." Jack smirks.
The next punch must have been a better one, because the cuts are clean and burning when I awake again. Jack is braiding his beard, very unsuccessfully. I clear my throat.
"Come here," I say, "Let me do that." It is hard to raise my arms, but I keep telling myself that I simply will have to move again, some time. So I face the pain and reach for his chin.
"Jack."
"What?"
"What will we do if they let us go? Will they let us go?"
"Aye, sure they will. They said we'd be members of this crew, and they did all that court and branding stuff. They'll let us go some time, don't worry."
"You're avoiding my first question."
He looks at me, and it scares me to see his gaze is a sad one.
He says, "But you were avoiding it yourself by asking another one right after it."
Damn. He's right. So I avoid admitting this by being silent. When I finish braiding his goatee, he gets the needle.
"I'll try to sew some of the deeper cuts. They'll heal better."
I extend my right arm towards him, silent and obedient.
"Enjoy yerself."
Jack is fighting with some of my hair and the needle. Hair is used for sewing wounds. It is natural to the body, or so I figure, and it disappears after a while. You don't have to pluck it out again. ... well, and besides that, we wouldn't have something else anyway. Jack is using mine, for my hair is almost two times longer than his. Then, it is not in such a poor state as is his. And it's black; he can see it better. I think, when it comes to hair, I am the one who inherited the better part of our parent's gifts. I appreciate this. I keep it braided, in what are seven or so braids; I comb it; and whenever I'm given the chance, which is not often, I wash it. Easy as that. Just lucky, I guess. For once.
"Argh, curse you!"Jack flicks the strand to the ground, "I need another one of that hair of yours. This was a really bad one."
He reaches out and plucks one. I am too tired to react, even though it hurts. When he's beginning to sew the cut that almost splits my lip, he starts talking to me casually, to distract me, since he failed so bravely when he punched me last time. I focus on the tone of his voice because it hurts too much to listen to him anyway.
When he's moving on to the cuts on my arms, I begin to listen to him again. It doesn't hurt as much.
Jack says: "... and once we get back to the Pearl, we get ye a nice wooden eye!"
I open my clenched teeth to hiss: "You must be mad. No way I'm getting a wooden eye. You know how stupid Ragetti looks."
"One made of glass maybe?"
"Do you think it would look any better? And it would be of no use. A prosthetic will not make me see again. I don't want a substitute for the eye. It's gone and it was meant to be this way. I'm not hiding from that."
Jack is silent then, apparently thinking about what I have said. The beads in his hair jiggle faintly as he looks up, a bright smile in his eyes.
"D'you want me to embroider me name?"
I wake because there's a rumor on the aisle. Many voices. They bring in people. More prisoners. I rise to my elbows. It still hurts to move, but I feel much better now. Jack has done a good job sewing my sore skin. I look over to where the light comes from the open porch. It hurts in the empty socket every time I move my eyes. But I have got used to the headaches.
The people they bring are strange looking. Dark tan, long black hair, weird clothing. ... well, until now I have to admit they look, by description, like Jack and me. But they are not pirates, obviously. Not even sailors, it seems. ... well, sailors they could be, but not on a merchant or a Navy ship for sure. Native people from an island of Indonesia, I'd say. They wear skirts made of bamboo or some other plant. Chains with horn pendants around their necks. And I marvel at their tattoos. Very fine lines, covering their faces and chests and arms, patterns that look like plants, weaving around them in spirals and waves. I have never seen artwork of this beauty. I count seven men, and a boy that is not older than ten. Navy men lock them in the cell next to ours. They are incredibly beautiful, all of them. I have to force myself to look away. Look at Jack instead, who doesn't look beautiful at the moment. He pretends to be sleeping.
"I know you're awake." I say softly.
He shoves his hat backwards. Yawns. Glances at me.
"You moved."
"Apparently."
"Sit up."
"I can't. This far and no farther."
He gets on his knees and reaches out for me.
"You can. Give me your hand."
"I really don't want to."
Jack looks at me and frowns. "Alright then."
He returns into his sleeping position and puts the hat over his eyes once more. I lie back onto William Turner's jacket, feeling weak and ashamed suddenly. I know I should have let him help me sit up. I'm trying to avoid the pain. Any pain.
Later, it must be night by now, a soft singing comes through the air. It arises among the strange men next to us. I see Jack is sitting by my side, looking over to them, listening to the tune. He turns his head to face me when I'm stirring. I'm on my elbows again. Look at Jack. Hesitate. I'm still not anxious for more pain. But then I hold out my hand towards him. He grabs it and helps me to sit up. It does not exactly feel like what one would call comfortable. I can feel every muscle contort in the motion. I feel the skin stretch over my back. Hot and stinging. It feels like it takes a few minutes for me to sit up. I wish I could not feel at some moments. But I am sitting finally. Breathe heavily.
Listen to the singing, don't listen to the pain.
Jack holds me by the shoulders.
"Alright?" I nod: "Alright."
He moves behind me so that I can rest my back against him. So we sit for a while, hearing words in a tongue we can't understand, a strange melody that tells its own tale to everyone of us. Even the Corr men on the other side of the aisle have moved up to listen, and it seems like the singing evokes some feelings in each one of the prisoners on the Navy vessel, in that night. In one of the cells, two sparrows are sitting next to each other, dreaming of a time that is long gone, of a time when it was them against the world. It will never be like it once was. None of them feels like singing anymore.
The singer stops. The silence is like a blow, aimed at each one of us. I lean forward slowly and grasp the iron bars of the cell wall. To look over at them. One of them lifts his head and looks back at me. We keep staring for some seconds. I try to find the patterns of his facial tattoo in the eerie moonlight, and he probably wonders about the scars on my lips and cheeks. Something moves in front of him. I realize it is the boy. He turns around to face me as well. I see he is crying. Bite my lips. It must be terrible for him to be caught here, in a world he can't understand, both in language and culture. I remember I felt like that so often when I was a child. I reach up to my hair. Begin to open one of the plaits and take off a trinket. We do not exactly keep these for the looks, even though I must say I like the looks, too. They are like a purse, and these Navy men are unlikely to have heard about that because they didn't take them away. I have the bead in my hand now, tie a knot to the end. It is of bright colors and shiny silver. I reach out, as far as the bars will allow, towards the other cell.
"Ah ... what is it exactly that you are doing?", Jack asks, but I chose to ignore him.
The child is still looking at me. I can't reach it, so I toss the trinket for the rest of the way. It falls before the child's feet. The boy hesitates and looks at me, my arm still sticking out from the bars. I realize there is a tiny streak of blood traveling towards my wrist from one of the cuts. The boy watches it, too. When the drip has arrived at my knuckles, he picks up the charm and looks at it. The silver coin that is the pendant on the end of it reflects the little light that comes in through a crack in the planks. The reflection hits his face and sets a sparkle into his eyes. He looks back at me and there is a faint smile playing around his lips. I feel my lips part to smile back at him.
A man in a white shirt appears in front of our cell. "Gentlemen, my name is Stevens. I am the surgeon of this vessel."
"You heard the fuss Doc Stevens is making about them pirates?"
William Turner shook his head no. The crewman leaned closer to him: "He told the Captain that we were nothing but animals if we kept them in the hold like that. The Doc was actually screaming, something like, 'We are Englishmen, not savages!' Because one of them is hurt and things. He actually made the Captain move them to sick bay. Said with all the wounded crewmen it was impossible for him to make the way to the brig daily to treat the pirate adequately. Weird guy that Stevens, is he?"
William shrugged.
"That man is really badly hurt. I saw him. I'm not sure if he can survive. I mean, he really needs the doctor."
"He's a pirate, for goodness sake. We should hang him, shoot him or throw him overboard, not waste medication on him."
"If that's what you think."
The crewman pulled a face. "Well, then do you think he would take pity on you if he found you hurt and he came to claim all your possessions?"
"I ..." William had to think about that. "I don't know. Maybe. But then ... he might not."
The other man laughed. "Sure as bloody hell not!"
William looked at him: "But does that change the situation? What else but pirates would we be if we chose not to help him?"
"Oh please, Turner. A true miracle you survived until now."
"Did your cell mate sew the cuts?"
"Yes."
"Astoundingly well done. Given he relied on such poor means. He's your brother, isn't he?"
"Indeed."
"Will you tell me your name?"
I frown: "Of course. Is there a reason why I should not?"
The surgeon thinks about that, and when he shakes his head, I say: "Hal Sparrow."
I wonder why he hasn't heard it when they branded us. Maybe he wasn't there. Or he just doesn't know what else to say to me.
He states: "Very well."
"What is your name, then?"
"I already told you it was Stevens."
"I told you I am Hal Sparrow. What is your first name?"
"This is not proper manners, and none of your business."
"It may have escaped your grasp, but I am a criminal. Manners is not what is expected to be found with me, and everything is my business."
"Oh, and he is, too, a man of wit." He turns around, and says, over his shoulder: "You shouldn't do that much of a talking with that wound in your lip."
I'm dropping in an out of sleep, and I have strange dreams due to the fever. I don't know how many days pass. Some days. Many days.
"What has happened to you?"
"What do you mean? Where I got the wounds from? Since you're a doctor, I would hope you recognize them as flogging wounds."
I look him into his eyes when I say this, and am amazed at how uncomfortable it makes him feel.
"So do you mean why I was beaten?"
When I say 'beaten', he looks away. I smile. Aye, they beat me. No need for you to feel ashamed of that. Interesting you do, though.
He hesitates, then he says: "Why, yes."
"The pirate Captain whose crew is in the hold-"
Jack interferes, "The OTHER pirate Captain whose crew is in the hold."
I have to grin on that, then I continue: "Captain Corr, whose crew happens to be held prisoner on this vessel as well, he is not exactly what one would consider one of our dearest friends. We had an argument, just the way it happens when people who are in the same business disagree. What you see on my torso is the result."
Jack grins now: "You are so well spoken, Hal."
I grin too. "I know."
The young Ensign who is in charge of prisoner surveillance watches us. He's a few years younger than me. And he looks worn out. Incredibly worn out. Probably the first time he is among so many bad men. Lascars, pirates, savages, any you're in charge of them all, now can it get worse? I notice him staring at me since he came down here. I must be a sight for sure, beaten up as I am, a bloody cloth stuffed inside where once my eye has been. I know the lascars are always quite a sight to other sailors, all shiny and colorful, but mind you, lethal; and we know that wounded men do attract spectators, just as executions do. Now, I wonder, what sort of an attraction must a wounded lascar be? The Ensign does think me sleeping for certain, because he is venturing pretty close to observe. I, for my part, observe him through a barely opened eye. When his face approaches mine, I have to fight the notion of screaming 'boo!' at him. He looks at the cloth covering my eye.
And I whisper: "Do you want me to take it off?"
I must say the effect is rather similar to boo-ing him. He jerks backwards in a start and gasps. I smirk, turn my head to face him, now with my eye open.
"Really, it's not a problem. If you are interested, come and take a closer look."
He throws a stern glance at me and then he is off, quickly.
Jack eyes me: "You know it's not an extraordinarily brilliant idea to mistreat that gentleman." Then he chuckles, "T'was funny, though."
"Jack?" I ask into the darkness.
No answer. I sit up slowly. To find Jack by my side, sleeping. I feel a smile tracing its way across my face. I love to watch him in his sleep. I'm feeling protective over him, in a way. He's the older brother, sure, and he has always been there to care for me. But then ... he's really not that much older. Three years. I mean what is that. And we have been together all our lives basically. Well, been together continually since Jack came back from Europe. I was about 10 at that time. So for eleven years now, we have been sailing together. And I have always seen to taking a little care of him, too, if I can dare say. I don't dare say that to him for sure. Well, I dare say, but I chose not to. I see no need to wake a sleeping dog. Or a sleeping pirate. I reach over to him, to brush his hair out of his face. When I touch his cheek, I twitch back, startled. He is hot. Steaming hot. "Jack!" I reach out and take his face in my hands. Drops of his sweat run down his face and onto the backs of my hands. I wipe his brow.
"Good Gracious ... Jack! Wake up!"
He's unconscious, shallow breath.
"Stevens!" I scream, "Stevens! Help me!"
The surgeon appears. I look up at him, still holding Jack's face in my hands. "Please, help him. He's taken ill."
And this time, it's me, sitting by Jack's side, his head in my lap. I dry the sweat on his forehead. I stroke his cheek. I hold his hand. I'm kneeling beside him, even though my skin hurts and my joints hurt and headaches are rolling to and fro in my mind.
Why, tell me why this happens to me? Tell me why they beat the shit out of me and now I am here, I chose not to die for whoever's sake and now Jack might die for no sake at all. Don't do this to me, I can't handle that. I can't even sit straight. I can't even move my legs properly. It feels as if three sharks chew at my back whenever I move. Every turning of my head makes sweat break out of every pore I have. I am so tired. Please, I cannot go through this with him. I need his help. I have nothing to give. Please, let me sleep. Him being sick is the last thing I need at the moment.
God, why am I thinking like this. He was there for me when he could have escaped the Navy. He did not leave me. I owe this to him. I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Okay ... I can do this. I can handle this. I'm feeling perfectly well. I'm strong. I am there for him. I will help him through this.
Jack stares at me. I hold out the charm in my right hand, for him to look at.
"Look what Kala gave me!"
It's a tiny chain, with even tinier pendants. Jack's eyes sparkle.
"Give it to me!"
I withdraw my hand.
"But it's mine. She gave it to me."
"I want one, too!"
I look at the shiny silver on my palm. Shall I give it to him if he wants it, is it fair if I have one and he has not? But Kala gave it to me and she said she made it for me especially. What would Jack give me in return? Or would he give it to me if it were his? No. He would tease me. So what reason have I got to be nice? I grin and wave it in front of his face.
"But you can't have it. It's MINE!"
Jack lets out a cry and jumps at me, I shriek and run off. He's following me, swearing loudly.
I wake when a drip of sweat from my nose falls down onto Jack's neck. I wipe my face. I have been asleep sitting up. I am so tired. I am so hungry. I am incredibly thirsty. I have used all my water rations on Jack. He is so hot, he sweats so much, he needs every drop of fluid he can get. Well, aside from my sweat maybe. I wipe his neck clear.
"Jack? Can you hear me?"
He cannot hear me.
I stand with my back against the wall, and there are shivers running down my spine. I feel my jaw is trembling. My palms lie flat on the cold stones. I'm dead scared, I am so scared. So scared I can't open my eyes. I feel my breath passing my lips. I feel him close. And he's coming closer. He pushes me against the stone. Is it not enough he almost flogged me to death, and took my eye? I want to get away. He sinks his hand into my hair. Turns my head to face him.
"Open your eye."
I will not. I dare not.
"Open ... your ... eye."
Slowly, my lids part, even tough I press them shut. No, wait, my lids are closed. But I can see through them suddenly. I don't want to look at him, I don't want to see him. But I must. So I look up.
And see Jack.
"I have something for you."
A hand on my shoulder, I wake with a start, my head jerks to the left, my hand grabs the arm that reached for me, I have to turn my head a little further to see with my good eye. And I see the young Ensign, the one who is in charge. I need a few seconds to fully recognize him. I keep staring at him with my eye wide open, my head turned unnaturally far to the left. Breathing hard, my mouth gaping. Shadows of a nightmare still smoking in my mind.
Then I close my mouth, and blink. Gulp. Slowly shake my head, as if to scatter the clouds surrounding my head. I look at Jack, then back at the Navy man.
"Pardon me?"
I am shocked how weak and feeble my voice sounds at that moment. He holds out a canteen for me.
"I have some more water for you."
I take the bottle and drink eagerly. The water floats down my throat. It feels incredibly good. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. And sigh. The holes in my lip hurt when I touch them. They are not closing correctly. I hand the canteen back to him.
"Thank you. You are kind."
He holds the bottle in his hands, turning it.
"No," he says, "I am just in charge."
I smile on that. Always by the book.
"I thank you either way."
"Better not thank me too early."
I frown, "How could I possibly thank you too early for a thing you have already done?"
He wants to answer that, but then he closes his mouth he as already opened to speak.