Norrington: "You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."
Jack Sparrow: "But you have heard
of me."
A slight breeze blew over the town and the sun pierced the blue sky. It seemed like it was going to be another godsend of a day, like the previous days, but there was also somehow a foreboding feeling in the wind. It symbolized the nice days were fading and winter was almost there.
The town was stirring. The smell of baking bread, sweet and warm, could be smelled almost all the way to the lush city of West Port. Fishermen were repairing their ancient nets for the umpteenth time that week, seeing if they could haul one more catch out of their deteriorated netting. The stalls were opening and ships were preparing to sell their wares and pull out of the dreadful town, glad they wouldn't have to return there- -until next year.
The golden rays of the sun were in the process of waking all the late risers, bringing them into wakefulness. Many protested the wake-up call, but no one could escape the sun's ability to bring them out of slumber and into alertness. The day was upon you, whether you liked it or not.
The sun was warm on Jack Sparrow's face and he turned on his side to escape the light that he could feel on his eyelids. He saw the customary red that one saw when their eyes were closed and the sun was shining on them. Sighing, realizing that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, he opened his eyes. He wasn't prepared for the blinding light that hit him. He rubbed his eyes slowly and sat up on his straw bed. He had slept late. Usually he got up with the sun, but his mother wasn't there to wake him before she went to work at the Fairmont estate.
His mother. Realizing why she wasn't there to wake him hit him suddenly, full-force in the chest. The air was almost knocked out of him. She was at the barber dying. He had to get dressed and go see her.
He rubbed his eyes and rose. He looked out the dirty window and watched as the sun continued its assent up into the air. The glare of the sun seemed to burn his retinas and after a few moments he had to look away. He walked to the end of the room where on the corner of the table his comb awaited. He brushed through his hair absentmindedly, already thinking of the time that he would see his mother again. He didn't know what he would do if it was his last.
He looked in the tiny mirror that was in the corner of the room and sighed with a youth's disdain. He looked tired. His slender shoulders heaved as if he had the weight of something foreboding and powerful on them. For a moment he looked like the Jack Sparrow that he had seen in his dream. Suddenly the sea didn't seem to be such a friendly and hypnotic place, but rather a prison where one would grow old alone. He turned and walked with weighted feet to the door.
There was no lock on the old wooden door—not that anyone would want to break into. The homes that got robbed were in lush West Port, not Stonewall. He walked quickly and with great purpose down the cobblestone street, his ankle-length boots clopping on the stones as he almost sprinted to the barber, and his mother.
X X X
The town of Stonewall had one barber and one physician to operate it. Needless to say, the place was always teeming with the sick that needed to have their fluids let to rid themselves of their poisoned blood. It was a rickety old building that was way past its prime. The barber himself was just a decrepit old man with a sight problem. People only came to him if they were deathly ill. Terrible home remedies that left one sick for days were better than the agonizing death that was given courtesy of John the Bleeder.
It wasn't that he killed people on purpose, but rather he was too old to do the job. He had quivering fingers that would cause his knife to miss its mark, causing the patient to bleed to death. Sometimes he couldn't stop the bleeding, even if he did the letting properly, and the person bled to death anyway. Others would get raging fevers after his "care" and would die. Jack believed this had something to do with fact he didn't clean the wound like all the other barbers did. He never before had been inside the place but he had passed it everyday when he would walk down to port to see the ships. He had never had his blood let by anyone, and he prayed to God that he would never have to.
He reached the building quickly and approached the ancient door. He knocked very carefully, fearing that the door itself would collapse if the force of his fist was too much. The knock made a soft thud and inside the one-room building he could here someone stirring. The door opened slowly and he saw the hunched over form of John Baker, the infamous bleeder.
The first thing that he noticed was the thick almost black blood that coated both of his hands. He had an apron that was equally bloody, with stains that were in various stages of drying. He was hunched over and he had short, thinning hair that was pure white and eyes that were a tired blue. He had once been tall, but now he was gnarled as an old tree. He swallowed hard and spoke to the man loudly:
"Sir, could you tell me where my mother is?"
He answered back in a thick accented voice:
"It depends boy, who is you mother?"
He swallowed again as the man stepped towards him. He smelled of death and the metallic stench of blood. He spoke his mother's name like it was a foreign language, and indeed it was, for he had never said it before. He hadn't needed to.
"Mrs. Jacqueline Sparrow."
"Ah, let me see."
He stood there and wondered for a moment saying the name over and over.
"Sparrow, Sparrow. I know that name from somewhere…., his voiced trailed off as realization hit him.
"Ah yes, the late Jonathan Sparrow's Wife."
Jack's voiced cracked after hearing his father's voice. The name sounded like a different tongue.
"Yes sir."
"Come in then boy, but I must warn you, the things you will see in here no young boy such as yourself should have to see.
"Sir, I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm twelve, almost thirteen."
His old withered face cracked a small smile.
"Just the same I thought I'd warn you child."
The man stepped aside and he ushered the boy in. Jack obediently followed, but not before taking one last breath of fresh air. It might be the last taste of clean air he would have for a while.
If he had thought the smell to be bad on the outside it was now ten times worse on the inside. He could only take small breaths; otherwise he feared he'd gag on the foul stench in the air. The blood's metallic and strong odor hit him hard. It worked its way into his clothes and he feared that he would never be able to wear the clothing again without thinking of the smell. The room was filled with cots that had straw mattresses on them. Each cot had a patient on them who were in different stages of illness and dying. They walked farther into the room, to the back where the letting was going on. Old John passed them without even giving them a glance, but Jack stared in nauseous agony at them. They walked past a patient lying on a cot curtain that was pulled back next to him. His arm was hanging off the cot and when Jack looked to the floor he was greeted with the sight of the man's blood flowing into a wooden bowl through a gaping hole in his arm. Jack almost vomited then and grabbed his stomach, as if by doing that would calm it. Obviously Jack had disturbed the Bleeder's work.
When John realized that Jack was lagging behind and staring at the patient , he walked back to him and pulled the curtain back, obscuring the man from his view. He could still make out is shadow through the thin cloth. He then continued walking and Jack fixed his eyes straight ahead and didn't dare to look from side to side again.
They approached a door that led to another room. When John the Bleeder reached the door he turned and leaned against it.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Jack raised his chin and answered with all the force and bravery that he could muster.
"Yes sir, I am. I have to see my mother again."
The old man regarded Jack for a moment and then nodded and answered with a half sigh.
"Alright then, but I warned you."
He opened the door slowly, and there was no smell, not anything. Just the stillness and quiet of death. Jack's resolve wavered but he stepped inside. When he noticed that John wasn't coming in he hesitated and looked at the old man expectantly. The man shook his head.
"As you know I am always busy so I won't be coming in. Is that alright?"
Jack nodded and went in closing the door and leaving the smell and suffering behind him.
He surveyed the room. It was small and very dim. There was a small window at the back of the room and it cast a gray light throughout the room. On the left on the room there was a man that was deathly pale. He was sleeping, taking shallow breaths. On the right there was the still form of his mother. He walked to the cot and knelt on the floor next to it.
He touched her shoulder with his hand and tried to stir her into wakefulness. He called her over and over again.
"Mother, Mother wake up please."
Slowly as if she had been far away on the other side of the world she stirred and half opened her eyes. She spoke in a small whisper that he had to strain to hear.
"Oh Jack you're here."
She tried to smile but fell short.
Jack looked at her pale face, the graying eyes, and tired expression. He barely recognized her. She was fading fast and there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. He didn't even know what was wrong with her. He swallowed hard and chocked back tears.
Sensing his pain his mother slowly reached up cupped his cheek.
"Don't be sad Jackie, it will be alright. The Myrna's will take care of you after…"
For once he did not reprimand her for using his nickname. They sat in silence for a while, and Jack broke it with tears in his voice.
"Mum, you know that I love you right?"
She nodded painfully with tears in her eyes.
"Yes and I love you."
She tried to sit up but she fell back onto the cot. She coughed for a few moments and then she stilled again. She looked at her son and spoke.
"Jack I never told you about your father and I still don't think that I can. I've been hiding something from you, we all have.
"We?"
"The Myrna's and I."
"Tell me mother, please."
"No. Mr. and Mrs., Myrna could tell it like I never could. You see I never knew him when he…"
She trailed off as another fit of coughing accompanied by gasping hit her. She seemed to convulse and then as quickly as it came it stopped.
"Ask them Jack, they'll tell you."
"Promise me when you find out you won't be angry at me for not telling you."
"Mum, I could never be mad at you."
Her voice grew desperate.
"Promise me Jack."
He gulped and chocked out an answer:
"Yes mother I promise."
"And never forget me…."
With that she took another gasping breath and her eyes closed.
For a moment he sat there shocked. He looked at her form and didn't know what to do. Then suddenly the tears came. Racking sobs hit him and the hot tears hit her body leaving water stains on her blouse. He was lost in a sea of grief and pain. He had lost his only family and would have to face life alone. No one felt his pain or could understand. it. Time stood still and nothing was there except him, his mother and his anguish. He put his head on her chest and let go of his pain. He embraced her dead form and wept.
X X X
The funeral was held a few days later with few in attendance. The scant number of people that had been friends with his mother came as well as the Myrna family. Old John the barber was in attendance as well. Surprisingly the lord's aide Mr. Foster cam bearing flowers that he said came from the whole household with great sympathy.
The day was sunny and the priest that did the ceremony was very good. He spoke clearly and with purpose as the casket was lowered into the ground. Jack barely heard or noticed what was going on.
"Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies."
Not for the first time since the passing of his mother the night before Jack thought about his future. Where would he stay? What would he do? The Myrna's were getting on in years and they wouldn't be able to care for him for long and then he would be left alone. Again. The more he thought of these things the more fearful and confused he felt.
"When I stand in glory I will see His face and there I'll serve my King for ever in that holy place. Amen."
How could he take care of himself? Was he ready? What if he couldn't? Could he go on?
'I am the light of the world; he who follows me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life."
If something happened to him would anyone miss him, or would he be forgotten? Was life on the sea the only option, or did he have no options left?
"For God so loved the world that he gave his
only begotten son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have
eternal life. Amen."
The people left and Jack was left standing there and he watched as the dirt was slowly poured over the grave plot. The diggers packed the dirt down and the tombstone was visible again after they too left. Jonathan and Jacqueline Sparrow was all that it read. His father's birth date had been unknown and so had his mothers, both for different reasons. His mother was poor and her date didn't matter and his father… Well he didn't know why that was so. He had never known him. He had died before he was born. It didn't really matter know.
He turned from the grave stone and looked to the hill that was nearby. The Myrna's were there and they were waiting to take him home. He walked towards them and they started for the Myrna household.
The Myrna's were not rich but they lived comfortably. They had three rooms; two bedrooms and one main room. They actually had real beds and not just mounds of straw. Jack moved the few belongings that he had to the home and they had sold the house and had received what it was worth, which wasn't much. He would try his best to make their house a home but his heart would always be with that little hovel in the bad end of town.
Jack went and sat in the main room and stared at the window, imagining that he was somewhere else and that his mother was alive. He was a rich merchant and she had everything that she wanted. The Myrna's were there too and they were both laughing and smiling right along with him. The sun was shining and he was happy.
He blinked and was instantly back in the household of the Myrna family and it was raining. It hadn't stopped raining since the night before after his mother's funeral.
Her funeral… It was hard for his young mind to think of her as dead; he could still feel her. He closed his eyes and he could see her face smiling at him. His mother would follow him in spirit and would never leave him, unless he wanted her to. And he never would. He would carry her inside his heart 'till he joined her in death.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see who it was. It was Mrs. Myrna. She looked at him with a sympathetic and knowing smile.
"Jack, she said gently, it's time to eat."
He nodded and walked to the table. He sat down across from Mr. Myrna and Jack ate without saying anything. Jacob and his wife spoke to each other and Jack sat and absentmindedly played with his food, moving his fish slowly across his plate. He sat and thought about his mother again and this time his father was there in his daydream. He had never seen his father before, but he knew that it was him. He was tall and strong and his smile was true and pure. He ran towards them and he embraced them both, and they just stood that way for a while, making up for the fact that they had never actually been that way.
He shook his head and removed himself from those thoughts. He remembered that his mother had told him to ask the Myrna's about his father. He knew they would tell him if he asked.
He spoke up and startled them.
"Mr. and Mrs. Myrna I want you to tell me about my father."
The fork fell from Jacob Myrna's hand and clattered onto his plate.