Daughter of the Dutchman: Questions, Confrontations, and Death
My father's offer began to plague my mind as the day went on. One side of me asked: was it smart? What would mother think? Or Jack? What if I didn't want to go when he came back, in ten years? What if I turned out to be bitter, like Jack, about him not being there? What if, what if, what if ….
The other said: of course it's smart. Mother won't care by then, Jack won't either. You'll cross that bridge when it shows up.
All throughout my internal interrogation, my mother was happier than ever. She talked, for hours it seemed. She smiled more in an hour then I had ever remembered her. I could count on one hand the number of times she really let herself laugh before he came.
I wished he wouldn't leave. I loved watching my mother be truly happy.
And I knew it would pass almost as soon as he left.
One really embarrassing story was about how I had gone a whole day wearing a powdered wig I had "borrowed" from the local courthouse when I was five. My father was tousling my hair when Jack stormed into the house.
"Don't. Touch. Her." Jack's eyes narrowed as he glared at Father.
Father looked at Jack with a blank face that said nothing. He slid his hand down the back of my neck and around my waist. "Why shouldn't I?" He asked evenly. "Calypso is my daughter."
"Because you don't have the right. Because you don't belong here. Because you are nothing, just a filthy pirate!"
Mother was a pirate too, I wanted to add, but I felt it wasn't necessary. Jack knew, but was ignoring it.
Father sighed, ran a hand through his curly black hair (his bandana left on the floor in my mother's bedroom), and stood up slowly.
He met his son's eyes with tired acceptance. "William."
"My name is not William!" Jack almost shouted.
"Yes it is! And the man you took the name Jack from is also a famous pirate. How can you call us 'filthy'?" my mother interjected, still sitting at the table.
Father had leaned against the window frame, watching the gulls circle over the sea. "Most of the Earth is water," he said patiently, as if nothing had been said. "The ocean is a dangerous place, yet we have to cross it sometimes. Odds are you'll die at sea."
I frowned; I didn't like the idea of drowning.
"And whose job will it be to ferry your soul to the other side? For now, me. I don't know who will be next. I probably don't want to know." He whispered these last sentences: "I just don't want to live without your mother. A world without her is not worth living in."
Jack was silent for a long time. I stared at him accusingly, angry that he had ruined everyone's good mood. Mother joined Father at the window after a few minutes of silence.
Jack scowled, muttered something under his breath to the effect of: "Go to hell", and left, banging the door behind him.
We all sighed in unison. Then we laughed at it, and started talking again. But Jack's evil thoughts poisoned every thought, every action, every word.
The noon bell rung from the church in the village. He had eight hours left.