The Hook (1991)

by Terry Brooks

  The Hook (1991)

  Terry Brooks

  Terry Brooks

  The Hook (1991)

  Author's Note

  "How far back can you remember?"

  Peter swallowed. "I was cold, alone…" He stopped, angry now. "I can't remember! No one knows where I came from! You told me I was a foundling!"

  ' I found you," Wendy cut him short. "I did." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "Peter, you must listen to me now. And believe. You and I played together as children. We had wonderful adventures together. We laughed, we cried." She paused. "And we flew."

  Peter tried unsuccessfully to pull away. Something unpleasant was stirring inside him, something beyond the reach of his memory.

  Granny Wendy bent close, her face only inches from his own. "The stories are true. I swear to you. I swear it by everything I adore. Peter-don't you realize who you are?"

  She released him then and pried open the book from between his fingers. She paged through it desperately and stopped. She tapped the page.

  Peter Banning looked down. The book lay open to an illustration of Peter Pan, legs spread, hands on hips, head cocked back as he prepared to crow…

  This is a story about Peter Pan. It is not the story everyone knows, the one written by J. M. Barrie and read by wise children and curious adults for more than eighty years. It is not even one of the lesser-known Pan stories. It is too new for that, having not come about until just recently and well after J. M. Barrie's time. This is its first formal telling.

  This story is not just about Peter Pan either-no more so than any we know. It is about a good many things besides Peter himself, though he would be the last to admit that there were tales of any sort worth telling that did not concern themselves with him. The title, for instance, clearly indicates that the story is about someone other than just Peter. James Hook is central to the telling of any full-blown Pan tale, for every hero needs his villain. Prospective readers might also correctly point out that Peter Pan has already been used as a title and should not be pressed into service a second time simply to satisfy purists.

  This story begins many years after the first, long after Wendy, John, and Michael returned from their first adventure in Neverland. It is not concerned with Peter Pan as a boy, for all those tales have long since been told. It considers instead what happened when the unthinkable came to pass-when Peter Pan grew up.

  I relate this story to you as it was told to me, having tried the best I could to keep the details straight. I have embellished at times and commented when I could not make myself stay silent. All writers, I fear, have that failing.

  My apologies to J. M. Barrie for taking license with his

  vision and to others who have done so successfully before me.

  This story is about children and grown-ups and the dangers that arise when the former become the latter.

  It opens at a grade-school play.

  All Children,

  Except One,

  Grow Up

  "Shhhh!"

  The hushing rose in small bursts as the overhead lights clicked off, and the low din of voices engaged in idle conversation quickly died away. The members of the audience, young and old alike, straightened in their seats and faced uniformly toward the stage. There was activity behind the curtain, but it quickly faded into small squeaks and giggles. The curtain lifted slowly on a darkened setting, and the only light in the crowded multipurpose room of Franklin Elementary came from the green neon exit sign over the exterior wall door.

  Moira Banning, elegant and poised, every strand of her short-cropped chestnut hair in place, glanced past eleven-year-old Jack toward the back of the room, a hint of irritation flashing in her green eyes. Still no sign of Peter.

  Next to her, Jack Banning sat with his eyes facing front, waiting patiently for the play to begin. He was a small, elfin-featured boy with chocolate-brown hair and eyes and a tentative smile that suggested he was just a little doubtful about something.

  Lights came up on the stage, and from behind the audience a spotlight. A cardboard replica of Big Ben was caught in the narrow beam, the Roman numerals of its face pasted rather crookedly into place. From off stage, a scratchy recording of deep, sonorous chimes began to play.

  Bong. Bong. Bong…

  Moira smiled and nudged her son, who squirmed away.

  The chimes finished and a ticking began. Tick-tock, tick-tock. More stage lights came on, faintly illuminating a bedroom in which children slept. Two beds with covers concealed the number of sleepers from those one or two in the audience who didn't already know the story of Peter Pan. A chest of toys, some bookshelves, and a bureau completed the set.

  Then Peter Pan appeared, flying into view from off stage, suspended on a wire that shimmered like damp spider's webbing in the glare of the spotlight. Moira glanced past Jack once again, scanning the back of the room. Jack didn't need to ask who she was looking for or what the chances were of his dad being there.

  On stage, the second-grader who had won the favor of the play director and been given the choice role of Peter landed in a stumbling run that ended with his legs folding and his body skidding a half-dozen feet. Laughter rose from the audience. He scrambled up hurriedly, cast a chagrined look in the direction of the laughter, and turned toward the bureau.

  Immediately a flashlight beam directed from off stage darted erratically after him. Jack looked smug. Tinkerbell, of course. Peter rummaged through the bureau drawers and pulled out a piece of black cloth cut out in the shape of a boy. He held it up toward the audience so that no one would miss the significance of his discovery. Then he shut the bureau drawer behind him with the flashlight beam still darting about, and instantly the light winked out. Jack nodded solemnly. Tinkerbell was trapped. Just like in the book.

  Peter sat down with his shadow, played around with it for a bit as if trying to fasten it on, then threw it down rather dramatically and burst into fake tears.

  Jack rolled his eyes. Time for Maggie.

  His sister popped up on cue, tossing aside the bed covers, her strawberry-blond hair bouncing, her eyes wide. She was wearing her favorite cream nightshirt with violet hearts. "Boy, why are you crying?" she called out loud enough to be heard in the next county. Only seven years old maybe, but no one was going to ignore her tonight!

  "I'm not crying," Peter insisted.

  Wendy, whom Maggie was playing, jumped down from the bed and rushed over to pick up the discarded shadow. Kneeling, she pretended to sew it back on. When she was done, she rose and stepped back expectantly.

  Peter stood up and bowed politely from the waist, one hand crooked in front, one behind. A faerie greeting. Wendy immediately bowed back.

  "What is your name?" Peter asked.

  "Wendy Angela Moira Darling. What's yours?"

  "Peter Pan."

  "Where do you live?"

  "Second to the right and straight on till morning. I live in Neverland with the Lost Boys. They are the children who fall out of their prams when their nurses aren't looking. I'm their captain."

  Wendy beamed and clapped her hands. "What fun! Are there no girls?"

  "Oh, no," replied Peter, shaking his head emphatically. "Girls are much too clever to fall out of their prams."

  He moved back a step, spread his feet, and put his hands on his hips. The spotlight centered on him. He cocked his head back and crowed.

  Jack grimaced. Brother! Bring on the pirates!

  Suddenly a huge shadow passed into the light, casting itself onto the stage and swallowing up a now frightened Peter Pan. Heads swiveled curiously, a few anxiously. A man was making his way down the aisle, crouching now in an effort to escape the light, bumping into folding chairs and occupants as he went.

  "Sorry, excuse me
, pardon me," he whispered, bending and dipping and squinting into the dark.

  Attorney-at-law Peter Banning caught his toe on a chair leg and nearly went sprawling. "Quiet!" and "Shh!" were whispered at every turn. His boyish face smiled apologetically, a mop of unruly brown hair falling down over his forehead, the skin at the corners of his startlingly blue eyes crinkling. He clutched a polished leather briefcase and a folded tan raincoat to his chest. Working his way clear of the spotlight, he let his eyes adjust momentarily, then caught sight of Moira waving to him from several rows farther down. Smoothing out the coat flaps of his dark blue business suit and tucking back his favorite yellow power tie, he eased past the irritated play watchers, stepped on more than a few toes, and arrived at Moira's side.

  Jack smiled up at him expectantly, patting the open seat next to him. Peter smiled back, then motioned him to switch with Moira. Jack gave his father a pointed look, then stomped past his mother and threw himself into his chair.

  "Down in front, please!" someone behind them hissed.

  Peter settled himself next to Moira, the briefcase and the raincoat piled in his lap, and leaned over for a quick kiss. Moira obliged, her voice musical as she whispered hello.

  "Sorry. It was 'the never-ending meeting.' You know the kind. And traffic was brutal." Peter grinned, leaning across his wife to Jack. "Hey, how was practice, Jackie? You working on hitting that curve for the big game tomorrow? Hey, tuck in your shirt."

  Jack flinched and turned away sourly before doing so. Peter looked questioningly at Moira. "What's with him?"

  Moira shook her head, then indicated the stage. "Your daughter's stealing the show."

  On stage, Maggie as Wendy Darling was watching her costar being hoisted on the wire as if flying, her hands clasped, her face shining. Behind her, still in bed, the second-graders playing John and Michael were awake now as well and watching the show.

  "Oh, you can fly!" she exclaimed loudly. "How lovely! But how do you do it?"

  "You just think lovely, wonderful thoughts, and they lift you up into the air," answered Peter Pan, landing a bit more gracefully this time than before. "But first, I must blow faerie dust on you."

  Tinkerbell reappeared, the flashlight beam dancing back into view. A jingling sound rose from off stage, and glitter rained down on Wendy and the boys. Michael was the first to fly, then John, and finally Wendy as well, all soaring about the stage like windblown kites. Applause rose from the audience.

  Peter Banning looked shocked. "Moira!" He started to his feet, apoplectic at the sight of Maggie swinging on a wire, but Moira quickly pulled him back down again.

  "She could fall, Moira!" he whispered frantically. "How could the school allow them to do something like this? It's too dangerous! Just watching makes me dizzy!"

  "Oh, Dad!" Jack groaned, but the clapping drowned him out. Moira simply smiled at her husband, patted his arm reassuringly, and joined in the applause. Jack whistled, rather impressed that Maggie was doing so well, a bit envious that she was getting to fly.

  Backstage, the jingling of bells mixed with the resonant tinkle of a xylophone as Peter Pan led Tinkerbell, John, and Michael out the window. After a moment's glance and a wave in the general direction of her parents, Maggie as Wendy followed and the curtain closed.

  A low hum of voices and laughter rose from the audience as the children readied the stage for the next act. Peter straightened in his chair, finding it decidedly uncomfortable now that he had spent more than five minutes sitting in it. The voices and laughter faded expectantly.

  Abruptly a ringing sounded, the high-pitched, annoying squeal of a cellular phone. Heads turned. Peter fumbled hurriedly with his raincoat and pulled the phone out of one pocket. Beside him, Moira sagged slightly, whispering, "Peter, please!" Jack, aware of the looks being cast in their direction, plugged his ears with his fingers and tried to pretend he was somewhere else.

  "Brad, make this quick," Peter whispered into the phone. "I'm with my family."

  The curtain drew back in front of him revealing a backdrop of Neverland in front of which were stationed seven brightly painted cardboard trees. Doors in each opened and seven Lost Boys appeared dressed in seven variations of old pajamas. Joining hands, they faced the audience and began to sing loudly, "We Never Want to Grow Up."

  I'm a Toys "R" Us kid, thought Peter, trying to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone.

  The Lost Boys finished singing, and the one playing Tootles turned to the others and declaimed, "I wish Peter would come back soon. I'm always afraid of pirates when he's not here to protect us."

  From the right side of the stage, a band of pirates began dragging a raft on stage. Settled in the raft was the hefty-looking boy who had been given the part of Captain James Hook.

  Peter Banning's attention was focused on the cellular phone. His voice rose. "Brad, that's why we have an ecologist on staff! That's why we're paying him all that money! Remind him he's not working for the Sierra Club anymore!"

  From several rows in either direction, a scattering of boos and hisses were directed his way. He slid further down into his seat, curling protectively around the phone.

  On stage, a Lost Boy raced about frantically, trying to escape the pirates. Smee, bespectacled and stripe-shirted, with padding for a belly, wiggled his cutlass threateningly.

  "Shall I after him, Captain, and tickle him with Johnny Corkscrew?"

  The boy playing Hook stood stiffly. "No, I want their captain, Peter Pan. It was he who cut off my arm and flung it to that crocodile."

  Jack heard his father whisper into the phone. "Look, I leave for London with the family tomorrow night, Brad. So call a meeting in the a.m." Jack tried to protest, signaling frantically. The game, Dad! Peter glanced up. "My son's big game, don't forget. Gotta be there. So a short meeting. Quick and clean. Blow 'em out of the water."

  He clicked the phone off and shoved it back in his pocket. Jack stared at him in dismay.

  Tick, tick, tick, sounded from on stage. Smee and Hook cocked their heads in pretend fear.

  "The crocodile!" exclaimed Hook. "Licking his lips for the rest of me! By lucky chance he swallowed a clock or I wouldn't hear him coming."

  Kids in the audience joined in the ticking, Jack among them. Peter Banning grimaced and put his hands over his ears. A crocodile composed of an old green blanket and two squirming children slithered on stage amid yells from the audience, sending Hook and Smee fleeing for safety.

  Peter Banning sighed, frowned, folded his hands in his lap atop the raincoat and briefcase, and took a deep breath. There was something unsettling about this play.

  The action continued, and Jack grew interested in spite of himself. By the time they got to the part where Hook and Pan face off for the final battle, he was completely absorbed. Wooden swords clicked together three times as the adversaries dueled before the rigging of the pirate ship.

  "Pan, who and what art thou?" Hook exclaimed in dismay.

  "I am youth. I am joy. I fly, I fight, I crow!" answered Peter Pan, and crowed loudly to prove his point.

  The fight ended in Hook's defeat, the captain falling to the waiting jaws of the crocodile, who proceeded to chase him off stage. The sets shifted a final time, revealing again the nursery where things had begun. The boy in the old fur parka playing Nana barked loudly as the lights came up, and Mr. Darling paraded across the stage with the Lost Boys hanging gaily about his coattails along with John and Michael. Wendy and Mrs. Darling followed, slowing as they saw Peter Pan hovering at the window.

  "Peter, let me adopt you, too," said Mrs. Darling.

  Peter gave her his best stage frown. "Would you send me to school?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "And then to an office?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Soon I should be a man?"

  "Yes, very soon."

  Peter Pan shook his head. "I don't want to go to school and learn solemn things. No one is going to catch me and make me a man. I want always to be
a little boy and have fun."

  He blew into his wooden flute, the wire attached to his belt hoisted him up, and off he flew. The lights dimmed with his departure and the stage emptied. The scratchy recording of Big Ben began to play.

  In the audience, Peter Banning blinked wearily, wondering how much longer the play was going to last. At least Maggie wasn't being flung about through the air any longer. What idiot came up with that idea? He straightened his tie and adjusted his cuff links self-consciously. His suit was already rumpled beyond help. He needed sleep and a shower. He needed peace and quiet.

  What was it about this play … ?

  He stared resolutely at the stage, frowning.

  The stage lights came up, so faint they barely cut through the darkness, casting strange shadows everywhere. An older Wendy, dressed in a print dress and wearing reading glasses, was seated on the floor of the nursery close by a fire made of colored lights and tinfoil. A bed with a sleeping child was set to one side. Wendy was sewing, using the firelight to see. From somewhere outside, she heard a crowing sound and looked up expectantly.

  Shutters blew open at the window and Peter Pan dropped to the floor.

  "Peter,'' said Wendy, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"

  Peter grinned. "Of course. That is why I've come. Have you forgotten that this is spring-cleaning time?"

  Wendy shook her head sadly. "I can't come, Peter. I have forgotten how to fly."

  "I'll soon teach you again."

  "Oh, Peter, don't waste the faerie dust on me."

  She rose to face him.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "I will turn up the lights, and then you can see for yourself."

  "No," he said. "Don't turn up the lights. I don't want to see."

  But she did, of course, and Peter Pan did see. Wendy was no longer young. She was an old lady. He cried out in shock. She went to comfort him, but he drew back sharply.