I lit a candle, then pulled the watch from the pouch. Peter slept soundly.
It was solid gold, or so it appeared. The chain and fob were gold too. I held it to my ear once again to hear its tiny heartbeat. I supposed that, if people didn’t age, or aged very slowly, on the Never-Isle, then the same principle might apply to inanimate objects. The watch could have been wound centuries before.
I checked the fastening—a simple clasp—and flipped it open.
The watch face was unadorned, but its simplicity was a thing of beauty. On the verso of the cover I found an engraving.
To J.C. with love from A.D. it read. J.C.? A date followed: January 1860. The month before my birth. Was this my father’s watch? If so, who was A.D.? Not my mother, for those were not her initials. Nor could she have afforded such an extravagance. Beneath the date was a phrase: Tempus Regit Omnes. Time Rules All.
Indeed.
* * *
I met Lone Wolf on the savanna at noon the following day. Peter was my second, and a native known as Sly Fox was Lone Wolf’s. Great Panther was there, as were many members of the tribe, but Tiger Lily could not bear to come. My heart broke a little on learning this, though I understood her reasons.
His weapon was a six-foot spear accompanied by a fishing net. (Did I mention that Lone Wolf was the fishing champion of the tribe?) The spear was headed by an iron spike that looked to be nearly a foot long. I pictured him entangling me in the fishing net, then easily sliding the spear through my body until it poked out of my back. The blade bore several smaller blades sticking out at right angles, so that once the spike was securely inside me Lone Wolf might twist it around in either direction and thus shred whatever organs had come in contact with the aforesaid spike. I hoped that this “meeting of Lone Wolf with the boy James to resolve a preconjugal dispute” (which was how it was described in the official proclamation) would be over so quickly that I would feel very little pain, but I had my doubts.
I was wearing my trousers again (Peter had worn them on his return from the lagoon); my weapons lay concealed, one in each of my pockets, so it appeared at first that I was weaponless. This puzzled all but Lone Wolf, who smiled mockingly.
“Do you hope to beg for your life?” he asked with an Etonian sneer. “Is that your weapon of choice, coward—a plea for my mercy?”
“Well,” I answered, “I’m not counting that as a weapon, but yes, I will beg. Not only for my life but for common sense. Your pride has been hurt and I’m sorry for that, Lone Wolf, but it was Tiger Lily’s choice, not mine.”
“You offered her the flower,” he declared. “Which is the custom.”
“I didn’t know that, I swear. I do love her, and I’m glad she answered the way she did, but I didn’t mean it as an offense to you. I assumed at the time that she was already yours—there was no choice to be made. I was simply being polite, like my mother taught me.”
“You truly love Tiger Lily?” he scoffed. “You—a boy without a shadow, let alone any noble blood or family titles—think you’re in love?” Clearly he was stuck on this point of “love.”
“I’m descended from the Great and Historically Important Captain James Cook, though I doubt you would know who he was,” I said in as imperious a manner as I could muster. I thought I heard a faint gasp from some in the crowd, but I ignored it and plowed on: “But I am in love, and she is too. She admires you, Lone Wolf—I mean, who wouldn’t? You’re very brave and strong. You could have killed the crocodile easily, if you had so chosen. But you didn’t, and do you know why? Because you’re a coward.”
An even louder gasp emerged from the crowd.
“It is you who are the coward, dear boy, as I will demonstrate shortly. You will beg for mercy as your blood spurts forth. You will scream like a woman as I decimate your guts. You will whimper like a little girl as I pull out your spleen—and eat it.” His imagination was somewhat overcharged, but it had the desired effect.
And with that he raised the spear.
* * *
We circled each other at first. He seemed in no hurry. He knew his triumph was inevitable, and the showman in him wished to draw the moment out for the crowd’s (and his own) enjoyment. After all, those who came to see the massacre had traveled far, and it simply would not do for me to be skewered in a matter of seconds.
Once we were in a good position, I reached into my starboard pocket and pulled out the pocket watch. I had polished it that morning to a brilliant sheen, and now I aimed it so that it caught the rays of the sun and bounced them back into Lone Wolf’s eyes. He blinked, briefly blinded, and I knew I had but a moment to effectively deploy Weapon Number 2. I raced toward him as fast as I could, simultaneously reaching into my port-side pocket and withdrawing a handful of sand. I flung it into his face, then made a very hasty retreat. He screamed in frustration and brought the hand holding the net to his eyes, which were now gritty with grains. He rubbed, he blinked, and—doubly angry—he turned to face me again.
“I will kill you even more slowly for that,” he hissed.
Slowly he approached.
Slowly I circled.
Slowly he countered and moved closer.
Slowly I prayed.
Slowly he whirled the net above his head, preparing to cast it.
Slowly I prepared to die.
Slowly he rose from the earth and ascended to the treetops.
For, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, dear reader, it was Flying Sand I flung at him.
Helpless, he began to scream.
I had hoped to catch him off guard. To my great good luck, and unbeknownst to me at the time (I swear it!), he had a terrible fear of heights.
He dropped the net.
He dropped the spear.
He screamed for his brothers to help him down.
He was actually only thirty feet or so above the savanna. Sly Fox seized hold of the net and flung it back up to him. Lone Wolf reached for it, but the reaching threw him off balance.
He plummeted to earth, his head bounced off the grassy plain, and he soared even higher.
“Lone Wolf, breathe deeply, calm yourself!” I shouted up to him.
He was now hovering upside down. A few curious lions appeared on the edge of the plain and studied him.
“Get me down, boy!” he screamed again. “Get me down, get me down, GET ME DOWN!” And then he began to cry.
“I don’t want to die,” he squeaked in a very high falsetto.
I spoke quietly to him.
“Lone Wolf, take a breath—relax—tuck your knees to your chest and bring your feet below your hips.” I repeated this three more times before he heard me. After several tries he managed to turn himself upright. “Now will yourself to earth.” He looked down, tensed once again, closed his eyes, and very slowly, very very slowly, descended until he was but a foot or so above Sly Fox, who reached up, grabbed an ankle, and gave a sharp tug. Lone Wolf fell on top of his second, and both men toppled to the earth in a tangle of arms and legs and fishing net.
Sadly, Lone Wolf suffered an accident of the bowels.
* * *
And so Peter and I returned to the Underground Home that night, triumphant.
“You should have seen it, Tink!” Peter cried. “You would have loved it!”
He listened for a moment.
“She says you owe her your undying gratitude.”
“Whatever for?”
“It was her Flying Sand you used.”
“Yes, well, I thank her for the use of her Sand, but it was my idea.”
“No it wasn’t.” Peter spoke as if he were Tink, without the regular pause needed for translation.
I looked at him.
“But it was, Peter. You didn’t tell me what to do, nor did Tink. I thought of it myself.”
He looked hurt, and a little bit astonished.
“So you’re still going through with it?”
“With what?”
“The wedding. Tink wants to know.”
“
Of course I am. I love her. Tiger Lily, I love Tiger Lily.”
“But you owe Tink.”
“I don’t owe her a d—mned thing.”
There was a decidedly long silence.
“So you’ll be leaving us then?” His lower lip trembled.
“Peter, I told you, did you forget? I will come back to visit. As often as possible. We’ll play together. We’ll visit the mermaids. We’ll wrestle with Barnaby.”
“What about Tink?”
“What about Tink?”
“She loves you. She wants you for herself.”
I sighed.
“Peter, to be perfectly honest, I’ve never even seen Tink.”
He said nothing for a moment.
“Do you not believe in fairies?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, if Tink is real, then—” I stopped midsentence. “Peter, this is beside the point. This is not about Tink being real or not. I’m sure she is. I’m sure that, in time, my eyes will grow accustomed to things here, and she’ll be as plain as day. But what this is about is my love for Tiger Lily. I never thought it possible that I would ever love anyone, or anyone would ever love me.”
“I love you.”
“Not in this way. It’s all I’ve ever hoped for.”
He searched for another angle of attack. “But—Tiger Lily could be lying. Tink lies all the time. It’s common for women to lie and betray you. My mother betrayed me. You and I will always be true to each other.”
“What do you mean your mother betrayed you? I thought you didn’t remember your mother, except that she was bigger than you.”
Silence.
“I do remember some things.”
“Yes, well—” I didn’t know what else to say. Finally: “Peter, you’re my friend. I care for you in one way and I care for Tiger Lily in another way. I’m not betraying you by marrying her. I’ll always be your friend.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Hope to die?”
“I never hope to die. Living here, I hope to never die.”
He looked at me, then at Tink’s Cottage. Then he lay down and closed his eyes. I lay down beside him. Exciting as the day had been, I was exhausted.
As we both were drifting off to sleep, he said to no one in particular: “Things change. I hate that.” He sounded very sad.
* * *
Over the next week, our relationship returned to normal. Peter forgot everything, or so it seemed. He was cheerful, playful, filling every waking moment with fun. We Barnabyed, we mermaided, we even rode on the back of a tiger (very briefly). Finally the moon reached its fullness, and it was time for the wedding.
I wanted to walk to the village, but Peter said he would wait and fly that evening. I was to warn the natives that he would be coming by air, so that they should not shoot him. I set off at dawn.
It was a glorious hike, that walk alone. I thought of where I’d come from and what I was to become. I thought of my mother and my father on their wedding day. Had they been excited? Nervous? Did they love each other as much as Tiger Lily and I did?
As I crossed the Serpentine I spotted the rainbow serpent and nodded hello. It hissed a friendly hello in return. I passed Barnaby and his two cubs. I waved and they waved back. I wondered then where Barnaby’s mate was, and why he was raising the children. There seemed to be a tremendous number of motherless children on these islands. I thought of Daisy, and wondered if perhaps I might retrieve her before the ceremony and bring her as my honored guest, but I was certain she wouldn’t understand. Besides, her presence might cause confusion among those (and there were many) who distrusted crocodiles.
I arrived in the village late in the afternoon. A great pit had been dug for the wedding feast fire. An enormous spit was in place, waiting for whatever fish were to be roasted. The women were busy chopping, baking, preparing. The men were practicing the wedding dance, a complicated ritual involving high kicks, head butts, and a peculiar wiggling motion of the buttocks. Lone Wolf was off netting the Catch of the Night. The wedding was to take place at midnight, under the full moon. I retired to Blue Bonnet’s thatched hut to prepare.
I was given a native-dyed cloth of indigo to wrap around my waist. My trousers by now were pretty well worn out, and when I handed them to Blue Bonnet (I was modestly concealed behind a partition), I realized that in saying goodbye to them I was bidding farewell to the last remnant of my English life. I was an island child now—no, an island man. I kept the pocket watch, of course, tucked in the pouch Tiger Lily had given me. The bag was dangling like a locket over the center of my chest. I called the watch “my father’s watch”—which it very well may have been—and I imagined that its constant ticking was a reminder to my heart that my father, in spirit, was always with me.
Once I had finished dressing, Blue Bonnet—as my surrogate mother—presented me with the ceremonial Wedding Knife, a short sharp blade I would use to cut the Wedding Liana that symbolically bound Tiger Lily to her parents. She then gave me back my trousers and told me to cast them into the small fire burning in the center of her tent. I suddenly remembered my mother’s wedding ring and used the Wedding Knife to slice open the stitching of my starboard trouser cuff. I took out the ring and tucked the knife into the waist of my indigo wrap. I promised to burn my trousers after the ceremony. I was anxious to meet my bride.
Great Panther was in mourning, a ritual seclusion enacted by every bride’s father for three days before the service. As the sun set and cast a beautiful hibiscus shade of pink over the sea, I was to spend the final hours of bachelorhood with my future mate—we were called the “individuals-not-yet-as-one”—so that we could share any secrets from our past that needed to be told and carefully consider one last time whether the choice to join together was the right one. There was no shame in calling off the wedding, even at this late stage. Once the vows were said, however, we were not permitted to hold anything back from each other.
I met her on the promontory. She was even lovelier than the hibiscus-pink sunset.
“You’re the first person I ever kissed,” I confessed. “Apart from my mother, of course. But I thought about kissing others. Before I met you.”
“I kissed Lone Wolf. Many times,” she confessed. “I think I liked it. A little bit. I know he did.”
“There’s a mermaid I frolicked with. We didn’t do anything naughty, but I thought about it.”
“Was it Josephine?”
“How did you know?”
“She frolics with everyone. Every man, I mean. She’s very fond of Lone Wolf. He’s told me all about her bosom.”
“I’m glad yours isn’t as—enormous. She frightens me sometimes.”
Tiger Lily lowered her face to hide her blush.
“I thought for a moment of running away,” she confessed. “When the crocodile attacked you. I knew I could escape, but I also knew that if you had died, I would never be able to live with myself. I had to risk staying with you, perhaps dying with you, if I hoped to stay true to me. Can you forgive me for wavering?”
“We all waver. What’s important is making the right choice in the end. I love you, Tiger Lily. For me, that is the right choice. I would have died happy, knowing I saved you.”
She said nothing further. She took my hand and we gazed out to sea. The moon had risen, and the path of its reflection led across the water like a trail to heaven.
“Here,” I said to her and held out my mother’s wedding ring.
“James, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”
“It belonged to my mother. My father gave it to her on their wedding day. I want you to have it.”
She studied it in the moonlight.
“It says something. It’s difficult to read—”
“To My Eternal Love.”
“Is that me?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“Oh yes.”
She was quiet for a moment. “What’s ‘eternal’?” she asked.
; “It means ‘forever.’ It means that something will never change. Like here. Like this place. Everyone who lives here, it seems, will live forever.”
She caught the hesitation in my voice.
“But that’s good, isn’t it?”
“It is for us. It is for our love. I know with all my heart and being that, wherever we are, my love for you will never change.”
She smiled. She leaned in close and kissed me softly on the lips.
It was then that Peter struck.
* * *
He swooped down from the heavens, planting the flats of his palms on our shoulders, and pushing us out into the air. Tiger Lily screamed. We plummeted toward the rocks below.
I reached for my pockets, hoping to find some Flying Sand that might save us, but of course there were no pockets, there was no sand. Just before we struck, he swooped under me to lift me up, as he had lifted me from the crow’s nest, and in his arms I flew heavenward. Tiger Lily did not.
“Peter! No! What are you doing?” I pushed against him.
“They were going to eat you! They were going to roast you on a spit and eat you! Tink heard them planning it! She flew ahead and raced back to tell me! Tiger Lily was going to betray you!”
I hit him. I clenched my hands into fists and struck him in the face again and again. He looked astonished, and finally released me. I dropped ten feet to the promontory, knocking the wind from my chest. Peter landed beside me. There were tears on his cheeks. His nose was bleeding from my furious fists, and his tears mixed with the blood.
I scrambled on hands and knees to the promontory edge and looked down. I saw only jagged rocks in the moonlight, and the waves lashing against them. “Tiger Lily!” I cried. Then I turned to Peter and drew forth the Wedding Knife.
“Liar! You’re not my friend! You killed her! You’re my enemy!”
I raised the knife to stab him.
Hook's Tale Page 12