“So boy-o,” Smee started “Let’s see it.”
“See what?” asked James.
“Yer hand boy-o.”
James held up his left hand. Smee laughed again.
“Yer other hand, lad.”
James hesitated. He didn’t make a point of showing off his injury to strangers.
“Listen, boy-o, I can’t help ye if ye won’t let me see it.” Smee stopped stirring whatever was in the pot and walked over to James.
“How exactly are you going to help me?” asked James. He recalled Michael’s telling him something about Smee, but the specifics escaped him.
“Tigerlilly says I’m an artist. Ha! That girl is as witty as they come!” He laughed a little. “No, I’m just good with me hands. You know, tinkering around with bits of metal, things of that sort.”
“You’re a blacksmith?”
“Somethin’ like that. Too many questions, boy-o. Let’s see it.”
James held out his right wrist. Smee took ahold of his shirt sleeve and pushed it up past his elbow. He traced the scars that crisscrossed James’s forearm.
“I hate to tell you this, boy-o,” said Smee.
“What? Tell me what?”
“Yer hand… It's gone!” Smee laughed uproariously, holding his belly in his hand.
James quickly pushed his sleeve down. Quite suddenly it occurred to him that he was a good two feet taller than this stout little man. James leaned forward, holding his arms behind his back.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” he asked in a flat tone.
Smee looked up into James’s blazing green eyes, and the smile faded instantly from his lips.
“Now hold on. Just hold on a minute,” stammered Smee. “I didn’t mean no harm.”
James felt bad for scaring the poor man. He didn’t think he had ever really scared anyone like that before, but he had to admit, it was a bit thrilling. He held Smee’s gaze until finally Smee looked away.
“How can you help me?”
“Right, well, ye see, I could make something te put over the wrist. Like a glove, keep it protected.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Smee, but in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any fingers on that side. How is a glove going to help at all?” asked James.
“No, no. Glove’s the wrong word. I’m not a man of words.”
Smee looked around the small space. He teetered over to a small box that was sitting on top of a narrow table. Clangs and pings erupted from the box as he sifted through it.
“Are you familiar with swords, boy-o?”
“Yes, I’ve studied them in pictures and literature.”
“Ever held one?” asked Smee.
“No,” said James, a little embarrassed.
“Well, that’s fine. Let me show you something.” Smee found what he was looking for. “Have a seat.” He gestured for James to sit at the little table. He walked over and sat down in a rickety wooden chair.
“Are you familiar with the art of fencing?” asked Smee.
“I’ve never seen a match, but I’ve seen paintings. Domenico Angelo’s illustrations are quite beautiful.”
“Ah, Angelo! Yes, well, he was quite a character, he was.”
James paused, the illustrations of Domenico Angelo were published in 1763. Smee was speaking of him as if he had known him personally.
James opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Smee cut him off abruptly. “The sword used in fencin’ has a small piece, right by the hand, keep ye from losing yer fingers. It’s called a guard, and this here is called a bell guard.”
Smee held up the little piece of metal. It was polished to the point of shining and shaped like a small dome. He reached out and placed the little metal piece over James’s right wrist. It fit quite snugly, and James turned his arm over in front of him. The dome had a small notch in the top of it.
“What is that for?” James asked, pointing to the little indentation.
A smile spread across Smee’s lips.
“That, my boy, is the fun part.” He went back to the box and rummaged through it again. He pulled from it a shiny, glinting hook that seemed to be even more polished than the guard that now adorned James’s wrist. He set the hook down on the table, and James looked at it questioningly.
“I can affix that there guard to yer arm. It’ll be on ye forever though, boy-o. It’d be a part of you. Would make it a bit more functional. You could use it like a club.”
James scowled. He didn’t like the thought of wielding his arm like some caveman’s instrument.
“Or ye could attach this.” Smee pointed to the hook. “And have yerself a proper weapon.”
Smee picked up the hook and fit the end of it into the little notch on top of the guard. It clicked softly into place, and James held it up.
The metal shined like the light of a star, almost too bright to look at directly. Something came over James, and he stood up. He had the strangest feeling. He couldn’t place it at first. As he stared at the weapon that was now affixed to his arm, he felt as if he had found something that had been lost. The beast had taken his hand, but now here he was restored, but with a different part in its place. He turned his arm over and tried to imagine having this thing attached to him forever.
“It’s an improvement, if ye ask me,” said Smee.
“You said it would be permanent, like it was a part of me,” said James. “How is that accomplished?”
Smee’s smile faded a bit. “Well, boy-o, I can’t lie to ye. It’d be painful. It’d require some healing, but it can be done.”
“I’ve known pain,” said James.
“Aye. I don’t doubt that, boy-o.”
James felt the weight of the hook. He felt the cool metal of the guard pressing against his skin.
“Do what you have to do,” said James. “I want this.”
“We don’t have to rush...”Smee started.
“You said it would require healing. How long?”
“A few days. Things tend to heal up pretty quickly here.”
“I want to do it now,” said James. He didn’t want to wait another moment.
“Now just a minute,” Smee said firmly. “Sit down for a minute.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
“Humor an old man.”
James reluctantly sat down.
“You seem like a nice young man,” Smee said.
“You don’t know anything about me,” said James, his tone a bit darker than he had intended.
“There is something boiling in yer blood, boy-o. I can see it.”
James said nothing.
“I’ve been around a long while. I’ve seen that kind of anger get a man killed or worse. I seen it leave a man alone and bitter all his life.” Smee sat down across from James.
“What difference does it make? I’ve been alone for a good while now. Maybe I should get used to it.”
“Codswallop.” Smee grumbled. “You been alone. Who ‘asn’t? But yer not alone now. Tigerlilly will see to it that ye don’t have to be alone ever again, if ye don’t want to be.”
“So I’ve gathered,” said James.
“Well then, what’s yer problem? People reachin’ out, tryin’ te help ye, and yer just pushin’ them away. Seems mighty silly to me.”
“Silly? You have no idea what I’ve been through, what I’ve lost.”
“And you think yer the only one who’s lost somethin’?”
“No, of course not, but that’s the point. Nothing I do here can change what has happened. It won’t bring back the people I love or give me back my hand.”
“Of course it won’t.” Smee slammed his chubby hand down on the table. “The past is dead. Gone. Forever. But ye got right now. You got what lies ahead, and who knows what will happen? Maybe you get a chance to put things right. Maybe you’d be the only one who can beat Pan at his own game. By God he’s the most destructive person to ever set foot here, and no one been able to keep him from hurtin’ every
thing and everyone around here.”
“What do you know about Peter and me?”
“Only what Tigerlilly told me, which ain’t much. But I ain’t a fool, young James. I know when a man been wronged, cut to his core. Only thing that allows a wound like that is love.”
James sat back in his chair. “Why does it matter to you? Why do you care so much?”
Smee smiled, allowing the few teeth he had left in his mouth to poke out from between his sunburned lips. ”I don’t know, but I do. I care about a lot of folks, ye know. I care about Michael and Tigerlilly and O’Malley. Tigerlilly took me in when I was out there in the wind like an old leaf. I was just drifting. That’s who she is, a savior of lost folks. All I’m sayin’, boy-o, is that you’ve got to keep a level head or that anger you got bubbling inside yer chest will break out and hurt every single person ye ever loved or cared about.”
James saw something in Smee’s eyes that reminded him of something he often saw in Maddie’s eyes: a gentle soul.
“Are you going to try to talk me out of this?” James asked, holding up his wrist, the hook gleaming.
“No,” said Smee. “It suits you. I just want ye to be sure.”
He stood up and walked out, returning few moments later with Tigerlilly, O’Malley, and a few young men James didn’t recognize.
“Now listen closely, lad,” said Smee, jostling towards him just a bit too eagerly. “I can guarantee that this procedure won’t smart any more than what ye’ve already been through.”
“That’s very reassuring,” James said sarcastically. “What do you mean by procedure?” James drew out the syllables as if trying to find how that particular word would be relevant to him, under the circumstances.
“The guard can be affixed to ye’ permanently, but for it to do that, it has to become a part of ye, so to speak.” Smee walked over to the fire that was burning hot and bright in the far corner of the room. He pushed the pile of kindling around, and the flames leapt upward. They cast long shadows all around the darkened room, and James felt his heartbeat speed up.
Smee returned to the table and picked up the guard, turning it over in his hands. He went to the fire and, using a pair of large metal tongs, held the gleaming silver guard over the fire until it began to glow like a white-hot coal.
“The heat will make it stick,” said Smee.
James thought he might be sick. He felt sweat gathering on his forehead and in the small of his back.
“I thought you said he wanted to do it?” Tigerlilly looked reassuringly at James. “He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, Mr. Smee.”
“No, of course he doesn’t. He said he wants to,” mumbled Smee.
“It’s all right. I want this,” said James.
Tigerlilly didn’t seem convinced but said nothing further.
James felt the stump of his arm tucked within his sleeve. He thought about the way things had been, how that missing part of him had seemed like much more than just a limb, and he knew that this was a chance to become almost whole again.
“When my hand was taken, the pain almost drove me mad. You say it won’t be like that?”
“No. Not like that. Painful, yes, but ye been through much worse, boy-o.”
James agreed, but not in the way that Smee alluded to. The loss of his hand had been painful, but the loss of Wendy cut him deeper than any mortal wound. That was the pain that plagued him, and that pain could not be remedied by a shiny silver object.
James removed his shirt and sat down on a chair Smee had pulled very close to the fire. Tigerlilly stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders. She was saying something under her breath. The words were unrecognizable to James, but the rhythm of the language and Tigerlilly’s bowed head allowed James to know that it was a prayer. The other boys stood on either side of him, and one stood just in front.
Smee pulled the blazing hot guard from the fire and walked towards James. He held out his right wrist and turned his face away. He didn’t want to watch.
“A braver soul I’ve never seen,” said Smee quietly.
James felt Smee take hold of his arm, and Tigerlilly tightened her grip on his shoulders. James heard a sizzling sound and then… there was nothing.
***
James opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back. He looked up at the roof of the tent and saw the tops of the wooden poles leaning against each other. He felt groggy and confused. Where was Smee? Where was Tigerlilly? He tried to focus.
He felt a searing pain shoot up from his right wrist. He grabbed his forearm and brought it up in front of his face. At the end of his right wrist sat the gleaming silver dome topped with the magnificently-forged hook. He stared in disbelief. He touched the metal dome. It was the source of the pain. James could see that his skin was red and swollen where it met the metal. He groaned loudly, and Michael rushed in from somewhere outside.
“Would you look at that?” he said in sheer amazement.
James pulled himself up and slung his legs over the side of the cot. He turned his arm over and over again. This metal guard was meant to adorn a sword, not a human arm, and yet it seemed fitting. The pain was intense, but it ebbed and flowed, and in the moments of respite, James thought he had made the right decision.
“Does it hurt very much?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” James said bluntly.
Michael looked down at the floor and kicked up a bit of dust with the tips of his bare toes.
James stood up and arched his back, letting out a long, low sigh. He saw that he was now wearing a shirt.
“How long was I out?” he asked.
“A good long while,” said Michael timidly.
James brought his left hand and his newly-attached hook together in front of him. He flicked the tip of the hook with his finger and was surprised to see a small droplet of blood appear on the surface. The hook was razor sharp. It was a weapon.
He swung his right arm down and walked past Michael, rustling his hair as he passed. Michael smiled, but James saw that his eyes never left the hook.
“Come on, Michael. Let’s find Tigerlilly.”
They stepped out into the early evening air. The sun was setting and cast a brilliant purple swath across the sky. James held his forearm, trying to stifle the pain a bit. As he and Michael rounded the last tent, they saw Tigerlilly sitting by a large bonfire. O’Malley was seated next to her, and her father was seated across from them.
Tigerlilly and O’Malley appeared to be in deep conversation as James drew nearer to them. When they saw him, they quickly jumped up to greet him. Tigerlilly gave him a quick hug, and O’Malley offered his hand. James shook it.
“Well, well,” said O’Malley. “That’s some piece of flatware you’ve got there.”
Tigerlilly studied the hook and glanced back and forth between James and O’Malley.
“Are you feeling well enough to talk a bit?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied James. “It’s painful, but I can manage a conversation. Just don’t ask me to juggle.”
O’Malley laughed, and Tigerlilly smiled.
They all took seats next to the fire, and James stretched his feet out so that they were as close to the fire as possible without making a roast of him. The heat felt like a warm blanket had been thrown over him, and he settled willingly into the folds of it. He watched as O’Malley wrapped his arm gently around Tigerlilly and kissed her softly on the cheek.
“There are a great many things to discuss,” said Tigerlilly’s father. “We know that Pan is dug in deep at his camp above the cove. We also know that John is one of Pan’s most trusted confidants.”
James looked away from the fire. He thought back to their brief time together at St. Catherine’s. John was always so quiet, following along behind Peter everywhere he went. James thought about the night Peter and his band of misfits had taken Wendy away. John had stood by and done nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“As much as Pan wants us to believe he is in
vincible, the truth is that he’s not any smarter than you or I,” Tigerlilly said. “If we plan carefully we may be able to get in, save Wendy, and get back out before anyone is alerted.” She pulled from her pocket a folded sheet of tattered paper then moved over and took a seat next to James. “This is a layout of Pan’s camp,” she continued. “We’ve spent many nights getting all of the details exactly right. There is no room for error, James. Pan may not be invincible, but he is dangerous.”
She unfolded the paper. By the light of the fire, James could see the details of the map. It showed the position of Tigerlilly’s village and its proximity to Peter’s camp. It also showed that within the Lost Boys’ camp were a number of lookout perches; it even had the location of Peter’s own quarters.
“Michael has been very helpful in getting the details of the inside of the camp worked out.” said Tigerlilly. She smiled warmly at Michael, who was sitting very close to James now, peering over at the map.
“Do you really think we can save her?” asked Michael in a small voice.
James put his right arm around Michael’s shoulder, taking care not to nick him with the glistening hook. “We will bring her back,” he said.
Tigerlilly folded the map and put it back in her pocket. She sat next to O’Malley and rested her head on his shoulder.
James was again taken by how young O’Malley looked. James guessed that he’d been about seventy years old the first time they met, and ten years older than that when they met for the second time. Seeing him transformed left James with so many questions. O’Malley glanced at him, and he looked down, embarrassed that he had been staring. O’Malley smiled.
“It’s quite a sight, seeing me like this, isn’t it?” asked O’Malley. James nodded. “Neverland is a mysterious place. It does things to you, and those things might be different than the things that happen to the next man. All I know for sure is that as soon as I arrived I was the same as the last time I came here.” He smiled at Tigerlilly. “If I’d known that devil of a pixie had no intention of bringing me back, well, I don’t know if I’d have left. My sister was so sick…” he trailed off. A shining film of tears masked his eyes.
Tigerlilly stroked the back of O’Malley’s hand. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I loved her, too.”
Six Points of Light:Hook's Origin Page 17