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wytchcroftTwo: The Island
The proud dark ship slipped into the harbour like a cold hand stealing into a glove – waiting for the soft surroundings to warm the tense flesh. Around the shallow inlet there were tropical leaves and petals from a dozen different varieties of flower and tree, layer upon layer, the sunset splashed red and rich and so the dark ship waited for colour also.
From the deck, her breath gone in one excited gasp, Mari stood near the wheel and near to a rueful looking Captain Falk. Getting the air back into her lungs, Mari turned to him – one hand flashing out to point with the telescope she had looked through earlier, and had done such little justice to the truth of the vision around them.
“It is beautiful…”
Falk always appreciated the unspoilt nature of Mari’s reactions, even he didn’t like to show it, but there was sadness in his voice when he answered.
“Beauty, colour, life… you will not find these things aboard my ship I fear. This is a boat for the gray and ageless, the…” he stopped himself fearing he would be sounding sorry for himself. Captain Falk had been to many places, countless times and experienced a very great deal. Self pity had been left behind long ago.
“So now,” he said with a start, “perhaps you will have less trepidation about our stay, yes?”
Mari did not reply, her attention had been once again arrested by the exotic flora and fauna, smells and sights of the harbour. Even the wood of the jetty heat warped and gnarled looked fantastical and caught her nostrils with its scent and that of the tarred ropes that hung along side it, and her ears were filled with the drone of insects and the cries of unfamiliar birds.
………….
She watched a line of heavy laden sailors make its way onto the dock. They carried large timber crates and boxes lashed with rope. A welcoming group of figures had come out from the huts and shelters to greet the arrival with enthusiasm, she could hear the glad voices ringing across the bay. Some it seemed were not just eager but impatient for they struck at the crate lids with machetes and forced them open. Instantly there was a wild cacophony of noise and Mari watched in wonder as a riot of marvellously plumed birds took to the air – and sang out their freedom.
It made Mari gasp – to hear the songs at first so fractured and singular gradually coalesce into wonder magnificent song as the fluttering birds circled for a moment and then, flying once over the dock, headed out and into the interior - leaving only echoes on the wind.
This actually seemed to please the island men for they clapped the Seabird’s crew members heartily and drew them in to the light and the smoke and the music of the largest dwelling.
Slowly Mari made her way towards that place, feeling now, shy and awkward – as if watching some ritual, some dance she had not learned the steps for – but all the time curious, she wanted to see and to understand just what was going on.
As she neared the place some instinct turned her head and she found herself locking eyes with an aged woman stood to the side of the main track and by what looked to be a crude gate of sorts, some tree stumps and knotted twine. The woman was wrapped in loose rags and Mari expected the eyes that met her to be hostile, and the wrinkled face to be scowling.
But that was not the case at all – if anything the old woman looked amused, her eyes twinkled and her gaze was steady and knowing. Yes, that was it – there was a sort of recognition there as if the Crone knew her, recognised her somehow. But that couldn’t be, it was impossible.
And then just as Mari opened her mouth to say something, anything, the old woman beckoned with a bony hand and turned, vanishing into the shadows of a hut, half hidden under wide overhanging leaves.
For a long time Mari gazed after her, bewildered, but then shrugged and followed the disappearing wraith.
………………..
The hut was larger than Mari had thought, but it was in a state of disrepair, the walls and doors, even the front steps, all were warped crooked by the humid air and the whole thing looked like some storybook illustration from the Seabird library.
Mari had never been keen on those pictures.
The old woman stuck her head out of the opening and yelled out to her. “Don’t stand there a-gawpin’ and a-gaping, get yer toes in ‘ere girl! Quick like!”
Mari obeyed simply to quiet the old crone.
She skipped up the wonky stairs, aware suddenly, and for the first time, that everything was still swaying as though she was on the ship – the crooked steps felt straight to her. ‘Sea legs’. Mari was quite proud of that.
She nudged her way through a ragged fringe of cloth and was inside the shack. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows and the shapes, the jumble of shapes that filled the place; up turned bric-a-brac, crockery, cutlery, furniture, musical instruments, a piece of figurehead, some other things that Mari could not find the words for – but all quite obviously combed up from the shore line, driftwood, jetsam, rubbish.
There was a small fire crackling away despite the warmth of the evening and the old woman shuffled about by the hearth clanging and banging pots, a kettle, a cauldron perhaps…
At last she tuned and looked at Mari, “Well child,” she said with a voice as brittle as her bones, “and what shall we be calling you, eh?”
A bony finger reached out and prodded the girl.
“Ow!” said Mari, and then, “I have a name already it’s-”
“Fiddlesticks!” cried the witchy figure.
Mari shook her head, starting to become annoyed. “No, that’s NOT my name – my name is-”
She was interrupted once more – this time the old woman snapped the lid on the teapot, loud as a cymbal crash.
“Not yer ship name girly, not what they calls yer on deck!” And so saying, she spat a gristly piece of phlegm into the fire. There was a snapping pop and hiss. Mari shuddered.
I should stop following my feet, she thought.
“I don’t know why,” Mari said trying to sound calm, “Why there should be a difference. Why would you want me to have a special name here?”
“Hmmph! That’s just how things are round ‘ere – people gets named, we’ve all got names, Island names, you understand? If you’re ‘ere then you gotta have one too, them’s the rules.”
The woman’s face was set – clearly nothing further was going to be said or dne until this Mari had played the game. Well, if that was how it had to be…
“You sound like the Captain,” Mari sighed. “That is the Law,” her grave voice impersonating Falk’s serious tones.
The old hag’s eyes narrowed. “What the Old Dutch? He would say that, ‘specially since he’s broke most of ‘em in his time.”
“Old Dutch?”
“That’s what we – that’s his Island name, see? Now you...”
“But I’m just a visitor…”
“More than that girl, you’re a guest here – crossed my threshold – sat at my hearth – makes you a guest. Guest gotta ‘ave a name else what do I call yer?”
“Mari.”
“Nah… it’s gotta be special, see?”
“Not really.” Mari thought this was all ridiculous. “It might be special to you but it wouldn’t be for me – my name’s already special to me. Mari.”
The aged figure chuckled, “That being your REAL name eh? Yer genuine and actual?”
“I THINK so…” Mari was beginning to look doubtful. “I’ve had a lot of names.”
The old woman smiled. “Now you sound like him, the Dutch…”
Mari wasn’t listening, she was trying to recall the names she might have used, but it was difficult and even the ones that came to mind now sounded odd to her, Nina, Katy, Suri, Lorna, they were alien now.
“Alice!” Yelped the crone.
Mari looked blank.
“Alice,” repeated the woman, “like the book! Bless yer girl, look it up if you aint read it yet! There’s a copy on Old Dutch’s boat, I outta know - coz I borrowed it and read it meself.” The crumpled figure gave a hop and the woman tuned away slightly muttering, “and I’m sure I gave it back! Well… pretty sure…” She turned back once again, this time pointing a bony finger. “Alice,” she said firmly, “Alice it is.”
Mari looked resigned and the old woman leaned in confidentially. “You could be Al’,” she whispered loudly, “If that suits you better; Al, like a boy, on account of your disguise.”
“It’s not a disguise!” Mari said fiercely – not that the Old Woman seemed to care.
“Oh you don’t need to fuss about it,” she was still whispering like the North Wind, “you aint the first my dear, don’t you be thinking you are.” She waved her arms about in wide circles. “It’s a bleedin’ tradition! Gawd yes, plenty of old wives tales ‘bout such things, girls stowing away on a frigate to find their true love lost at sea and others getting into scrapes when the Captain falls for ‘em, yeah as a boy!” and she laughed uproariously, “mind, they’re a funny bunch sailors. Anyway, lots of stories – ‘ere an’ songs too, wanna hear one? There’s the ‘Andsome Cabin Boy’ or ‘A Maid that’s deep in Love’, or…”
If Mari had felt uncomfortable before, she was squirming now, trying to think of some way to stop the old crone from running on. She’d have given anything just then to be able to click her fingers and back on the Seabird and high up in the crows nest with just the clouds for company.
“Still,” the old hag was saying, “the girl will out eh? Aint that the gawd’s honest, I mean look at you in them patched up trousers and a shirt three sizes too big, cutting the sleeves off don’t make it fit y’know. Turn around why don’t ya – go on!” The old woman’s bony fingers were surprisingly quick, before Mari knew what was happening she found herself being twirled about. “I thought as much!” the woman exclaimed triumphantly, “you’ve got a nice figure under there – you outta show it off more, give the lads something ha ha ha!”
Mari yelped in alarm as icy fingers scrabbled up her shift.
“Don’t mind me,” cooed the old woman, “I’s only funning, bit a fun never hurt no/one right? Ha ha ha! Oh Bollocks…”
To her vast relief Mari felt the fumbling hands disappear. The old woman was bending low now, hunting on the ground for something.
Mari took a deep calming breath.
“Look at that,” the old woman said, straightening up and proffering the ghastly black remains of a tooth for Mari’s inspection. “Me last one that was.” She slipped it into one of her many pockets. “Bollocks,” she said again.
There was yet another very uncomfortable silence.
Just when it seemed that leaving was the best thing to do, the ruined figure of the old woman stumbled across to the end of the hut, calling out as she did so. “No, no, we can’t leave things like now can we Alice eh? Girl comes all this way, for what? A mouldy old tooth – I don’t think so!” She was clucked and tutting again and fiddling with a piece of cord like the drawstring of the curtains in the Seabird cabins.
And despite herself Mari/Alice realised she was still curious.
With some final few curses and a leathery clapping of hands, the cord was tugged and a huge tapestry unrolled down from the ceiling, it was old and shabby naturally, but it caught the light, it glittered, it gleamed and it held the eyes of the two people that looked upon it.
“Yes…” the old witch of a woman said softly, “It’s like a net see? Everything gets caught eventually, all the nimble fish – think they’re so quick only they aint so quick! Even you – somewhere… Alice.”
Alice gazed at the thing and her eyes were troubled. “A net…” she felt foolish parroting the words, but there was something nagging at her, as if she should know more, as if she should be remembering something important, but what that was, she couldn’t work out and so, shrugging, she made an effort to shake the sensation, after all there was no point standing like an idiot with its mouth open.
“Aye girl, in this tapestry everything gets writ, gets stitched I should say, I’ve worked it on it now… so long, and right hard work it is too, I can tell you, all them fiddly bits and new things coming along when you’re in the middle of –
The old ruin paused for a moment, “where was I?” she asked.
She studied her tapestry intently. “Dunno what I’d do without this old thing.” She turned back to Alice and gave her an equally searching look. “I was showing you weren’t I, well, girl you can see for yourself now, you’ve eyes after all, aint ya?”
Alice was already using them. The moment the old woman had dropped the curtain, cut out the light, she began to see.
The tapestry glistened, like water, like the sea itself, waves of colour slowly moving and finally falling still as Alice began to pick out details like floating reflections – and these too moved. What on earth was – she watched a blue grey animal running on four thick legs, trampling into view and trumpeting its passage as wide white teeth bit at the air.
“Elephant,” said the old crone proudly, “they’re never easy.”
The elephant, - Alice had no idea what such a beast was, had never seen one, not even in the Seabird’s library -, had gone. Entranced, Alice let her eyes follow a trail of winding gold thread that darkened into gleaming amber that in turn proved to be the glossy coat of a large horse cantering around a field. The old woman obviously liked animals.
“My ‘Orse,” the woman said, “Toby.” She sighed. “Dead now ‘course, well must be – I dunno, long time anyhow.” She sniffed. “Good ‘Orse. I knew he’d come back. Still looking after me in my dotage!” she cackled suddenly.
Alice was beginning to think that the tapestry, fine as it was, contained only animals, animals which some trick of the gloomy light made into motion… somehow, the way the Sea and Sky could trick the eye some mornings. But then one of the animal figures caught her gaze and she realised her first impression had been wrong, for the figure was a young woman – but there were feathers too, they grew out from behind like wings in a vivid white aurora.
Next to the bird girl was another figure, a man it seemed and a magician of some kind for he waved a long stick. The picture disturbed her, made her uneasy and she was on the very point of looking away when she spied a ship sailing into view in the top corner of the tapestry. It was undoubtedly the Seabird, and for a moment Alice could have sworn she saw the Dutchman himself upon the deck.
It was a reassuring image.
“You like that do yer?” the old woman sounded almost put out. “I prefer me animals,” she said.
“That,” said Alice, turning at last from the visions within the fabric “is amazing!”
The woman’s face crinkled up in pleasure. “You really think so? Ta ducks, that’s very nice of you to say. ‘Ere ‘ave an egg.” And so saying she produced from within her bosom two small eggs. “Fresh today,” she said with a twitch of her gummy mouth. The eggs were blue and speckled, catching the light as the woman passed them across, tenderly as if they were chicks not eggs, there could be no refusal – but Alice was unsettled, it would be hard to eat these now.
“You can have another one every day” the old woman was clucking half to herself, “just don’t be givin’ any to the Dutch alright? They aint for him.”
A small part of Alice wondered what the woman might have against the Captain of the Seabird, but it was a small part – the larger part by far was just trying to find an excuse to leave. Against all apparent odds it was actually the crone who let her go.
“Anyway, right, I can’t be standing ‘ere idling all day, tapestry don’t weave itself, eggs don’t just jump into the bowl, so you be off now and I’ll see yer tomorra, alright? Good girl, that’s it,” she made a sweeping motion with her long arms, “shoo! Shoo!”
Alice was only too glad to oblige. It was only as she was going through the door that she realised, she had not asked the name of the old woman – and the cunning old crone had never said it.
…………
next - men, maps and metal
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Date: 2009-06-04 05:09 am (UTC)thanks a lot! :))
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Date: 2009-06-04 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 08:22 pm (UTC)and the old lady... seems like we all had a chance to meet her.
I had once - in my childhood dream. So I recognize her.Or at least I put my childhood visions on the top of your character :))) and they seem to match!
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Date: 2009-06-04 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 08:32 pm (UTC)http://www.ljplus.ru/img/b/u/burrru/Two_Alices.jpg
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Date: 2009-06-04 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 02:00 pm (UTC)"she cod hear the glad voices" !!! lol!
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Date: 2009-06-05 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 04:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 07:33 pm (UTC)yes, i do story-telling, in a small way, occasionally. There are a couple of stories for children in my lj somewhere.
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Date: 2009-06-05 08:20 pm (UTC)yry!
Date: 2009-06-05 09:10 pm (UTC)