The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Sixty-Seven
Translations and Transgressions
Sparrow
struggled with the French book as he attempted to learn the language.
But he found that the book was of little help. It was more an
introduction in conversing in the romantic language than an actual
translation.
What he needed was an English-French dictionary.
But he doubted Noodle-boy-man, whatever his name was, would be so
kind as to provide him with his request.
“Bloody ‘ell.”
he grumbled. He pushed the book aside and stared at the other volume,
the one on Spanish. “Ye probably be no help to ol’ Jack either,”
he sparred with the tome.
Jack swiveled from the bar to let
his eyes rest on Frenchy. He considered asking him to help but the
man’s English was about as good as his own French, practically
non-existent.
He stood there watching as the Frenchman and the
Earl conversed. It was becoming obvious that his choices were
limited. Between the two men they could decipher Carrie’s letter.
The question was, would they translate it correctly for him.
Jack knew he was not the best mate to anyone in the room, all but for
Sam. He turned back to the bar and downed the last of the rum. It had
been a long day. And now he had to sum up his courage and beg the two
men to translate the words.
He felt as if he were being
keel-hauled across the bow of a ship as he weighed his decision.
“May God have mercy on me soul,” he gave a short prayer
as he turned on his heel and strode across the room to the seated
men. They stopped their conversation as they saw the pirate approach.
The Frenchman jabbered something to Wilmot, who in turn answered back
in French.
As Jack came nearer, the Earl held out his cane,
halting Jack from coming any further.
“What say you, pirate?
Why do you encroach upon our privacy? Speak up, what say you?” the
lordship inquired of Jack.
Jack narrowed his eyes downward at
the tip of the cane. How easy it would be to draw his sword and chop
the end off. How simple to reach forward and pluck the ghastly,
ridiculous wig from off his bastard head. But he refrained.
Instead
he smiled, like a fox convincing the chickens he meant no harm as he
entered a chicken house. He rolled his body forward, a flourished
wave of his hand.
“A favor if I may, Gov’ner?” Jack
pushed the cane aside but the Earl snapped it back to his chest.
“Stay yourself, Sparrow. Come no closer, I daresay…” he
held a handkerchief up to his nose.
Jack became aware that
his presence offended the Earl’s delicate sense of smell.
“Apologies, your lordship. “Tis been a long time since I
had the pleasure of a bath. If I recall, I was landlocked for a
time…at a boarding house.” His mind seemed to drift back to the
time. “Yes, ‘twas owned by one Lady Pamela. Fine woman. Quite
deft with her hands if I recall…eh…scrubbing me back, that is.”
The Earl looked over the pirate before him, a half smile
tugging at his lips. “Ahhh…Lady Pamela…I recall her myself…I
think…not sure…had so many you know? But all ladies of all walks
of life have their own talents, do they not?”
Jack gave a
narrowed look at the Earl. He doubted if Lady Pamela would have
allowed herself to be one of the Earl’s conquests. She was too much
of a lady for such unscrupulous behavior that befell this man’s
deviant way of life. He decided to let the comments pass, knowing
better of Wilmot’s claims.
“Yes, quite right you are your
lordship. Many ladies. Many talents. As is the case of this letter.”
Jack held out the letter from Carrie, being careful to keep it from
both men’s reach.
“What have you there my man?” Wilmot
tried to take the letter, but Jack snatched it back. Frenchy just
watched, waiting for someone to explain what was happening.
“Tis
a letter from a lady. She be French. Like yourself.” Jack directed
the last at the Frenchman. “I believe Frenchy here knows the young
lady who penned the letter. Mademoiselle Carrie?”
At the
sound of Carrie’s name the Frenchman snapped to attention.
“Care—ree! Oui! Je connais Care-ree!”
Jack
scowled at the the man’s outburst, looking to Wilmot for
translation.
“He says yes, he knows Carrie.”
“Well,
then, he can be of help to ol’ Jack. See I be needing someone to
translate the letter. I tried to do it on my onesies...but did not
have much luck. So now I must make a choice. That was to continue to
brood that I would never know what me Carrie has written and pray it
was none too important information, or I could admit I be needing
help and come over to ye fine gentleman and inquire into the
possibility that ye would assist me in translation of said written
letter.”
“Are you asking us to translate your love letter
for you, Sparrow?” Wilmot repeated his question in French to the his
companion. Frenchy smiled and nodded.
“Captain if you
please, Early, old boy. Captain Jack Sparrow. And I can not say if it
be a love letter as that I am unable to decipher a single word except
for me name at the beginning and Carrie’s name at the end.”
The
Earl spoke again to the Frenchman. They conversed quickly, the
Frenchman again nodding quickly.
“Very well, Captain. We
have agreed to translate for you only because for lack of other
enlightening activities available. I dare say, I have not gone so
long without a woman. I fear that I may have to look elsewhere during
my stay here.” The Englishman glanced around eyeing the
possibilities. His gaze fell upon Raphael. His skin was smooth, his
muscles strong and lean. He had a quiet reserve about him, one that
interested the Earl.
Jack caught the object of the Earl’s
affection. He cleared his throat to bring the Englishman’s
attention back to him.
“He be a fine one to consider but a word
of caution. He does have a bit of a temper and has been known to
inflict shall I say, considerable fatal damage to those who have
displeased him.”
The Earl showed signs of concern at
Sparrow’s warning.
“Now, if ye be looking for a delicate
flower, might I suggest the one over there, by Lt. Victor? He…she…ah,
BonBon is one who may be receptive to your advances.” Jack glanced
around as if checking for eavesdroppers.
“Eunuch, I
understand. But lovely singing voice.”
The Earl nodded.
“Thank you Captain. I shall take that under consideration. Now,”
he said, turning back to the pirate and reaching for the letter.
“If I may, I shall be more than happy to assist you with
your translation.”