Time Turner
. . . fiction by Odyssea
. . .Hands. . .
Will could barely remember his father. All he had left of the man he knew as William Turner, Sr. were strong hands, a hearty laugh, a gold medallion and a vague misty memory.
He was young, and still living with his mother, in a port town on the southern coast of England. Every day he would walk by the ships down on the docks. They ranged from small fishing dinghies to the ocean crossing ships of the Royal Navy, but each was fascinating to young Will. He would stare at the sailors as they clambered aboard the ships with careless ease, gracefully scaling the ropes. Occasionally he would see boys, just a bit older than himself, being shown their tasks with guiding hands and the occasional box to the ear.
Will longed to go out on one of the ships, like his father did. Other boys he knew talked about pirates trolling the Spanish Main for treasure; Will Turner wanted to sail with the Royal Navy, on the ships with their gleaming cannon and shining uniforms. He learned all the major ships that came in, listened to the sailors chatting over their drinks while he fetched his mother's bottle of sherry from the publican.
They talked of distant places with names that rolled musically off the tongue: Hispanola, Florida, Tortuga. White sandy beaches, clear blue waters, warm sunshine. To Will, who had never left the cloudy, clammy shores of mother Britain, it sounded like some magical place, like the stories his mother would tell him of Tir Nan Og, where the fairies lived. The sailors would laugh, and reminisce, and pray to die on one of those enchanted islands where the sun shone forever.
It was about this time, when Will was no more than eight years old and preparing to be apprenticed to a cooper (much to his disgust) that his father finally reappeared. He had not seen his father in several years, which was to be expected when a man set off to sea. His mother, bless her soul, was gradually being taken over by the disease that would later take her life. So his father returned to see his son. He wasn't a large man, but he was strong and could easily pick up Will's scrawny weight.
He took his son down to the docks. There were only a few ships in; mostly the tall sailing ships, as the fishermen were still out. Bill Turner avoided the ships of the Royal Navy, with their guards and marines, and instead walked down to a middling respectable ship. He called to come aboard, and, as an old sailing hand, was allowed to come up. He carried Will up the narrow gangplank onto the main deck.
"Just giving my boy a look around, mates." He said, laughing. "This one will be a sailor some day, mark my words."
"Whatchu want him to be a sailor for?" asked one man who had very few teeth. "Not much of a life, innit?"
Bill Turner just smiled and said, "There's some men the sea done claimed before they were born. I was one of them, and I have a suspicion my son will be too."
He took Will around the ship, showed him all the cabins and holds. He finally led Will up to the bow of the ship and propped him up on the railing. Will took a firm grasp of a nearby rope, and his father curled his hand on top.
"You was made for a sailor, William Turner, and don't you forget it. It's in my blood, boy, and that means it's in yours, too. Remember that when you remember me."
Bill Turner left the next day and never came back. William's mother got sicker, and one day, two years later, when a strange gold medallion arrived from the Caribbean for Will, decided that her boy must be sent to his father. Having no idea where her erstwhile husband was, she used her last bits of coin to buy him passage on a merchant ship heading to the Caribbean with the misguided notion that her son would easily find his father there.
Before Will left, his mother fastened the chain onto the medallion so that it fell within his shirt. She implored him not to let anyone see it, as it was surely valuable. She died a few days before his ship was set to sail.
Will Turner left the only life he had ever known and set off on the great adventure of his life.
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