A Moment In Time
Now and then, in this workaday world, things do happen in the delightful story-book fashion, and what a comfort that is
Louisa M. Alcott. "Little Women"
"The longer I live, the less I'm certain
If I have all the answers right.
I'd give all my yesterdays to touch the light…"
From F. Wildhorn's "Dracula the Musical"
London, 1964 A.D.
I don't believe in miracles.
Why should I?
Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I am not allowed to go to The Beatles concert - again.
Life isn't fair.
Ok, maybe I do use this set phrase too often for a sixteen year-old. Perhaps I'm just too prone to melancholy…
Well, I guess that thing must be running in the family, anyway…
Exhausted after the argument with both Pa and Ma, I am now sitting with my back at the door of my room (having just slammed it with a bit more force I usually do) and drowning in self-pity.
Behind the door I can hear the far-away voices of my parents – still discussing my behavior, no doubt.
As if there are no more subjects in the world to talk about!
"… Just fancy, Charles!", - my Ma's offended voice, though no longer youthful, is still melodic, like jingling bells. (Ma, having made a great career in music, is now, at the age of fifty, a music teacher at college. Perhaps, we are too alike to co-exist in peace.)
"… and all that rowjustabout our not letting her go to some silly gathering!"
Lord, I do wish Grandpa and Grandma were still alive!
"Honey, I am not defending her, but those four lads are really wide popular among young folks nowadays," – my dad, as usual, trying to please both sides.
"Charles, you are really far too liberal…"
"Jane, darling, you always forget that Moira is different from our elder children. Unlike them, she was born after the Victory. This generation is nowhere near the previous one. They are different. You can't just deny the fact."
"Charles, I've never been allowed to go to concerts without adult supervision until I finished school, so she won't go anywhere either!!!"
"Now, Jane, who is being childish?"
I sigh and stop listening.
So much for the family reunion, Christmas spirit and all.
Obviously, no use to go to Meg or Jim for consolation for the time being. The first one – she lives next door now- is wrapped up in her own two small kids, and the second cannot talk of anything but politics and his upcoming M.D.
For them I'll always be a "baby sister", just out of diapers, whose problems are about the same weight as the loss of a favourite dolly or having been snapped by a fellow in the sandbox.
Shit.
Suddenly I feel used up.
I jump onto my bed, jeans and all, and cover my head with a pillow.
Oh, Grandma, why did you have to pass away- you were the only person in this family who understood me. Who loved me for what I was.
And now I am ALL ALONE.
No one cares for me.
No one understands me.
Here I am, all alone and unloved…
Hate to sound too cliché, but really, better for Moira Cordelia Stuart-Parkinson that she had never been born! (Ok, that's plagiarism, I admit, but for now I don't care)
I close my eyes, and "the rest is silence"…
Is it madness or am I really on board a ship???
Wow. Just wow!
What richness!
Even Great-Aunt Gladys' sitting-room in the Quiller-Couch family residence is next to nothing comparing to this place I am dreaming of…
Wait! Dreaming of?!
Well, by all means it must be a dream – or else I'd swear I went back in time, which is even more absurd.
Won't borrow any Jim's science-fiction books any more, to be sure!
I bet this instrument on my left would have been sold for heaps of money on Sothby auction. At least I guess my Ma would have sold everything, including our house, to get it!
And the chairs – from now on those in Aunt Mary Anne's theatre will always seem shabby to me…
And this portrait in front of me…hmm ...what are we having here?
Wow, that Restoration-period guy beats even Austen's Mr. Darcy (not that I ever was in a swoon because of that snobbish jerk as my sister Margaret was in her teens!). Though he is as well "tall, dark and handsome".
Jeez, that cannot…cannot be…Captain James Hook!!!
I step back to have a better look . The family legend, no less.
Well, not bad. Especially the eyes – so sharp it makes you feel odd. (I've always been told I inherited my eyes from Grandpa, and the hair as well , only mine is made in a different style, of course!).
A decided mouth, an aquiline nose (mine was spoilt by Pa's genes, to be sure!), and a fine brow. Looks cool, but somewhat intimidating.
"Well", from habit I start speaking to myself, " I reckon I have no reason to be afraid of him, as although he is a bit too "high and mighty" on this portrait, and looks as if he has a tremendous will of his own, still he is truly handsome. Though perhaps I rather prefer the photo in Grandma's old cabinet, on which they are together…"
"Thank you, mademoiselle", I hear a gruff voice behind my back.
Christopher Columbus, as my favourite heroine would say…
I turn around to meet the man himself.
He takes his lantern closer to my face, and his stern look changes to the incredulous one.
"Isabelle? My girl, can it really be…?"
I am puzzled for a moment. Than it dawns upon me – of course he thinks of his eldest daughter from Duchess Anne Buccleuch, who also took after him! But that is quite a different story. Another time and another world, you know…
Now, when the light is lit, he sees he had been mistaken, and not glad of it.
Sorry to disappoint you, Grandfather, I say to myself. "I guess that's my doom to disappoint all my folks from time to time."
For a moment I feel a strong urge to run for my life.
But than I remember I am a Stuart. The Stuarts do not run for their lives.
So I am prepared to meet my doom.
"Sorry , sir, but you're evidently mistaken. My name is Moira Cordelia Stu... er…Parkinson (I'd better stick to Pa's surname, indeed! Time –traveling is no joke!).
He still looks intimidating, but there's a smirk in the corner of his mouth.
"So, you are not afraid of me, Miss Parkinson?"
Not really. And those shivers down my spine are also only a side-effect of my dream.
"Not much, sir."
"And you don't think me as handsome as your own grandfather?
Stupid man, you are him!
"Not quite, sir.""And I've got a tremendous will, have I ?"
"I only said I thought so."
"But you like me, in spite of it?"
"Yes, I do, mon capitaine."
He gives a short laugh, as if amused with my answer, then comes closer (oh, my!)and puts his fingers (thank God not something else!) under my chin, examines my face for a while with a somewhat grave expression, than suddenly lets it go.
His face is quite unreadable.
"So, Miss Parkinson", he continues, "how exactly you made your appearance on board of my humble vessel?"
Bonne question, as Ma would say.
"Um.. sounds stupid, but I have no idea, sir. Must be some kind of magic"
He makes a deep sigh.
"Obviously. Always magic. So, are you another Lost Girl?"
Lord, he must be taking me for Granny, or, rather, my own Ma!
"Pardon?""I mean, my beauty, perhaps you had no wish to grow up, eh, missy?"
He must be mental. Which is not surprising, considering how much time he spent on this blasted island!
"Never to grow up? Me? Fiddlesticks! Er… I mean, quite on the contrary, sir. I always wished to grow up as soon as possible!"
His eyebrow is now gone considerably up .
"Is that so? And why, pray, should you have such an…extraordinary wish, Miss Parkinson?"
Yes, I was right. He evidently needs psychiatric help!
" Well, to be independent, of course. Not to care about the other folks' opinions of how I should live my life. To do what I want. To have my own way, in other words. Hey, have I said anything funny, sir?"
Now he is really amused.
"Foolish little girl!"
Now he's gone too far!
"Excuse me, sir", I sound quite offended, "but I insist you stop calling me that! I am anything but a little girl. In fact, I am finishing school this spring!"
He chortles.
"No, my beauty, if you really believe that grown-ups constantly enjoy themselves, do what they want and do not depend on other grown-ups, in that case you are a little girl!
"But I thought…"
Now it's my turn to be at a loss for words.
He sighs again.
"Even the King cannot afford himself to do whatever he wants, Miss Parkinson. And as for independence – the higher is one's position in life, the more he or she depends upon others. I am extremely sorry to disappoint you, ma belle, but it's the way of the world. Oh, and for the most part those who do dare to have their own way end their lives as social outcasts.
Well, for sure I was by no means ready for such revelations…"Like you, sir?", I ask bluntly.
A quick shadow of suppressed grief on his face.
"Notwithstanding your impertinence, Miss Parkinson, in fact you are right .I, at a time, also loathed being subject to the higher authorities, and wished I could have, as you elegantly put it, my own way. The outcome of that sort of philosophy is in front of you".
He looks away, avoiding eye contact.
I feel uneasy (which is a rare occasion, in fact).
" But, sir….that's really not fair!"
He sighs again, but without irritation or annoyance.
"Life isn't fair, Miss Parkinson".
I manage to put on a sad smile.
"Hey, sir, that's my favourite saying!"
"How very ironic!", - a bitter smirk in the corners of his lips.
Thinking it over, I add : "But now it seems to me I wasn't very wise to use it all the way"
I am fingering the bright fabric of my Gypsy-styled blouse, getting slightly nervous.
"You see, sir", I go on, approaching the instrument, "all my life I wanted to do something splendid. Something outstanding. I never had any idea what exactly it should be, but I did want to become famous for something. (Sounds familiar, doesn't it, Captain?). But now…( I linger near the seat)…now I am not sure anymore…I mean, if I went and did something bad, I'd become spoken of as well, but…perhaps I cannot express my ideas well enough…, but it's not the kind of fame I wish for myself. (Now I have had it out!). Not any longer…
He still is not looking at me.
"You know, sir, if in the end I have no one to confide in, no one to be friends with…well…I'd rather not be well-known at all!"
The silence is getting too oppressive, as obviously is the Captain's mood.
"Still, Miss Parkinson, " he suddenly breaks the prolonged pause, "you never answered my question. What brought you here?"
I utter a nervous giggle.
"Oh, that was utter rubbish, sir! Er.. I meant nothing special – just a row with my parents.
"Sounds familiar".
I feel a bit relaxed.
"In fact, they didn't let me go to a concert of The Beatles – that's my favourite group, sir, and I got mad at them and…"
Now he is genuinely surprised.
"Beetles? What is going on in dear old England if a group of musicians is called after some insects???"
I laugh out loud.
"Not beetles, sir. The Beatles. And speaking of music…Suppose I play now something from their latest album on this gorgeous instrument of yours? With your permission, of course.
It's the Captain's turn to be at a loss for words.
"If you wish, Miss Parkinson…I haven't heard anyone play for centuries…let alone a young lady…" He takes a seat on one of those amazing chairs (when I am back home, I'll certainly describe them to Aunt Mary Anne!) and gives me an intense look.
I sit down as well and put my hands on the keyboard.
Lord, what should I play?And then, all of a sudden, I know. Though that song had never been in my favourites.
Too sad for me, I always thought.
But now…
YesterdayAll my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they are here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday
Suddenly
I'm not half a man I used to be
There's a shadow hanging over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly…
He seems to be frozen on the spot. Entranced.
Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't sayI said something wrong,
Now I long for yesterday
I look down on the keyboard pretending I do not notice that longing in his inscrutable eyes. Man unfathomable, indeed!
YesterdayLove was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away,
Oh, I believe in yesterday…
So much pain…What was that Grandma's saying : "Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can't heal"? But she is already in Heaven, and, Lord, who am I to cope with this situation – I'm no psychologist!!!Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't sayI said something wrong,
Now I long for yesterday…
When I finish none of us speak. I stand up, pretending to study my old blue jeans and home slippers (well, it was not a fault of mine I had no time to change clothes for the "occasion"…) not to meet those tormented eyes. Eyes of a man with the past, but without future, stuck for eternity in the never ending "today".
And then suddenly I realize why I am here.
Hope.
That's it! This man, of all people, is in great need of some.
And I am surely not so mean as to grudge it.
"Why have you come here, Miss Parkinson?", he speaks very lowly. "Are you from Heaven or from hell? Is my torment not enough as it is?"
"I still don't know how I came here, sir", I answer frankly. "But, perhaps, it was high time we both were taught something at last?"
A puzzled look on his face.
"You see, Captain", I go on without a second thought, "we are very much alike, you and I. We are both proud, ambitious, willful and obstinate. Ah, and adventurous as well. You know, just before getting here I was foolish enough to make a row and to whine about being alone and unloved…(He flinches at those words)…What a selfish swine I have been! I, who have Ma and Pa and Meg and Jim, any many other relatives! And as for having my own way… You know, your words have really turned it all upside down! Like you, I always tried to get away from the rules and restrictions, considering myself above them. Too smart to be like the others. But now I see that it doesn't get you anywhere – only towards loneliness and regret. Dead end, that's it!
"Dead end", he echoes. " Indeed you are right, Miss Parkinson. Death is the only adventure left for me".
There's so much despair in the atmosphere, I'm going to be sick.
"But, sir, I didn't mean it like that!", I cry out, managing to surprise my opponent.
"Please, sir, don't give up! There is always a way out – at least my Grandma often said so, and she was the best woman in the world!
He snorts.
"Idealistic woman, that grandmother of yours. What else did she say?"
Air. I need more fresh air.
I thought I was too stupid to remember Grandma Wendy's words. Never have been a model docile granddaughter, as you may imagine.
I was mistaken . Or is it no longer me that is now speaking, but she herself?
"She also said, sir", all of a sudden the words start to flow down from my mouth on their own accord, "that we can never escape from ourselves. That true freedom is not elsewhere, but within us, in the interior of our hearts. Freedom from all sorts of evil things. That if we fail to overcome an enemy within us, we can never be free, even possessing the whole world, and all sorts of power and glory. But if we do overcome this enemy, then we can be really free…"
I finish, exhausted with my weird speech.
Suddenly I feel some sort of ticking in my mind. And a queer little voice in my head:
You time here is nearly up, girl.
Slowly I approach the Captain, who remains motionless, lost in his thoughts, and put my hand on his shoulder.
I thought he would tell me to stay away. But he didn't.
"I am sorry, sir, but I have stayed too long. I must be going home now."
Now it's impossible to avoid his glance.
"Must you?" His voice is hoarse.
I feel awkward. But time is not to be trifled with, you know.
"Yes, sir, I really don't want my folks to find out I am missing. It's Christmas time, after all."
I hate to see that look on his face.
Suddenly I understand I do want to give him something. I simply must.
I start rummaging in my vast pockets, and take out the very least expected object - a little hard-shelled creature.
"That's it! Merry Christmas, sir!"
To say he is merely surprised would be a great underestimation.
"Miss Parkinson, what is this supposed to signify?"
"It's Hammer, sir", I chuckle.
"Hammer?"
"You see, sir, actually our old couple of pet turtles, Brimstone and Gall, recently produced their heirs – four baby turtles, and I named them Odds, Bobs, Hammer and Tongs. (that look on dear old Captain's face is priceless!). So here is little Hammer, who evidently got stuck in my pocket! And as my brother Jim would call it McCartney just to tease me, its full name is now actually MC Hammer!"
I put the notorious turtle into the left hand of the flabbergasted Captain, and want to make for the door.
"Miss Parkinson, wait!"
I turn back, much surprised.
"I…owe you my gratitude…"
"Not at all. And you can call me Moira", I smile openly at him
"MOIRA, WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Lord, is it morning already? I've just closed my eyes for a couple of minutes…
"Rise and shine, sis!", my "big brother" Jim, already in his "festive" suit, is grinning at me while I am trying to gather my wits together. "The service is about to begin in an hour, so you may thank me for getting you back to reality. We even had to postpone gifts exchange- you looked as if you were going to stay asleep till Doomsday…"
He is struggling in vain with his tie (just as our great-grandfather George, according to Granny's tale!)
In an HOUR? Gosh, and I haven't ironed my going-to-church dress yesterday!!!
I rush towards the bathroom, nearly losing my slippers on the way. I'd better hurry up – Ma's voice, which is already on its top, is getting closer (time management, as well as patience, have never been her strong points!)
Still sleepy, I take my comb and am on the way of brushing my mane when I catch glimpse of my earrings…
To be more precise, one earring is my own. But the other…
Brimstone and gal!!!
Even if I did have jewelry in my possession, I surely wouldn't be allowed to show it off like that! Not with that huge ruby in the center of the golden circle, anyway…
My hands are shaking when I take them both – an old and a new one – off, to hide away from curious eyes.
By all means, I don't want the whole parish to be staring at my ears !
Now I know I haven't gone nuts.
It all was real.
And this Christmas gift from my "dark and sinister" Grandpa is real, too, making my palm burn.
"I really must be going now, Captain."
"Wait, Miss…Moira! Although I have by no means deserved your kindness, I do not wish to be ungrateful. If you must take your leave, you shouldn't do it empty-handed.
"Wow, but it's …I cannot take it! Wait, no, I mean, of course I shall! Thank you so much!"
"You are welcome, ma belle"
His eyes are still wistful, but somewhere deep inside them I see a tiny sparkle of hope.
And I know I can leave now.
"I'm not good at speeches, sir, but all I can say now – you won't stay alone forever. However bad you may feel now, it won't last long. That I can guarantee you
I give him a last reassuring look, putting on my most warm smile.
"Merry Christmas, Grandfather!", I murmur on taking my leave.
And all goes black again.
MOIRA CORDELIA STUART-PARKINSON, IF YOU ARE NOT READY IN FIFTEEN MINUTES….
"Coming, Ma!", I answer rather meekly ( I'm afraid I'm completely OOC today!)
and rush out of the bathroom with a stupid smile on my face.
And I feel happy as if I were a little girl again.
Happy as if I could fly.
And I love everyone in this crazy household (and even the neighbours!).
And I don't want anyone in this world to feel lonely and unloved.
I believe in miracles.
I really do.
THE END
A/n :
I DID WRITE THE FINAL VARIANT SEE CHAPTER ONENOW THIS STORY IS COMPLETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1) Yes, I did take most of the portrait scene from L.M. Alcott's "Little Women" (Jo/old Mr. Laurence)
2) I do think the best actress for the part of Moira would be Winona Ryder (in her younger years)
3) And YES, the entire story was inspired by Fox's "Peter Pan &the Pirates", episode "Hook's Christmas"
4) Finally, to understand the text better, go read my "The Stuart Family Values", part 1&2 (buhaha)