19Warning: This turned out rather...darker than I intended it to be when I first set out to write it. Not as dark as it could have gone, I suppose, but even so. It starts out with the death of Jack's mom, then throw in some moments of child abuse (verbal mostly, but on occasion it does get physical) and that's the beginning of this story. And this was meant to be the fun story that he tells to Jane to make her laugh.
Well...I guess I can at least say it does get better? And Jack turns out just fine, and is going to have Bert (and I will write that story eventually. Probably.) Oh well, I wrote it, so I might as well share it.
Story
For the first month after his mama died, Jack existed in a sort of dark fog. He knew there must have been sunshiny days, because summer was like that, even in London, but he didn't remember the sunshine or birdsong or games or anything that he knew to be good.
He supposed he cried quite a bit, and signora Bianchi, who was just as motherly a person as a young orphan could hope for, had doubtless held him all the while. He knew this, because he had strong memories of her holding him in her lap while little Sofia glared at him for taking her spot. He didn't really remember that first month properly though, just that he woke up one morning to the sound of a bird singing, and the dark was gone. Not forever gone, but receded back into the regular shadows that all lives know, and not the heavy veil it had been.
He missed his mama, but it was a nice day, and it seemed his insides had been growing all that dark time, because now there was room inside him to miss his mama fiercely and to smile at the fine day. And he had signora Bianchi and signor Bianchi (when he was home, which was seldom) and even with their eight children there was room enough for him too. Even Sofia didn't seem to mind him too much, except when he had her mother all to himself. And he was living in the same neighborhood as before, only two houses sideways, with people he already sort of knew instead of being sent away to strangers.
That is not to say that living with the Bianchis was perfect.
Jack's mama spoke to him in Spanish and in English. She favored English, even though it was harder for her.
"In here, you are my Jacobo," she told him. "Out there, you are Jack the English boy."
And then there was the accident, and everyone in the whole neighborhood was sorry about it, and he left his own home to go to the funeral and was taken home to a different house that was crowded to the roof but in a comfortable sort of way.
Jack was a bit confused by it all, but still young enough to expect adults to cart him around wherever they pleased, so when a sort of familiar woman was suddenly tucking him into bed that night, he still politely tried to say, "Thank you, Mrs. Bianchi."
"No, no!" she scolded. "I won't be Mrs. Bianchi in my own home. I am signora Bianchi. We speak Italian here." And then she said quite a bit more, only in Italian, that Jack couldn't follow, and left him more confused than ever. And after that day, signora Bianchi was very firm; Jack wasn't to ignore his heritage and he was to speak Italian in her household like a good little bambino.
At least three of her children tried to explain to her that Jack wasn't actually Italian, but somehow this fact couldn't fit inside her head. Jack was an immigrant like them (or at least, his family was), he certainly wasn't French or Irish, so he must be Italian. Sure, his Italian sounded a bit funny, especially at first, but Jack's mama had been mistakenly raising him English and he'd probably just learned the words a bit wrong.
So Jack went from mostly speaking English, except at home with his mama when they had a sort of secret language, to having to learn a third language or forever be in disgrace. Most children would have responded in one of two ways; they would have embraced the new household and abandoned their old identity to fit in…or they would have resented the new household and rebelled. Jack did neither.
When Jack was done crying, and his insides had grown big enough to carry around his loss, he laughed. Even he couldn't say why, perhaps simply because he'd cried for too long and he'd come out on the other side, but the fact that signora Bianchi remained convinced that Jack was a little Italian bambino, no matter how many times it was explained (and Jack had tried in Spanish once, and she had just shaken her head at his poor Italian) was the most hilarious thing he'd ever known.
He learned some Italian; even if he'd willfully tried to stay ignorant it would have been hard not to pick up a bit, and he rather enjoyed the new language. And he thought signora Bianchi very kind. But she wasn't his mama, and he did just as signora Bianchi ordered him to do and he didn't forget his heritage.
This led to occasional difficulties for him. When he had time to think out his words carefully, he could figure out the right ones for the occasion. In the Bianchi household, that would mean speaking Italian. Out and about, that would mean English. To his private self, that meant Spanish.
But when he was startled into speaking, when he didn't have the time to think, or the speaking was for those little pleasantries that we are all taught when we are young for politeness, somehow the first words to come out were in Spanish.
"È grazie, Jack!" he'd be scolded, after an incautious gracias, and then she'd go on for a good five minutes about him speaking gibberish, and what could his mama, god rest her soul, have been thinking to teach him such poor Italian.
And something inside of Jack would feel very unpleasant. It was a bit like guilt, and a bit like rage, and a bit like being tickled. It made him feel like he had a bear caged up inside his chest and he didn't like it. He didn't like that she made his mama sound like a bad mama. And at the same time he didn't like that he'd let signora Bianchi down, when she was so good and kind to him. And it was funny too, because she still thought he was Italian. And he didn't know whether to laugh or to cry or to grind his teeth and growl.
"Never mind Mamma," Giorgio would tell him. "She doesn't understand."
And what he really meant was 'she doesn't understand what it's like out there'. Outside of the house, when Giorgio became George, and pretended there was no such country as Italy in existence.
Jack was still a very small child, and he didn't have the words in any language to explain that he disagreed, but instinctively he felt that signora Bianchi did understand; she understood all too well, and that in a lot of ways she was like Jack's mama, only his mama had reacted to 'out there' by going in the opposite direction. Jack didn't know how to say any of this, even to himself, so he'd shrug and smile and do his chores or go and play and he'd try hard to remember his words.
And then one day, a man came around, and, though Jack didn't know it, his life was about to be turned upside down again.
"Why aren't you in school?" the man had asked Jack when he saw him playing outside, minding Sofia and the baby while signora Bianchi was busy and didn't want little ones under foot.
"We speak Italian here," Jack had answered, in Italian, because that was an iron Rule. And to Jack's confusion, his simple words caused the man to grow so angry his face twisted into a horrible sort of snarl, and the next thing Jack knew, his ear was ringing and he'd fallen on the ground.
"Respect your elders, boy!" the man had shouted.
"No hurt my Jack!" little Sofia had howled in response, and kicked the man in the shin with all her might and the baby screamed and the man turned so red that Jack rather worried he might be ill.
Jack was smart enough to know they were in danger, and he wasn't about to let this man box Sofia's ears, or worse, the baby's, so he heaved the baby up and ran, trusting Sofia to have enough sense to follow. She did.
Only that wasn't the end of the mean man who didn't respect signora Bianchi's rules. And at first all he asked was why Jack wasn't in school.
"He's just a baby," Mrs. Bianchi answered (and she was Mrs. Bianchi in that moment. Sitting at her own kitchen table, she allowed the man in and spoke to him in English and Jack and Sofia spied on them from the stairs and it was all wrong).
The man had not been impressed with that answer.
"He looked at least six to me."
"He's five," said Mrs. Bianchi, and Jack wasn't entirely sure if she was lying, or if it was just another one of those things that she believed with all her heart no matter how many times she was told otherwise. At any rate, the man hadn't believed her. He wanted Jack's records.
She didn't seem to have Jack's records, whatever those were. She didn't seem to think them important, either.
"Your neighbor says the boy isn't one of yours. That you took him when his mother died."
"So what if I did?" demanded Mrs. Bianchi. "The bambino needed a mamma."
"There are rules for that sort of thing," answered the man. "We protect children in this country."
And Jack and Sofia weren't sure how, but clearly the man was being rude again because they could see Mrs. Bianchi's anger growing.
And that was the beginning of the end. It didn't happen overnight, not like Jack's arrival in the household, but there were late night talks between signora and signor Bianchi, and there was a woman who was much nicer than the man who came to visit, and then one day all of Jack's things were being tied up in a sack, and all ten of the Bianchis, from signor Bianchi down to the baby were hugging him, and signora Bianchi said (in Italian of course) "Never forget where you came from."
And in a nicer sort of world, the kind woman who'd come to talk to the family and explain why it was better this way, when they already had so many children to look after, and Jack needed schooling, and more along those lines, well, that was who would have come to collect Jack and bring him to his new home.
The world was neither kind nor cruel, though it felt a bit cruel in that moment, and it was the man who'd first boxed Jack's ear who was to take him. Jack had no idea where he was going, except that it was away, and he didn't quite dare to ask the man who'd grabbed him by the wrist and walked so swiftly that Jack had to half jog or risk being dragged.
The where turned out to be the train station, which was new and exciting enough that Jack forgot about being scared, but stared with wide eyes at the great locomotives, and the bustle of the crowds, and everything.
On the train, the man shoved Jack's bag over their heads and sat Jack in his seat by the window while he took the aisle seat and, all in all, didn't seem nearly so mean as Jack had feared. Jack still didn't dare to speak to him, and the man didn't seem to care to speak to a child, so they sat in silence and Jack had the enjoyment of looking out the window and getting to see as they started off down the track. It was so interesting and enjoyable, in fact, that it didn't quite occur to him that he was being taken very far away from everything he knew.
Then the man took out sandwiches from his briefcase, and he gave one to Jack.
"And what do you say?" the man asked, when Jack took his sandwich with a surprised sort of look. In fact, Jack rather thought the man the sort to eat in front of him and not offer a crumb, and finding otherwise had been surprising enough for him to forget his manners.
And then he was prompted and Jack opened his mouth and couldn't find the right word.
He knew the man wanted to be thanked, and he knew the word. He knew three words, in fact, but only one would do, and the other words crowded out the right one and, without quite meaning to, he sort of hunched down and covered his ear with his hand. He couldn't have said himself why he did it; all he knew was that he had to speak and all the words that crowded in his head were wrong and the right words slid away where he couldn't reach it.
"Don't you cover your ears when I speak to you!" the man said, growing angry, and he grabbed Jack's wrist and wrenched his hand back down. "Well, if you can't mind your manners like a good little boy then you don't get my good sandwich." And he snatched the food back.
Then he sort of gave Jack a look, and perhaps he was waiting for Jack to say something like 'sorry' and 'thank you for the nice sandwich', and perhaps he intended to give it back then. He waited in vain, though, because Jack looked down at his lap instead of at the man with his sandwich, and then Jack looked out the window and eventually the man gave up on him and ate his own sandwich and put the second one away.
Jack didn't miss it much, because he felt so unsettled that his stomach hurt and he wasn't hungry at all. After a bit, watching the countryside slide by soothed him, and the rest of the trip was quiet, and being on a train at all was almost enough to make up for the company.
Then they arrived at a small wooden platform that was nothing at all like the station back in London, and they were the only ones getting off. Jack had no idea where they were, except that there were trees and grass all around and a sort of dirt trail and no buildings. Jack had never been in a place so devoid of buildings; even parks had edges where you could see walls and roofs and the like.
It was really only in this moment that Jack came to understand what the train ride meant, and it was in a sort of daze that he was taken even further into the country (this time by car, and that should have been exciting except Jack was all excited out by that point). They went through a sort of town, and those were buildings, but it was all spread out and strange and it ended quite quickly and they went past fields, and there were cows, and then they came to quite a large house all made of stone and covered in ivy.
"Here we are," said the man, the first words he'd said towards Jack since the sandwich incident. "The Cottage." And had Jack known a bit more about the part of the world that wasn't London, he'd have been confused because the building was not at all like a cottage.
And the man told the young person driving the car to wait for him, and he took Jack by the wrist again and marched him up to the door much quicker than Jack would have liked to go on his own, for he was curious in spite of his upset stomach and he wanted to see. The man didn't care to see anything though, but walked right up to the door, and knocked.
And almost before Jack could get a feel for this strange house, he was standing before large woman who smiled at the man, then at Jack, as she shook their hands.
"I trust you had a pleasant journey," she said, to the man rather than to Jack. "It's so kind of you to bring the boy all the way from London."
"It is my duty," the man said, not sounding at all pleased at the compliment, and the woman stopped smiling quite so aggressively.
"Of course," she said, and then, "And I see you have his paperwork all ready. Yes, that seems to be in order. Will you be staying for supper…or perhaps for the night?" And Jack couldn't say why, because he words were all the right sort of words, but he didn't think she really wanted the man to stay.
"I return to London in two hours," the man answered. The woman looked pleased to hear that, but said, "That's too bad. We live simply here, but the countryside does have its charms. And it's so healthful and wholesome for the poor children."
"The paperwork is in order," said the man, "And I have seen to the child's arrival, so I will take my leave. Good day, Madame."
And the man left and Jack was alone with the woman, who in his head he now called 'Madame'.
"And that's him gone," she muttered, and then she picked up the papers the man had left, glanced towards Jack, and said, "Let's see what we've got. Male, well that can't be helped, London born, worse and worse, you'll be a little thieving troublemaker, all the city boys are. Name of Jack…oh that is too bad. Another foreign mongrel, I see, with one of those ridiculous names no sensible Englishman can pronounce. I won't be having it; you'll be Jack Sharp while I have you, and be proud to answer to it. At least they had the sense to give you a proper first name. Age? No good, we've no beds to spare there. I'll stick you with the sixes; you look small enough."
All of this was said to herself more than to Jack, and it was not particularly pleasant to be talked about like that. Jack didn't answer back though, not even with a glare. He was still too unsettled and a bit confused. No one had told him where he was going, so he wasn't entirely sure he'd actually arrived, and he didn't understand any of the last bit of what she said (except, that it was an insult).
"And what do we have here?" Madame said, and she snatched his small bundle that he'd so carefully carried all that way and she poured everything out onto her desk. The clothes (which were mostly what was in the bundle) she tossed to the floor, saying "No good; we've got a uniform." The small doll that even Jack hadn't known was there, but recognized as having belonged to Sofia, she sneered at. "Into dolls are we?" she asked. "We'll cure you of that." And that was tossed aside as well. The food Signora Bianchi had carefully packed away for him, she sniffed suspiciously, declared some sort of foreign poison, and dumped into a waste bin. Finally, there was nothing left. She looked disappointed.
"No jewelry from your late mother?" she asked, and her lips sort of smiled but her eyes didn't. "No father's pocket watch? No clever mechanical toys? No books? Of course, no books, you don't even know what schooling is."
Seeing her smile while she said such things made Jack feel funny, like something was very wrong and he wanted to be as far from the woman as possible. He never thought he'd miss that mean man, but now he wished with all his heart that he'd come back and take him away. And he didn't dare to explain that she was wrong about the schooling. He had been…before. When he lived with his mama. Then he lived with signora Bianchi and she never sent him to school and everything had been so new that he had never even questioned why he no longer went until the man had shown up to ask.
She didn't give him his bag back. She rang a bell on her desk instead, and teenager came in at once.
"This is Jack Sharp," said Madame. "Take him to the sixes and get him settled."
"Yes, Ma'am," said the boy, and then he turned around and walked back out the door.
"Well? Go on," said Madame to Jack, and it was only then that Jack realized he was meant to follow. He did so, hearing her mutter, 'little mongrel,' to herself as he went. And so began a new chapter in Jack's life at the Cottage.
