Takaroa (sea god) chapter 1 Uncle Jack

(Authors note) this is a rough first draft of a story that just won't go away. Be as critical as you like, honesty is the best policy.
The only way to get this story out of my head is for me to write it or for you to rubbish it. Tell me what you think. does it have legs.





Sunlight pierces the treetops to catch the dancing dust in its fingers, while a cool breeze wafts the earthy must of autumn. An open backdoor beckons and breathes out, smells of wood polish and Sunday dinner. And for Donny, hiding under the spreading limbs of a flowering jacaranda, the temptation to disobey his Mother and once again wander into Jack's garden, was too much.

Uncle Jack, as Donny always called him, had stuff, lots of stuff. And a story that went with every item. Donny was the only kid in the neighbourhood that Jack would tolerate because Donny's father and Jack had been best mates. Jack had always looked out for Donny as best he could ever since the terrible accident that had taken his father's life. But he would be the first to admit, that he was not good with kids. It didn't help that most of the kids in the neighbourhood would always tease him and call him names because of the way he looked. And Donny wasn't immune to any of the teasing either, on account of his freindship with the old man.

The accident that had taken Donny's father had left Jack a broken man both physically and spiritually. He walked with a painful, lop-sided gait, after having half of his left leg blown away. Two fingers were missing from his left hand. His back had been broken, which gave him a humpbacked appearance. And there was a black patch covering his sightless left eye, with a raised purple scar that seemed to dribble from the patch down his cheek to the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent sneer.

To Donny he looked like an old Pirate, which made the stories Jack would tell more realistic, but, to all the other kids he was a freak, someone to laugh at and call names, names like Captain Pugwash or the Hunchback of Crossdale Street.

When Donny was just a young boy, Jack would play on the fact that Donny thought he looked like a pirate by acting like one, which Donny really enjoyed. His active imagination was sparked by stories of hidden treasures buried in secret locations along deserted shorelines.

"Every pirate's gotta have a hidden treasure for when they fall on hard times and they need money."
"Here mate. Take some of my trinkets and hide them in a safe place. But you can't tell anyone about them or where it's hidden. that's part of the pirates code. If you can keep the secret and honour the code, I'll give you more treasure to add to your booty. But remember yer can't tell a soul, not even yer mum," he said in a low growling voice.

The intense discomfort of not being able to tell anyone that you even had buried treasure passed eventually, and as Donny grew older his thoughts of buried treasure, like the treasure itself, became buried in the back of his mind.

If you were ever lucky enough to be invited in to Jack's house, your imagination would be launched on an adventure of discovery. It was like a museum or perhaps a time capsule of days gone by, an era when even Jack would smile. Donny could see that now in one of the many photo,s that hung from the timber-panelled wall. He could see a group of men in uniform posing in front of a large gun that towered above them. One of the men in the photo was Donny's father. He knew it was his Father; Jack had shown him many photo,s of him before. And on the other side of the narrow passageway, opposite the photo, was an antique cabinet that had one of his favourite items perched in pride of place an old style sextant used by a real pirate, according to uncle Jack. To Donny it just screamed to be picked up and pointed at the nearest star.

"Hey!. What are you up to back there?. You better not be touching anything you shouldn't."

Donny jumped at the sound of Jacks gruff voice. He hadn't seen Jack sitting in the front room, in the semi darkness.

"I'm not touching l was just looking," he said guiltily.

Donny slowly walked up the hallway, looking to the left and right at pictures of boats and ships of all sizes, letting his hand lightly trail along an old oak sideboard leaving tracks in the dust, hoping to see something new that he hadn't seen before. Stopping at items of interest his hand almost instinctively reached out to touch and then, thinking better of it, slowly lowered and moved on to the next item. Until he reached the front room, or the den, as Jack liked to call it. Jack was sitting in a large high backed armchair, rummaging through an old tin box.

"How did you know l was there?." Donny asked.

"You're no good at sneaking, lad. Sounded like a herd of fairy elephants"

"What's in the box?," the boy asked curiously.

"Aww you're not gonna start asking a hundred questions again, are yer?. And it's not a box; it's a sea chest, lad. I keep my valuables in here."

And with that he kept rummaging through the box muttering to himself.

"Is it a real treasure chest?," Donny said. "Can l see, please?."

"Ahh here it is! l knew it would be in here. Now lad, did l ever tell you about the time when me and your dad rescued a Norwegian oil tanker in the Med?."

Jack was an old salt, a sailor through and through, just as Donny's father had been. Both Jack and Donny's father had joined the Navy at the same time, survived basic training together and served in almost the same number of ships, usually at the same time. On their retirement, they were both offered jobs with a company that chartered luxury yachts to anyone who could afford it, usually rich businessmen and the odd celebrity. People who needed to slip in and out of places with little or no fuss.

As Donny reached his mid teens the visits to Jack's became less frequent and, when he did stop by to visit, the conversation would always end awkwardly. Donny felt he needed to know more about his father and what had happened to him. Jack was the only tangible link to the truth, but that link felt fragile, like there wasn't enough to hold onto. Donny's obsession to fill the gaps in the story grew stronger by the day.

"l just don't like to talk about it, Donny, and besides the less you know in this the better off you are. Me and your father, we got in over our heads and we paid well your dad paid the supreme sacrifice."

"You mean he was killed, that it wasn't an accident?"

"Listen lad you're too young to understand..." He paused, "I'm not going to involve you. When you're older perhaps I'll tell you or maybe you'll find out for yourself."

"Mum told me that you and dad were doing something you shouldn't."

"With all due respect to your mother she wouldn't have known any more than what your dad would have told her which, if l know your dad, was not much."

"That's right, you knew my Dad, you know what happened and whenever l ask, you always say 'you're too young to understand'. Well, l'm not too young anymore; he was my dad and I'm entitled to know, NOW JACK!"

Donny stood in front of Jack, a full six inches taller, visibly shaking from his sudden outburst, but with a set determined look on his face, a look that reminded Jack of his old mate. Donny held Jack's one-eyed steely gaze and saw the look soften and shift to a point over Donny's shoulder, a point one thousand miles away.

"Come back tomorrow, Donny, I'll tell you what you want to know; you might not like it but l'll tell you. I can't right now; I'm late for an appointment in town so if you'll excuse me lad," his gaze suddenly coming back to Donny, "l'd like to get ready."

Jack wobbled off down the hallway, leaving Donny to contemplate his hollow victory.