Filler

Fighting the Pirate King

When Isabella, my 6 year old granddaughter, asked, "Grandpa, why do you have the big scar in the middle of your chest?" I told her the truth, the whole truth, because you must never lie to a child. If you do, you may finish up with a child who can't be trusteda child who may turn out to be a politicianeither a little liberal or else a little conservative or something even worse. Of course there was no reason to confuse her by telling her about my mitral valve replacement and the horror of waking up intubated and unable to talk, frantically waving my hand around to show that I wanted a pencil and paper to write on, followed by the final indignity of having my hand tied down, as the recovery room nurse thought that I was behaving that way because I was confused, because I was coming out of the anaesthetic.

"Isabella," I said, "it was during the war, the big one. I was in the navy on a minesweeper and we were chasing a pirate ship, because the pirate king had captive a pretty young girl, just like you. How did I know it was a pirate ship? Well, it was a big ship painted black and it flew the skull and crossbones, the pirate flag. After a long chase we caught up to him. We were moving up and down on the swell as we threw our grappling irons on to his taffrail.

"I jumped from my deck to the pirate's ship and started fighting the Pirate King with my cutlass on the quarter deck. How did I know that he was the Pirate King? Well, he was very tall and strong and swashbuckling with a big black moustache curled up in a spiral at each end. He had a black patch over his right eye, with a long black ribbon over his cheek and round his head to hold it in place. His left eye was black and piercing with a monocle in it, because no self respecting pirate would wear spectacles. He wore a tall black hat trimmed with gold braid, a black swallow tail coat with a white silk lining, white knee breeches and black, silver buckled shoes. We were fighting with our cutlasses, slash, thrust, slash, thrust along the rolling, slippery deck. He was getting the better of me. He forced me back along the quarterdeck and up to the main mast, until I had to take refuge by climbing into the rigging and up the ratlines, thrusting and slashing with my cutlass all the while. He had cut me deep into my chest, and I began bleeding heavily just where you see the scar, when suddenly I made a big sideways swipe and cut off his head. I cut it clean off.

"Now comes the clincher. As the body fell to the deck, the head got up and bowed three times to me. Yes, it did. Three times. Of course I took off my cap and bowed back to him, returning the compliment. And that, Isabella, is how I got the scar on my chest!"

As Isabella told her father later, "I know that Grandpa was in the navy. I believe that he chased the pirate ship. I believe he fought the Pirate King, and I believe he cut off the Pirate King's head. But I don't believe that the head got up and bowed three times to him!"

M G Jacoby, family practitioner. 

Patchogue, NY 11772, USA