If The Mind Be Blind

"Such a bitter expression be lookin' mighty foreign on a face mild and meek as yer's, boy."

Ragetti's only solitary place, a back corner below deck where the cannons were stowed in a long, dark, ominous row, was discovered for the first time since he'd started slipping away there during the night. He wasn't pleased at this. The realization of who is was that spoke these gravelly, yet markedly articulate words, however, hindered the lad from showing his displeasure. He simply acknowledged the arrival of his visitor and tried his best to conceal his face, along with his emotions.

"It's been three days since ye've come to an' two days before that which ye've slept through. Cap'n can't help but notice yer not pullin' yer weight around here… as slight as that weight may be," Barbossa continued, ignoring the boy's silent pleas for privacy. He stepped closer, hunching over a little to try and get a better view of him.

"Cap'n Sparrow may come down 'ere an' get me 'imself if he pleases… Pardon me if I ain't quite ready to work after wot 'appened." Ragetti spoke with as much firmness in his voice as a toddler. It was clear to the older man that he was more frightened than resentful, as much as the young fellow tried to hide it. His voice quivered with every syllable, a telltale sign that he'd been crying.

"Aye, I can relay that… but ye know what sorta' trouble that would cause, don't ye? Perhaps all ye need is a good night's rest. Why aren't ye in yer quarters, son?"

"All I needs is a good night's rest?... Yeh don' know wot I been through."

Barbossa's shoulders rose and sagged in what was a silent mix between a chuckle and a sigh. There was no doubt in his mind now about the tender years at which this new recruit had been picked up. 'You don't know what I'm going through…' It was the same song sung by every poor young whelp at this age. He'd speculated that the lad must've still been quite young by the brightness that remained in his eyes and his flesh, even under all the grime he carried, but his experience with a cannon and the knowledge he possessed of the goings on of a ship, a pirate ship, no less, suggested a youth who was at least in his mid twenties, as did his height. This seemed not to be the case now, however. The first mate tilted his head as he continued to study the boy, as much as the skulking figure would allow in his concealed position. The lad had a point, of course. Barbossa had never lost one of his eyes before and he couldn't rightly say he knew exactly what it felt like. But forty-some odd years in his profession lent him several experiences this child couldn't begin to imagine the horror of. He was sure that not even Captain Jack had quite a history behind him. These tales he kept to himself, though.

"Nay, I can't say I've ever experienced it. Not too keen on the idea of tryin' it out, neither. But this is the sort of loss that comes with bein' a pirate, lad. Ye didn't sign up ta be a ballerina, did ye?... Ye've been given more than enough time to recover, says the Cap'n."

"An' wot says you?"

"It don't rightly matter what says I, but if ye be wantin' my advice, I'd suggest ye quit yer snivelin' an' get ta bed."

"…It's not just the eye, ya know… Not just the pain, I mean. It don' hurt as much anymore an' I don' fell as dizzy from the bleedin'. I mean, I feel it, o' course… but-"

"Yer borin' me, lad. Get ta yer point."

"It's everyone else!"

Ragetti blurted this statement out, sensing the impatience in Barbossa's voice. The first mate simply stared at the boy, only now catching a glimpse of the bony features of his face. His cheekbones were much more prominent than usual now, as they were wet with tears and shone brightly in whatever moonlight entered through the portholes. Barbossa rolled his eyes at the display, but remained, somewhat interested in what the boy had to say.

"Tell me."

There was not a spark of sympathy in that invitation to a listening ear that Ragetti could sense, but somehow, as Barbossa pulled over a nearby powder keg and sat himself down next to the him, he felt… secure. A sensation that, up until now, had only been felt when he was around his uncle, Pintel. He didn't quite know where this feeling came from; Barbossa's cold expression and the way his arms were crossed impatiently over his chest were less than comforting. But he was listening. His attention was sincere, there was no doubt.

"It-it's everyone… It's Cap'n Sparrow. It's… the Bo'sun, it's Twigg an' Kohler. I can't even name 'em all. They all got somthin' ta say…" Ragetti tucked his chin in between his knees. "I'm just a deck swabber now… Not that I never done that 'afore. Never minded doin' it, really, but… now that's all I'm good fer."

"How d'ya mean 'all yer good fer', lad?"

"Well, that's wot the Cap'n said."

Barbossa rubbed his scraggly beard with a look of obvious disapproval on his face. He eyed the boy more closely now, in a scrutinizing kind of way. Ragetti felt uneasy.

"What would garner such a callous judgment on one's aptitude before givin' the opportunity to demonstrate it?"

"…Sir?"

"Why'd he tell you that?"

"Well, I s'pose it didn't come from nowhere… Ya see, I was ta relieve Grapple on the helm day before yesterday. Don' really do it often, but I always been decent enough. So Cap'n says ta me I gotta relieve 'im. I walks up an' I reaches out ta take the wheel from 'im an'-"

"…Aaaand?"

"…An' I can't grab it! I'm standin' more than a meter away an' I don' even know it. Cap'n says I don' got the perception fer important duties no more. I can't be a cannoneer."

Ragetti watched Barbossa's face as it barely shifted a feature. He was surprised that he older man hadn't yet fallen from his seat in hysterics. That's what everyone else had done.

"…Ye were still faint that day, weren't ye?"

"Yes, sir. Lost a lot o' blood."

"That I know, boy… There be no sense in retiring a valuable cannoneer for one day of faltering vision. Tell me now… can you make out how far away I'm sittin'?"

Ragetti was taken aback by the meaningful compliment. He'd had enough experience on a cannon, to be sure, but no one had ever once congratulated him on his achievements, let alone referred to him as 'valuable.' He lifted his face again to get a good look at Barbossa. He squinted his eye and cocked his head back a bit.

"…'Bout a meter," he answered.

"Take me hand," Barbossa commanded. He held out his hand to the boy.

Ragetti reached out and touched the man's palm. Once he'd oriented his hand along Barbossa's, he grasped it tightly, wrapping his spindly fingers around it.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, sir."

"There's no denyin', son, that ye've lost some of yer sight. It took a little effort fer ye to do that simple thing what would be second nature to any fella' who has two eyes. But ye did it... Effort I know ye got in ye. I see it in ye when ye work, lad. With the right effort and a little gettin' used to yer situation, ye can do everything what ye've always done, albeit not as quickly."

"How can I get used ta this?"

"Ye adjust yerself. Like stepping into a dark room from out where it's bright. It takes a while, but then ye can see. Ye gotta train that eye o' yers. It's doin' the work o' two now."

"Ocular adaptation…"

"Hmm?"

"What ya was describin' 'afore… eyes getting' used to the dark…"

Ragetti might as well have had three heads and been painted plaid, for the look on the stunned first mate's face was like none other that any man had given him before. He shrunk back yet again, giving his own peculiar expression as he did. He had no clue as to why Barbossa was eyeing him in such a way.

"What was that ye said?" the older man asked, blinking several times in astonishment. He couldn't have heard correctly…

"O-o-ocular adapt-t-tation," the boy stuttered.

Impossible. The emaciated young man couldn't even spell his own name, signing on with an 'X' when he and Pintel were recruited from Tortuga. He sported a plain blank stare most of the time and a stupid grin anytime else. A hard worker he was, but a scholar he wasn't. Barbossa was certain the lad hadn't ever so much as set foot in an academic establishment. Where did he pull that bit of knowledge from?

"Those're big words fer a man o' yer means, son. Where did ye hear them?"

"I likes learnin' things… Don' really get many chances to, though. I think I learnt that one from a bloke back over in Tortuga. Just asked him about it, why yeh goes blind when yeh goes below deck on a sunny day. I always wondered so I just asked the fella' one day… Knew he were smart 'cos he were dressed like it. I likes askin' questions…"

"And what is it ye do with all those answers ye be getting' fer yer questions?"

"…Dunno. I just remembers 'em. Just in case I'll ever need one of 'em… or just fer fun. Knowin' fun things is fun!"

Barbossa raised his eyebrows in thought. He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed firmly on the lad in front of him. An illiterate young man, yes. An uneducated, man just the same as any other poor fellow who signed his life to this ship… to any ship. Mabey even more so. But he craved knowledge. The youth wasn't satisfied with what small bit of nautical information came his way on board. He was by far the most inquisitive boy that the old first mate had ever met. And by that, he was truly impressed. Impressed enough to see a valuable crewmember seated before him. If Captain Jack could not appreciate what value the lad truly possessed, then so be it. He himself, on the other hand, would not let the boy go to waste. He had a mind. A good one. Sharp, near as he could see, and ready to absorb whatever information the world could throw at him. And that was more than could be said about the rest of these animals that Jack seemed to favor for their size and strength…

This lad was the one.

Reaching into his pocket, Barbossa smiled down at the boy. He fingered the small item, rolling it between his fingers, before revealing it with a flourish. Ragetti gawked at this display, inching closer to get a better look.

"Ye don't know what this is… do ye?"

"W-w-wooden ball?"

"…Aye, I guess ye do, then! Well done!"

"…Well, wot's it fer?"

"Ahhh… That's a question what's best ta be saved fer another day, lad. But fer now… just make me a promise, eh? Promise ol' Hector ye'll keep it safe… and away from the Cap'n. And you can keep it until one day when I might need it back... Deal?" Barbossa handed the wooden sphere over with that word, grinning proudly at his new piece holder.

"Y-y-y-yes , sir! But…Yeh think it fits?"

"…Fits?"

With that, Ragetti spit on the orb and started pushing it into his empty socket, twisting and squeezing it until it fell into place with a loud 'pop'. Barbossa grimaced at the sight, but nodded in acknowledgement at the boy's clever idea. The wooden ball was not meant to be a prosthetic eye originally, but it seemed to fulfill that purpose just fine. Perhaps if the lad were to paint a pupil on there it would look a lot better.

"How does it feel?"

"…Splinters a li'l. But now it don' feel so empty… Only wish it could really see."

"…The eyes are of little use if the mind be blind."

"Wot's that?"

"It's an old proverb, boy. What yer eyes can see mean nothing if yer mind can't make nothing of it… Keep that head o' yers… and you'll be fine."

"So… does this mean Cap'n Sparrow will let me have me duties back? I can operate the cannons?"

"…I can't speak fer Cap'n Jack, boy."

"…Right…"

"I think it's time ye took my advice now, boy. Get ta bed."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep that thing safe!"

"Yes, sir!"

Barbossa watched the lad scurry back to the sleeping quarters. Without another sound, he stood up and made his own way back above deck. He slowed down as he strolled past the Captain's cabin doors.

"Ye don't know what a crew ye've got here, Jack. I'm startin' ta think ye don't deserve it…"