Hornblower Fic: The Old Fisherman
TITLE: The Old Fisherman
RATING: G
CHARACTERS: Bush, JMW Turner
WORD COUNT: 600
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower belongs to CS Forester estate.
NOTES: An AU of sorts to Lord Hornblower. I theorized HERE that JMW Turner, the famous romantic landscape artist, must have known about William Bush, elsewise why is it that so many of his paintings have connections to that wonderful sailor? This is my explanation, and an exploration of a future that never happened, as far as we know...
***
They called him le vieux pêcheur: the old fisherman.
Every morning, as the sun pierced the misty vapours of the Seine, he would go out in his worm-ridden, rickety old boat and make his way downstream to one particular bend in the river that seemed to hold great significance for him. There, he would cast his net, sit, reflect, reminisce and catch fish until darkness fell.
They say in the village that he must be over a hundred years old, so white is his hair and so lined his countenance. Children would often visit him in the evenings, bringing food in exchange for his stories about the past; in particular those about the Emperor Napoléon and the wars that were fought over fifty years ago. At first he had gruffly rejected all their entreaties, but the children were persistent. They called him notre cher grandpère[1], for there was something about him that engendered their curiosity and affection. Eventually he relented to their demands and soon it became a familiar sight to observe him sitting beside the door of his little cottage with a child perched on his good leg and a group of children on the floor before him, heads bent forward in eager excitement at his descriptions of great sea battles.
Once, when asked about how he obtained his knowledge, he fell silent for so long that the questioner began to wonder if he would ever answer. Finally, he lifted his head and replied: “Aujourd’hui, je sais tout. J’embrasse l’avenir qui n’est pas, le passé qui n’est plus…moi, je recherché pour du temps perdu.”[2] He smiled sadly and refused to say more.
Theories about his past was an enduring topic of conversation in Caudebec. It was commonly known that he had a wife who died in childbirth; the child was stillborn and it is said that their deaths broke his heart. Others insist he must have originally been from some other part of France, for his accent is heavy and très étrange[3]. One industrious Mademoiselle even proposed that he was anglais, a theory that was initially laughed upon but given more weight when the old man struck up a strange friendship with an English painter several decades ago and they were often seen together whenever he visited. Sometimes it was in the old fisherman’s boat, sometimes on the hills above the village and sometimes in the village square itself; the old man’s wooden appendage playing a strange counterpoint to their foreign conversations.
Several months after the Englishman’s last visit, a strange pompous looking man arrived in the village and asked to see the fisherman. One of the children later visited the cottage and saw that the old man had framed and hung dozens of pictures, mostly of old sailing ships and seascapes, upon his walls. The old man, seeing the boy’s interest, had proceeded to describe some of the pictures to him.
“Did your English friend paint them, Monsieur?”
“Aye, he did.”
“Did you tell him stories too, Monsieur? Did you tell him our stories?”
“Some of them, my child, some of them.”
***
When the old fisherman died, the people of Caudebec were surprised to find much how empty life was in the town without him. They missed his cheerful open face and brilliant blue eyes, missed the step of his wooden leg upon the cobbles and they missed the delicate wooden carvings and furniture his skillful hands could create. But most of all, the children missed him and his evening stories. With his passing, the last reminder of a time long gone has finally sailed away upon the fluttering breeze to reach that uncharted land beyond the Seine.
[1] notre cher grandpère: Our dear grandfather
[2] “Aujourd’hui, je sais tout. J’embrasse l’avenir qui n’est pas, le passé qui n’est plus…moi, je recherché pour du temps perdu.”: Now, I know everything. I embrace the future that isn't, the past that is no more... me, I am looking again for times lost.
[3] très étrange: Very strange