⁕JACK⁕
Chapter Third:
THE KETCHUMS (part 2)
image [https://i.imgur.com/ShvJUdu.png]
There were early-morning chirps of birds that Jacque had never before heard. They were louder and their whistles had a deeper timbre to them that in Jacque’s mind they could not have come from the small robins and sparrows common in England.
The light of dawn peered through the woods and Jacque could not help but smile. Can I truly be sure I am not in some dream?
His life had been bloody. His hands most of all. The serenity of the morning, being helped by this innocent child and his strange green pet was a stark contrast.
“Where are we again, lad?” Jacque uttered as he followed. “The country, I mean.”
“Country?” Ashketchum replied with a tone of perplexion. “Pallet Town is in the countryside.”
“Ah.” Jacque was unsure whether the boy had understood him. “But of what country?”
The lad kept walking but turned to give Jacque a quick glance. “This is the Kanto Region. I don’t know much about countries, but I think Kanto and Johto are sharing the country…”
The response only left Jacque more confused, but before he could follow it up, Ashketchum darted ahead, skipping over gnarly roots as his green beast hopped behind him with its stumpy legs.
Jacque looked down at himself as he walked. All the vines covering his privates had come out of that creature? What a curious animal indeed. Why didn’t anyone I know ever mention such a thing?
“Mister!” Ashketchum called as he pulled ahead. “Over here!”
Jacque obliged and began jogging gingerly, keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid any splintery twigs and dead bark that might stab at his feet. He looked at his arms as he moved, at his hands in particular, and in the early light of the morning, he noted how young they looked.
I need answers.
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The place called Pallet Town came into view soon after, bathed in the amber rays of sun that slanted in from the horizon. Jacque saw several red-tiled houses built out of white, wooden clapboards, and each with its own little front yard and mailbox. The architecture reminded Jacque of the illustrations he had seen on postcards of the Swiss Alps, with steep and forested hills in the backdrop. Jacque wondered how close to the settlement he had been in his blind, nighttime wandering and supposed that the boy’s finding of him had been another thing of fortune.
A wide dirt road wound its way through the rural landscape, and Ashketchum led Jacque all the way to a house, not dissimilar to the ones he had seen, and performed a magician’s trick that left Jacque gobsmacked.
“Don’t tell my mom I have this, please,” Ashketchum whispered, as he held a spherical object that had literally just swallowed a clear fog of red light.
“That animal! -” Jacque almost tripped backward in shock. “Where is it gone?” He had just watched the creature turn into light and flow into the peculiar sphere like the sucking of smoke through a pipe!
Ashketchum gave Jacque a puzzled frown. “Bulbasaur? I just put him back in the ball. I don’t want my mom to see, or she’ll really give me an earful this time.”
Jacque leaned in close to get a better look at the magical object. It appeared to be made of a strong outer casing, one half red, the other white. Ashketchum noticed him staring and opened his palm, grunting an “Hm?” in slight confusion.
“What is this thing?”
Ashketchum stared straight into Jacque’s eyes and blinked a few times. “You don’t know what a Poké Ball is?!”
A noise rattled in the house next to them and one of the upper windows swung open.
“ASH KETCHUM!” a female voice called.
Ashketchum jerked on the spot, almost dropping his strange ball, but managing to turn, holding the ball behind his back as casually as he could.
“Mom! Morning!”
“Morning?!” There was a red-haired woman at the open window. An angry, feisty woman. This was Ashketchum’s mother? Jacque found himself suddenly feeling very aware of his own shabby appearance. He combed some hairs behind his ear and stood straight.
“You snuck out again, didn’t you! Keep this up and I’ll send you off to general studies!”
“Mom!” Ashketchum cried hopefully. He pointed at Jacque. “I found him in the woods! He was hurt!”
Ashketchum’s mother eyed Jacque evenly, and not like the total bushman that Jacque felt he appeared to be. Her thoughts were difficult to guess. After a brief silence, the mother spoke.
“What happened to you?”
Jacque was at a loss for words. He did not know where to begin. Being executed in London? Finding himself buried in the ground? Spending the night in a tree hollow? … the options were plenty, but none of them sounded to him like something you ought to tell a stranger.
“Look at his leg!” Ashketchum said. “I think he was stung by a Weedle or something!”
There was a small, tender bump on his shin where the purple reptile-rat had stung him, but the pain was minimal, and he only really noticed once the boy mentioned it.
The woman at the window disappeared back inside and Ashketchum glanced around like a jitterbug, darting to a shrub by the yard fence and hiding his magical ball inside.
Jacque was paralysed with questions, so he waited to see how it would all play out. The mother soon came out, dressed in a pink blouse and a pair of dull purple trousers that did not quite reach her ankles. Jacque was taken slightly aback. It was the first time he had seen a woman wearing trousers. He felt disheartened.
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There can be no doubt now that I am surely far from home.
The woman was of a lighter skin than her son, and if it weren’t for her odd sense of fashion, she might have passed for an Englishwoman. She was young, and decently well put together.
“And why is he covered in vines?” she said, looking Jacque up and down.
Ashketchum smiled as he replied, “because he didn’t have clothes when I found him.”
“Oh my… have you had a rough time, young man?”
Young man? Jacque? He did not remember the last time that had been used to refer to him. Nevertheless, this was a question that was easy to answer.
“Yes.” He glanced about the area. “I must admit that I am very confused.”
“Oh dear… do you need to come inside? Do you have family around?”
Jacque shook his head. “I’m having a little trouble remembering how I ended up where I did.” He gave her the gentleman’s glance. “I would not like to impose, madam. If you can spare a drink, I would be grateful.”
He was not particularly hungry or thirsty – the large egg from yesterday had really packed a punch – but Jacque hoped that by asking for the smallest favour, he could open the doors for bigger ones.
“Sure,” Ashketchum’s mother replied, beckoning him to follow.
The air was clean and smelled of flowers. Jacque had come back from the clutches of Death and God had put in his path the most hospitable pair of folks imaginable, inviting a near-nude stranger into their home like it was the most natural thing to do.
Perhaps, in a place like this, Jacque Merridin could start anew.
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“Fucking hell…”
As the bath ran with water, Jacque watched his reflection on the mirror with total disbelief. He was indeed a ‘young man’. Locks of black hair covered the entirety of his scalp, even at the temples. His skin was without a wrinkle, and smooth, and pale. His teeth, though slightly yellow, were reasonably straight, with both incisors next to the canines slightly crooked, giving his smile a wolfishness to it.
It was his eyes that gave him away though. The eyes! Though the whites were dull and bloodshot, it was unmistakable.
It’s me! Jacque realized.
He had never looked like this, but there was something in those deep brown eyes that was straightaway familiar. So familiar, in fact, that he had no trouble believing that this was his body. Through some divine measure, he had been fitted with new flesh.
He was taller than he had been, younger, and altogether easier on the eye. “How about that …”
The peasants of London had ripped him apart and damned him to Hell, and yet here he was, more full of life than he had ever been. His arms were long and sinewy, but there was a tightness that ran all the way to his hands that made him feel stronger than ever. His chest was bare, and for the most part, so was his chin.
“I look like a fucking toddler…”
He could pass for no man over the age of twenty. He pulled down the vines from his waist and piled them neatly by the door. As he walked to the steaming bath, he gave himself a passing glance in the mirror and forgot all about the bitterness of England.
The hot water sent waves of relief through his body, and he groaned lightly with pleasure as he lowered himself into the bath.
London could wait.
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“You’re all dressed and clean now, good!” Ashketchum’s mother said as Jacque walked into the dining room. He was still in awe by the décor of the house. Pictures of full colour hung on the walls by the corridor and the plumbing in the house had left him more than impressed. It seemed like every room had running water, and he spotted lamps on every ceiling too. Perhaps these were fancy folk. The house though, was not fancy-folk sized, but rather somewhere between wealth and peasantry.
“Thank you greatly, madam. I thought I had died and passed on at one point. I shall find it hard to feel better than I do right now. You and Ashketchum have my deepest gratitude.”
The lady frowned for a moment and giggled. “Ashketchum?”
Jacque faltered. “Your son? Isn’t he-”
“Ash,” the lady corrected. “Ketchum is the family name.” She gave Jacque a tender smile and Jacque bowed curtly. That makes more sense.
“Your son was an angel. Truly.”
The woman gave a skeptical smile. “When he wants to be! But sit yourself down, there is breakfast!”
Jacque played the refusal ruse, more out of politeness than anything else, but quickly agreed when the lady insisted.
“Do you prefer tea, or coffee?”
“Ooo, I’ll have a tea thank you.”
“No stress at all!” She moved like a breeze through the room, working machines on the counters beside the sink that made Jacque stare like a witless idiot. He decided that he wouldn’t ask too many questions for the fear of seeming insane. Being put in an asylum was not his aim. There were questions though, that he could not avoid asking…
“I asked your son earlier where exactly I am, but he seemed confused…”
The lady raised her eyebrows but kept busy at the contraptions. “About what exactly?” She grabbed what Jacque could only guess was a pitcher, but made of shiny metal, and poured tap water into it, filling it and placing it on a thick coaster that had a wire running into the wall. She flicked a switch, and a red light lit up at the bottom of the pitcher. Jacque forced his eyes away from it when he realized he had not answered the question.
“I asked him what country we’re in…”
The lady glanced at Jacque uncertainly. “You don’t even remember that?”
Jacque shook his head. “I’m sorry if this is overly strange, I just seem to have lost it all.”
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that! I’m just thinking what kind of accident you must have had. It sounds very serious, but you don’t look hurt…” She creased her forehead in thought.
“It sounds a lot like a psychic-type attack to me…”
It was Jacque’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, psychic? As in those E-S-P folks who say they can contact the dead and see into the future?” He gestured, wiggling the fingers in his hand as he spoke of such hocus-pocus.
“Well, I don’t mean seeing the future or speaking with ghosts, I mean an attack by a plain and simple psychic-type Pokémon.”
That word again. Pokémon. Her son had mentioned it too when talking about his bulba-creature. Jacque stared blankly, and the lady stopped what she was doing and stared back open jawed.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about Pokémon too!”
Jacque gave her a shamefaced smile. “I’m afraid so…”
The lady rang with laughter, which surprised Jacque, but he found it endearing. The pitcher began making a grating and grinding sound and shortly after started whining.
“Well, you’re in luck because I’ve taught a few private classes before!” she said as she poured Jacque a steaming cup of tea. “I’ll tell a friend of mine to come over and have a look at you. He’s a brainy professor. In the meantime, let me answer your questions! I was wondering what to do with my morning and now I know.” She appeared quite excited.
Brilliant.
“Where is the lad?” Jacque said, wondering why he had not joined them for breakfast.
“He went back to bed while you were in the bath. He’s been waking up very early these last few days. I’ll have to wake him up for class in an hour or so.”
Jacque was about to begin with the green pet, the bulba-thing, but he recalled that the lad had asked him not to tell the mother, so he refrained and instead began with:
“Have you heard of England?”
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Utterly dumbfounded was the only way Jacque could describe himself at the moment. Not only was he far from home; There was no home.
Whitechapel, England… Great Britain and Europe, the United States, the Chinese, the Indians and the Russians… every name of any nation he had ever known went completely over the woman’s head. She knew none of them.
Jacque was devastated. If there was no Whitechapel to return to, then there was nobody who would remember him. He had died to the world he knew. This was someplace else.
He had to swallow a curiously sad lump in his throat. His country was full of vile people, but it had been his home. He could not keep the tears from his eyes, so he pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging at them, and the lady moved over and rubbed at his back as comfortingly as she could.
“What is it, dear? Have I said something that upset you?”
Jacque pressed at his eyes harder and rubbed them with the sleeve of the blue cardigan that had been lent to him
He forced a smile. “No, no…” He sniffled. “I just remembered something…” He was lying. The lady, however, appeared very pleased.
“Really? What?”
Jacque hesitated for a moment before replying, “my own name.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t ask! I’m Delia. What is your name?” The lady still had a hand to Jacque’s back, but she offered the other one and Jacque saw the same innocent sparkle in her eyes that he had seen with Ash.
Jacque Merridin was no more. He was in a new world full of strange creatures called Pokémon. It was the 2nd day of September in the year 1995.
Have I travelled into the future? Is that why everything is so different?
The word ‘September’ had given him a glimmer of hope, but Delia’s explanation for the months bearing identical names to his own world’s had nothing to do with the Romans, and everything to do with… Pokémon.
He would shed his birth name and take on one that was still familiar. One to remind him of the place he had come from. A name that had defied Death.
“My name is Jack.”