Hornblower watched with profound satisfaction as the last of the supplies were secured firmly in the Renown’s hold. He quickly signed the paper acknowledging its reception and returned the documents to the clerk, eager to be gone.
His current general appearance, which left much to be desired, necessitated a quick stop at the deserted wardroom for his coat, a face wash and retying of his queue. His fingers trembled with nervous excitement as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror and smoothed down the lapels of his coat. Content with what he saw, Hornblower located the basket he’d purloined two days ago and headed up to the deck.
On arriving ashore, Hornblower strolled towards Kingston’s largest and busiest market located just a few buildings away from the hospital where Bush was recovering from his injuries. Having made his way through the crowd to the fresh produce stalls, Hornblower surveyed the fruits on sale with a thoughtful eye. His visit calls for something special for his friend, something Bush would have little occasion to sample back in England. He turned down the bananas and oranges offered by the seller and choose some mangoes and pawpaws instead. As he was about to leave, something at the next stall caught his eye.
It was a pineapple; there were half a dozen pineapples neatly lying there in a dazzling pool or green and gold. Only once before in his life had Hornblower seen a pineapple, and he remembered the occasion vividly. He and father had gone to London for one of his father’s business trips and during their stay they saw a performance of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Afterwards, a lady, presumably an admirer of the actor portraying Hamlet, presented him with a basket of fruit that’d included a strangely shaped, spiky yellow fruit.
And now there it was. Without any hesitation, Hornblower shouldered his way past the other customers and brought the pineapple, placing it amongst the other fruits. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he left the market and headed towards the hospital, looking forward to seeing his dear friend once more.
He couldn’t wait to see Bush’s reaction to the pineapple.
Crossing the road in front of the hospital Horatio stopped to let a carriage by. He squinted up at the cloudless blue sky. The vast expanse of blue brought to mind another memory oddly connected with the pineapple.
Leaving the theatre with his father following the performance, pressing through the great mass of people he had bumped against someone. A boy, barely a young man, struggling to make headway against the surge of the crowd; towards the stage door rather than away from the theatre. Stumbling, Horatio felt his feet go from under him as the crowd pressed forward. A hand gripped his arm, catching him as he fell, and pulling him upright. "My apologies!" Somewhat mortified Horatio looked up and found himself looking into startling blue eyes. The boy looked to be about his own age, though somewhat shorter. He was finely dressed and his sandy hair curled over his brow rather untidily. "All right there are you?" The boy smiled and his eyes shone with an uncommon warmth. Horatio smiled awkwardly despite his embarrassment, the boy's hand was still gripping his arm. "Yes thank you. No harm done." The stranger smiled once more and Horatio felt his chest tighten in a most peculiar manner. The crowd pushed forward again, the boy released his arm and disappeared into the throng.
Horatio could never say why, but his abiding memories of that night were not of the Prince of Denmark but of the pineapple, eyes blue as a cloudless sky and a smile like the sun.
As the carriage trundled past Horatio looked at the pineapple in the basket and wondered vaguely what had happened to the boy with the blue eyes. Crossing the road he made his way towards the hospital, eager to see his friend.
As the person who wrote the continuation, it was really just a little detour ;) I mean you can't expect to mention the theatre around here without Archie sticking his nose in! (So to speak...)
His current general appearance, which left much to be desired, necessitated a quick stop at the deserted wardroom for his coat, a face wash and retying of his queue. His fingers trembled with nervous excitement as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror and smoothed down the lapels of his coat. Content with what he saw, Hornblower located the basket he’d purloined two days ago and headed up to the deck.
On arriving ashore, Hornblower strolled towards Kingston’s largest and busiest market located just a few buildings away from the hospital where Bush was recovering from his injuries. Having made his way through the crowd to the fresh produce stalls, Hornblower surveyed the fruits on sale with a thoughtful eye. His visit calls for something special for his friend, something Bush would have little occasion to sample back in England. He turned down the bananas and oranges offered by the seller and choose some mangoes and pawpaws instead. As he was about to leave, something at the next stall caught his eye.
It was a pineapple; there were half a dozen pineapples neatly lying there in a dazzling pool or green and gold. Only once before in his life had Hornblower seen a pineapple, and he remembered the occasion vividly. He and father had gone to London for one of his father’s business trips and during their stay they saw a performance of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Afterwards, a lady, presumably an admirer of the actor portraying Hamlet, presented him with a basket of fruit that’d included a strangely shaped, spiky yellow fruit.
And now there it was. Without any hesitation, Hornblower shouldered his way past the other customers and brought the pineapple, placing it amongst the other fruits. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he left the market and headed towards the hospital, looking forward to seeing his dear friend once more.
He couldn’t wait to see Bush’s reaction to the pineapple.
TBC?
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Leaving the theatre with his father following the performance, pressing through the great mass of people he had bumped against someone. A boy, barely a young man, struggling to make headway against the surge of the crowd; towards the stage door rather than away from the theatre. Stumbling, Horatio felt his feet go from under him as the crowd pressed forward. A hand gripped his arm, catching him as he fell, and pulling him upright. "My apologies!" Somewhat mortified Horatio looked up and found himself looking into startling blue eyes. The boy looked to be about his own age, though somewhat shorter. He was finely dressed and his sandy hair curled over his brow rather untidily. "All right there are you?" The boy smiled and his eyes shone with an uncommon warmth. Horatio smiled awkwardly despite his embarrassment, the boy's hand was still gripping his arm. "Yes thank you. No harm done." The stranger smiled once more and Horatio felt his chest tighten in a most peculiar manner. The crowd pushed forward again, the boy released his arm and disappeared into the throng.
Horatio could never say why, but his abiding memories of that night were not of the Prince of Denmark but of the pineapple, eyes blue as a cloudless sky and a smile like the sun.
As the carriage trundled past Horatio looked at the pineapple in the basket and wondered vaguely what had happened to the boy with the blue eyes. Crossing the road he made his way towards the hospital, eager to see his friend.
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"the actor portraying Hamlet"
David Tenant??? :D
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David Tenant??? :D
Now there's an idea...
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Maybe someone else can pick it up from here??
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