Jack and Jill

"They'll be singing your story for aeons to come"

Jack and Jill

Went up a hill

To fetch a pail of water

Jack fell down

And broke his crown

And Jill came tumbling after.

It’s been long nights and long days of guard rotations until the sun was a figment of the imagination. I couldn’t remember if it was as yellow as they draw it in the storybooks. A whole lot of pain for the loveliest children in the safest corner of the large cell plagued by eyes. I don’t remember why I’m here, only that I must pay penance for what I had done. I remember the labour and how the cell seemed to rock back and forth. The cell keepers were fairly affectionate. They kept the angry and crazy ones away most days and brought salves of ground leaf on others. It was the worst when they came for little Jack, always taking him away to a different room as though it would be too bad even for Jill to see. She has already seen a dog shot down for being loud. But this would be too much? I didn't have the courage to ask.

“Ma, it’s been ages. I haven’t seen a drop of water. When will it rain?” they asked sometimes. I remember rain when it wasn’t in a bucket. I think it fell from the sky, that’s what the storybooks say. The tanker would be here soon, banging his steel pail - we just had to wait. The next door neighbour had half a bottle left and offered it to them. “Here, have mine,” she said. “It does not do to have the children thirsty and starving.” They took the water gratefully and saved the largest portion for me. “Ma, you need strength to climb.” It would be easy, actually, just 8 steps. I drank some and returned the rest. She would care for them after me.

Jack got a silver tooth from a guard. He cried the whole time but wouldn’t stop showing it off. The cap was still sensitive and he left his mouth open to avoid the pangs of pain. Jill thought he was smiling because he was happy so she smiled too. When a particularly harsh punch sent the silver flying, he searched fervently for that guard until he had it fixed again. That was his mark. That was how they would remember him - the prince with a silver crown. He started disappearing more often and Jill stopped asking where. She also stopped saying that the room was swaying. Nobody believed her sane, anyway.

The day was here. I knew because the guards brought us meat. There’s no meat to be had within these walls unless you were leaving. This was all fine and well, except… There were three plates, not one. I should have finished that bottle of water, no point in generosity. I could ask a million questions but all would fall on deaf ears. I steeled myself and relished my last supper with the children. They weren’t children anymore, per say, when did they grow up to be so? They were young, still. Barely a shadow above eight. Eight steps. How poetic.

Scorching stillness and no crowd to jeer - this wasn’t like the other executions. Perhaps it is because I do not remember my sin, I deserved an empty send-off. What sentence have I been serving?

I grabbed onto the nearest fabric and pleaded, “Please! Them before me! Please… them first!” “How selfish. Plea granted.” The guard struck a pen down and recorded my wish. I turned to my children - how little they were! How old their gaze - “Go first, dearest, I’ll be right behind you, watching you go.”

“Ma, you look pale, do we ask for some rain?”

“That’s the loveliest thing to me. Go off the edge and get me a drink from the sea. Carry it for me, I won’t drink it without you there.”

Such understanding in their eyes. Sailors loved songs. Jack went first. Of course he would, for Jill to follow. Eight steps to the gunwale.

A song for each step. They would remember and send the words to every shore. Sailors love songs. Eight steps, one for each -

“Jack and Jill” Step one, their arms reaching for the trapdoor.

“Went up the hill” Step two, Jack turns to check if Jill is still there. She is.

“To fetch a pail of” Step three, his hand was on the soffit. He pushed.

“Wa-ter” Step four, a gust of wind hit my face. I wouldn’t shut my eye. The pen kept scratching.

“Jack fell down” The sea. The sea. The sky. The sky was rocking back and forth, I hope they weren’t dizzy.

“And broke his crown” Step six. They would steal his silver off the bottom of the waves.

“And Jill came tumbling” Step seven, they were out of sight now, I could only see Jill’s socks.

“Af-ter” Step eight, I heard no more sound. It was my turn.

“What was my sin, jailer?” I asked him, without taking my eyes off the swaying sky.

“You were wrong,” said he.

“I see”

A pause.

“And what of the children?”

“They were yours.”

Scratches of a pen on paper, recording my last words. What irony, to honour my words and not my lineage. It was time. Sailors sang songs. One for each step, I approached the flight. The sky was swaying. They would quench my thirst for me and the sea would keep no tally for borrowed bottles. There was plenty there. I could see their small hands holding the bounty.

“Jailer, I must go, my children await me with drink.” I was at peace. Remember their names.

“Jack and Jill” Step one, I sang.

“Went up the hill” Step two.

Epilogue

When I met the sea, I only breathed her in and kept my lips sealed. “I will not drink without them,” I thought, watching the waves rise. “How tired their hands must be, holding the water for me.”