I Am Jack Napoleon

Jack Napoleon Ramirez was only 12 years old when fate began to take its course. Step by step his life moved forward the abyss of sin and entanglement at the bottom of which he would find himself so many decades later. And yet it was no misfortune that befell him that day.

It was more about the greatest happiness, about the fulfillment of a longing he hadn’t known he even felt.

Of course, he knew that a change in the family awaited him when he returned home.

Even when he spent the Christmas holidays at his parent's property, he was told gently, but also directly, about the inevitable addition to the family.

And since then, in a way that he himself cannot explain, he has felt increasingly insecure, irritated, and additionally confused.

Not that he showed his insecurity, neither at boarding school, where he kept his friends from the future, unpleasant to embarrassing events, and certainly not at home, during the few, sparse visits for which he was brought home and usually not even half as long how long the tedious and uncomfortable journey seemed to him.

But summer came and with it the inevitable. Like all the other students, he carefully packed his things and then patiently waited for the chauffeur to pick him up.

Jack Napoleon hardly knew the world other than from the perspective of a spacious automobile. And yet these trips remained among the most boring and uncomfortable things he had to endure in his young life. Or maybe it wasn't exactly boredom that made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat, not the boredom that soured his view through the tinted windows.

Rather, the reason for his uneasiness was the prospect of what was to come, of the endless weeks he would spend in his childhood home. A house he only realized how glad he was to be rid of when his true home was found in a school far away.

With the oppressive mood, and the coldness in his parents' eyes, Jack Napoleon still didn't consciously guess. And yet the anticipation of a melancholy that was not yet recognizable at his age settled like lead on his chest, pushing him deeper into the upholstery with every kilometer that they neared the house.

At first, Jack Napoleon hadn't noticed that he was the only one in the boarding school who didn't suffer from homesickness.

It wasn't until he was praised for his stoicism and held up as an example to others that he realized he wasn't reacting like other boys his age. Since then, Jack Napoleon has paid more attention to a superficial sense of anticipation, even as the holidays and the associated homecoming are approaching to awaken simply to fit in better. Just to fit in.

Eventually, he even managed to convince himself that he was grateful for meeting his parents.

Only the closer he got to his goal, his conviction faltered. His heart made small, uncomfortable jumps in his chest. And this had nothing to do with joyful expectation or impatience.

Jack Napoleon didn't know how to deal with the thought of the new child, who was already said to be his little brother. An alien who has been saddled with the responsibility of being his role model. An unwelcome intruder who would sooner or later rob him of the sparse affection his parents had bestowed on him. At least that's what Jack Napoleon secretly feared, even if he never said a word to anyone about it. The limousine pulled into the private driveway and followed the white-pebbled path up to the property.

Hardly anything seemed to change when looking at the building, even regardless of the seasons there were hardly any noticeable differences. The gardeners made sure of that. With skill and evergreen plants, they managed to create an atmosphere of perfection and immortality. This corresponded to the radiantly pure painting of the house, the elegance with which the bay window, gables, and two columns framed the entrance gate.

The car rolled almost silently in front of the building. Only the scrape of tires broke the silence as the driver made a turn and slowed the sedan to a halt.

The chauffeur, a young man whom Jack Napoleon had never known before, got out and opened the car door for him.

Jack Napoleon thanked him with polite words and got on with it however, don't bother to remember the man's name or face. After all, the chances were good that he would never see the person in question again.

There was a constant turnover of staff in his parent's house, a fact to which Jack Napoleon had long since become accustomed, at least since the changing faces and voices of different nannies no longer irritated him.

And so he was not surprised that the young housemaid who answered the door for him had been replaced by a matron in the same outfit within the last few months. She laughed at him in an unusually hearty way when he gave her his learned greeting and the corresponding nod of the head. These gestures had become second nature to him and seemed almost military.

It was a good school his parents sent him to. He had also realized that by now; one of the best and most expensive schools in the country. He was fortunate to be endowed there with manners and manners worthy of a prince.

As a result, it wasn't difficult for him to hide the tiny sting of disappointment that gnawed at him with the realization that his father didn't see a need to interrupt his work because of Jack Napoleon's arrival. Every time Jack Napoleon entered the room that greeted him after the entrance hall, it seemed darker to him than on the last visit. Maybe it was because he knew his father wouldn't show himself. Only the employees greeted him.

He nodded again to the housekeeper, took his suitcase, which the chauffeur held out to him, and explained with a friendly smile that he would retire to his room until he was called.

The woman in the tight-fitting, black dress with a white lace apron beamed at him admiringly and made another remark about what a particularly well-bred boy he was and how lucky his parents could be, such a well-behaved boy to have brought boys into the world.

Jack Napoleon avoided blushing. Instead, he carried the not-too-heavy piece of luggage up the wide, carpeted staircase. He enjoyed the silence that accompanied his steps, the muffled tapping of his shoes, which he was used to banging loudly against the bare and hard ground, accompanied by countless other boots that were at least as loud.

If there was something oppressive about the silence, it was at least a change from the sometimes deafening noise that sooner or later turned out to be obligatory when more than a hundred boys of different ages met.

Arrived on the first floor, Jack Napoleon shouldered the suitcase and glanced down the corridor to his right. But he couldn't bring himself to go any further. Even more quietly than before, as if afraid his presence would be noticed, he made his way to the left, where he knew his room awaited, untouched.

Once there, he closed the door behind him and threw the luggage onto his bed with a sigh, sinking down next to it.

His mother had certainly heard him. On the other hand, Jack Napoleon was also unclear as to what the bed rest was about, which he had been told about, but about which he hadn't dared and still didn't dare to ask questions.

He realized dimly that it would certainly have been a sign of decency if he had said hello to the mother of his own accord. But more than a feeling of uneasiness kept him from doing so. Maybe she didn't want to be disturbed. Perhaps that bed rest was an illness that required quarantine.

Jack Napoleon decided to play it safe and await further instructions. Determined he got up, opened cupboards and drawers, and started to arrange the contents of the suitcase under the almost forgotten items of clothing, which for the past two years had been mostly untouched and had been forgotten by the whole world.

The inspection continued, and Jack Napoleon was just delving into an old atlas whose pictures had fascinated him since he was a boy, when the familiar sound of an approaching car made him put the book down and propel him to the window.

He pulled aside the heavy, dark curtains, which were only open a crack anyway, and watched his father get out of the car in his usual stiff posture. As always, his suit didn't show a crease, his graying hair was carefully trimmed, and his expression was neutral to serious. He didn't bother looking up at the window where Jack Napoleon was waiting, and it wasn't as if Jack Napoleon expected a sign of interest like that.

He listened to the hurried steps of the housekeeper, who opened the door for his father. Muffled murmurs that he couldn't understand reached his ears and Jack Napoleon got the distinct feeling that this was about him. He was not mistaken, because not a short time later there was a knock on his room door. Jack Napoleon jumped up and hastily opened it. His lips worked, but the lute caught in his throat as he recognized the maid, thoughtfully smoothing the ties of her apron.

"Your father is asking you to come downstairs," she said, then turned quickly to attend to her other duties, of which Jack Napoleon had only a vague idea.

"I'm on my way," he slipped out, and he dropped his eyes, embarrassed at having been caught first in weakness and then in a flippant manner. However, the maid was already ignoring him. Jack Napoleon took a step into his room back and took a deep breath.

Then he took the dark blue boarding school jacket with the embroidered coat of arms from the chair he had carelessly thrown over the back of the chair, smoothed the fabric, and slipped on. He ran his fingers through his hair once, tried to iron out any unruly curls, and then left the room with hasty steps. Almost hastily he ran down the hall and finally down the stairs. The place where his father was staying didn't need to be told. Even so, Jack Napoleon knew where to find him at this time of day. And he wasn't surprised.

In addition to two desks, a secretary, and several impressive bookshelves, Billionaire Henry Ramirez's study also contained a well-equipped house bar. Supposedly to entertain guests and business partners, but actually - and it was mainly used for this purpose - to quench one's thirst in the evening or to relax one's nerves.

Consequently, it did not surprise Jack Napoleon to find his father with a glass of Scotch in hand, still in a stiff posture but already much more relaxed than when Jack Napoleon had watched him from the window. Henry's eyes focused on the wall, but the emptiness in it confirmed that he hadn't been consciously aware of it for a long time.

Jack Napoleon stood in the doorway for a moment, hesitated, and then cleared his throat softly. His father blinked, came back to the present, and gave him a smile. "Jack Napoleon!" he said. "How are you, my son?"

Jack Napoleon took a step forward, stood bolt upright, and clasped his hands behind his back. "Thanks father. I'm doing well."

Henry Ramirez took a sip. "School?" he then asked curtly.

"It gives me great pleasure," Jack Napoleon replied politely.

"Nice… that's nice," Henry replied, his mind apparently already elsewhere.

After a short pause, he answered with a wink. "And… the grades? I expect they will make me proud.”

"They will." Jack Napoleon stood even more to attention than before. A benevolent nod released him from the inspection as Henry returned his gaze to the invisible fixed point on the wall.

"Have you seen your mother yet?" he asked after a pause that almost made Jack Napoleon assume he was released for the day.

"No," Jack Napoleon answered guiltily. "I...I didn't know..."

Henry raised the hand that wasn't holding the glass but had just been resting on the back of the chair. "What did I tell you about stuttering?"

XXX

Jack Napoleon looked down. "That it's a bad habit I need to break."

Henry nodded. "That's the way it is. You'll never get anywhere if you keep doing bad habits like this. Did you understand that?"

"Yes, father."

"Look at me Jack Napoleon!"

Jack Napoleon looked up again and met eyes that, contrary to expectations, looked at him more amused than angry.

"Now go to your mother," said Henry. "She will be happy to see you."

Jack Napoleon nodded. "Thank you, father." The words didn't come out quite as forcefully as he would have liked, but this time his father didn't admonish him. Jack Napoleon turned and climbed the stairs.

It's all right, he told himself. His mother knew he was there. She was waiting for him, and nothing he saw in that room could compare to the nightmares that would startle him from time to time during the night.

She was stil