A Thought: Jack going back on the Pearl after the “What interest is she to you” scene, to find Elizabeth gone.
He searches the ship for her: paces all across the deck, squinting at people as if he doesn’t recognize them (when actually he is trying to make sure he is not hallucinating and maybe failing to see her), scours the rum cellar under the guise of “doing inventory”, opens every cell in the brig (under the guise of continuing to thrash Will with every insult ever invented), hell, he even checks under his bed in his cabin (because hey, a man can dream, right?)
He, of course, refuses to ask where the bloody hell she is, because why should he care? She killed him! And since he doesn’t ask, nobody tells him she left with Sao Feng. So he just wanders the ship like a wraith, all its darkest crevices and secretest spots, back and forth, with ever-growing, poorly concealed franticness.
Then he comes across Barbossa (on his third visit to the dining room in the last half hour, during which he actually kneels down and looks under the long dinner table). Barbossa sneers at him with a knowing, shit-eating grin. Jack rolls his eyes and fakes indifference CONCEAL DON’T FEEL JACK. He turns to leave the room but is stopped cold by Barbossa’s voice, casual: “She’s not here.”
And Jack — oh, we have a lovely saying for this in Mexico — “Se hace el que le habla la Virgen”, roughly interpreted as: he pretends the Holy Virgin is speaking to him, which is entirely too important a circumstance for him to bother paying attention to Barbossa. I mention this idiom, because I can perfectly well imagine Jack literally pretending a deity is speaking to him to avoid acknowledging someone.
Barbossa’s grin widens. He knows Jack like the back of his hand. He knows Jack’s deflection mechanisms, and he knows he has hit the nail in the head. “There’s more to Turner’s wench than meets the eye, eh? She bargained herself to Sao Feng, in exchange for his cooperation with our cause,” he continues, knowing that Jack is hanging onto every word. “Have to say, I pity the man. He has no inkling what awaits him with that one,” at this he laughs that weird, bouncy sound that seems to ricochet out of his chest like a spring wound too tight.
“Do you reckon he’ll make it to Shipwreck cove alive?” With Jack’s back to him, he can only see Jack’s hands, clenched tightly into fists, the skin of his knuckles white. Then he adds, in a conspirational whisper: “Well, guess it depends on whether the little waif keeps her lips to herself, ain’t it?”
Jack storms out of the room. Barbossa laughs and laughs and chokes on mouthfuls of juicy apples as he continues to laugh.
And his filthy laughter follows Jack all night, as he continues to haunt the ship like a restless soul.