» Sun Dec 20, 2009 3:56 pm * * *
The Boy and the Pig
All around him the wind howled, and in front of him the waves of the sea rocked back and forth. Much like a sobbing baby in a cradle. He sat there on a large, wet boulder staring out into the Barren Sea, the name of that body of water quite fitting to his current predicament.
Okran knew there was no one around him, yet he still couldn’t help but feel someone was watching. He didn’t know from where, though. Surrounding him were more rocks to sit upon, along with a stretch of beach that seemed to go on forever (if true Okran would have gladly followed long ago). Behind him was a vast forest from where he made home inside the city of Roslen, but the edge of the forest was some ways behind him, surely too far for anyone to spy on him, especially given the fact that it was early evening and the sun had already halfway descended from a cloudless sky.
The beaches of the Barren Sea were known for their size in both width and length. He’d known that from firsthand experience. So who could be watching if there was nowhere to hide? It doesn’t matter either way, he thought, kicking at the sand with his sandaled feet. Whoever they are, if they’re waiting for something spectacular… I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed.
With his uncle away yet again he’d found himself sitting all alone on that very beach much of his recent life. Ever since his mother passed away. Since the day Baar took her spirit away he had lived with his uncle, for his father had died when he was just a baby. His uncle was always away on trips, trips he called “business trips,” but Okran knew not if he was being told the truth. He didn’t like being lonely, and he couldn’t understand why his uncle didn’t want to be with him. Business trips or not, why did he continually leave him?
He probably doesn’t like me.
Was there any truth to that? Okran didn’t want to think so. But he was thirteen years old now, almost two full years removed from his mother’s passing. Things had changed for the worst since then and all he wanted was better change. He wanted his uncle to be home. He wanted to be loved again. He-
“Hello there, young man!”
Startled, Okran nearly fell off of the boulder. The voice had come from his right. He looked over, expecting to see one of the town guards. But no, it was no guard that he saw. Nor was it a man, either. Not even a human being, for that matter. What he saw standing before him was a pig dressed in people’s clothes, brandishing a wooden cane and wearing the oddest fisherman’s hat Okran had ever seen.
“I said hello there, young man! Are you deaf?”
“I… umm… no, I’m not,” Okran mumbled, mesmerized. “I can hear you just… just fine.”
Okran couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The pig looked like an Igra. He’d heard stories about them, pig-people that lived underground. But Okran never thought they were actually real. He assumed they were no more than fairytales. Yet there was one right in front of him at that moment, and wearing people’s clothes at that!
The little pig-man’s ears perked up with excitement. He hobbled over to where Okran was sitting and stuck the bottom part of his cane into the sand, leaning the top part against the boulder for support.
“Lovely!” the pig man yelled, his pinkish face crinkled in a wide grin. Okran spotted grey hairs sprouting from his ears. “Mind if I join you for a chat? I’ve been walking all day and my feet are absolutely killing me!”
“Umm… sure, I…guess.”
He watched as the pig man hopped up onto the boulder with surprising ease, for he looked rather old (the again, Okran wasn’t a pig expert by any means). He was wearing a peculiar pair of bright green pants made of wool, with a long-sleeve orange sweater made of the same material. Despite that cold evening wind he wore no shoes or gloves. But the strangest thing about the little pig man had to be his hat. It was certainly a fisherman’s hat, but it was a bright teal blue with tiny yellow circles that dotted all around its bill. It was surely the silliest thing Okran had ever seen someone wear, made even sillier worn by a pig.
“What’s wrong?” the pig man asked, “Never seen a talking pig before?”
“Well, I… ugh… well no, I haven’t. I’ve heard of the Igra, but I… I thought you were… well, not real. I heard stories of Igra that lived underground, but I’ve always been told they were nothing but myths.”
The pig tossed his head back and bellowed with laughter. “A myth? Not so much, my friend! Here I am! Right before your eyes! And yes, I am an Igra, though I don’t call the underground cities my home. Not anymore, that is.”
“Why? What happened? And… erm… what is your name?”
I can’t believe I’m talking to a pig…
“I am called a great many things, good sir, but you may call me Mr. Jibbons. And yours?”
“Okran.”
“Pleased to meet you, Okran,” Mr. Jibbons said, and even stuck his hand out to shake. Okran shook it just momentarily before pulling back. “I sense a bit of fear in you? Perhaps it is only confusion, and if so I must confess I don’t blame you. I know I act more like a man than I do an Igra, which is part of the reason why I’m not where I’m supposed to be. You see, dear Okran, I was banished from my home because I thought too much. ‘Too much thinking and not enough working’ was what they always told me! Bah! Can you believe the absurdity in that statement? I’ve forgotten all of that, though, and I don’t miss it a bit! I like to fancy myself a pig man who wishes he were more of a man than he is a pig!”
“How do you… I mean, how can you speak my language? Don’t the Igra have their own?”
“We Igra speak in many tongues, not just our own.”
“So you were banished because you thought too much? I’m sorry, but… that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Actually, Okran, in my culture it does. I refused to dig and dig and dig all day. Instead I questioned our true place in this world. I’m quite the… what do your people call it? Philosophical? Yes, that’s it. I consider myself philosophical. My people don’t normally enjoy what is foreign or different. I’ve traveled the world for many, many years. Why, I’ve even lost track of how old I am. Now isn’t that ridiculous? I know I’m at least two-hundred, but perhaps it’s much more than that now? Who knows!”
Okran sat on his boulder in awe. He was talking to a pig wearing people’s clothes, a pig that had seen the rising of the sun for at least two centuries, a pig that had traveled the world! It felt like a dream more than anything, but it couldn’t be that. His left hip was starting to hurt from sitting so much, so he adjusted himself.
“By the way,” the pig yelled, his voice somehow filling with even more excitement, “how do you like my hat? I found it on the shore earlier this afternoon. A bit damp from the seawater, I suppose, but you won’t see me complaining! I quite like it. I believe your kind calls it a fisher man’s hat. The colors are what I love most. I sure do love colors. Back in the underground cities all you saw was black and grey and brown. Even my skin isn’t very bright and I’m supposed to be half pig! It’s pinkish for sure, but not quite as pink as the pathetic “pigs” you call those small animals that are lucky enough to do nothing but eat all day! Ah, how I envy those tiny things…”
You sure do like talking as well. “So,” Okran said, not sure of what he should be talking about. Truth be told, he was still surprised to be talking to a pig. “What brings you to this place?”
“Well,” Mr. Jibbons began, “I haven’t been to this part of the world in quite some time so I thought I’d stop by. It must’ve been at least thirty years ago the last time I stepped foot on this beach. Same as I remember. Full of rocks and sand! And what are you doing here, young man?”
“Just… sitting here,” Okran answered. “Watching the waves come in.”
“Ah, I see. I don’t blame you. It’s quite beautiful to see them, especially when the tide comes in and the water splashes against your feet. It truly is one of life’s treats. Too many people take such things for granted.”
“Mhmm.”
Okran was staring out into the sea again. He wished the Igra would just go away and leave him to his business. He thought his life as lonely and difficult enough, and thinking about “life’s treats” only made it worse.
“But you must explain to me, good sir,” the Igra said, “why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
“Fair enough, you aren’t crying right now. But you were crying.”
“Huh?” Okran asked, now looking back into the pig’s big blue eyes.
“I promise that I wasn’t stalking you, my good friend, but as I made my way up the beach -very slowly, I should add, for my legs aren’t what they used to be- I couldn’t help but hear the sound of crying. So I followed the sound until it stopped, and even then I continued walking in the same direction. It brought me here to you. And you, my friend, are the only one here. So I must ask again, if you don’t mind, why were you crying?”
“I… it’s nothing, alright? I’m fine.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Mr. Jibbons said. “Though my body is old I still have an excellent sense of hearing. I heard crying, my friend. Do you want to talk about it? I most gladly will.”
“Why? Why are you trying to help me? Okay, so I was crying… but so what? What’s it to you?”
“My friend,” Mr. Jibbons began, “life is one fickle thing, that much is certain. The obstacles that are thrown in our way are just as plentiful and random as they are challenging. When I see the chance to help someone, I do so. One of the many problems with our world is people are so careless. We rarely stop to help one another. I’d like for that to change, but I realize it never will. However, that doesn’t mean we must conform to what everyone else does. I hate to see anyone sad, and you, my friend, are sad. I simply want to understand what is wrong and perhaps help you with whatever it is.”
“I’m beyond help. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Neither of us will know that for certain until you give me a chance,” the pig man said, that same wide grin stretching his piggish face. “If you don’t mind this old pig’s nosiness, I’d like to help in whatever way that I can. Sometimes talking is the most effective remedy, you know.”
Okran sighed and shook his head. At least he’s friendly enough. I suppose talking won’t do any harm. Not that it will help, though…
“It’s my uncle…that’s why I’m sad. But I’m beyond help. Nothing can get better. It can only get worse.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps you’re not looking at every perspective.”
“What do you mean? I live my life. No one else’s. What other perspectives could there be?”
“Well, for one… your uncle’s. What about him makes you so sad?”
“He’s never there for me. He’s never home when I wake up and go to bed. I just hardly ever see him. He even forgot my last birthday!”
That’s not true, though. He didn’t actually forget. He was just on a business trip in Gnorwood. At least that’s what he told me. It was probably a lie.
“And what does he do for a living? This is very important, Okran, so please tell me the truth.”
“He’s the owner of a trading goods store. Rony and Talek’s General Goods. He took over the business after the real Rony and Talek passed away. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? They have stores all around the kingdoms of the Western Shield.”
“Aha!” Jibbons yelled. “Yes, my good friend, I have indeed heard of it! And this precisely proves my point… I think. You say your uncle is the owner of these shops, correct?”
“Mhmm. He’s always away on business trips.”
“Perhaps, then, it isn’t a case of him not wanting to give you attention. Maybe, rather, it is a case of him not being able to give you attention. Have you ever thought of it that way before? Without even knowing the man, I’m sure he’s very busy. I’ve met several owners of these sorts of shops myself. They’re always on the go. Busy as a bumblebee, I like to say. Is that what your uncle is? Busy as a bumblebee?”
“Well, umm…”
“Yes?”
Mr. Jibbons made a very good point, Okran had to admit. Whenever Okran’s uncle was away it was almost always involving the business. The main shop was located just a couple cities east of their town, and that’s where his uncle was most of the time.
Just then a thought crept into Okran’s mind. Even though his uncle was often away, he was always sorry for it. Okran remembered when he wasn’t there for his birthday he still brought back presents. He had even apologized for his absence a countless number of times. Maybe this depressive state had blinded Okran from seeing that? His uncle wanted to be with him, but he wasn’t able to.
“Well, I guess you’re right. He is always apologetic when he comes home. I guess I just didn’t think about it like that.”
Mr. Jibbons’ ears perked up again as he patted Okran on the shoulder. “And that’s quite understandable. You’re just a boy. Where I come from, they say love and attention helps a child grow, and that belief can be shared by all cultures. Tell me, though, are you well fed? Do you sleep in a warm bed at night?”
“Oh I’m very well fed,” Okran replied, chuckling even. “My uncle has several maids that take great care of me. They feed me wonderful food. And yes, I sleep in a very warm bed. Big as… well… almost too big, really.”
“Aha! See? Though your uncle is away, at least he’s made sure you’re taken care of! The problem, as I see it, is the following: Your uncle has been able to provide you with a wonderful home and plenty of food, but in order for this to have happened he’s had to attend other duties as well. It’s a tough compromise, but in the end don’t you think it’s worth it? I’m sure he spends time with you when he’s home, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. Actually… a lot. Whenever he’s home all we do is… well, we spend time together. Walks in the forest, trips into town. It’s very fun, but it doesn’t happen very often because he’s hardly ever home. I guess it’s not really his fault, though. He has to provide for me somehow after all.”
Amazing! Unbelievable! Did it really take this talking pig to get me to realize that my uncle does care about me? Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with me to begin with. I’m sure there are children in worse situations. I should stop whining all the time.
“See? It’s not as bad as you think!”
“I guess not!” Okran said. “I… I guess I’m lucky you came, huh?” The Igra nodded. “Not to be nosy, but why exactly did your people get mad at you for being philosophical? You seem like a very nice person. I can’t figure out why they would want to banish you just for being philosophical.”
“Well, it wasn’t just that I was philosophical. I didn’t agree and do with what an Igra is supposed to do. You see, my friend, we Igra are very strong. We have to be. All we do is dig! Dig, dig, dig! That’s all we’re supposed to do, all day long!” The pig and the boy laughed. Then Mr. Jibbons added, “My people banished me when I refused to spend my entire life in the tunnels digging away. But luckily I’ve been able to make something of my life. They may have banished me from what I once called my home, but that is fine with me. I quite enjoy traveling the world. It allows me to meet wonderful folk such as yourself.”
“Well… thank you, Mr. Jibbons. Thank you for the help. I’m still not sure I like my uncle gone all the time… but at least you’ve made me look at it a different way. It’s not as if he can help it, right?”
“Precisely. And looking at different perspectives is the key to knowledge, my friend. Always remember that. And you don’t need to thank me. I’m quite happy to have been able to help you.”
They sat there on the boulder looking out into the sea when a voice rang out from behind them, far away. Okran turned around and saw that one of his uncle’s maids was yelling at him from the edge of the forest.
“Oops, I better get going. It’s getting late.”
“I understand. Not a problem.”
“Will I see you again tomorrow?”
“I doubt it. My travels are constant and my rests not so much. Apologies, sir.”
“It’s okay. It was nice meeting you, though!”
The pig got down from the boulder and bowed, taking his fisherman’s hat off, revealing a few short strands of gray hair. “Back to you, my friend. Here… take this rock. I found it while marching the beaches earlier this morning. It’s quite pretty, don’t you think?”
The rock was a shade of light green with tiny white speckles. Extremely smooth and shaped like an oval. Okran took it and put it in the left pocket of his pants.
“It is. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Goodbye, Okran. It was wonderful to meet you.”
“The same to you, Mr. Jibbons.”
Mr. Jibbons gave a quick wink before grabbing his cane and starting down the beach. Okran watched for a few minutes before running to the edge of the forest. Marrva was waiting for him with her arms crossed.
“And just what are you doing out so late! You had us worried sick!”
“Sorry. I was just… just watching the waves.”
Marrva shook her head with impatience. “And who were you talking to down there!”
“Oh, I was talking to an Igra! His name was Mr. Jibbons!”
“What in the world are you talking about? I saw no such thing, and there is no such thing! Igras are make-believe creatures, Okran! Fairytales!”
“No, he was there! I promise! Maybe you just didn’t see because it’s kind of dark, and his skin isn’t exactly pink like what we call normal pigs. Here, let me show you what he gave me!” Okran reached deep into his pocket, but nothing was there. Just to be sure he reached into his other pants pocket as well, but nothing was there either. Marrva, meanwhile, tapped her foot against the mix of soft sand and dirt. “I swear he was there, Marrva!”
Marrva rolled her eyes. “You and your silly games. Come on, Okran. Let’s go. Dinner has been ready for over an hour!”
Without waiting for a response Marrva turned around and began walking back towards their home in Roslen, leaving Okran speechless as he stared out at the beach. It wasn’t dark enough to where he couldn’t see anything, but no matter how hard he looked he couldn’t see Mr. Jibbons. He could see a good distance down the beach, but no Igra. Nothing at all except sand and rocks.
I know he was there! I just know it!
