The Return of Shane

By Reid M. Haynes

Disclaimer: Porco Rosso is the property of Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli, as well as all characters within. I am using them without permission, and I am making no money off of them.

The expansive property of Piccolo S.P.A. had changed a lot over the course of the 1930s. Massive, upscale construction equipment had replaced the rusted rigs once used to build all manner of aircraft, and the lot was filled with the expensive cars of customers still wanting to do business even at this late hour. Yet the old family house retained its homey, slopped up appeal, like the pen of a beloved family swine. It was the perfect shelter for stagnant men who were behind the times and liked it that way.

"It's a little bit dusty in here," the old man was saying, letting the door swing behind him so that his friend could follow him in. "There is no woman for cleaning or to nag about cleaning, so I just let it all go."

"You're gonna get vermin that way," the other man commented, maneuvering his considerable bulk into the small domicile. "Single men have to be able to take care of themselves, unless they want to live on the beach like a pig."

"Ah, I'll just call the pest exterminators." He waved him off. "It'll work out."

Porco shrugged his broad shoulders in an imitation of nonchalance, but took a brief moment to scan the premises for any untold dangers. Despite his unflappable demeanor, the stout, piggish man was far from relaxed. With a half-eaten plate of spaghetti on the table and a cheese grater next to the parmesan, Piccolo's house didn't look like a den for the damned. Still, a mounted boar head's would look quite handsome on the walls next to some Renaissance art, so he couldn't be careless.

Shaking off his discomfort momentarily, Porco took his overcoat and draped it on the coat-rack next to the door. "You got any ale these days?" he asked roughly, taking off his fedora to reveal a swatch of muddy brown hair. "I'm parched."

"You're lucky I'm even speaking to you after what you pulled," Piccolo grumbled, neglecting to spare Porco even a glance. "If it was anyone else, I would've blasted his head off with my shotgun."

"So, no juice?"

Piccolo then gave Porco a hard look, who met the gaze with an unperturbed slouch. "It's in the back," he said, reluctantly going over to the wine cupboard. "Don't get pushy."

Porco sighed, settling down by the table as Piccolo went about preparing a drink for the both of them. He fiddled with a dirty fork, twisting the day-old spaghetti into a sticky spiral, contemplating giving in to his hoggish instincts and just chowing down. There was no backtracking after what had happen, and his trademark defense mechanism of wallowing in the mud called out strongly to him. But these days, he felt it would do better to keep his mind on the present, so he stayed his hand and let the food sit where it was.

Piccolo returned with the ale and two small shot glasses. "Löwenbräu, imported from Germany," he announced with a touch of pride, placing the green, opaque bottle on the table with a hard clunk. "A little extra something from a client."

"That's a good ale." Porco appraised the bottle, visibly impressed even with his sunglasses on. "How'd you sucker it out of the poor sap?"

"When you work on a man's plane, he's more willing to give you a discount on his goods," Piccolo crooned slyly, a hint of a smile finally forming on his face. "Otherwise, I just might forget to tighten the gear shaft next time."

"Hahahahah!" Porco laughed joviality. "You don't change, do you?"

At once, Piccolo's demeanor turned serious. "How did it happen?" he asked bluntly, and Porco could just imagine the leaden gaze behind the old man's thick glasses.

Then again, he knew it wasn't going to be easy flying for the two of them. Not until this was settled. "I was going back to Gina's restaurant," he began, nursing his glass as if it were a child's security object. "Another war, just like the Great War, was brewing, and those fascists didn't have time to worry about me. I thought it was time to settle down, get a little something for myself before I rotted into dust. But I was wrong again."

That day at the the Hotel Adriano, Porco had been waiting in the garden gazebo for Gina, cooling his heels as the champagne glass cooled his hand. His entrance had been typical of him; a stylish series of midair loops and twists in his Savoia S.21 seaplane, cutting the clouds like freshly churned butter. And yet, he had stood alone here up until twilight, just as if he had gotten stood up himself. A move like that would be old hat coming from him, but to be on the receiving end was a more sobering experience than he would have thought.

It was just as Curtis has said, wasn't it? He would show up at the garden instead of the back room, and they would fly off into the sunset together. It was his thing; every woman he had ever come across responded well to the suave approach, whether he was a man or a pig.

And at the sight of the running figure in the distance, it seems they still did.

The young lady was rushing towards him from the house, her clothes bursting in the wind like a zeppelin. Porco put down his champagne, and squinted his beady eyes to make out her features more clearly. Slowly it began to dawn on him that her frenzied gait was rather awkward, considering Gina's reputation as a woman of class. In fact, it was almost that of...

"Porco!" Fio cried out, burying herself in the man's burly body. "Oh Porco Porco, you're back, finally! I missed you so much! How've you been?"

"Oogh!" he grunted, struggling to free himself from her intense grip on his midsection. "I'd be better if you'd stop crushing me, Fio. You weigh a ton!"

"Right, sorry," she apologized sheepishly, stepping back and giving Porco a chance to regard his old friend with fresh eyes. "It's just been so long. We have so much to talk about."

"It's good to see you, Fio," he said with appreciation. She smiled radiantly.

The years after the dogfight with Donald Curtis had only made Fiona Piccolo more beautiful, and Porco was quite frankly impressed. Her eyes had been tinted with a subtle wisdom gained over long hardships, yet still they retained their youthful exuberance. The blue cotton dress fit her medium-sized frame perfectly, and was very becoming of a tomboy engineer with undeniable feminine charm. And her classic straw hat adorned her fire-red locks, her hair bound into a low ponytail that flowed down her back like lava.

"Fio, what are you doing here?" Porco asked, trying to cover up the joy of seeing her with his usual brusqueness. "Where'd Gina get off to today?

"I'd been staying over here a couple of days while my brothers renovate my town house," the young woman answered him, her smile unwavering. "You just missed her, Porco. She went off to perform in a club a few towns away. Gina's so successful, it's fantastic! I'm sure she can't wait to see you and tell you all about it once she knows you're here."

A twinge of sentiment tugged at his chest, her words bringing out strange unspoken emotions deep within. Fio paid it no mind, and continued to prattle on nonetheless. "I mean, look at us Porco!" she cheered, spreading her arms wide as if to encompass the whole world. "Gina, a big-time jazz singer, and me, the owner of Piccolo F.C.A.. Grandpa signed the whole thing over, and now it's all mine. What do you think of that?"

Porco smiled, the slight heartache dwindling at her irrepressible enthusiasm. "I always knew you'd make it big," he said sincerely. "You're doing great, kiddo."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm a sophisticated adult woman!" Fio bristled, bapping him playfully on the noggin. "None of that, Mr. Rosso!"

"You're right," he apologized, a rare concession that only Fio could drudge up within him. "Sorry."

The young woman smiled lazily, putting her arms around his shoulders. "Porco, let's do lunch tomorrow, right here in the gazebo," Fio said, her gentle request complimented by her glowing brown eyes. "That'll be fun, huh?"

"Uhhhh..." Porco stammered, scratching his hair nervously.

"Me and Gina, we made a bet, see," Fio continued, winking flirtatiously at him. "The first one to meet you in the garden when you came back would buy you lunch."

Porco was caught up in the young woman's glazed gaze, betraying the admiration that blazed for him all those years ago. Fio was leaning in slowly, her long lashes fluttering down like a curtain call. All the possible excuses he had begun to conjure turned stale on his tongue; Gina, his sordid past, and the hard-fought years of the Depression faded into the recesses of his memory. Before he knew it, his heart had given way, and he ended up betraying a friend yet again.

"It wasn't what I thought it was gonna be." Porco was finishing up his tale as he finished up his ale. "But it was alright. I kept thinking about it, and it seemed I was always supposed to meet that girl there. That somehow I had come to the garden just for Fio. I guess it really doesn't make a difference."

"Hmph," Piccolo snorted, sipping at the ale he had hardly touched. "You've got one thing right."

Porco clicking his tongue in a nervous reflex, his brow furrowing with tension. Fio had been a wrack of nerves at dinner the night before, and wasn't entirely coherent, but the gist was that she had a big argument with Piccolo upon announcing her new plans. She had screamed her head off at her grandfather, and told him that if he didn't let her be with Porco, she would sell off the company shares and marry the leader of the Air Pirates. The young woman's savvy business sense had made Piccolo S.P.A. one of the few airplane manufacturing plants that still thrived in the wake of the Depression, but in the end her recklessness remained dominant when it came to matters of the heart.

But again, it didn't make a difference. "What can I say?" Porco said. "Gina had moved on, had become bigger than the Hotel Adriano. She had a million gigs and a million men all lined up, but Fio was still there waiting for me. I just couldn't say no anymore, not unless I wanted to see that annoying puppy dog face again."

Upon receiving Piccolo's reaction, Porco supposed he should have put it a little more delicately. "Fio is a baby carrot," Piccolo argued grumpily, peering at him as if he was a barnyard animal trying to sneak food from the wrong trough. "And you're a pig. My granddaughter's very cute, but she's always attracted pigs, ever since she turned sixteen. Do you know how many of them I have to chase off?"

"Girl like that, I'm guessing a lot." Porco's nostrils flared sharply.

"You bet your ears it was a lot." Piccolo fiddled with his glasses, trying to get rid of a dust mite clinging to the frame. "Very rude men, with bad hygiene."

Porco sighed, sliding his glass over to the side. This conversation was going nowhere fast, and it would continue this way until he geared up and said what Piccolo needed to hear. If the old man would hear it, and if he could say it.

"She's not a kid anymore, Piccolo," he told him, willing himself to meet the old engineer's eyes. "You always had faith in her, so you gotta let her go. She proved herself to me, and that's all that matters. I guess an old pig like me is not what you have in mind, but maybe the girl just likes pigs."

The other man raised his eyebrow. "Fio, she loves you, hmm?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"That's what I've come up with, anyway," Porco answered frankly.

Piccolo regarded him for a moment more, then averted his eyes to look down at the table. "I don't care about age." He shrugged, dipping his finger lazily into the half-empty glass of ale. "You pilots always think you're washed up the moment you get a gray hair, but you're still a hatchling to someone like me."

"I know the idea," Porco agreed with a certain gruff humility. "Fio taught me what it's like to think young. Maybe that's what this is all about. Maybe we all need someone to keep us goin' straight."

"But there's still that problem," the old man pointed out, refusing to cave in so soon. "Why should I give my granddaughter to an immature pig such as yourself? I've taken care of Fio ever since her father died, and now you two want me to quit?"

"Then how 'bout I take care of her for you," Porco challenged him. "I'll read the paper with her every morning, have dinner with her every night I'm in, and treat her right. How that for a promise from a pig?"

Piccolo seemed to consider this seriously, his eyes burrowing even deeper behind his glasses. "It's a start," he relented. "You know, you wouldn't be so much of a pig if you did that."

"Thank your granddaughter for that." Porco's ironic smile exuding a surprising amount of warmth. "I haven't felt this good in years. Fio even got me to quit smoking. She said it made me smell like burnt bacon."

Piccolo laughed. "She can do that!" he crowed.

Porco's smile deepened, and at that instant, he looked easily ten years younger. He raised his glass, a small amount of ale still resting at the bottom. "Cheers, old man," he said. "To Fio, a great engineer."

Piccolo regarded Porco for a moment, then returned his smile. "To Fio, a wonderful granddaughter."

Their glasses clinked, and the two men tossed off the last of the Löwenbräu.

Facing the small runoff leading to the canal, the Savoia S.21 rumbled like an angry boar ready to charge. The hangar had been reinforced several times since the days of the Depression, and yet it still shook as if suffering from a medical disorder. The waterway was cleared; they were no boats to interfere. It looked like it would be a smooth flight today.

"I'm almost finished calibrating it," Fio called over the roar of the piston engine, turning away from the plane to stare at Porco below. "It should be ready to fly in about two minutes."

Porco's overcoat flapped in the breeze at he proceeded towards his plane. "You remembered to compensate for the new enhancements?" he reminded her, fighting the intense gales produced by the whirling propellers. "We'll be off balance unless we do this exactly right."

The carrottop grinned, and gave him the thumbs up. "You know it!"

Porco nodded, returning her good cheer with his own thumbs up. He left her for a moment to check out the rest of the plane. Fio had outfitted Porco's seaplane with all the latest gear, along with balancing the pontoons and applying a fresh coat of brilliant red paint to the hull. Floatplanes were starting to become outmoded thanks to the military's new advances in aviation, but those that were still kept up handled as well as any top of the line technology.

Piccolo walked over from the side, carrying with him a certain solemnity that almost didn't fit his energetic nature. "It will be very tough for you in the beginning," Piccolo said sagely, regarding both Fio and Porco with a paternal stare. "Both of you have busy lives, so you won't be able to meet as often as you want. I married young too, so it's the same thing."

"Hey, it's us!" Fio said cheerfully. "We're in this together!"

Piccolo nodded with a slight frown, and for a moment, Porco thought he could see the tired old father inside, forced to give his surrogate daughter away. Perhaps Fio could see it too, for she had jumped down from the stepladder she was using and was running over to her grandfather's side. She quickly enveloped him in an unabashed hug. "Thank you for understanding," she gushed, crushing her body to his. "I love you, Grandpa!"

Piccolo slowly patted his granddaughter on the back, embarrassed by this display of familial affection. Then, in a flash of red hair, Fio was bounding back towards Porco. "Just make sure you get married before you do anything!" he cried in impulse. "And when you do something, I don't want to hear about it! I have six shells left in my shotgun if you mess this up. Never been used, you know."

"I already got a best man picked out," Porco called over the roaring engine, taking Fio's small hand within his. "My old buddy Ferrari from the Air Force, if I can get him to ditch those lousy fascists for a day."

"And watch your backs from the Air Pirates!" the old man continued. "You still have to run Piccolo F.C.A., Fio!"

"I picked up a Beretta Modello just the other day!" Fio told him, pointing her finger in an imitation of a pistol. "I've been practicing at the firing range, so I'm a great shot!"

Piccolo jolted at this new information, his glasses falling away from his face to reveal his dishpan eyes. Then he turned away, muttering something about psychotic engineers to himself.

Porco helped Fio into the cubbyhole, fitted for the girl's butt that was bigger than it looked. He then proceeded over to the cockpit, strapping himself in for takeoff. His teeth gritted with anticipation for the flight as he cranked up the Savoia S.21's engine. Fio waved at her grandfather, and Piccolo waved back, her boisterous attitude infecting him.

A moment later, the two young souls were off among the clouds, towards the danger and excitement that always awaited men, women, and pigs of good heart.

END