Author's Note
Among Hayao Miyazaki's feature films, Porco Rosso is one of the most criminally neglected and underrated, at least among his fans in the English speaking world. Many of his English-speaking fans either don't seem to watch it at all, or else dismiss it as "lesser Miyazaki", instead lavishing most of their attention on more well-known titles such as Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away. While I'm hardly one to dispute that these and other Miyazaki films are good, or even great, I maintain that this neglect is still a shame; people are missing out on a really lovely film which, in this viewer's opinion, can stand with the director's best work. Porco Rosso may be very different from most of Miyazaki's other films, with its clearly defined historical setting and its relative lack of fantasy elements [the main character's curse is really all there is in that regard]. Also, it aims at an adult audience without sacrificing any of the whimsy that defines the director's more child-oriented efforts, and without veering into the level of violence and grimness that Princess Mononoke has. It is, simply put, a dramedy for older viewers, with a colorful, witty anti-hero who recalls the honorable cynics of Golden Age Hollywood cinema.
Whisper of the Heart is likewise a film that appears to get little attention among English-speaking fans of Studio Ghilbi's work, and this too is a shame. It takes what could have been just another tale of puppy love between two young teens and crafts a heartfelt ode to the pains of maturation as viewed through the eyes of a young girl. Despite a few sub-par moments, it holds up as a good movie well-worth viewing, and I count it as a real shame that it's director, Yoshifumi Kondo, did not live long enough to helm more films.
As a fan of both of these films -especially Porco Rosso- I considered it high time that I wrote a fanfic in honor of them. I admit that this particular fic is largely centered around the characters from Porco Rosso; the material from Whisper of the Heart is generally restricted to the beginning and the ending. I may very well write another fic in the future that gives the characters from Kondo's film their proper due. But for now, I hope you enjoy this story.
Important Notice: In the film, Donald Curtis is from the American South. At the time Porco Rosso takes place, segregation was still widespread in that part of the United States, and racism was still expressed very overtly both there and elsewhere in the country. While I've interpreted him as being more paternalistic than malevolent, I've still chosen to depict him using racial slurs and holding racist attitudes at a few points in this story, as it seems unlikely to me that he would not have absorbed at least some of the attitudes/vocabulary he would have grown up around. I shouldn't have to say that this does not in any way constitute racism on my part, but because the possibility of my intent being misunderstood exists regardless, I'm going to say it anyway. Anything racist which he or any other character says or does in this story is presented only for the sake of characterization and historical context, and I am not condoning it.
Prologue- Marco
"Not bad," said Signore Goretti. "Not bad at all. As I've said before, you've the makings of a decent luthier."
Seiji examined his handiwork for a few moments, before setting it back on the table. He reminded himself that it was merely a beginning, that he would improve still further as his apprenticeship continued. Still, he could not help but give a sigh of frustration.
"I've seen better," he said.
"Artists are often the least satisfied with their own creations," Signore Goretti replied. "Are there better violins out there? Definitely. Have you made better yourself? Sure. But of all your work so far, this is my favorite."
Seiji turned. His gaze met that of his teacher.
"Really? But I'm already spotting the imperfections."
"Indeed. There are a few."
"Then why's it your favorite?"
Signore Goretti knelt down beside him.
"My first solo project was the hardest for me. I poured everything I had into it, every ounce of my will. In the end, it was far worse than yours. Mine was unusable. I couldn't believe I had failed so badly. Yet on a whim, I didn't destroy it; I kept it. Now, as you know, it resides in my study."
Seiji's eyes widened with astonishment.
"You made that?"
"I didn't tell you?"
"No."
"Hmm."
And he fell silent.
After a few moments, Seiji asked:
"Why did you keep it?"
"As I told you, it was on a whim. But now, I don't regret my choice. I'm proud of that violin."
"Huh?"
"I'm proud of it because it's wholly my own effort."
"That doesn't change that it's flawed."
Signore Goretti chuckled.
"You're right," he said with a smile. "But we can always learn from our mistakes."
He stood up.
"Four o'clock," he said. "You've worked hard, and you deserve the rest of the day off."
"Back to my books, then."
Seiji leapt to his feet and prepared to leave the workroom. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
"Actually, I was hoping -well, momma, too- we were hoping you would join us for dinner at her house."
"Really? I don't deserve the honor-"
Signore Goretti laughed again.
"You know she liked you well enough when she first met you. She wants the opportunity to get to know you better. So does Marco."
"Marco?"
Seiji turned.
"You mean Signore Pagot?"
"Yes."
"I've heard you mention him, but I've never met him. What's he like?"
"Gruff. Blunt. One hundred and two years old."
He paused, before adding:
"A living legend."
"What did he do?"
"What did he do? I could tell you plenty about what he did. He served in the Great War, for one thing. He was one of the best pilots our nation has produced. He gave the blasted fascists the slip more than thrice; they never could catch up with him for long…ah, he can tell those tales better than I can."
"He doesn't tire of telling them, does he?"
Signore Goretti gave Seiji a quizzical look.
"Why do you ask?"
"If he's a hundred and two, he must have told them dozens of times by now."
"Actually…he seldom tells them. Nobody comes to hear them anymore."
"I would hear them. It'd be like listening to my grandfather's tales."
Signore Goretti smiled.
"He'd be glad to hear you say that."
They both stood silently for a few moments. Then, Signore Goretti said:
"Better get ready. Mamma'll expect us good and early. She loves to talk."
Fio Goretti did indeed love to talk; Seiji had figured that out from the moment she first came through the door of Signore Goretti's lodgings, bubbling excitedly about the various things that had happened over the previous week.
"You said she's eighty-three?" were the first words he had spoken when she had left.
"She seems to gain energy with every passing year," Signore Goretti had replied. "She was full of life when she was younger, yes, but I think she saw retirement as an excuse to cut loose even further. No matter. We all love her for it."
It was a sentiment that Seiji felt wash over him as he entered Fio's house. The woman was positively spry for age, fairly wrenching Seiji's arm from its socket in her enthusiasm.
"Seiji, dear!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful! Dear Marco will be so pleased. This way." She released his arm, turned, and began heading for the sitting room. Seiji lowered his arm, wincing as he did so. He looked at Signore Goretti, offering an awkward smile.
"The engineer's touch", his teacher quipped.
"Hey!" Fio called. "You people coming?"
"Yes, momma," Signore Goretti replied.
Seiji followed the luthier into the sitting room, which was awash in aircraft memorabilia. Among the objects Seiji could see were a leather pilot's helmet from the 1920s, a scale model of a red seaplane, and an engine crank. Across the mantelpiece, a photo could be seen, depicting a newly married couple. The man was of average height, with a dark moustache and hair, and he wore an aviator's uniform circa 1930. His expression was one of satisfaction mingled with a joy that was only just breaking through the surface. The woman also had dark hair, and wore a bridal dress of a flowery white, albeit less showy than many Seiji had seen in old photographs. Her expression was subtler, but close inspection revealed that she too appeared happy; she bore a small smile on her features.
To the right of this photo was another picture of the woman, this time in a dark evening gown. To the left was an image that drew Seiji's attention immediately. It was an aviator, with similar clothes to the man in the wedding photo, and an identical moustache. But this aviator was decidedly heavier, and he was also-
A pig?
Seiji blinked, no believing what he was seeing.
"Handsome, isn't he?" said a gruff voice to Seiji's right.
Seiji turned. Sitting in a wheelchair, a woolen blanket around his legs, was a frail looking man with hair and a moustache of pure white.
"Signore Pagot?"
"That's me, kiddo."
Seiji bowed.
"It's an honor, signore."
"Not bad."
Seiji hesitated, not sure what Signore Pagot meant. The latter chuckled.
"Your Italian," he said. "You been practicing?"
"Yes, signore."
Signore Pagot gestured at a pair of chairs across from his.
"Sit down," he said. "You too, Tony. You know I hate it when people get too formal."
Signore Goretti took the proffered seat at once. Seiji, after a moment, did the same.
"Fio'll be back in a few moments. She's just checking on the meal.'
"So," Signore Pagot continued. "I see you were admiring the pig."
"Who is he?"
"Me."
Seiji grinned.
"Very funny."
"I'm not joking, kid."
Seiji's grin faded.
"You're not?"
"Nope."
"But…how…?"
Signore Pagot laughed.
"Long story," he said.
At that moment, Fio re-entered the sitting room.
"Oh good, you've all met," she said. "Dinner'll be ready in an hour."
"Sit down, Fio," Signore Pagot said sternly.
"Alright, Marco," she replied, depositing herself in a chair close to his.
"Righty," said Signore Pagot. "Conversation time."