Prologue- Porco
"So", Signore Pagot continued, "you're wanting to become a luthier, I hear? What prompted that?"
"Passion, I guess," said Seiji. "That and it's a good discipline."
"Passion."
Signore Pagot sighed.
"I know it well."
He leaned forward, eying Seiji carefully.
"Say, you're a handsome guy," he remarked. "You got any girls flinging themselves at you yet?"
"Marco!" Fio exclaimed.
"Blast it, Fio, I'm allowed to crack a joke."
"Oh right. Girl power. Can't be quaint anymore."
He coughed.
"Dratted Americans and their music."
Seiji laughed.
"They do have their influence."
Then, his grin fading, he said:
"Actually, there is…one girl. But I've had to work for her attention. She's not a trophy."
"No woman's a trophy, kiddo," Signore Pagot replied. "Every one of 'em's special in their own way."
"He's a stickler on that point," Signore Goretti whispered.
"Had my own woman," Signore Pagot continued, either not hearing, or deliberately ignoring, this remark. "Great one. My dear little wife. Right over there, in the photos."
He closed his eyes.
"Took me twenty years to admit to myself that I loved her."
"What happened?" Seiji asked.
"Long story."
"Kind of funny, too," Fio added. "In parts."
Signore Pagot glared at her.
"What?" said Fio. "That fist fight was great!"
"I was fighting for your honor," he replied.
Then, abruptly, he grinned.
"I guess it was kind of funny. Especially since that dratted cowboy took his loss so well."
"You seem to have had an interesting past," Seiji remarked.
"'Interesting' doesn't begin to describe it, kid."
"I know, what with the…"
"The pig?"
"Yes. The pig."
"Yeah, I was a pig," said Signore Pagot. "Still am, in some ways."
"Ah, you're a lovable pig," said Fio. "And a great person."
"She tells me this every single day," said Signore Pagot. Then, in an imitation of Fio's voice, he said:
"You're a great person, Marco. You know that?"
"Hey, but you are!" Fio winked, and pinched Signore Pagot's shoulder. The old man winced.
"Sorry," she said.
"Don't worry about it," he grunted.
Fio stood up.
"From the smell, it seems dinner's ready sooner than I thought it'd be," she said. "You all better get to the table. I'll get things set up."
An hour later, satiated by what he could only consider an excellent meal, Seiji found himself back in the sitting room. Fio and Signore Goretti had remained in the kitchen, leaving him alone with Signore Pagot. As he eyed the photographs over the mantel once more, he knew that the old man was watching him closely.
"Signore Pagot-" he began.
"Please," the old man said. "Call me Marco."
"Marco," Seiji continued, "about that woman…"
"My wife? What about her?"
"You said it was a long story. And you said the same about the pig."
"By 'pig', you mean me, right?"
Seiji turned to look at Marco.
"I'm sorry, it's just…astonishing."
"Everybody else took it in stride," said Marco. "Well, after the shock wore off."
"Is it asking too much for you tell-"
Marco cut him off with a raised hand.
"Kid, I've told both stories before. They're one and the same."
"I hope you're not tired of telling them…it."
"Sit back, then," said Marco. "This tale's a doozy."
And so Marco told Seiji the tale of the Crimson Pig. For two solid hours, he listened, enthralled by the heroic exploits, touched by the moments of tenderness. He didn't even notice that Fio and his master had re-entered the room until the old pilot had finished.
"Having a good time?" Signore Goretti asked him.
"Yes, Signore," Seiji replied. "Marco was just telling me about-"
The rest of his words were drowned out by loud snoring. Marco had fallen asleep.
"Really, Marco!" Fio said, pinching his shoulder once again.
Marco's eyes shot open.
"That hurt!" he cried. "What do you-"
He stopped, and then blinked.
"You were snoring like a bulldog," Fio said flatly.
"Drat it, Fio!" Marco snapped. "I told you not to let me do that when guests are over."
Fio grinned sheepishly. "It happened too suddenly to prevent."
Marco's glare gradually morphed into a grin. He chuckled.
"What can I say? I'm a geezer." Then, to Seiji, he said:
"Sorry about that."
"No, no problem," Seiji replied.
"You enjoy the story, kid?"
"You couldn't tell?"
"Yeah, I figured as much."
"But here's the thing-"
"Yeah?"
"You did end up marrying Madame Gina?"
"That's right."
"And you did get away from the fascists."
"Considering I'm still here right now, I'd say yes."
"What exactly happened next?"
The last vestiges of Marco's grin faded.
"Why don't you come with me?" he said, moving his wheelchair towards the room's exit.
While Fio and Signore Goretti remained in the sitting room, Seiji followed Marco to the latter's bedroom. Once inside, Marco directed him the shut the door, before heading towards a piece of red-coated planking.
"All that's left of her," said Marco. "Fio's little beauty went down along the coast…she couldn't be repaired."
He shifted his wheelchair so that he was facing Seiji.
"Life isn't all rosy, kid, and not every ending is happy. Some are bittersweet."
"I know that," Seiji replied. "My grandfather knows that, too. He was going to marry a German woman before the war, but they never got to. Afterwards, he tried to find her, and…no luck."
"Death, loss- the price we all pay in war…and sometimes in peace." Marco took a deep breath. "The trick is not to despair. Don't be naive…but don't despair. There's always something to live for. Even if you don't know what the reason is, it's always out there, somewhere."
"That sounds like something my grandfather said once."
"He's a wise man, then."
"That he is."
Silence descended for several moments. Then Marco broke it.
"You still want to know what happened next?"
"I do."
Marco met Seiji's gaze.
"Open the top drawer in the desk and pull out the manuscript inside," he said.
Seiji did so and returned carrying the manuscript.
"My memoirs," said Marco. "Unpublished as of right now, and not likely to be a huge hit if they are. Everybody caters to kids these days, and you're the only one I've ever met who'd be interested. All the old fogeys would have loved it are dead. Anyways, why don't you borrow it and read it in your spare time? It's got everything I told you and everything I didn't."
Seiji's eyes widened.
"But don't you want to keep it safe?"
"Ah, relax," said Marco. "I've got the original stashed away. That's one's a spare. Anyway, when you're done, bring it back and tell me what you thought."
"I will," Seiji promised.
"Now, we'd best head back to the sitting room. I'm thinking Tony'll want to call it a night about now."
Late that evening, a boy and an old man were wide awake. The former was deeply engaged in reading a manuscript. The latter was gazing at a piece of a red seaplane, his mind wandering backwards into the past, his senses overwhelmed by memories…