See with the Eye

“Tell me a story, okaasan.”

“Not a long time ago, a man lived happily with his dog Hachiko. They loved each other; the dog was more compassionate towards him than any companion could be. And when the man died, the dog stayed at the train station, awaiting his return.”

“How long did he wait, Mom?”

“Nine years.”

“How come he never left? Didn’t he get tired?”

“It was more than a partnership. It was love.”

“Can animals love?”

“Yes, Miko.”

“How? Because they have hearts?”

“Love does not come from the heart, nor the brain. It starts here.” Mom traced the way to my eye. I almost blinked.

“Animals see better than most of us. They see things that are beyond our status quo. They know who we are inside. They do not care what we are, natives or whatsoever. Their love is sincere. Their love is fair. Their love is endless.”

“Why did we hurt baby black bear then?”

“The Matagi are hunters! Get used to it.” Dad entered the room with fur all around his white tunic.

“Is that baby black bear’s?” I pointed the pelage sheathing his chest. Our conversation was cut short by a ferocious roar. I peeked outside our thatch hut. It was not any animal; it was a mother! It bolted towards my paralyzed figure, and about two meters near, a spear nearly hit the bear.

It diverted its attention towards my Dad, who was unarmed. He plucked another spear, gearing for another hurl. The bear moved first, dashing his way towards my now aghast father. He had no choice but to run.

He was headed for the Fukushima woodlands. It was a race unlike any other. A race of life and death. My tribe was right: animals are not to be meddled with. They’re either dinner… or destroyer. My father could never outmatch a bear as twice as large as him, nor could he outrun it. Deep within the woodlands, two gunshots were heard.

A ryoshi friend told us the vicious monster took away his life.

***

This was nine years ago, if I remember correctly. A memory to reminisce. A nightmare to avenge.

A month after Dad’s death, journalists came to our minuscule landscape. Turns out Fukushima wasn’t negligible after all. Nor the Matagi natives. The expedition leader, Mr. Atlas, offered one of the youngsters an apprenticeship in Belfast. Of course, the entrance examination wasn’t easy. But I dared to take it. So did three more dozens of children aged eleven.

We were asked to write a novelette. The topic? Something every heartbeat I had abhorred. Yet, UK was promising. It had no cruel bears. I finished my masterpiece, the first literature in my line of literatures, “How Animals Do Not Use Their Eyes”.

Today, nine years after the incident that changed my vision, I see a brighter future. A new life to cherish.

***

It was 7:30 in the morning. I hurriedly proceeded to the printing press. There was much to do. Among my agenda today was a second book – the Part II of the semi-autobiographical novelette that brought me here in Belfast.

As I unbarred the door, I was greeted by a colleague. “Are you alright, Miko? You seem… distressed.”

I turn around and see Katie in her blue dress and pencil skirt. Her brown hair was in a ponytail, and she wore the smile. The same smile I see in her every day.

Katie was an optimist. Much more, she adores animals. I was three years older than her – she was seventeen – but she had a kinder childhood. Growing up in Cambridge, she was given the chance of pursuing a bachelor in Communication Science. She was humble enough to reject the offer and apply as a feature writer in Mr. Atlas’s editorial staff.

“Miko?”

“Yeah… just long hours.”

“Stayed up late again?” She was enclosing something in her hands. It was moving. She barely kept the suspense.

“Remember Toupee?” She held out a – supposedly – charming rodent in front of me.

“The hamster?”

“First, he’s a guinea pig!” Even her sarcastic frown was lovable.

“And second, could you keep it for a while?”

“What?” I was puzzled by her plea.

“Please. I have to go to the groceries and Mom’s not home, so…”

“Me? I’m not… that good at animals.”

She placed the, I stress, guinea pig in my hand, winked, and left.

***

Two hours have passed. I should have known better than accept a dreamy girl’s wish. Now I’m stuck with a pet to care, a novel to finish, and a mind to keep focused.

I glance back at the little fella. It hasn’t eaten a single biscuit I gave.

“Not hungry?” It was silent for five minutes. Then, it scampered away. I tried to hold it back, but sneaky as it was, it withstood my grip.

It went under the door’s narrow aperture and began touring a nearby suburban street. I treaded its heels, but it was as fast as a sprinter. I remember my father, who was in this exact situation, only he was the one being chased.

When we reached the water tower, the rodent paused its foot race. It was eyeing something, behind the bush, perhaps? I stepped closer to the Japanese Spirea – yes, I know it was from my country’s flora – and moved the leaves to get a better picture.

It was, as I suspected, another animal. It was hairy with a rotund build, and it bore wattles hanging from its lower jaws. It was a dalmatian, but a pig.

***

The small creature galloped towards my leg and leaned against it. It was curling itself on my lap, but I pushed it away.

“Dinner… destroyer… dinner or destroyer,” I repeated to myself a couple of times.

“Miko?”

“Katie!”

“Where’d you been? Toupee returned to the house without you. I went back to the office to give you a doughnut as a token of gratitude, but you weren’t there. Where were you?”

Katie peeked behind my back.

“Is that pig… your pet or something? I always knew you had some kindness in you.”

“It’s not mine. Just found it today. You can keep it.” I responded abruptly.

“Hehe. I need to ask Mom first. She won’t let me bring anything without permission.”

“Well, as far as I know, it stays at the bush.”

“Wait! Uh, if you take care of it tonight, I’ll bring it home tomorrow. Promise.”

This was even more puzzling. But the pig contained something of interest, I was certain.

“Alright, I’ll take it. But I don’t even know what it is?”

Katie skimmed and scanned her handbook. It had a heart symbol and the word ANIMALS in its cover.

“Let’s see. Short, upturned snouts. About 100 – 400 pounds. Yep. It’s a Kunekune pig.”

“A kune–what pig?”

“A kunekune. It belongs to a small breed of domestic pigs from New Zealand.”

“Well, why is it here in the Northern Hemisphere?”

“Hm. Not sure actually. Although the birthmark in its ear is peculiar. I’ll look into it.”

“Okay. Um, see you.” We parted ways.

***

“Alright, pig, welcome to my home.” I flip the light switch and set my apartment scintillating. The kunekune was tailing me.

“Now, rules!” I carried the animal to the sala and placed it carelessly on the sofa.

“No biting, no scratching, no killing! No nothing!”

It gazed into my eyes. Its black iris was looking deep into my soul. Then it smiled. The same smile Katie wears.

“What, you got a problem?”

It hopped into my lap and rubbed its nose into my forefinger. I withdrew my hand.

“That’s it! You’re sleeping outside!”

I opened the main door, dumped the pig, then shut the ingress tight. Just as I treaded three steps from where I left him, a raindrop fell. I closed the window. Then a massive downpour struck. I returned to the sofa, enclosed myself in a blanket.

A deafening thunder woke me up.

The kitchen lights were on. How did it enter? I locked the back door too! I advanced towards the cookery. The fridge was open. Sodas were upturned. The apples and pears were bitten; broccoli and cabbages were gobbled.

“Oink!” I turned around. The pig was there. And above it, a broken window.

“Oh, goodness!” I held it in my arms as I walked to my bedroom. Dirt was all over its furry face. It gave a cute smirk.

“Baby black bear.”

“Hrrmpph?” Its face looked curious.

“You’re lucky you remind me of someone. Let’s give you a bath, huh?”

“Oink!” It rejoiced. His sound was full of euphoria.

***

I placed it – carefully this time – on the bathtub and showered it with warm water. I scrubbed it with scented, soft, liquid soap.

“Ah… achoo!” Its pink nose caught a bubble. It jiggled its face and then nodded with exhilaration.

As I cleansed its right ear, something caught my eye. An emblem. Before I could inspect further, it galloped out of the bathroom, and into my bed.

Once inside my own room, which was ironically filled with a butcher’s propaganda, it circled its small physique and began to doze off. I was lying down when I saw it below my timber bed.

I sat next to it. Then, it snuggled in my lap as I was drowsing. Before my sleep–deprived eyes could finally draw to a close, I heard it give a sigh. A sigh of satisfaction.

***

I named it after my mother. I called it Aika. It meant a song of love.

I immediately turned down Katie’s offer to keep Aika in her home, saying I was a bit lonely, which was the most unusual.

Today, there was no work. So I took Aika to the backyard and kept an eye on her as she wallowed in the mud. Then, it shook the mud in her face and leaned against my feet. I gave it a belly rub.

“Oink!” It said with glee.

I filled a baby pool with water to let her cool off and splash around. She didn’t like to stay put, however. She leaped and bounced and frolicked across the yard. By the afternoon, everything was a mess. Aika finally settled when I placed apple slices and a couple of spinach in a corner.

It gobbled its meal while reclining on a haystack. Then, it turned to me, like it was waiting for a pat or something. I rubbed its ear gently and I saw it again. The emblem. I knew it was familiar; it was the symbol of the Matagi! How come?

I wasn’t done being surprised when my phone rang. It was Katie.

“Hello?”

“Miko, are you available tomorrow?”

“Why?”

“Mr. Atlas assigned us to a travel blog project. I nominated the Fukushima highlands as our first priority.”

“Great. I’ll come. It’s not too far from the Matagi village.”

“You want to see a friend?”

“No. I want answers. The symbol in the kunekune’s ear? It was a mark left by a ryoshi.”

***

The Matagi tribe hasn’t changed. The huts were still made of thatch. The forest wasn’t chartered until now. Much worse, hunting is still a sport.

Katie left earlier. She said she’ll explore a nearby lake. I took the opportunity to visit the ryoshi who knew my father well.

“Miko? Why, it is Miko! My friend’s child! You’re so big now? Eighteen – no, twenty?”

“Konnichiwa, Uncle.”

Aika crouched behind my leg. She looked intimidated.

“Is that a mangalitsa pig behind you? Let’s grill it for today’s festivities. Will you join us? You love grilled pork, don’t you? At least you used to.”

“No! You will not harm Aika!”

“Your mother’s name?”

“I learned she passed away as I boarded my plane to Belfast.”

“Yes. Of heart disease.”

“This pig’s mark. A ryoshi’s.”

“It escaped. Perhaps it followed you and rode in the same plane you boarded.”

“That’s way too… coincidental, Uncle.”

I stepped out of the hut and saw half of the Matagi villagers eyeing Aika.

“Why are you holding that monstrosity?” A child asked.

“Aika’s not a monster. She’s a friend.”

“But, aren’t animals destroyers?”

“Or dinner!” A middle-aged man yelled. “We haven’t eaten mangalitsa pork for years!”

“Then you will not eat today either.”

“Really, boy? You’re a Matagi! A hunter!” The town was in an uproar.

The middle-aged man continued. “Perhaps your mother was right. Did you know her last words? She said, ‘I hope my son will be like her father. Strong, valiant. I doubt, however. My son is different than all of us. He is not a Matagi.’”

I dropped Aika. Then, I ran towards the woodlands.

***

Tears were dripping in my eyes. But I kept running. Destination? Nowhere. Then I heard rustling behind me. Aika was there.

“What now? Don’t you understand? My mother wanted me to be strong. I already was, but you came!” I was fuming. My face was crimson. I didn’t know what I felt. Was it anger? Resentment? Or perhaps weakness?

“My brain told me to leave you! It was the prudent thing to do. My heart had pity for you, but now it feels nothing but wrath. I wish my mother was here. She’d tell me what to do.”

Aika pranced and thumped my eyes repeatedly with its trotter.

“Ouch! My eye! My… eye…”

I ran again, leaving her once more.

***

I made it towards the lake. No vicious animals, thankfully.

“Katie?”

“How’d it turn out, Miko?”

I narrated my losses. She just smiled.

“How are you always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Smiling. I mean, maybe because your childhood was–”

“My childhood wasn’t nice too, you know. My mother died when I was born. Dad hated me and so he did not sign my papers for Cambridge. But, when I got Toupee, things were different. His love was fair… endless. He did not care who I was, jobless or whatsoever.”

“The guinea pig?”

“You remembered.”

We turned around. The ryoshi was there.

“I’m sorry, Miko.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your mother’s words. The version you heard was incomplete. She did say you were never a Matagi, but she said it was a good thing. You would be, she noted, the one who would bring change upon our changeless tribe.”

“How do you know?”

“We were close. For a while, I loved her. I was jealous of your father. So much that I chose to lie about his death.”

“What?!”

“Miko, listen, you heard gunshots, remember? But your father had no gun.”

I stepped back. I was taken aback. Katie held my hand.

“I hid behind a tree. I saw the one who shot him. He wore a golden suit, a golden tie, and black–tinted sunglasses.”

“Impossible!” Katie yelled.

“He was the same man who took you.”

“Why tell me now?”

“I told this to your mother as she was spending her last minutes. Aika made me promise to tell you the truth. I regretted my decisions that I snuck in the kunekune to the plane. I knew the moment you’d see it, you’d come back.”

“Well, you found out.” Mr. Atlas clapped. He was hiding behind a tall shrub. “I heard everything.”

“You followed us?”

“Well, Katie, I was frightened the moment you nominated Fukushima. So I thought I’d tail you.”

“Why did you do it? Why my father?!”

“Simple. I planned of developing a minery in the woodlands. I knew natives would disagree so I killed one, prompting every Matagi to never return.”

“A minery? You’d hurt animals too!”

“Now you care, Miko? The papers have been signed. The project starts tomorrow.”

Katie moved abruptly. She took her phone, tapped a couple of applications, and began to speak. “In three seconds, we’re live.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Katie Silvers from the Belfast Printing Press. Here we have our manager, Mr. Atlas, being accused of a colleague, Miko Yuan, of destruction of natural resources, both flora and fauna.”

“You’d challenge me in a debate? How pitiful you are.” Atlas chuckled.

“Ehem. Mr. Yuan, your novel clearly states you are against animals. Care to differentiate, and perhaps, lose your reputation?”

“I was wrong. And I do not care about reputation.”

Aika ran into us. The camera captured her too. I glanced into her direction. Then, I continued.

“Animals see better than most of us. They see things that are beyond our status quo. Not like those who kill others because they do not adhere to their standards. Standards of capitalism. Animals are more compassionate than any companion could be. If modernization involves shooing away those who stood by us, then I want no part of it. Modernization is evolution. Not the evolution of weapons or businesses. Modernization is bringing the change to the changeless.”

“Fine. Your father died because of a bullet, not a bear. You will end the same way as he has.”

Atlas drew his gun towards me. “We’re live, Atlas!” Katie shrieked.

“I don’t care.” Before he could press the trigger, a creature as twice as large as him appeared, and with the blink of an eye, flung him a mile away.

“Baby black bear? With fur again.”

It bowed and I pat its head.

“He needs a name.” Uncle Jiro suggested.

“Hachiko.”

“Why?”

“Because he waited.”

***

“Hey, Aika.” She snuggled in my lap.

“Ah… achoo!”

“Up for a belly rub?”

I put down the book Katie gave me to read. The same book; the one with a heart and ANIMALS in it.

I just finished typing my novelette entitled “How Humans Do Not Use Their Eyes”. Seven months have passed since the live stream was posted and Atlas’s minery was shut down. I became stronger than what my mother hoped me to be.

I look back at my laptop. The last words were: “The Matagi liked to wear bear fur. But they did not realize, it wasn’t just muffling their bodies; it also enveloped their humanity.”