Jiji no. 8

Man of Dreams

“HOLDER! YOU PESKY LITTLE BRAT, COME BACK HERE!” a grandfather is chasing his grandson. He was, in estimation of his aged skin, and his well-aged physical features, would be around late fifties, or mid of sixtieth. Yet, Xin Holder Viscus knew more than anyone else (he’s the one being chased) that his grandfather was already at the late of seventies. But look at him: he’s still springy and fast, still more energetic to follow and ran after him, while holding a heavy steel bar he’s planning to slap at his grandson’s back.

That was scary. And Xin Holder Viscus knew it more than anyone else. He had lost the count how his head had been hit by that steel bar.

And so he run while crying and trying to negotiate a peace with his furious grandfather.

“Baba Cicero! Please put down that steel bar!”

“I won’t put this down until I’ve hit it to you and you ran unconscious!”

Holder paled from his grandfather’s reply. No negotiation would match the atrocity he had done to him.

But... all of these are happening just because he had accidentally ate the potato which is the only food his Baba Cicero had. It was just . . . he didn’t know that it was his. Baba was not in the kitchen when he had seen that freshly cooked potato sitting preciously at the center of the table. With that, he assumed that his Baba Cicero loved him so much that he don’t want him to be hungry. That is why, he ate it wholeheartedly.

But he was wrong. He had eaten that sweetest potato he had ever tasted, not knowing that his grandfather was at the farm, working while dreaming to eat the potato he had cooked.

And when Baba Cicero went home, and find out what had happened, this explains of what is the current commotion.

“To the gods, please hear my name. Please help me from the demon who’s chasing me.” Holder said with a teary eyes and a clasped hand.

“What do you say? I’m a demon?”

“W—Whose demon Baba? Who said it? I’ll punch him for you!”

“You brat!”

“Babaaa! I didn’t tell anything!” then he ran faster, for his grandfather accelerated too. ‘Please gods, help me. The demon is chasing me!’ he thought.

They passed to his uncle Mariolis’ house. “Hey, what’s happening?” his uncle Marioli seems to get ready working to the farm when he saw the commotion that he and his grandfather is doing.

“Uncleee!” he shouted. He immediately went at his uncle’s back, and there, hid. “Uncle, Baba Cicero is killing me!”

“Don’t mind me, Marioli. I am just about to beat a pest who had eaten my food,” said Baba Cicero who is slowly stepping towards Marioli’s back, hoping to catch Holder who is hiding at his back.

“I’m really sorry, Baba. I thought you just really love me that you want to give that food to me.”

“But I am hungry, Holder! Do you want me to eat you?!”

“No! please no, demon Baba!”

“What do you call me?”

“I mean handsome Baba!”

“I am handsome! I know that!”

“Yeah you are! And you’re the best grandfather I could ever had!” Holder continued to convince his grandfather to pull down his rage.

“Am I?”

“Yes, Baba. You are the most handsome and the most angelic Baba that I could ever wish for.”

Surprisingly, Baba found it really touching. He was incredibly touched by it, and believed everything that Holder told. In fact, he was even having a teary eyes as he look at him with much longing and appreciation.

Even Holder was surprised by the sudden act of his Baba. This was the first time he had tried this trick—of playing with his grandfather’s emotion—to calm him and flush his anger away. And he ever knew that this was kind of . . . effective.

Now, Baba Cicero put down the steel bar he was holding. He opened his arms widely, and signed Holder to come to him, and give him a hug.

“My one and only Grandson. Come here, I’ll give you a hug,” Baba Cicero said.

‘Was this a trick? Why did Baba suddenly change his mood? I doubt him.’

“Come here, Holder. Give your Baba a hug.”

His uncle Marioli laughed from the scene. Holder forgot that he was hiding at his Uncle Marioli’s back. “Go now, Holder. Baba wants to give you a hug.”

Holder bit his lips, and hesitantly went to his grandfather.

“Baba,” he called.

“My Holder.” His Baba Cicero was pursing his lips, trying to stop the tears warning to fall from his eyes.

With that, Holder found his eyes being filled with tears as well. He swallowed the lump on his throat. And then, he rushed to Baba Cicero with a loud crying sound while calling his Baba’s name. “BABAAAA!”

They shared a hug to each other. The warmth of their hug gave them extreme comfort to each other. It soothed the negative emotions that they are feeling. Bloodskip. That is what they call, when they knew that family matters; that in the saying ‘blood is thicker than water,’ water is the drowning rage, and blood is a thing needed by anyone to live and survive. Thus, family.

“I’m really sorry Baba, I have caused trouble to you,” Holder said while hugging his grandfather, crying, snot even out of his nose.

“It’s okay, Holder. You know I can always forgive you. My love cannot be replaced with one single potato. It doesn’t even full a farmer’s stomach!”

“Indeed, Baba! It does not! It was just a single potato. There’s only less to little nutrient inside!” Holder said, agreeing with his Baba’s remarks about the heartfelt potato he had eaten.

But then something happened. He burped—a sign that he had enjoyed the potato he had eaten. A sign that he was full while his poor Baba is very much, hungry.

The cries and sobs suddenly stopped. The touching—if it isn’t cringey—words they are throwing to each other, stopped as well. Still silence swooped in the spaces between their hugs.

“B—Baba, I need to go to work now.” Holder tried to pull away from the hug they are sharing, but Baba Cicero hugged him tighter.

“My most beloved, special grandson,” he complimented. Yet, despite those sweet words, Holder heard a terrifying voice speaking—like a demon’s voice taunting an innocent child toward the pit of hell. “My most beloved, special, caring, and wonderful . . . grandson.” The hug grew tighter. Holder felt the difficulty to breath.

Holder squinted. He bit his lips and regrettably concluded how stupid he was for burping and even for hugging this devil.

“B—Baba, I love you,” he said with a sweet voice.

But no effect. Baba Cicero is still hugging him. Tight. A dead-tight hug.

“B—baba?”

“My sweet and loving grandson who ate my potato and deceived me with his sweet words.”

“B—Baba.” Holder was about to cry. He had no more escape, no more ways to convince his grandfather not to went berserk, and beat him.

‘BABAAA!”

In the middle of hot mid-afternoon, where the sun is bright in red, and the crops are swinging along with the humid air, the birds flew away when they heard an agonizing voice: screaming, asking for help, wanting to escape from his enraged Baba (whom he had called a demon).

****

“HERE.”

The sun is setting. Holder was watching the beautiful rays of the red sun as it was about to fold down towards the mountainous far. It was beautiful. Seeing it, he cannot help himself but to just admire the beauty that it possess.

His grandfather threw something towards him. He catch it with a quick and alerted movement—a fascinating move that his grandfather secretly admired.

“What is this, Baba?” Holder asked.

His Baba sat beside him with a sigh. He looked at the front, at the horizon of the low, setting sun, and at the lines of silhouettes of mountains far from them.

“How was your bruises?” His grandfather asked.

Holder grunted and looked at him with a scowl. “It’s painful Baba! You almost killed me!”

Then, his grandfather laughed. He said, “You can’t die with my hands, you know that.”

“No, Baba I don’t get you. Can you please explain it to me more? You almost killed me earlier!” he challenged his grandfather.

Baba Cicero, whose age doesn’t match with his still muscular body, strong-looking arms, high cheekbones, and sharp jaws, had sighed and looked at him. “You can’t die in my hands because you’re a man of dreams.” The solemn yet masculine voice of his grandfather swayed along with the peaceful dance of the humid air.

Holder didn’t reply. He looked back at the setting sun and just like his grandfather, he sighed.

“That is why I bought you a Sen pass,” his Baba continued.

Holder’s eyes grew wide, and stared at the huge circular metal thing his Baba had thrown to him earlier.

“Wh—What do you mean, Baba?” he stared at his baba with shock and disbelief—but with a hint, for sure, of excitement.

His Baba looked at him and pretended to put a scowling look. “Are you stupid, Holder! Don’t you know what Sen pass is for?”

Of course he knew. He was the one who told his grandfather about the Sen pass. He has been long earning money just to have this penny-like huge metal item. It was an expensive item, that is why somehow, he almost gave up on his dream and on his ambitious attempt to be like his own father. But now, he was holding it—the pass, the ticket, the thing people are showing to the guards of the gate in order to give them the privilege to enter inside the Agnosbadtt’s central kingdom.

All just to have the chance to see the central palace.

Holder intently stared at the unbelievable item he was holding. “I was planning and earning money to buy this, Baba. You should have just earned that money for your food.”

Baba Cicero opened a bottle that was always beside his hips, dangling in the tight pants he was using for work.

“I have earned more money, Holder. I have even thrifted your food just to make sure that I will earn enough money for my self and for your ambitious Sen pass.”

Holder pouted from his Baba’s reply. “That is why I am skinny.”

“Every wants needs a sacrifice, Holder,” his Baba told. “If you want to achieve your dreams, you should learn how to sacrifice.”

Then Baba Cicero drank from his bottle. Silver knew that it was not water filled inside his always carried bottle. It was a rice wine he himself had secretly created. In the farming region of Hem, the farmers are not allowed to drink any kind of liquor. Wine, booze, beer, and anything that can affect their work and productivity. His Baba was a farmer—almost every people in Hem was a farmer—but he was as stubborn as him, when doing naughty things. Well, ever since he was a child, his Baba has been doing that—that secretly drinking of wine in his bottle, and no guards had even caught him.

Talking about being an alcohol assassin.

“Do I deserve this, Baba?” Holder asked.

Baba Cicero closed the bottle of his wine, and smashed it to Holder’s head. “Ow! Baba! You sadist demon!”

“I did that because you are just like your father.”

“Just like Papa?”

Baba Cicero nodded. “He is as passionate and hardworking like you. He dreamed of something unimaginable that we laughed at him because his ambitions seems too surreal and impossible. We didn’t even believed him even when he had that Sen pass and entered the Central Kingdom. But then when he came back here to Hem to visit us, everyone was fascinated by him and his being a knight. Even you. You were fascinated to your father.”

Holder smiled and nodded. “I remember that time when Papa came back to Hem. He was shiny and intimidating to touch and hug. But then he was the one to come to me, and give me a warm hug—well, less the fact that the shining metal armor in his body was actually cold than usual.”

“Be like him.”

Holder was stunned for a moment. His tongue seems to stick at the roof of his mouth, making him unable to speak.

Then, he nodded.

“The reason why I bought you that utterly expensive Sen pass is that I want you to be like him. Be like your father.”

Holder smiled, and looked at his Baba. He sighed. But he’s happy.

“I will, Baba,” he said. “I will become like my Papa. I will become Agnosbadtt’s circle of knights.”

Baba Cicero nodded. “Good. And when you became one, don’t forget to use your power in a way your Papa failed to do.”

Another wider smile from Holder. He then stood up, and looked at the almost sunken sun. “What can I do, Baba? The farmers here are my family. And this Sen pass was my debt to you. I will make sure I can pay for it.”

Baba Cicero stared down in the ground and secretly brushed the tears forming on his eyes. He had raised a well-disciplined, special, and well-loving kid.

“I will make sure that the farmers of Hem won’t be oppressed anymore.”

Cicero nodded. But then, he cannot contain the tears of happiness forming on his eyes. He cried.

Holder saw it, and instantly became worried of his grandfather.

“What is wrong Baba?” he asked, worried.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.”

“Happy? About what?”

“No one now will sneak on my food. I won’t spend nights of hunger anymore.”

With that, Holder pouted, and, in an unexplained reason, he cried.