Natur, my father. A strong and robust man.
Sometimes I watch my father when it's his turn to take care of me.
He's gentle and attentive, a great father.
He puts me on the couch and starts playing with me, making faces and wiggling my little fingers.
He carries me in his arms, holding me close. He takes me outside to show me new things and break the monotony.
We walk along the dusty road, seeing oxen and horses in the fields. Farmers harvesting crops.
People watering seedlings, with water coming from their hands.
From their hands?
Dad saw it and didn't change his expression. Maybe it's normal. Well, that old lady also used something strange on me and they didn't react.
When I learn to read and talk properly with people, I'll start researching that.
"Look, son, a mage," my father said, pointing to the old man watering the seedlings. "Cool, right?" he added.
"Dad, hasn't mom told you it's rude to point at people?" said Damian, walking up the road with Ellen, both carrying backpacks.
"Oh! You're back from school already?" They nodded. My father gave a mischievous smile, which he quickly softened into a kind one.
Damian and Ellen didn't mind and continued walking home, back on their path before being interrupted by Natur.
The young couple disappeared down the road, following the long horizon. Natur, who had been watching them, turned and began walking. We ended up heading toward the village.
Our house is a little far from the village.
We got there fairly quickly. Dad went straight to a medium-sized building, full of other men drinking.
He walked in and approached a table with five men around it. They all seemed to be his age.
He pulled two chairs—one for me and one for himself.
"Hey, guys!" he said to the men. Apparently, they were his friends. Men in their thirties, married with kids. That's the impression they gave me.
Something tells me I got it right.
"Well, if it isn't Natur," said one with red hair and white roots, wearing a humble and kind smile.
The others greeted him with various hellos.
"So, how are your wives and kids?" my father asked, making conversation.
Of course, even though I don't understand everything, I'm not stupid. I can pick up some things in their speech.
And thanks to the conversations I hear around me, I'm starting to understand a few words.
All of Dad's friends looked down, dejected.
They all seemed to have problems at home—maybe a fight with their wives or disobedient children. That's how it looked. Their eyes were empty.
"Man, my wife is sick, and my kids and I are working hard. But aside from that, everything's fine," said the red-haired man, sadly. Still, his kind smile never left his face.
The others said similar things—minus the sick wife.
"My son started working and moved out. In a few years, he wants to marry his fiancée," said the chubby one. Chubby because of his stature, not excess weight.
"My wife complains at me all the time, I'm fed up. I'm only staying with her for the kids," sighed the third man. He didn't look strong, but he wasn't out of shape either. "Ah, if it weren't for my beloved kids, I'd have divorced already."
The fourth man spoke. He seemed like an ordinary guy with no standout features.
"I'm doing fine. I'm just on vacation, and my wife went to visit her mom and took our baby. I miss them," said the fifth man casually.
"I'm fine, thank God. I'm single, but that's the sad part—I haven't found someone to marry," he then told my dad.
"So, Natur, how's it going, taking care of the new kid?" the man said, placing a hand on Dad's shoulder.
My father picked me up, took me off the chair, and hand-fed me. Then he rocked me. With me in his arms, he took a large swig from the cup the waiter had just placed.
"Right now, my life is the best of all. Because I have a great family, two amazing kids, and the best friends a man could ask for," he declared.
His previously gloomy friends smiled proudly at the shameless yet brave statement. Then they raised their mugs, now full of beer, and toasted enthusiastically.
"To friends, to children, and to wives!" they shouted together.
Even those with family problems—or none at all—shouted for their futures, and the futures of their children and families. Everyone knows the old saying from an ancient martial master:
"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift—that's why it's called the present."
They had to make the most of their time together, because even in a cruel world, true happiness is found in moments like this.
They lived that moment for hours you could count on one hand. But for them, time was immeasurable.
So immeasurable, even I didn't notice it pass. My mission was to pay attention and learn as many words as I could, understand the phrases and their meanings.
Nightfall came and Dad said goodbye to his friends, picked me up, and we left. Despite the laughter and joy, it was time to go home.
We retraced the same path. Passed the oxen, the old man who watered plants with his hand.
A cold wind blew in our faces. Dad staggered, nearly dropping me. His murmurs filled the silent walk home.
---
We got home. Dad was slightly stumbling.
When he opened the door, Mom was waiting, her face steaming with anger.
"Where have you been with my baby, you idiot!"
She snatched me from Dad's arms and smacked him on the head.
Natur groaned in pain. It was enough to make him half-sober.
"Ugh!" he groaned, then muttered, "What was that?"
She took me to her room and put me to sleep.
---
A year has passed. My ability to move has improved significantly—I've started crawling. But not only that, my adaptation to this world's spoken language has been extraordinary. A swift adaptation. (I memorized some words—I'm a bit happy.)
But my vocabulary is still small. And since the language I naturally know clashes with this one, I always try to listen closely when people speak.
Speaking of that, I'm reminded that I still can't read.
Anyway, putting that aside, I'm currently in Ellen's lap, cheering for Damian in the regional soccer championship.
I won't describe the match again, despite my rising excitement. I'll just state the final score:
[Bramble F.C. = 3 x 2 = Minat Sul] – Final Score.
The village team won, just as I predicted.
To celebrate, we had a small party at home. All of Damian's teammates were invited, including some girls. I assume some were the players' sisters. Of course, Ellen came.
Damian spent most of the party talking to her. I heard murmurs from the other boys.
"Lucky guy." "Just start dating already." "So jealous."
Things like that. I didn't think it was cool for them to say, but I understand—it's their age.
My mom, with her incredible party-spoiling ability, came and picked me up from the middle of the party.
I wanted to cry but couldn't.
In the warm arms of my stunning mother, her silly and contagious smile formed, and her slender eyes closed into a charismatic crescent. She said, "One day, you'll be in your brother's place. And I'll throw the best celebration for you and your friends. And you'll be the best of them, won't you?" She smiled warmly.
---
This year I turned two years old. I'm growing up fast.
Right now, I'm with my dad at one of his jobs. A few months after that reunion at the bar, I saw his friends again while tagging along with Dad.
His current job is village guard duty. Of course, he's not a fighter, but they make up a simple guard. If something beyond their capacity shows up, they call the village's warriors and mages.
Dad works from 6:00 AM to 12:00 PM at the guard post. Then from 1:30 PM he goes to his second job in construction. And his third job? That starts when he gets home—caring for cattle and chickens in the corral and coop behind the house.
Mom plants vegetables and greens beside the corral. Fruits and other things we buy in town.
Sometimes I prefer going to work with Dad. At least I get to stay quiet. It's better than being stuck in a baby cage at home.
Life has been peaceful and ordinary. "Monotonous" might be a better word.
But some nights I have recurring nightmares. However, I always forget them when I wake up. Yet a tightness in my chest lingers, as if I'm forgetting something important—something I must never forget, under any circumstance. I can't help it. Every time I try to remember, it's no use.
Well, there's nothing I can do.
Our house is pretty big—at least from my perspective. It has two floors. Downstairs is the kitchen, living room, two bathrooms, a storage room for daily materials, and a pantry.
Upstairs has four bedrooms, and one room with the door always closed.
And that's exactly where I am—right in front of the closed door. Except it's not closed right now. Damian left it ajar by accident.
I reached out without hesitation and pushed the door. I used all my strength—not much—and it slowly creaked open, adding atmosphere.
I crawled across the wooden floor into the room. Sat in the middle. Looked around.
I saw a desk with a chair. On the opposite wall, a bookshelf full of books.
I slowly approached. The shelf was full of thick, dusty books. I pulled one, fascinated. It fell and opened accidentally. Dust flew up, making me sneeze.
Of course, I couldn't understand anything written, but some pages had drawings. Out of youthful curiosity, I flipped page by page. Stars could be seen in my eyes.
"Ryo, no!" shouted Damian. "Careful little brother! The pages can cut your skin, and yours is so delicate. Damn it, Mom would kill me if she saw you bleeding—even a little. Good thing I got here in time."
He picked me up and sat me on the desk. Then quickly put the book away. He rushed back to me. His worry—for me and for not getting scolded—was clear in his eyes.
"How did you get up here and open the door?"
he thought for a moment, then smacked his forehead with his palm.