Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction ❯ Contemplations on Condescension ❯ The Tragedy of the Not-so Newlyweds ( Chapter 2 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Kacfrog711 
Not a very social being but desperate for information, Kafei confronts yet another person he hates - his mother.
Non Anime: Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.07.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 356 | Status: Completed
Not a very social being but desperate for information, Kafei confronts yet another person he hates - his mother.
Non Anime: Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.07.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 356 | Status: Completed
Chapter 2: The Tragedy of the Not-so Newlyweds
One could blame the failings in my marriage to my own upbringing without difficulty. It was simply logical. Even a stranger could see that my parents didn’t love each other, despite their lasting marriage. My mother spoke, my father agreed, and the world went on this way. They never touched, never kissed more than the superficial lips-to-cheek, “hello, dear” or “goodbye, dear” kiss. They were not in love. It had never occurred to me as a child, any of it. Whether my parents were in love or not had never bothered me enough to wonder. They rarely fought, and that was enough for me. As an adult, though, I could look back at my childhood and see that my parents were the same as they always had been. Perhaps they were different before I was born, or before I can remember, but who can say? They never spoke of such a time. I’m forced to wonder now, as I never was then, if they were ever in love. Could two people who were once in love, truly and devotedly in love, ever be reduced to what my parents became? They were business associates now, despite their rings, and little more. It was sickening to witness. I hoped, rather selfishly, that they never loved each other at all. It would truly be a nightmare, to wake up one day and find myself in my father’s position: out of love with his wife, whom he had once cherished more than air. I couldn’t imagine it then.
I can now. Looking back, I can pinpoint the exact moment when I stopped giving Anju my constant, undivided attention. That’s something most married men, however unhappy, can’t say. Usually, the couple simply drifts apart until they are so comfortable with one another that they forget the other even exists as a separate human individual, one who desires love and attention. I began noticing it more and more throughout Clock Town after I had recognized it happening to myself. My parents were, of course, the most obvious example and the very first I came to acknowledge. There were others, of course... Most of the men I had seen in my father’s office had wives whom they had forgotten. Most of the women my mother had tea with never spoke of their husbands or children, though they all had them. It was a common disease amongst Terminians, apparently: an illness that led to the utter indifference to one’s spouse. And yet, there’s so little awareness of it that one can go months without even realizing he’s in the full throes of it. Thus, over the few years after our honeymoon, did I forget my wife entirely.
I admit, it was not nearly so melodramatic as that sounds. Relationships are rarely as clean-cut as simply remembering or forgetting. The fading of Anju from my consciousness happened so gradually, it was imperceptible to me until after the fact, like the grains of sand falling through an hour glass: one moment the top half is full, the next empty. I merely seemed to be one moment in love, the next out of it, despite the time that must surely have passed between the two extremes. Looking back, of course, I could see when it was that the hourglass flipped, when Anju became my wife instead of my one true love. It was that morning, when I confronted the boy in the green hat, and when I resolved myself to learn how exactly such a child could know everything. I had found in him a challenge to overcome, which is something my congenial wife would never give me.
Aroma Dotour: everyone in Clock Town knows, if you want a secret put out into general circulation, all you need to do is go to my mother and tell her that it’s a secret. It doesn’t matter if there’s evidence for the claim, or even if it’s true. My mother is very forgiving about such details. Gossip is gossip. Not only does the woman know everything about everyone in town (as well as half truths and supposed dirty secrets), but she also readily shares this information with anyone who asks. It was that... generosity of hers that put her a step above the green-hatted brat in my mind, as he kept the knowledge to himself like one hoarding rare goods. Despite this small preference, however, I couldn’t think fondly of my mother. And I certainly didn’t make a habit of sitting down and chatting with her. Even so, one must be willing to put himself in uncomfortable situations in order to obtain his goal. And I was never one to back down from a difficulty without at least attempting it.
The walk was a matter of minutes from my current home to my childhood one. I entered without knocking, ignoring the sign of “proper hours” on the door. The secretary looked up as I approached, winked, and said, “Evening, cutey.” before looking back down to her magazine. This was mild behavior for her; she flirted shamelessly with every male in town who walked into her presence, including my father. (He always quietly enjoyed it, from what I could tell.) While we hadn’t grown up together, the girl was far from being new to Clock Town. She knew Anju and I had gotten married. She may even have been in the crowd of people who attended simply because they were in the area at the time. However, this didn’t stop her from treating me as if I were something worth expending her feminine efforts on. She was pretty enough, I suppose, but I had never been really attracted to her - and I’d seriously question the man who had. It’s true, though, that no man minds the flattery of a single female, no matter how unappealing the woman or how married the man. And I had encouraged her actions in the past.
“Is my mother here?”
“It’s after eight, honey.” She didn’t look up again from her reading. “So of course she’s at the bar.”
I frowned and recalled rather bitterly that what the girl had said was true. Filthy habit, drinking: that’s what my mother had told me when she had said I couldn’t do it. She had spoken these inspired words with a glass in her hand as she had ushered me out. I had generally avoided the bar after that. She obviously didn’t want me there, and I didn’t really want to be there. Moreover, I’d given up drinking entirely after I was cursed. I had been drinking that night, and it’d made me slow and stupid. Such a thing would not happen again.
The girl glanced up at me from her magazine. “So, what are your plans for the night?” she asked. The green eyeshadow made her eye-color seem to be pure black.
I replied evenly, “Sleeping with my wife.”
“Oh,” she replied, leaning her elbows (and, conveniently, her breasts) on the desk and putting her face in her hands. “That’s too bad.” I rolled my eyes at her and walked back out the way I’d come. As I was going out the door, I heard her call, “Well, maybe tomorrow night, then.”
My steps never wavered as I headed for The Milk Bar. I hated the place with a passion, and seeing my mother was never a pleasant experience to begin with... but I was resolved. Sure, I could’ve just asked Anju about the Green-hat boy, but the more I considered it, the less I felt it was a good idea. So, to the town’s gossip I went.
I entered the bar with a ring of bells, and someone far below the long metal steps immediately shouted, “We’re not open yet!” I continued down anyway, my boots clanking rather loudly. The lights were a dull neon, leaving half the place in shadows. As expected, my mother was already seated at the bar, a glass in front of her. She didn’t look over as I sat down next to her. The owner, behind the bar, leaned his palms down in front of me and met my eyes with a tired look. “You’re not a member, Mr. Dotour. I can’t serve you.” Hearing the name, my mother looked over at me. She “Oh”ed and took a long drink from her glass.
I replied to the bartender, “I don’t want anything, thank you.”
He shrugged and began walking to the far end of the bar, “Alright, but you’re gonna have to leave when we open.”
“Gladly,” I said under my breath. There was a moment of silence, in which I realized the silence wasn’t exactly that: there was soft, jazzy music playing from a speaker somewhere. I looked over at my mother; she looked only into her glass: white liquid sloshed inside, a dull burgundy lip-print on the glass’ rim. There was no reason to be sociable nor false, I figured, so I simply asked. “Mother, do you know that boy who stopped the moon?”
She looked fully at me then, and I realized that the florescent bar lights did nothing to flatter her. Her hair was stiff and brittle, a much-dyed pink, and the makeup was caked on her face, only accentuating her age, not denying it as she surely hoped. However, at the mention of the boy, her worn face seemed to liven a bit. “Ah, yes. Link.” I took that to be his name. She continued after a pause, “What about him?”
I leaned one arm on the bar, now that I had her attention, and tried to appear casual. “What do you know about him?”
Her eyes moved to the left of me, then somewhere high up, and she recalled, “Very strange boy, but very polite. So kind. And helpful. He got your mask back for you, didn’t he?” She looked over at me with the words.
I tried to bite back a sneer. “Well, I did help a bit.” A bit. More like entirely. The boy hadn’t helped at all. All he’d done was open that trick door with me, at Sakon’s. And I hadn’t asked for his help then; I’d told him to stay away. ...He had given my pedant to Anju, too, but that was hardly anything worth mentioning, in my mind. He had interfered more times than I had actually petitioned him for help, and he was a nuisance, overall. If he had gotten me my mask back, it was through no fault of my own. I gladly would’ve done the deed myself.
Nevertheless, my mother ignored my rather sarcastic remark and continued her fond reminiscing. “Such a good boy,” she cooed. “Delivered that letter you wrote.” I had written no such thing. My so-called friend at the Curiosity Shop had taken THAT liberty and informed me later, claiming I should thank him and be a better son. I fumed at first and have ignored him since. Another one to “help” even when it’s not wanted. “Helped your father with a nasty argument that had been going on for days, I heard. Not to mention the moon. Anju seems to like him, too.”
“Yes,” I replied sullenly, “She does.”
“Everyone does,” My mother continued, swirling her glass. “He’s a dear. Always doing what he can, never looking for payment of any kind, helping everyone he meets without hesitation. Solving problems left and right...”
“Isn’t that suspicious?” I interrupted.
She froze in her monologue to meet my eyes, “How do you mean?”
“It’s all rather convenient, isn’t it? He helps everyone, and he always knows who needs his help, how, and when.”
My mother scoffed and spoke into her glass, “You could learn a thing or two from Link.”
I glared at her. It took me a moment before I could speak again and be sure it wouldn’t be something offensive. “But he’s always there at just the right moment. He’s always prepared, and he always knows exactly what to do. Isn’t that odd?”
“What are you saying,” she laughed, and the sound was hollow and mocking, “He’s a prince. There isn’t a fault on him, save he has good luck and ends up in the right place at the right time.”
“But he–“
She broke in, “You don’t know anything, Kafei.” I bristled, but she continued, “You’re suspicious for no reason. You’d hate everyone if you could, and if you can’t find something to hate, you make something up.” She threw back her head and finished off the glass, then slammed it on the table. “Your father spoiled you, that’s the problem. I always told him that–“
“Stop it!” I shouted, effectively halting her rant. “I’ve heard enough.” I stood, the stool scraping, then began running back up the clanking metal stairs.
From below, my mother bellowed, “I’m just surprised you don’t hate your wife!”
I paused mid-step. I had no reply, but her words had struck me deeply. Within a moment’s time, I was running again, up the stairs and out of the bar. The cool evening air flowed across my face and through my thin shirt, making me shiver. It was dark by now, save the street lamp. As slowly as I could, I walked back to the inn.
Well. That had been productive.
One could blame the failings in my marriage to my own upbringing without difficulty. It was simply logical. Even a stranger could see that my parents didn’t love each other, despite their lasting marriage. My mother spoke, my father agreed, and the world went on this way. They never touched, never kissed more than the superficial lips-to-cheek, “hello, dear” or “goodbye, dear” kiss. They were not in love. It had never occurred to me as a child, any of it. Whether my parents were in love or not had never bothered me enough to wonder. They rarely fought, and that was enough for me. As an adult, though, I could look back at my childhood and see that my parents were the same as they always had been. Perhaps they were different before I was born, or before I can remember, but who can say? They never spoke of such a time. I’m forced to wonder now, as I never was then, if they were ever in love. Could two people who were once in love, truly and devotedly in love, ever be reduced to what my parents became? They were business associates now, despite their rings, and little more. It was sickening to witness. I hoped, rather selfishly, that they never loved each other at all. It would truly be a nightmare, to wake up one day and find myself in my father’s position: out of love with his wife, whom he had once cherished more than air. I couldn’t imagine it then.
I can now. Looking back, I can pinpoint the exact moment when I stopped giving Anju my constant, undivided attention. That’s something most married men, however unhappy, can’t say. Usually, the couple simply drifts apart until they are so comfortable with one another that they forget the other even exists as a separate human individual, one who desires love and attention. I began noticing it more and more throughout Clock Town after I had recognized it happening to myself. My parents were, of course, the most obvious example and the very first I came to acknowledge. There were others, of course... Most of the men I had seen in my father’s office had wives whom they had forgotten. Most of the women my mother had tea with never spoke of their husbands or children, though they all had them. It was a common disease amongst Terminians, apparently: an illness that led to the utter indifference to one’s spouse. And yet, there’s so little awareness of it that one can go months without even realizing he’s in the full throes of it. Thus, over the few years after our honeymoon, did I forget my wife entirely.
I admit, it was not nearly so melodramatic as that sounds. Relationships are rarely as clean-cut as simply remembering or forgetting. The fading of Anju from my consciousness happened so gradually, it was imperceptible to me until after the fact, like the grains of sand falling through an hour glass: one moment the top half is full, the next empty. I merely seemed to be one moment in love, the next out of it, despite the time that must surely have passed between the two extremes. Looking back, of course, I could see when it was that the hourglass flipped, when Anju became my wife instead of my one true love. It was that morning, when I confronted the boy in the green hat, and when I resolved myself to learn how exactly such a child could know everything. I had found in him a challenge to overcome, which is something my congenial wife would never give me.
Aroma Dotour: everyone in Clock Town knows, if you want a secret put out into general circulation, all you need to do is go to my mother and tell her that it’s a secret. It doesn’t matter if there’s evidence for the claim, or even if it’s true. My mother is very forgiving about such details. Gossip is gossip. Not only does the woman know everything about everyone in town (as well as half truths and supposed dirty secrets), but she also readily shares this information with anyone who asks. It was that... generosity of hers that put her a step above the green-hatted brat in my mind, as he kept the knowledge to himself like one hoarding rare goods. Despite this small preference, however, I couldn’t think fondly of my mother. And I certainly didn’t make a habit of sitting down and chatting with her. Even so, one must be willing to put himself in uncomfortable situations in order to obtain his goal. And I was never one to back down from a difficulty without at least attempting it.
The walk was a matter of minutes from my current home to my childhood one. I entered without knocking, ignoring the sign of “proper hours” on the door. The secretary looked up as I approached, winked, and said, “Evening, cutey.” before looking back down to her magazine. This was mild behavior for her; she flirted shamelessly with every male in town who walked into her presence, including my father. (He always quietly enjoyed it, from what I could tell.) While we hadn’t grown up together, the girl was far from being new to Clock Town. She knew Anju and I had gotten married. She may even have been in the crowd of people who attended simply because they were in the area at the time. However, this didn’t stop her from treating me as if I were something worth expending her feminine efforts on. She was pretty enough, I suppose, but I had never been really attracted to her - and I’d seriously question the man who had. It’s true, though, that no man minds the flattery of a single female, no matter how unappealing the woman or how married the man. And I had encouraged her actions in the past.
“Is my mother here?”
“It’s after eight, honey.” She didn’t look up again from her reading. “So of course she’s at the bar.”
I frowned and recalled rather bitterly that what the girl had said was true. Filthy habit, drinking: that’s what my mother had told me when she had said I couldn’t do it. She had spoken these inspired words with a glass in her hand as she had ushered me out. I had generally avoided the bar after that. She obviously didn’t want me there, and I didn’t really want to be there. Moreover, I’d given up drinking entirely after I was cursed. I had been drinking that night, and it’d made me slow and stupid. Such a thing would not happen again.
The girl glanced up at me from her magazine. “So, what are your plans for the night?” she asked. The green eyeshadow made her eye-color seem to be pure black.
I replied evenly, “Sleeping with my wife.”
“Oh,” she replied, leaning her elbows (and, conveniently, her breasts) on the desk and putting her face in her hands. “That’s too bad.” I rolled my eyes at her and walked back out the way I’d come. As I was going out the door, I heard her call, “Well, maybe tomorrow night, then.”
My steps never wavered as I headed for The Milk Bar. I hated the place with a passion, and seeing my mother was never a pleasant experience to begin with... but I was resolved. Sure, I could’ve just asked Anju about the Green-hat boy, but the more I considered it, the less I felt it was a good idea. So, to the town’s gossip I went.
I entered the bar with a ring of bells, and someone far below the long metal steps immediately shouted, “We’re not open yet!” I continued down anyway, my boots clanking rather loudly. The lights were a dull neon, leaving half the place in shadows. As expected, my mother was already seated at the bar, a glass in front of her. She didn’t look over as I sat down next to her. The owner, behind the bar, leaned his palms down in front of me and met my eyes with a tired look. “You’re not a member, Mr. Dotour. I can’t serve you.” Hearing the name, my mother looked over at me. She “Oh”ed and took a long drink from her glass.
I replied to the bartender, “I don’t want anything, thank you.”
He shrugged and began walking to the far end of the bar, “Alright, but you’re gonna have to leave when we open.”
“Gladly,” I said under my breath. There was a moment of silence, in which I realized the silence wasn’t exactly that: there was soft, jazzy music playing from a speaker somewhere. I looked over at my mother; she looked only into her glass: white liquid sloshed inside, a dull burgundy lip-print on the glass’ rim. There was no reason to be sociable nor false, I figured, so I simply asked. “Mother, do you know that boy who stopped the moon?”
She looked fully at me then, and I realized that the florescent bar lights did nothing to flatter her. Her hair was stiff and brittle, a much-dyed pink, and the makeup was caked on her face, only accentuating her age, not denying it as she surely hoped. However, at the mention of the boy, her worn face seemed to liven a bit. “Ah, yes. Link.” I took that to be his name. She continued after a pause, “What about him?”
I leaned one arm on the bar, now that I had her attention, and tried to appear casual. “What do you know about him?”
Her eyes moved to the left of me, then somewhere high up, and she recalled, “Very strange boy, but very polite. So kind. And helpful. He got your mask back for you, didn’t he?” She looked over at me with the words.
I tried to bite back a sneer. “Well, I did help a bit.” A bit. More like entirely. The boy hadn’t helped at all. All he’d done was open that trick door with me, at Sakon’s. And I hadn’t asked for his help then; I’d told him to stay away. ...He had given my pedant to Anju, too, but that was hardly anything worth mentioning, in my mind. He had interfered more times than I had actually petitioned him for help, and he was a nuisance, overall. If he had gotten me my mask back, it was through no fault of my own. I gladly would’ve done the deed myself.
Nevertheless, my mother ignored my rather sarcastic remark and continued her fond reminiscing. “Such a good boy,” she cooed. “Delivered that letter you wrote.” I had written no such thing. My so-called friend at the Curiosity Shop had taken THAT liberty and informed me later, claiming I should thank him and be a better son. I fumed at first and have ignored him since. Another one to “help” even when it’s not wanted. “Helped your father with a nasty argument that had been going on for days, I heard. Not to mention the moon. Anju seems to like him, too.”
“Yes,” I replied sullenly, “She does.”
“Everyone does,” My mother continued, swirling her glass. “He’s a dear. Always doing what he can, never looking for payment of any kind, helping everyone he meets without hesitation. Solving problems left and right...”
“Isn’t that suspicious?” I interrupted.
She froze in her monologue to meet my eyes, “How do you mean?”
“It’s all rather convenient, isn’t it? He helps everyone, and he always knows who needs his help, how, and when.”
My mother scoffed and spoke into her glass, “You could learn a thing or two from Link.”
I glared at her. It took me a moment before I could speak again and be sure it wouldn’t be something offensive. “But he’s always there at just the right moment. He’s always prepared, and he always knows exactly what to do. Isn’t that odd?”
“What are you saying,” she laughed, and the sound was hollow and mocking, “He’s a prince. There isn’t a fault on him, save he has good luck and ends up in the right place at the right time.”
“But he–“
She broke in, “You don’t know anything, Kafei.” I bristled, but she continued, “You’re suspicious for no reason. You’d hate everyone if you could, and if you can’t find something to hate, you make something up.” She threw back her head and finished off the glass, then slammed it on the table. “Your father spoiled you, that’s the problem. I always told him that–“
“Stop it!” I shouted, effectively halting her rant. “I’ve heard enough.” I stood, the stool scraping, then began running back up the clanking metal stairs.
From below, my mother bellowed, “I’m just surprised you don’t hate your wife!”
I paused mid-step. I had no reply, but her words had struck me deeply. Within a moment’s time, I was running again, up the stairs and out of the bar. The cool evening air flowed across my face and through my thin shirt, making me shiver. It was dark by now, save the street lamp. As slowly as I could, I walked back to the inn.
Well. That had been productive.