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The Boy with Strange Eyes
by Dr. Thomas Davison
Rounded Eyes– Slanted Eyes- Hen’s Story
From that first day- when he arrived at ‘The Island’ they named him
“Hen’na-me”, which in the Island tongue denoted ‘strange eyes.’ Shortly
this label evolved into the abbreviated nickname of Hen. Hen had
witnessed thirteen summers, when he first sailed east from his
homeland, in search of this very island. He had been discovered
half-dead by The Islanders afloat in a rickety old fishing boat. The
boat had belonged to his grandfather, his father, and at age twelve
summers (after his father died) belonged to Hen. He had set sail for
The Island in search of… what exactly had he been searching for? Rumors
I suppose? Rumors of an Island Country to the far east. An Island that
was inhabited by a strange people with an unusual language and
different writing (they scripted things backwards- it was said) and
they possessed advanced science and mathematics. Rumors that the
strange eastern island studied The Way of the Warrior- termed
Sam-ur–rai. Rumors that they forged swords that were virtually
indestructible. Swords created through mystical eastern magic. Magic
possessed solely by The Islanders themselves. Lastly- rumors that their
eyes were shaped strangely, and their skin was a different color. It
was reported that they weren’t truly a part of humankind. It was firmly
believed, by most from Hen’s homeland, the people of the eastern isle-
were in reality- a remnant of an elder race of men.
It was the latter part of those rumors- the different eyes- that
plagued Hen’s every waking thoughts for the past seven days. For ten
complete sun rotations (as the Islanders referred to it) Hen had
studied and learned the strange language and writing of The Island. He
had absorbed and lived the eastern island philosophy to the fullest. He
had been committed to doing everything possible to speak, dress, act,
talk and become one of them. He had pushed away any memories, or
history of the first thirteen summers, of his previous life. In fact-
he had convinced himself he was an Islander in every measurement-
except birth. That was the one thing that Hen, could not change about
himself. That and perhaps, his very different and strange eyes. After
ten long years, he nevertheless witnessed many of the Islanders,
gawking at his eyes. However, until seven days ago, he had been happy
and content, with the thought of living the remainder of his life, here
on The Island.
HIMEKO
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, Himeko. Beautiful Himeko. Daughter
of The Master, his trainer and mentor for the past decade. Little
chubby Himeko that always trailed behind him, full of laughter and
questions, as he practiced and did his chores. Teenage Himeko, all
elbows and knees, always by his side as Hen worked and practiced twice
as hard as any Islander. He had advanced quickly in the warrior ranks
of The Master. He had to admit that she had been something of a pest at
first. But. he soon grew accustomed to her presence. As she grew and
blossomed in her beauty, so had Hen’s secret love for her, grown and
blossomed. She was the sole Islander that never saw Hen as different or
strange. Then the day came when she had bashfully, declared her love to
him. Seven days ago.
“Himeko” he muttered under his breath. No – Hen shook his head
violently at the bitter memories. The scorn in the Master’s voice when
he had inquired politely, about the possibility of marrying Himeko. The
bitter tears of anguish in her beautiful eyes. All those years of
unrequited love. It no longer mattered. He was going home.
Hen trekked to the Drinking Pools of The Island, to fill his many
gourds, for the long sea journey home. He glanced into the large stone
bowl where the cool mountain water was stored by the Islanders. He
stopped abruptly when he saw his reflection in the bowl water. His face
was darkened by the sun. His jaw was square and corded with muscles and
tendons. His hair was, long, thick, and coal black. He wore it tied
behind his ears with a thin leather band. His ten plus summers
immersing himself in The Way of the Warrior had left his body, lean and
muscled. Then he spotted them, his eyes, his damned strange eyes. Why
did his eyes have to be so strange, so slanted? Why couldn’t they be
rounded like all the population of The Island, the one called
At-land-tis by the people. The Island of Rings by others.
DEPARTURE
They had been kind to the orphaned Hen, but only to a certain
point. Then seven days ago, they made it very clear, he wasn’t one of
them. No matter how hard he tried, he never could be. He was too
different, too strange, to ever be totally accepted as an Islander of
Atlandtis. It did not matter to Hen, that everyone in his homeland of
Yamato had slanted eyes. Folks had started to refer to his homeland as
Nihon when he had left on his quest. But, in his mind and his heart,
the eight islands were Yamato, and always would be! He would return to
his homeland with all the valuable knowledge he had learned, the
Atlandtis language, samurai way, and sword-making.
He would start his own sword-making school, become rich and famous, and
to hell with The Islanders and their bias against his eyes.
He wouldn’t be returning in an old beat-up fishing boat,
empty-handed, as he had left. He was returning in a Atlandean skiff.
Well known for their seaworthiness. He had collected many rods, of
different carbon-content of steel, refined from the rich Atlandtis iron
ore sand, for sword-making, on his skiff. He had fine silk clothes,
with other riches he had earned, in the service of his Master. Hen was
going home. No! Wait, Hen was dead and gone forever. From this day
forward, he would be known by his true name. Amakuni the master
sword-maker was going home.
THE END
© 2021 Dr. Thomas Davison
Bio: Dr. Davison is teaching at two all-male prison facilities in
Northern Ohio. He has been deeply moved by his interactions with
incarcerated students and has been motivated to create poems and short
stories about these experiences. Thomas has started a non-profit
dedicated to providing free one-on-one support services for felons.
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