Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat: I ain’t tellin’ you my real name. Don’t take it personally, though. Been so long since I’ve told anyone my name, sometimes I even need to remind myself of what my folks used to call me. Honestly, it’d probably be better if I did forget it. In my line of business, the biggest enemy isn’t the shady lowlife who thinks you stiffed him for the overpriced garbage he sold you the other night. Nah, the past is what will really bite you in the end if you’re not careful. The best way to survive in my world is to slap on a mask and pretend that the face underneath, with its sad, puppy-dog eyes and old wounds too stubborn to heal, doesn’t exist. Sounds depressing, I know, but ya gotta suck it up and accept it. That’s just how things work around here.
You know what? For some reason, you strike me as a real stand-up guy. I’ll bet sad sacks come to you all the time to chat about their problems, and you’re just about the best listener those poor suckers could ask for. So even though it goes against my usual principles, I think I will tell you a little bit about myself. But fair warning: If you blab about any of this to your friends, your pets, or even your dear old granny, then I’ll personally make sure you can never chew solid food again. I kid you not.
Now that we understand each other, I suppose I should start from the beginning. You could say that I live a bit of a double life. From sunup ’til nine in the evening, I run a place in West Clock Town called the Trading Post. We sell all the typical benign knickknacks you’d expect: potions, sticks, nuts, and all that rot. If I wanted to be poetic about it, I’d describe it as a quaint little hideaway where folks can briefly escape the world’s hustle and bustle to relax and browse the shelves to their heart’s content. But if I wanted to be blunt, I’d call it what it is: a pathetic waste of time. We hardly ever get customers, mainly ’cause our stock is so impractical. I mean, c’mon, who would ever need arrows or a shield on an average day at the office?
Still, it makes for a good cover operation, so who am I to complain? I can just hang out, make nice with people, and pretend I have even an ounce of vanity left in my body by putting on this stupid wig. And at night, I get to hand the place off to some loser kid I hired a while back and focus on my real job. I have to admit, though, I’m startin’ to wonder if I shouldn’t fire the guy. He’s a bit sharper than I gave him credit for, giving me these weird looks and oh-so-casually asking how the shop hasn’t caved in from lack of business. I’ve dealt with his type before: greedy slouchers who just expect money to fall into their laps for breathing. So if he found out what I really did for a living, I’ll bet you rupees to rock sirloin that he’d try to squeeze me dry in exchange for his silence. Yeah, not in this lifetime, buster.
Anyway, when 10pm rolls around, the gloves come off and the real work begins at the cramped, dingy little shack I operate next door. What exactly do I do, you ask? Well, lemme put it this way: Whatever goods come through that door are fair game, no questions asked. The customers I get here tend to have more eccentric tastes, and though they like to act all innocent, they know exactly what channels these products have to go through to end up on my shelves. So as far as I’m concerned, they’re the ones who should feel guilty, not me. I’m just a simple middleman providing a little stability in this crazy consumerist world, and I ain’t apologizing for operating my business on my terms. If they wanna get all self-righteous about it, they can take their cash elsewhere and never darken my doorway again. Fair deal, if you ask me.
Even though lots of different creeps offer me their junk to sell, I have two main suppliers who really help me bring in the dough on a regular basis. One of them is this huge, extremely ugly bird — a “Takkuri” or somethin’ like that? — who blunders around Termina Field and dive-bombs folks with big pockets who’re dumb enough to cross its path. You’d never guess it from lookin’ at him, but he’s surprisingly quick and nimble, able to snatch up a few particularly valuable items for me every week. And the best part is that he never whines about his cut, unlike my other supplier. This guy, a slimy little weasel from the east who calls himself Sakon, really is a piece of work. I kid you not, there is no level too low for him to stoop. He’ll rob women, kids, even the elderly, and then have the gall to call me a cheapskate for the prices I offer him!
In fact, the other night he came in with a sack stuffed with stolen Bomb Bags that I immediately recognized as belonging to the Bomb Shop two doors down. I’d be lying if I said this didn’t make me slightly sick to my stomach; the owner and his mom are decent, hard-working people who don’t deserve that kind of treatment. Normally I wouldn’t have made an issue of it, but then that louse with the cheeky grin plastered to his face just had to give me lip, so I couldn’t resist cuttin’ him down a few pegs. Man, talk about cathartic. It’ll probably come back to haunt me someday, but I don’t regret it in the slightest.
So at this point, you’re probably thinking, “What’s this guy’s deal? Sure, he’s got a bit of a hazardous occupation, but it sounds like he has everything under control, right?” And you’re right. Up until recently, I would have agreed with you on that 100%. But remember what I said about the past being your worst enemy in the world I live in? Well, ’bout a month ago, it hunted me down in the most literal way possible.
See, back in the days when I was still too shrimpy to reach a doorknob, I met this kid. Of course, I knew who he was even before he started talkin’ to me; everyone did. As the only son of the most powerful man in town and his high-powered socialite wife, it didn’t take long before all the nosy busybodies were whispering about the famous “Kafei.” The goody-two-shoes golden boy, the leader of the Bombers’ Secret Society, the gosh-darned nicest young man you ever did meet, blah blah blah. The whole thing made me want to gag, and I tried my best to stay far away from him. I mean, anyone with the spotlight turned on them like that had to be a cocky jerk, right?
But as it turned out, Kafei was a pretty nice kid. A bit of a mama’s boy, yeah, but also quiet, sincere, quick-witted, and stubborn as a mule when it came to the promises he made. He started hanging out with me whenever he wasn’t on a mission with the Bombers’ or spending time with the cute little redhead from the inn, and soon we became best friends. I don’t normally get this sappy, but being his friend really did mean a lot to me, so I decided to get him a present. Can’t quite remember how I got my hands on it, but somehow I found this neat knickknack called a Keaton Mask that I knew he would go nuts for. Sure enough, he immediately put it on and promised that he would always treasure it as a symbol of our friendship. Even though the mushiness of it all made me squirm, I still couldn’t help but smile.
We stayed good buddies all the way through adulthood, with me growin’ up to be what I am now and him growin’ up to be, well, pretty much the same guy, just taller and with a deeper voice. That Stock Pot Inn girl also grew up to be a real looker, klutzy but sweet. Still, when Kafei came by and told me that I was invited to their wedding at the next Carnival of Time, it almost knocked me flat on my back. He only ever had eyes for that girl, sure, but I never dreamed they’d actually end up tyin’ the knot! Heh, I guess when you know, you just know, huh?
So here I am, just doin’ my job and looking forward to this dumb wedding when one night, I hear the bell from the Laundry Pool start ringing. That’s where the big ugly bird usually comes to drop off its spoils, so I head to the back and open up the door expecting to see a pile of stolen bottles with milk still swirlin’ around in them. What I saw instead made me do a double-take: my old pal Kafei as I remembered him from years back, clutching the still-shiny Keaton Mask as if I had just handed it to him a minute ago.
Look, I’m not the superstitious type. If I was, you’d probably find me in a much safer job, like delivering mail or selling lottery tickets. But I kid you not, when I saw my friend staring up at me in that little brat body, a chill shot down my spine like nothing I’ve ever felt before. This was all kinds of wrong. I wasn’t supposed to be seeing somethin’ like this while I still walked the Earth. It had to be just a hallucination, right? Maybe the lack of sleep was finally catchin’ up with me? But nope, I was really being confronted by a flesh-and-blood phantom of the past, reminding me of everything I turned my back on when I entered this business.
So yeah, this shook me up pretty bad, and questions started tumblin’ outta my mouth before I could stop them. What the heck had happened? Was he hurt? Was this gonna kill him? But he just shook his head and said he didn’t have time to explain. All he told me was that something important had been stolen from him, and he needed to go into hiding until he could track down the scumbag who robbed him. Figuring that the guy would eventually find his way over to my shop, he thought it might be a good idea to squirrel away in the back room and keep an eye on things there. I had no idea what he was babblin’ about, but I wasn’t about to refuse my friend whatever help he needed, so I told him he could stick around until things straightened out.
Not much happened after that until last night, when that rat Sakon left with 50 of my hard-earned rupees in exchange for those stolen Bomb Bags. No sooner had he pranced out the door when Kafei burst in from the back room, all pale and sweaty with his hands shakin’ like mad. Without him having to say a word, I knew what crazy scheme he had in mind. So instead of wasting time explaining his plan, he just shoved his Keaton Mask into my hands along with a fancy express letter to his mom, saying that a kid with a green hat should be dropping by soon to deliver it for him. Again, totally nonsensical, but who was I to question it? He didn’t even wait for me to respond before bolting out the door after the thief, leaving me to wonder if that was the last time I’d ever see my old buddy.
I decided to take the day off from the Trading Post to keep my promise to Kafei, and sure enough, this little blue-eyed kid wearing the dumbest-looking green outfit I’ve ever seen came wandering in to the back room. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him around before, but for some reason, looking at him gave me the weirdest feeling of déjà vu. And I could see recognition in his eyes too as if he somehow already knew where I fit into this whole mess. I guess that’s the best explanation I can come up with for why I gave him the mask along with Kafei’s letter. Call it a hunch or a break in my sanity or whatever, but I just can’t shake the sense that this boy’s the only one who can help. Who knows? Maybe the mask’ll bring him some luck.
With all that I’ve told you, you can probably see now why I’ve been feelin’ so strange lately. And yeah, don’t think I haven’t also noticed the gigantic rock scowlin’ down at me from the sky. Normally I’d swear on my mother’s grave that that thing wasn’t there just three days ago, but who am I kidding? Nuthin’ makes sense anymore. Not this town, not my friends, not even the shop I’ve run for so many years. If I end up surviving this big scary moon crashin’ down, maybe it’s time I do a little soul-searching. Get away from it all, take a nice vacation and spend some time really thinkin’ about my next step. Or maybe all that’ll do is lead me back to the exact same spot it always does. Do I even care anymore? I don’t know. I think at this point, all I really want is to see my pal get married and live happily ever after. At least one of us deserves that, right?
Anyways, I think I’ve talked your ear off long enough. Thanks a lot for takin’ the time to listen to an old bald guy ramble on about his life. If we’re both alive after today and you find yourself rollin’ around Clock Town again, I hope you’ll take a sec to drop by the shop and say hey. I bet I’ll have somethin’ real good waiting for you on the shelves.
