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moon_catcherThis is a fic.
Not a fanfic.
This is a fic I've written some time ago for a magazine and now I tried to translate it into English because I promised
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shirayuki1582 and bunny_alice to do so. I'm not a translator and my English is limited. I know it's not perfect but I really tried to follow the style of the original text.I'm sorry for possible mistakes. I was writing this being on a train (because I woke up in the morning and realized I had to go to hospital instead of school) and I needed to distract myself. Now I'm almost back, we are approaching the station and I want to post it, so I have no time to re-read it.
If you had any questions about the text or just wanted to tell me your thoughts about it feel free to pm me or leave a comment. I would love to know what you think.
A LIFE
Having his tongue deep inside your mouth you felt the tickling of his breath against your face. His bear-like paw was pressing your butt hard. And suddenly there was a memory on your mind, a memory of a boy back in the kindergarten who always wanted you to sit next to him. You two were always together, on walks going hand in hand not minding other children. That was how it used to be. He was helping you. Protecting you. If he had met you today, would have he stuck his tongue into your mouth? You were thinking of it, of him, the boy from the kindergarten, while standing in the backyard with the other one, with the one whose breath tasted like the fish he had for lunch.
Then he opened a window waiting for you to climb inside the house. Not giving you any time to take a look around his small room he was right next to you again, pulling down your t-shirt and opening the zipper of your pants
You were lying on a bed, his bed. You were feeling his body on you, his body in you. And then it was over. He kissed you on the forehead and you were just waiting if he would light up a cigarette. The illusion would have been perfect then. As if being in those movies you were not allowed to watch and he was telling you about.
In the morning he saw you off through the window and the backyard and gave you a quick smile standing by the wicket.
„See ya tomorrow?“
You just nodded. What else should you do, right?
You two were not going for walks and you were not holding hands. Once he helped you to carry bags with groceries. There was nothing he should protect you from, and whether he had liked you, you could only hope for that. Just a wish. A faith. But you were in love. Back then you really were.
Really?
Anything could happen. Your world quaked from the grounds. Like a clash of two tectonic plates. Do you remember the pictures in the geography schoolbook? An earthquake is the result of a sudden release of energy in the Earth’s crust. It can be of a different intensity. Earthquakes are measured with a seismometer, and the magnitude, the amount of the energy released in the seat of the tremor, is numbered on the Richter scale while intensity of shaking and its consequences are measured on the twelve-grade Mercalli scale.
~~
During summers you made much money than your mum working a full-time job. You were standing at a circular bar checking boots, ten hours a day. Back then the Bata shoe factory wasn’t the decaying areal of today. No Vietnamese market-places, no suspect corn shops selling cheesy plaster dwarves. Back then the factory was still the way it had been established for. Shoes were made there.
And you were standing there, checking the damn shoes and the sun was shining outside. It was a summer time again. Inside the air was thick making it hard to keep breathing as the windows could be opened only on a chink. A smell of rubber and glue was everywhere.
First you thought it was nothing but a stream of sweat. Nothing strange in the heat that was there. A fat lady by your side was sweating hard, the harsh stench itching you in your nose. But a man can get used to anything, being resilient. And there were other things on your mind anyway. You were eighteen and you wanted to get married.
A wedding march. A snow-white princess dress. A couple of rings. The first kiss after the ceremony. And an escape across the frontiers. Away from the cage where one can live only following the rules. Back then you were not paying too much attention, you were no troublemaker, you didn’t defy the laws. But you wanted to live. To live with him. And that was why you would have become an enemy. A wife of a Canadian.
His name was Frank.
Your Frank.
He had never told you the reason for his coming here, it was his little secret. But he was here. You were going for walks and he held your hand. He was helping you and your mum when your grandpa died. When you were crying your heart out.
Grade number ten on the Mercalli scale. Your life was breaking down like a cardhouse. You loved your grandpa. He had never left you, he wasn’t like your dad. You didn’t know your dad, he had gone away a long time ago.
Frank. His breath didn’t taste like a fish and you didn’t have to climb the window like a burglar. No backyard. No secret leavings at daybreaks.
People want to believe the first love is the last one, and then that the last love is only the first one. You would have written it down into a diary if you had had one.
You were standing at the moving belt and there was a heat outside. End of July. The sweat was streming down your inner thigh. And you were checking the shoes. One by one, as they were coming to you. The large hall was filled with women like you. And at the same time all of them were so different. They were tired and sweating heavily, another hard shift was waiting for them after coming home, making dinners, dirty clothes, crying children. For you, it was Frank waiting for you outside the factory.
You went for a walk. Hand in hand. He wasn’t the first love. He should have been the last one.
~~
You were staring at a brief letter with the header of the Charles University. They didn’t accept you. Again. Your second try. They didn’t accept you for the medical studies because you had a stigma. In 1968 while the Russian soldiers were begging for a light for their cigarettes on the Wenceslaw Square you were on vacation at the Black Sea with your mum. You were thirteen and it was a summer, August. And a snatchy voice coming out of the radio told you there was no way to go back home. The borders were closed. There the first spot on your character profile had been created. Your aunt wanted to take you and your mum to America.
Inaccessible. Seditious.
Your mum then had to enter the Party. To show she wasn’t escaping. To show this was her home. But you learnt all of this a long time later, for a thirteen-year-old girl a month by the sea seemed to be the best summer ever.
And then you wanted to marry Frank. A Canadian.
Inaccessible. Seditious.
Second spot.
That’s why you were not accepted to the university. The faculty of medicine wasn’t for you. It was for people without a stigma.
Eleventh grade of despair on the Mercalli scale. Your life was shattered, you didn’t see any future. You had nothing. No one wanted you.
Frank left the country a week after you sent him away. A week after the day you had been standing by the belt checking the shoes. The rubber. The glue. The sweat. And a child. A child you hadn’t known about. It had melted and poured down your leg.
Frank’s melted child.
Your child.
Just to make it clear, twelfth grade of the Mercalli scale. The absolute destruction. You couldn’t even look at Frank, never telling him a word about it. You had never told him about the rubber, the glue, the sweat. About the child. You just drove him out.
~~
You were watching the father of your children sleeping.
Did you love him? At least for a moment?
You graduated in economy and got married. You wanted a family. You wanted to forget about everything that had been before. The rubber. The glue. The sweat. The melted child. Forget, erase from your head. To live. To love.
Really?
You stayed home taking care of children while your husband was studying. He was traveling about the republic and Eastern Germany. He was bringing toys for the children. Bribes and exculpations for not being with them. You were the bad one. The one setting the strict rules. The one raising them up, your ungrateful children. How many times did you hide your teary face into a pillow, all alone in the bedroon? Why did you cry?
Fourth grade of despair on the Mercalli scale. No damage. Just vibrations. You wanted a family and children. You had both. It was your choice after all.
As time was going by you were happy for being home alone.
You didn’t want to watch your husband sleeping. Because you would have had to sleep next to him.
~~
Wanna know the eighth grade on the scale of despair?
It was when your mum was screaming in pain and you could do nothing for her. You couldn’t because they hadn’t let you study medicine and your knowledge of economy was for nothing right then. You couldn’t help her, all you could was standing by keeping the faith in the doctors.
During the eighth grade of an earthquake the force invades high-quality foundations of buildings. You beard with the fish-breath boy, with the rubber and glue and sweat. Frank and his melted child on your thigh. The marriage and a divorce. It was a cancer what knocked you down. The fourth stage. Immedicable. Your mum was crying in the hospital and you couldn’t help her. She couldn’t even recognize you by that time, looking through you, and you were holding her inert hand tight.
And you knew this would be the end waiting for you as well one day. On a clinical bed, covered with a white sheet with two blue stripes on its sides. You will cry, too. Because it will hurt. Really hurt.
The cancer, fourth stage. Immedicable. Gradual dying.
An existentialist, Jean-Paul Sartre probably, said once the reason for living is to die someday. You would have written it down into a diary if you had had one.
Your mum died while sleeping in the time about daybreak. They gave you a call. You should have come to take her stuff, her clothes. You should have got the obituary notice printed. To call the family and friends. Stay conscious. Not to break down. To be strong. The eighth grade is not that bad, it had been much worse before, once it had been the twelfth. This one couldn’t knock you over. It’s just a number, after all.
~~
You had never told your children how you had met their father. The only thing left was a story about how he came to you dead drunk and you helped him. That was what he used to tell. He wasn’t serious. Just his sense of humor. You said nothing letting the story live on its own.
And in the end you started to hate it. As well as the one who kept saying it. The father of your children
Your mum was dying and all he did was trying to stultify you at the divorce suit. He lied. Made stories that were not true, slinging mud at you. But you were brave and courageous, mind clouded with tranquilizers.
If you don’t remember, it was the fifth grade of despair. Nothing but a small harm. What could have a former husband taken you when the Death had already stolen the dearest thing in your life from you? Your mum had died exactly eight days before the final trial.
The rubber. The glue. The sweat. The melted child.
All of that had hurt as hell. His words meant nothing comparing to this.
~~
Your son stole every penny he found at home. You had so many hideouts you were slowly forgetting all the places for hiding the money. How many times did you leave the house without your wallet because you forgot about it? Under a pillow. Behind the clothes in the dresser. In the book case. Somewhere else. How many times did you only at the cash desk realize there was no money in your wallet?
When you got pregnant the doctors wanted you to undergo an abortion. They didn’t give you many chances for bearing the full term. But you really wanted a family. You wanted to give your love to somebody. You needed to pass all the love you had got from your grandpa.
You kept the child not minding the risks.
And here he was. He, your impetrated son.
Really?
He lied, preyed, abused you. Being in the kitchen you were scared to get closer to him. What if he had a knife? How many times did he threaten with killing you? With killing you and your daughter?
He wasn’t able to control himself being in a rage.
You couldn’t control yourself being in a rage yelling at him it would have been better if he had never been born. You should have listened to the doctors. You should have let him melt.
But he didn’t care. He didn’t listen to you.
And the Mercalli scale? First or second grade of despair. Depends on the moment. Almost imperceptible shakes, even computers have problems to notice them.
Resignation.
A man can get used to everything. He is resilient.
~ THE END ~
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no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 02:53 pm (UTC). . .
You just let me speechless, sweetie..... *gasps* Wow...
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Date: 2010-10-25 03:20 pm (UTC)Will bookmark this and read another day, dear. :p
And will come back with a comment, of course.
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Date: 2010-10-25 04:35 pm (UTC)I was frowning and feeling the hurtful emotion over whelming me as I read further...
I'm so amazed with the way you expressed every single details...You are such a great writer and I'll be waiting for more of your creation...coz I AM YOUR FAN!!!
XOXO
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 04:44 pm (UTC)HAPPY!!!
then it probably means my translation is not a complete failure *relieved*
this is the way I write when it's not a fanfics in English. For some reason English always makes me want to write long and complicated sentences O.o lol But today while translating the text I kinda realized that the short ones sound more urgent which I have known even before but never though about it in connection with my fanfics. Maybe I should give it a try..
If I have time I could try to translate other my works as well, but can't promise anything right now.
Oh, by the way.... HAPPY YOU'RE BACK DEAR!!!!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 05:18 pm (UTC)And, even when you come back with a light story, you have the skills to touch us and move us inside even when the lightest fic ever.... 'cause you're my miracle girl ^_^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 05:27 pm (UTC)ne, since you are obviously online and can reply... I have a question. About this text. Was it undestandable? I mean the things in the background. I translated it exactly the way it was written in Czech you know and for readers over here some things are clear even if there is only a hint of them...
Or should I add some notes? Nah, not that I expect many people will read it....
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 05:42 pm (UTC)I liked the style you used for this fic, I think it helped transmiting the feelings on it. So I don't think adding notes would be necessary ^_^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 07:19 pm (UTC)Today a wish came true because I so wished for reading one of your published stories!!! So happy about that...
You are such an amazingly talented writer. Seriously. I always knew that before of course because your fanfics are already so breathtakingly well written but... dunno how to say that (I suck at expressing myself today)... like... you write literature. It's not just a story. It's literature.<3
From the bottom of my heart I wish for you that you can publish many more of your fics and even books and that you'll be noticed and acknowledged as an author. I'll always support your dream. <3
Miss you sweety. A day without you is always kinda empty. I hope you will be able to be strong. I'll be at your side. Love you...
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 07:58 pm (UTC)your icon has just killed me*HUGS*
Thank you sweety!! So happy I could make your wish come true today!! It always makes me smile when I can do something good for you.
I'll try to translate another story for you if I have time, ne? Actually it's kinda a challenge to do it. It's really strange to read the English sentences afterwards when I still keep them in my head as they were originally written as well. I'm glad the translation came out understandable!! And that you liked it so much.
And thanks for being with me. Today was just all wrong and I need to think some things through. But I promise to be online tomorrow <3 LOVE YOU!!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 11:04 pm (UTC)I can't articulate properly so I'll just say that I really enjoyed reading your fic, and thanks for taking the time to translate it :)
no subject
Date: 2010-10-25 11:19 pm (UTC)For short fics the idea is always the most important part. In this case it was the Mercalli scale. I remember the moment it popped up on my mind, I was watching news on tv and at the same time going through some emotional stress and my brain just connected a report about an earthquake with my life. It could be said both my life and the Earth trembled at the same moment. And I just wrote it down (not my personal earthquake, of course, but one of the many others out there)
And luckily the translation wasn't too much difficult, since the original has very simple sentence articulation and structure. The most important for me was to keep as much of the atmosphere as possible.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 12:35 am (UTC)Let me explain to you that I'm a slow and lazy reader... But I couldn't stop reading this!
I loved the way you wrote it, makes me feel in the character's shoes... But knowing your life story, I guess I know who's this character...
It's a powerful story! Powerful character! Very, very good!!! And the translation sounded very ggod to me, I mean, I don't know the original but I could get the feeling here...
Once again, very nice work! Now I know why you got your novels published!! ^^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 07:44 am (UTC)So happy you like it!! And you even couldn't stop reading! Yay! When I wrote it I gave it to read to my teacher of literature (we still keep in touch though it has been a while already since I'm not her student anymore) and she told me the same! She couldn't stop reading once she started. The truth is I couldnt stop writing so maybe it's just a natural thing for this text lol
You know, I really enjoyed translating it.. and from all the lovely feedback it seems I did a good job. Soooo... maybe later I'll try to translate another story for you!!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 10:15 am (UTC)thanks for sharing it with us
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Date: 2010-10-26 10:19 am (UTC)*hug*
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Date: 2010-10-26 10:35 am (UTC)still don't get what's the matter with the spot-thing lol anyway, come back anytime to read this, can't wait for comment ^^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 10:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 10:37 am (UTC)and you are welcome, I love to share my works. For me as an author the feedback from my readers is the most important thing ever and I can get one only when I share the texts, ne? ^^
really happy you like it!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 12:22 pm (UTC)And I don't have words to tell how I feel right now. You're preaty good at this, and we should learn from you.
It was quite scary and real. This was life, not cute and sweet stories with happy ending, but real life. I'm impressed.
And I think that I bacome your fan ^^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 06:41 pm (UTC)Well, it's always nice to write happy and fluffy stories but I've read once somewhere that the greatest stories are born from the biggest pain. And with this fic it seems the sentence is more than true. Life is not always nice, actually in my case it's usually the other way round, and as a writer I want to capture all the sides of it, the happy ones, the sad ones... the moments when you are crying from laughter but also those when the reason for tears is pain.
I will probably try to translate another my fic later. It's great way how to speand time being on a train...
no subject
Date: 2010-10-26 10:29 pm (UTC)Will be waiting, then! ^^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 08:32 am (UTC)Thanks a lot for sharing!! So looking forward to another fic written by you ^O^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 08:41 am (UTC)Seems this fic is pretty addictive... I couldn't stop writing once I started and obviously readers are not able to stop reading.
That's a great news for me.
Really thank you... (kinda speechless here right now) I've just got up and found all your messages so now I'm off to read them and you should go to bed.
I'll try to translate another fic asap ^_^
no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 11:46 pm (UTC)I'm feeling very sad now. XD
I really enjoyed reading this although it was so heart-wrenching. Every emotion was described so well.
This story was very well expressed, every emotion was described so well. and I don't think your English is limited at all. This story was told without leaving any single detail out and I think that's amazing.
Everyone's comments pretty much said everything so I won't bore you by repeating everything they said. :P
You really are an awesome writer.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-16 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-16 02:08 pm (UTC)Well...
This fic got me rethinking about my life. That boy in kindergarten too (except that I hated him). It really makes me think. Is that all life is about? The amplifying pain. The sorrow. The regrets. The 'should haves'. But isn't life about those too?
Maybe that is what it is. But maybe it is not? This fic really got me feeling sad. But at least I'm sad for a good reason, this fic. :)
The realism of it all is just unbelievable. It's good! Don't doubt it or I'll hit you! It's the kind of story that haunts you in a good way. I love it! (even if it's angst)
Haha, I know this comment isn't of much help, but I'm being really honest (and confusing). :D I bet you were surprised with my lack of usual emoji and HAHAHAs! :P
no subject
Date: 2010-11-16 02:27 pm (UTC)all sad and heartwrecking XDDOkay, no doubting myself ... or maybe I should if it could bring you over here and we could meet each other... hehe... just imagine that
"Hi!"
"You are Gina?" *hits Gina* "Nice to meet you."
*rubs her face* "Nice to meet you too."
lol
okay, lame joke *hides*
well, the story sounds realistic because it's kind of real...but of course a lot of changes during the writing process!!
heh, sorry for all the angst... I'm usually pretty emo-ish while writing XD
and sometimes even without writing*shot*no subject
Date: 2010-11-20 02:33 am (UTC)That would be kinda funny as our first real-life meeting. A hit on the face. Hehe. And after that we could sit down for coffee and talk about Kame all day long. XP &hearts
Haha, not a lame joke~ *brings out Gina*
*gasp* It's real?! Oh my, it's so sad.... :(
Haha, I'm usually happy while writing. So if you're happy, what do you write?
no subject
Date: 2010-11-20 08:05 pm (UTC)That's why when I'm really happy and don't want to lose that feeling (and have time) I'm writing Akame XDD Like the story I wrote for you, that was fun, no emo-ish feelings in my head at all
just pretty naughty thoughts about Kame eating olivesXDDyay.. I can so imagine us talking all day(s) about Kame :)) and because I'm a coffee addict I think we could talk even during nights because with all the caffeine in our body systems we would hardly fall asleep lol
no subject
Date: 2012-02-05 02:09 am (UTC)But return to your story, sorry for being so late, was writing my KameX, but this is not interesting for you because it’s about Kame and other guys.
You know few years ago, I promised myself to never read things like this. I will explain why… I have a period, almost all my teen ages and after, when I experimenting with literature and different genres and this story- I’m calling it painful realism, because after reading I can’t sleep, I can’t seat, I’m so depressed, so fully in this situations and every word crushing me to the ground with it’s truth and reality. It’s so painful and in the same time, like a weird person, I love reading such a story.
That was so strong and I’m so impressed, by the topic, by the atmosphere and the words you choose. This hopelessness, deadlock, this is so cruel and hit so hard to the dreams and in the same time when you come to the last words, you realize, that this is just life. How it is.
People want to believe the first love is the last one, and then that the last love is only the first one.
And a snatchy voice coming out of the radio told you there was no way to go back home. The borders were closed.
I have shivers reading it, because the picture was so vivid. In this short story you show the tragedy of woman’s life, and not just that woman, but a lot others, who born with so many hopes and dreams and the system, people around, state and men and everything destroyed and no matter how big and how destructive or small the harm follow, this is inevitable and with every drop it makes you lose your nerves and your life loos all colors.
Can I give you an advice and don’t hate me please. WRITE ANGST!!! WRITE A LOT OF ANGST!! OR WRITE funny humored stories, but always add angst, the way you did it here, with raw and painful short words. You don’t even need a lot of descriptions; just a short word and I can’t breathe.
Inaccessible. Seditious.
A man can get used to everything. He is resilient.
The last line, this is so true.
I loved it! And after reading this short story and thinking about you’re #a_s fic I can see the similarity, of the painful realism, the one I run from so fast, because there is no any way to hide from it. This is life and this is the way things is happening and going at this earth.
I’m dealing very badly with reality, I prefer to hide my head in the clouds and ignore all the hardship of the world, and because it’s always have very painful effect on me. Now I need to rewatch something funny to be able to sleep.
(I love when I read and it hurts)
no subject
Date: 2012-02-05 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-05 11:24 am (UTC)m(_ _)m sorry for spoiling your sparkly unicorn valley with all the angst .-.
I'm just werid like this, writing things in a way too real way instead of trying to run away from the everyday shit. Idk why, tbh.
Nori once told me it's impossible for my fics to be angst-free, even when I try to make them light and fun, angst always finds way in, so you can be sure there will be angsty stories even in the future xD
For one reason or another, sad stories always affect me more than the happy ones. I can enjoy all different kinds of stories and writing styles, but sad stories writing in a raw style with no embellishmen and no white lies to make the reality nicer, always hit me the most, leaving me speechless and drowned in the story and the fictional world even days after finishing the last page. So maybe smewhere deep down inside I'm trying to get the same effect from readers of my stories. To make them remember what I wrote.
It's like a little shock therapy xDD
I like short sentences with only one or two words to highligh something important. I think I've always liked writing style that works with them. My most favorite author can be an example for all xD
(I love when I read and it hurts) LOL you are such an M!! ♥
But you know what? I do like it too.
For me, a story is good when it leaves me baffled and bawling, but not only because of a heartbreaking plot - there are tons of stories with someone dying in them, but all I do while reading is curse the author for pushing me a cheap story... and THEN, there are stories with a simple plot with seemingly no major angst; however, the way it's written hits me hard. That's what I call A GREAT FIC.
&heart;
*showers you with sparkling star dust and hands you a little unicorn pony*
baseball!Kame butt is ALWAYS relevant