K (karanguni) wrote in 1931, @ 2008-04-23 22:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | translations |
1933: THE SLASH - Cloudy to Rainy (Prologue)
Translation spam! Tell me to stop and I will. *g*
Usual disclaimers apply! Will be posting follow-ups for the rest of the prologue in the comments; track the post to get updates!
Story so far: Luck is a Young Child, but a Capable Young Child. We meet Tic for the first time.
Update log:
23/4 (10pm) First post
24/4 (8pm) Followed up.
28/4 (5pm) After 28409284 years, another follow up.
1/5 (7pm) Small follow up. (Maria!)
1/5 (830pm) Finished!
Kaka, chacha, kachakacha.
A pair of scissors was dancing in the youth's hands.
Madly.
And without abandon.
-------------------
1925. September. Somewhere in New York
'I may still be a child, but I am not here today in the capacity of one.'
'I understand that, I understand that.'
It was an autumn afternoon that had all the oppressive heat of a summer day. Two people were speaking inside a small shop. A cash register was on the top of a washed-out counter. Everything looked very cheap. The two men were near the counter.
'We'd like you to return the money from the time before.' A slanty eyed boy was speaking with the air of an adult.
'Oh, uh, mister! Ah, that, even if you were the owner of this shop I'd still not be able to cough up the cash.'
A man three times the age of the youth was looking purposefully pathetic. He was wearing a thick coat that didn't suit the season, sweating heavily as he attempted to laugh. The youth was also wearing clothes unfit for the weather. Even though it was only just autumn, he was wearing a waterproof military greatcoat, and had an ash coloured hat.
Seeing the middle aged man's pleading smile, the youth continued in a cold voice, 'It's only 2025 dollars and 50 cents. Why can't you return that? In addition, you've been overdue for payment for twenty three days, fourteen hours, thirty four minutes and nineteen seconds, if the clocks you sell here are accurate.'
The youth turned hardened eyes on the man, waiting silently.
The man looked very unhappy as he ducked his head, looking away. There was, for a while, only the sounds of the clocks in the room ticking away.
Tick tock tick tock.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
On and on, the clocks went on endlessly, the individual ticks blending together until the sounds seemed to become deafeningly loud. In the dim room were many different kinds of clocks, some of them big, some of them small. It seemed at first glance as though the proprietor of the shop was a clockmaker, but all the clocks didn't seem in any way extraordinary or well made. They looked like clocks that you'd find in any average home or workplace, none of them had any spectacular features or obvious special points other than the differences between the various sizes available.
In the brown and drab shop, the youth, Luck Gandor, continued the conversation. '… Let's look at things from your point of view, then. I don't like it, but I know that you don’t have the necessary funds. So, what do you propose that we do?'
Luck understood that the man had no money, but he didn't sympathise.
Pinned by the youth's unsympathetic gaze, the shopkeeper started to shake.
Pinned by the youth's sheer force of personality, the shopkeeper broke out into cold sweat and forced a weak smile onto his face.
'Yes, haha, um, well, that – that….'
'Firstly,' Luck Gandor didn't bother to listen to what the shopkeeper was trying to say. Cutting in, he coldly highlighted his "proposal". '2000 dollars is only about 2 months worth of a banker's salary. If you sell this shop, you'll not only be able to repay the money you owe us, no doubt there'll be some cash left over as well. Even if you are able to repair clocks, it seems as though that you're not able to sell them off – that's why you have no money, no? That said, these clocks are worthless anyway, so –'
(ed: there was a line to do with rent, but it made no sense, so I deleted it.)
'Wa-wait a second, mister!'
'About that, could you not call me "mister"?'
(ed: the Chinese for "mister" actually translates better into "master" in the Frodo-and-Sam sense, but it sounds kind of outdated in English, and probably only makes real sense in the original Japanese.)
In the face of a very unhappy Luck, the shopkeeper shook his head frantically and stammered, 'Ah, I'm, I'm very sorry, mi—Gandor-san! That, about that, wait a second! This shop is also my home, if I sell it I'll be out on the streets!'
'Have you ever looked at things from my point of view? If you borrow money from my sort of people, did you really think that reasons like that will hold water? Do you feel that we who you call "the Mafia" actually care about the lodging problems of our debtors?'
Luck, the Gandor family's youngest executive, suddenly brought his face close to the shopkeeper's. His eyes lacked any sign of childishness, and he spoke with a terrifying harshness.
The Gandor Family.
Manhattan Island had a family whose territory could not be considered "large". But even though it did not have large numbers or obvious strength, the Gandors had earned their reputation as men of the Mafia, and had carved out their own niche in the midst of other, larger groups.
The administration of the group was usually carried out by Luck's two elder brothers, Keith and Berga. Since Luck was still young, he hadn't yet assumed a leading position within the group. Even so, despite his age Luck had long been involved in such negotiations, and his eyes had lost all sense and trace of innocence and naivety. If anything bad was said against the Gandors, this youth would no doubt do some "frightful" thing or another to the shopkeeper.
In the face of this boy who'd grown up in the very pits of society, the shopkeeper couldn't help but hunch over. Yet he still went on – 'N-no. It's not what you think – I-I'm not calling you guys cold blooded! I – I've never thought of ever not repaying my debt.'
The shopkeeper then said something which stunned Luck.
'S-so, for the part of the debt that I can't repay, let me pay you guys back bodily.'
'…?' Luck spent a moment wondering what the shopkeeper meant before he came to a realization. He blinked very, very slowly.
The shopkeeper saw the expression on Luck's face. He burst out into a hasty clarification. 'Ah! D-don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that I plan to be a gigolo at this age or anything but – You – Isn't it true that the Gandor Family is recruiting right now?'
'… no matter how I look at it, even the thought of having you work for us doing these kinds of jobs makes me want to laugh.'
That observation was rude, but very true. The shopkeeper could admit to that.
'You're right, mister, I know I'm a pretty worthless old guy. But what I want to offer you in exchange is my son. My son.'
'Oh?' Luck expressed some reaction to the shopkeeper's words. He didn't get what the shopkeeper was trying to say. But he realized immediately that his own expression looked rather asinine, so Luck opened his mouth to follow up with a few questions.
The shopkeeper didn't even register Luck's bewilderment. He'd turned, and was now shouting towards the inside of the shop. 'Tic, Tic!'
Luck looked into the backroom, and realized that there were some sounds coming from beyond the clock-covered corridor.
Kacha…
Kacha…
There came the acrid, sharp sound of metal sliding against metal.
Luck placed the sound immediately, and started wondering why on earth he was hearing it in a clockmaker's shop. As the ka-cha noises got closer, something small and silver appeared in the corridor.
'What's the matter, dad?'
The boy who entered was carrying a pair of scissors. His face was quite blank, and in each of his hands were a pair of tailor's scissors. He was opening and closing them, producing that ka cha sound from before.
That was the first impression Luck had of the shopkeeper's son.
In the darkness of the shop's interior, only the flashing glints of the metal in the boy's hand could be seen. It made it look like the rest of Tic's body was being controlled by the scissors.
Right now Luck's line of vision was not on this boy who looked 2 or 3 years younger than him, but on the scissors in his hands.
'Oh? We've got a guest?'
The boy's voice was airy and carefree, completely unlike the harshness of the metal blades he held. Hearing him speak, Luck dragged his eyes up to the boy's face. He had a frail body, looked weak, seemed personable and had eyes that were more like slits for all that the boy stood there and smiled and smiled. Other than that, there didn't seemed to be anything special about him; the thing that aroused the most attention was still those pairs of scissors. To use another turn of phrase – the scissors were his body, and his body itself was just a peripheral thing.
'Oh, hello!'
The way the boy dragged out his words made him seem even more childish, and when taken into consideration with his obsession with his scissors, would have people considering him a bit weird.
'Is that…?'
'Yes, Gandor-san! This is my son, Tic. The things he's got in his hands will be of some use to you, I've no doubt. So, in exchange for the rest of my debt, please bring him back with you.'
'What are you trying to –'
If it were any other situation, Luck would be sure that the man was trying to make fun of him and get extremely angry as a result. But this time, he felt no anger.
Luck was interested in this boy called Tic.
Or rather, he was interested in the scissors in Tic's hands.
Even though Luck hadn't expressed any agreement, but it could be surmised from his attitude that he'd accepted the exchange. The shopkeeper regained his composure, and said happily: 'Well, after all, hasn't it been said that "just in case you can't repay, then selling your family members can be considered settling a debt".'
'That's only a saying—'
'Then, please take a day to test things out, then! If it won't do, then I'll do my job as a man and sell this shop, sell this land just to clear this debt.'
'Aren't you getting a bit noble about it all?'
---------------------------
When Luck walked out of the shop, he relaxed his shoulders. He tone went from the adult-like quality from earlier to one more fitting his age.
The sky was thick with cloud; it was going to rain soon. There was a main road outside the shop; from its head the supports holding up Manhattan Bridge could be seen. Even though it was a new bridge, only having been built in 1905, it somehow exuded a sense of age and history.
The debtor's shop was located on this scenic and sightseeing-tour route. Geographically speaking, it could be said that it was an absolutely good location. Had the reason for the shopkeeper turning to the mafia for money been because there wasn't enough business, or was it because he had plain bad luck? Luck pondered about that.
Because of its position, Luck knew that the piece of land had a very high value. And because of that that he'd thought of compelling the shop owner to sell the place – by force, if necessary – but..
'… yes, why do you keep holding onto those scissors?'
'It's love.'
'I.. see…'
How did he turn out like that? Glancing at the boy walking next to him, Luck sighed.
'Is anything wrong, Luck-san? Are you not feeling well?'
Dragged out words and an innocent smile. That was Tic.
Seeing Tic, who needed barely any reason to smile and laugh, Luck sighed again.
-- no matter how I look at it, it doesn't look like he'll be of much use!
translator's spazz:
A-am I the only one who sort of spat water when the shopkeeper said "let me settle debts with bodieseses!"? It's even worse in Chinese, because the text doesn't have a pronoun in it (so instead of "let me settle the debt with my body" it just reads "let me settle the debt using bodily means" which - just - *dead*)...