Read Online Desire in Any Language by Anastasia Vitsky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anastasia Vitsky
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‘lead’!”
“I know, but keep going. Um, I mean please.”
“And you certainly can’t call the woodcutter ‘the abductor’ through the rest of the story!”
I wait for her to get to the end. Instead of only translating it into English, I made one of my first attempts to write a story in my new language. I have written a few very short paragraphs for writing class and the daily journal but only using assigned prompts and grammar structures. This is my first free-style.
A long time ago when tigers smoked pipes, there lived a Heavenly Maiden who took a bath in a spring. She took off her wings for her bath. A bad man hid her wings. He tricked her and lied to her. He pretended to love the Heavenly Maiden. He said he would make her happy. The Heavenly Maiden believed the bad man. She went to his house. The bad man was very happy. The Heavenly Maiden cried and cried. Finally she found her wings. She beat the bad man and ran away. She flew back to heaven and danced with all of the other Heavenly Maidens.
She laughs so hard that she has to wipe tears from her eyes. “Mira! You know that the woodcutter saved the deer’s life and the Heavenly Maiden was a gift to reward his kindness.”
“Not a gift for the Heavenly Maiden!” I argue. “She didn’t want to stay there. Plus, he lied to her about not knowing where her wings were.”
“He loved her. He hid her wings so she would stay and give him children, and then she would want to be with him forever.”
“And he lost her anyway! All of the lying was for no reason,” I answer stubbornly.
She laughs again, asks if she can photocopy the page, and excuses herself for a moment. I try to calm down. By the time she returns, I’m ready to focus on more important things.
“Did you like it?” I ask shyly. It’s the first time she’s asked to photocopy an assignment.
“Your writing is starting to come along,” she says. “I think we should enter you in a translation contest next fall.”
“Really?” She’s never mentioned this before.
“Yes. Though I think you might want to start by practicing with the fairy tales. Just don’t forget the important things like the Heavenly Maiden actually came to love the woodcutter.”
“Abductor,” I argue, but this time I can smile. “And she got rid of him in the end.”
“That she did,” she agrees. “Now, about your plan for getting off probation?”
I sigh. “I’ll save a deer’s life and get him to give me good grades as a reward?”
“Good luck finding the deer.”
I giggle. Then I grow serious. She made me promise and I did promise and she said she expects me to keep my promises, but this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
“I…” My voice trails off, but my eyes glance toward her stick. She raises her eyes a bit, but she nods and gets up to close her office door.
“Are you sure?” she asks. I swallow hard and nod. “Do you want to tell me when you want me to stop, or do you want me to decide?”
I pick at the blister on my hand again. “You, please.” I can’t look at her.
“Do you want just a reminder or do you need it to hurt for real?”
Her voice is so kind, so gentle, so matter-of-fact that I have difficulty forming words for an answer.
“I think you need to make me cry,” I whisper.
She brushes a hand against my cheek. “Mira-ya,” she says gently. “You already are.”
Before she asks, I stand up. I push my bottom out as I bend over, keeping my back taut. It feels like the stretches I do before an early-morning run, or at least the mornings that I get up in time for a run. I wish that the protection between my bottom and the rod is my thick denim skirt, but today it is the thinnest material available in a skirt that now seems ridiculously short. I thought nothing of wearing mid-thigh skirts back home, but here even strangers on the subway look at me and tsk. I
“I know, but keep going. Um, I mean please.”
“And you certainly can’t call the woodcutter ‘the abductor’ through the rest of the story!”
I wait for her to get to the end. Instead of only translating it into English, I made one of my first attempts to write a story in my new language. I have written a few very short paragraphs for writing class and the daily journal but only using assigned prompts and grammar structures. This is my first free-style.
A long time ago when tigers smoked pipes, there lived a Heavenly Maiden who took a bath in a spring. She took off her wings for her bath. A bad man hid her wings. He tricked her and lied to her. He pretended to love the Heavenly Maiden. He said he would make her happy. The Heavenly Maiden believed the bad man. She went to his house. The bad man was very happy. The Heavenly Maiden cried and cried. Finally she found her wings. She beat the bad man and ran away. She flew back to heaven and danced with all of the other Heavenly Maidens.
She laughs so hard that she has to wipe tears from her eyes. “Mira! You know that the woodcutter saved the deer’s life and the Heavenly Maiden was a gift to reward his kindness.”
“Not a gift for the Heavenly Maiden!” I argue. “She didn’t want to stay there. Plus, he lied to her about not knowing where her wings were.”
“He loved her. He hid her wings so she would stay and give him children, and then she would want to be with him forever.”
“And he lost her anyway! All of the lying was for no reason,” I answer stubbornly.
She laughs again, asks if she can photocopy the page, and excuses herself for a moment. I try to calm down. By the time she returns, I’m ready to focus on more important things.
“Did you like it?” I ask shyly. It’s the first time she’s asked to photocopy an assignment.
“Your writing is starting to come along,” she says. “I think we should enter you in a translation contest next fall.”
“Really?” She’s never mentioned this before.
“Yes. Though I think you might want to start by practicing with the fairy tales. Just don’t forget the important things like the Heavenly Maiden actually came to love the woodcutter.”
“Abductor,” I argue, but this time I can smile. “And she got rid of him in the end.”
“That she did,” she agrees. “Now, about your plan for getting off probation?”
I sigh. “I’ll save a deer’s life and get him to give me good grades as a reward?”
“Good luck finding the deer.”
I giggle. Then I grow serious. She made me promise and I did promise and she said she expects me to keep my promises, but this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
“I…” My voice trails off, but my eyes glance toward her stick. She raises her eyes a bit, but she nods and gets up to close her office door.
“Are you sure?” she asks. I swallow hard and nod. “Do you want to tell me when you want me to stop, or do you want me to decide?”
I pick at the blister on my hand again. “You, please.” I can’t look at her.
“Do you want just a reminder or do you need it to hurt for real?”
Her voice is so kind, so gentle, so matter-of-fact that I have difficulty forming words for an answer.
“I think you need to make me cry,” I whisper.
She brushes a hand against my cheek. “Mira-ya,” she says gently. “You already are.”
Before she asks, I stand up. I push my bottom out as I bend over, keeping my back taut. It feels like the stretches I do before an early-morning run, or at least the mornings that I get up in time for a run. I wish that the protection between my bottom and the rod is my thick denim skirt, but today it is the thinnest material available in a skirt that now seems ridiculously short. I thought nothing of wearing mid-thigh skirts back home, but here even strangers on the subway look at me and tsk. I
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