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Translation, Interpreting, Editing/proofreading, Voiceover (dubbing), Subtitling, AI + Human review (MT post-editing)
Expertise
Specializes in:
Cinema, Film, TV, Drama
Computers: Software
Computers (general)
Gaming/Video-games/E-sports
Philosophy
Psychology
Social Science, Sociology, Ethics, etc.
Also works in:
Media / Multimedia
Printing & Publishing
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Rates
General rate: 13 JPY per word / 3000 JPY per hour
Rates per language pair: Japanese to English - Standard rate: 13.00 JPY per character / 3000 JPY per hour
Japanese to English: 海辺のカフカー「カラスと呼ばれる少年」/Kafka on the Shore - "The Boy Called Crow" - Murakami Haruki General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Translation - English “So, you figured something out about money?” says the boy called Crow. He says it in his usual sluggish manner. He always appears to have just come out of a deep sleep, as if the muscles in his mouth are too heavy and can’t quite move very well yet. But it’s all an act. As always, he’s actually very much wide awake.
I nod.
“How much?”
I count everything in my head one more time, “A little under ￥400,000 in cash. I’ve also got a bit more in my account. Of course I can’t exactly say it’s enough but, for now I figure it’s alright.”
“Not bad,” says the boy called Crow, “for now.”
I nod.
“But it seems to me like that’s not exactly the Christmas money you got last year from Santa Clause,” he says.
“It’s not,” I say.
The boy called Crow frowns jokingly and looks around. “So you found it in some drawers around here…or something like that?”
I don’t respond. Of course he knows already where that money is coming from. And he’s not just beating about the bush. He just talks that way to make fun of me.
“Well, whatever,” the boy called Crow says, “you need that money, badly. And so you take it. Borrowing, taking without permission, stealing… anything’s fine. Anyway you look at it; it’s still your dad’s money. As long as you know that, it’s all good. But, it’s not like that money’s just gonna grow all on its own. What are you planning to do when you’ve used up that ￥400,000? You’ll need food to eat and a place to stay. That money’s going to run out some day.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” I say.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” the boy repeats as he holds open his palm, as if he’s weighing my words.
I nod.
“Like maybe you’ll get a job?”
“Yeah, probably,” I say.
The boy called Crow shakes his head, “You should really learn more about the world, you know? I mean, you’re a 15 year-old kid going off to some random place. Exactly what kind of job do you think you’ll be able to get? You’re not even out of Jr. High School. Who do you think would hire someone like you?
I get a little red. I blush easily.
“Well, whatever,” says the boy called Crow, “you haven’t started anything yet. There’s no point in being a wet blanket, anyway. You’ve already made up your mind. All that’s left is putting your money where your mouth is. After all, it is your life. No matter what anyone says, you’re still only going to do what you think you should.”
Yeah, after all it is my life.
“But from now on, you’re going to have to get really tough.”
“I’m working on it,” I say.
“That, you are,” says the boy called Crow, “I’m not trying to belittle your efforts over these past few years.”
I nod.
The boy called Crow says, “But when all is said and done, you’re still only 15 years old. If I dare say so, you’re life has only just begun. There are a lot of things in the world you haven’t seen yet, things you can’t even imagine.”
Like always, we’re sitting together on an old sofa in my father’s study. The boy called Crow likes this place. He likes all the junk in here. Now he’s playing with a bee-shaped glass paperweight. Of course we would never even come near the place if my father was home.
I say, “Whatever the case, I have to get out of here. There’s no changing my mind about that.”
“That may be so,” agrees the boy called Crow. He places the paperweight on the table and rests his hands behind his head. “However, that alone won’t solve everything. It’s gonna sound like I’m trying to discourage you here but, you don’t seem to understand that however far you go; all you’re doing is running away. I don’t think you should expect too much just from going far away.”
I start thinking about just how far away it is I’ll be going. The boy called Crow sighs and starts rubbing his eyelids. He then closes his eyes and speaks to me from deep within the darkness. “Let’s play the usual game,” he says.
“Ok,” I say. I close my eyes the same way and take deep, quiet breaths.
“Ready? Imagine a terrible sandstorm,” he says, “forget everything else.”
As instructed, I imagine a terrible sandstorm. I forget everything else. I even forget myself. I become empty. Soon things start to come floating back to me. The boy and I are on the old leather sofa in my father’s study, like always, seeing these things together.
“Fate, it’s like a sandstorm surrounding you that’s constantly changing its direction,” the boy called Crow says to me.
Fate, it’s like a sandstorm surrounding you that’s constantly changing its direction. You change the way you walk to avoid it. But as soon as you do, the storm changes to match you. You change your gait one more time, and the storm also changes the same way. However many times you try, the storm will follow, as if you were doing a ghastly dance with the Grim Reaper. And it’s not happening because the storm is just something that flew in out of nowhere. It comes from you. It’s something from inside yourself. So the only thing you can do is to give up and continue on in that storm, protecting your eyes and ears from the sand and moving forward, one step at a time. In this place, there is no sun, no moon, and no direction. Sometimes, there isn’t even time. There is only fine white sand that looks to be made of crushed bones, whirling high into the air. That’s the kind of sandstorm you imagine.
And it is the sandstorm I imagine. The white tornado turns to the sky, and rises up like a thick rope. I cover my eyes and ears with both hands so the microscopic sand doesn’t get inside. The storm turns to me and starts coming closer and closer. Even from far away, I can feel the air pressing on my skin. It’s on the verge of swallowing me up.
And then, the boy called Crow softly puts his hand on my shoulder. As soon as he does, the sandstorm fades away. But I still keep my eyes closed.
“From now on, you have to be the toughest 15 year-old in the world, no matter what. There’s no other path for you in this world. And for this, you must find out what it truly means to be tough. Do you understand?”
I just keep my mouth shut. I just want to fall asleep with his hand on my shoulder. The faint sound of wings fluttering reaches my ears.
“You will be the world’s toughest 15 year-old,” the boy called Crow softly repeats into my ear as I fall asleep. It feels as if those words are tattooed on my heart in thick blue ink.
And somehow, you manage to escape, out of that violent sandstorm. Although it’s metaphysical and symbolic, at the same time it’s like a thousand razors cutting living flesh. Countless men have spilled their blood in that place, and you too will spill yours. That warm, red blood. You can feel it with your own two hands. That blood is the blood of others, as it is your blood.
And when the sandstorm is over, you probably can’t even understand how you managed to escape. You’re not even sure if it’s really gone. But there is one thing you are sure of. The you that came out of that sandstorm isn’t the you that went in. That’s what it means to go into the sandstorm.
About the time when I turn 15, I will leave the house and go to a faraway place I’ve never heard of and stay in some corner of a small library.
If I wanted to tell an organized and detailed story, I’d go on about the next week. But if, for the moment, I can just give the gist of it, things happened exactly like I said. When my 15th birthday came around, I left my house and went to a faraway town and crashed in a corner of a small library.
It might sound like some fairytale. But a fairytale it is not. Not by a long shot.
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Experience
Years of experience: 18. Registered at ProZ.com: Aug 2009.
Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Excel, Microsoft Word, OmegaT
Bio
I was born and raised in Lvov, Ukraine and moved to Los Angeles at the age of 7. I speak English and Russian at the native level and have been studying Japanese for over 10 years and living in Tokyo for 5.
I have a Bachelor of Arts in Languages and Cultures with a focus on Japanese from California State University, Northridge. I've studied and lived in different parts of Japan and currently work in a Japanese advertising agency as copywriter.
Keywords: Japanese, movies, Russian, localization, literature, arts, cinema, entertainment, game, history. See more.Japanese, movies, Russian, localization, literature, arts, cinema, entertainment, game, history, culture, pop-culture, English, current. See less.
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