Kaze to Ki no Uta Song of the Wind and Trees by Takemiya Keiko Introduction (p.5-61 of bunko volume 1) Hakusensha Publishing 1995 (Bunko edition); original edition 1976 Translation started: 25 October 2000 Translation notes: Despite the amount of French that I know (more than Japanese), it's hard for me to guess at times what the various names are supposed to be. This is a somewhat loose translation. I'm aiming first and foremost for writing that sounds pretty and natural in English, and although it's very important for me to keep the meaning intact, I think that a slightly loose translation that sounds nice is truer to the author's intentions than an awkwardly literal one...that's a general principle I follow, but more for this manga than for most, just because of the way it's written...Whether I'll achieve that or not, I don't know... Notation: <> page break without page numbers turn to page 6 Fortunately, a majority of the pages seem to be numbered, so I think it'll be fairly easy not to get too lost. {characters' thoughts} [short translation notes] [T: footnotes within the story by Takemiya; I haven't translated *all* of her footnotes because some of them are very well-known to English speakers, like the expression 'que sera sera.'] --an unnamed character is speaking [Introduction] ...All that ever satisfied me was the hot touch of skin against skin, the rapid heartbeats, the breaths filled with caresses... <> --Gilbert... --Gilbert! Gilbert : Don't cling to me like that. --Take your time. Who cares about classes? Hey, aren't you going to put on any underwear? <> <> --So, who's next? Classes--yeah, right! --Hey, look! He's practically naked again! --How indecent! --He was skipping class! --Gilbert! Come here, I want to talk to you about something. --Look, he's finally been caught! --He's dead! --He should be ashamed of himself! --Sit down. November 1880. In the area of Provence, in Southern France, at Arles station... --The train will be making a 15-minute stop. --Here's an open compartment, Mom! --Marseilles, we're going to Marseilles! --No, brother, I want the window seat! Serge : Don't cry, now. You can stand up, right? Don't cry. <> --Leave my child alone, she can get up by herself! --Mom, why does he have dark skin? --Put your luggage up quickly! Serge : You can't do that by yourself. --I'll help you, boy! --Thanks! --We will be departing for Marseilles momentarily. Please board the train immediately. Serge : {Arles already?} It's cold... {I would've gone on to Marseilles if that boy hadn't said anything...} --How about a carriage? Where are you going? Serge : In San Chraisare, Lacom... <> Serge : Lacombrade Academy, please. --What about San Gire instead? The road is better, so it'll take half as long. Serge : {He's not letting me get on, hm?} If you can't do it, I'll take another carriage. --I was just joking! I'll go--Lacombrade Academy, right? It's hard to get customers in this rain. --Are you from Paris? With that skin, you look like you're mixed-race. Are you of southern descent? Or Indian? <> --My horses will break a leg if they keep going. Sorry, but you'll have to walk from here. Serge : All right, thanks for taking me this far. --Don't mention it! --Man, this road is awful! The folks who live here can't even take a step outside on rainy days! Serge : Is Lacombrade Academy straight up this road? --Yeah, about fifteen minutes by foot. What a remote place to build a school. Serge : {I guess he knew I was a gypsy...} Brr... <> <> Serge : {Lacombrade Academy, in the mist...a school where my father said he spent his youth as he wanted to...I wonder if I too will be satisfied here?} <> --Director! There's a transfer student here by the name of Serge Battour! --Are his parents with him? --No, he's by himself. May he come in? --Have him wait there. --You're to wait for a little while. Serge : All right. --You must be tired. Serge : {Tired...ow, I feel dizzy!} --Come in! So you're the son of the Battours who's entering this boarding school? I heard from Madame Battour that your father wrote in his will that he wanted you to come here. --Your father was an excellent student with a well-known name in the school's history...or he would have been if he hadn't run off with a gypsy prostitute... Serge : {Why do you bring that up now, when there's someone in here?} {What was that? That boy was looking at the director's neck...} <> --What are you looking at? Serge : Oh, nothing. --Gilbert, you may go now! Tidy up your clothes! <> Serge : {Ah! I'm falling!} <> Serge : {Someone!} <> ...All that ever satisfied me was the hot touch of skin against skin, the rapid heartbeats, the breaths filled with caresses... Have you ever taken off your clothes and felt the touch of someone else's shoulder? Such warmth, such tenderness... Do you know what it feels like to be wrapped up in someone's arms? It makes no difference what either person is thinking about. Just to be held, to touch someone's skin--that is what I want. The rapid heartbeats, the breaths filled with caresses... Serge : The dormitories are quite far away from the campus, aren't they? --No, that's only because of the fog. They seem very close in the daylight. Then you can see the old, majestic image of the entire school. You looked as if you were about to faint in the director's room yesterday. Do you feel all right? --Do you already know Gilbert? Well, I'm only the caretaker, and I won't say anything bad, but stay away from that little devil. <> Serge : Little devil? --Now, you should go up to your room and get some rest as soon as you can. <> --Sign here. Would you like another cup of tea? Serge : Yes, please. --So, another lamb has been chased to this remote school... You don't have to hide anything from me. As the dormitory superintendent, I know everything about the students here. Serge : You seem pretty young. I would have thought of the dormitory superindentent as someone old and strict. --It's been thirteen years since I graduated from university...that was after you were born, I suppose. Serge : Why did you--oh, sorry for asking something personal like that... Wasch : It's all right. As you thought, it's because of my leg. Serge : I'm sorry. Wasch : Do you mind if I ask about the color of your skin? Serge : Not at all. My father was Aslan Battour, a student here. Wasch : Battour, the viscount? What a surprise! He was my junior by three years. We were in school together until college. Serge : Monsieur Wasch... Wasch : I can't believe I'm able to meet his son! <> Wasch : You do have his eyes! They were grey, just like yours. Serge : Then, do you know about my mother? Wasch : Of course! She was a lady of the demi-monde. [Literally, 'half-world.'] [T: A prostitute, that is.] But she was rich in intelligence, and we often felt our hearts beat faster when we met her at the theater. Aslan fell in love with that girl, Paiva. It was a destined love. She was seventeen, and beautiful, burning with passionate gypsy blood. <> Paiva : Aslan, take me with you! Aslan : Paiva! Wasch : Thinking on it now, it seems like a romance in a novel. He went off to Tyrolia with her, in search of green valleys, leaving behind all his status and property. He even left behind his country...I lost my leg in the Franco-Prussian War, but I suppose he was more sensible than I. Wasch : I haven't heard a word from him since. How is he? He's not-- Serge : Yes, he died...the year the Franco-Prussian War started, when I was three years old. It was in the fall, about this time. He had tuberculosis. Wasch : I see... Serge : My mother followed a year later. I became an orphan, because their marriage wasn't officially recognized. I would have gone into an orphanage, but my aunt took me in. <> Wasch : So how did you come here? Serge : Is this school made up only of those who were pushed out of their homes? Wasch : No, that's not what I meant... Serge : You may think that I was too much trouble for my aunt and she chased me out, but, I'm sorry to say, you're entirely wrong! The house of Battour has no male heirs but me. In other words, I am the viscount of Battour. <> Serge : In his will, my father gave me his title and property, and asked that I enter this school. Wasch : Well, I'm sorry for misjudging you so quickly! Serge : {No, it isn't a lie. I am the viscount of Battour. Even if my aunt only became my guardian so that she could manage my estate!} Wasch : {He does ressemble his father, right down to the way he tries to shoulder all his troubles for himself.} Serge : Ah, the fog lifted! It really is a gorgeous view! We're right on top of the hill! <> Wasch : Are you there, Carl? Carl : Yes...Monsieur Wasch? Come in, would you like some tea? Wasch : No thank you, I just had some. This is the new student. Serge : Nice to meet you. Carl : I'm Carl Maisser, the director of building B. Serge : Serge Battour. {Both he and Monsieur Wasch look straight at me without hesitating! I think we'll get along well!} Wasch : Now, about a room...building B is... Carl : Yes, it's full right now. Wasch : He could go in a room with one of the upperclassman in building A...but those tough kids wouldn't be good for his mental health...I guess you could put an extra bed in my room... Carl : Your room's so stuffed with books that another bed wouldn't fit into it. Wasch : No? Carl : Wait...there is one empty bed... Wasch : Carl! Definitely not! <> Carl : He can handle it! Serge doesn't know anything about him yet. It could even be useful. Wasch : Hmm... Carl : He is a little strange, but I don't believe that he's a bad person. Serge...this is our request. You may have some difficulties rooming with him, but I promise that I will help you, so will you at least try it? <> Serge : What's his name? Carl : Gilbert Cocteau. Gilbert! Gilbert, can you come here for a minute? Serge : {I can't just say no now...} Gilbert : What is it? I'll be late for mass. Carl : It'll only take five minutes. <> Carl : You finally have a roommate. Serge Battour...the same age as you, right? Serge : {I hadn't realized it in the fog, but he looks so different than how he looked yesterday! He looks--beautiful! With rouge on his lips and boldly drawn eyebrows, he almost looks like a girl...} <> --Hey, have you heard? --About what? --About the new kid! The dark-skinned one who just moved into building B. He's in the same room as Gilbert. --Gilbert? That'll be a problem. --Was it Carl who decided that? --He's only the director because he's friends with the dormitory superintendent. --He doesn't even live in the dorms! <> --What are you doing? Carl : You were being noisy. Did you come here to talk? --Who'd ever use this chapel to worship? It's freezing! This is a place for the exchange of information! --Shh, it's going to start! --Stine's punches are awful! <> Stine : Hey, darky! Was your mother a weasel or a monkey? --Stine has a thing for Gilbert, so he wasn't going to let him go like that. Stine : Let's find out and show everyone! --Now he's done it! --Ah! Stine's hands! Gilbert : If you can't win, you should accept that calmly, without resistance. Anything else is just pathetic. Gilbert Cocteau, the brightest flower blooming in my life... The flame, burning bright red in the dreams of my youth... You were the wind whistling through my branches. Can you hear the rustling song of the wind and trees? Yes, there is much to remember, in the bygone days of my youth.