Elaby's LiveJournal - 57 Academics

Nicodemus enters, stage right, onto the tan laquered floorboards of the
stage. There is a microphone downstage center, and the cord curls away
into the dark red curtains. He is "all Gothed out," in a billowing
black cape and similarly black boots, with large-cuffed leather gloves
on his hands. His wavy hair, chocolate-colored, is pulled back at his
neck with a black ribbon. He has small, round sunglasses, and he holds
a piece of parchment. Nobody knows why on earth he's dressed up like
that for this particular event.

He clears his throat.

"Since I'm apparently not good for anything around here but a loudspeaker, I
thought I'd enjoy myself a little and get dressed for the occasion. I
have here a small dissertation on the random romanticism of the
Japanese language. I bet you can't guess who put me up to this." He
pauses for a moment. "Anyone willing to start a fund to get me paid for
this kind of grunt work will be highly appreciated."

Then he starts. "Japanese has much different structure than English sometimes,
and resulting from that, things that wouldn't be romantic in English
somehow come out that way in Japanese. For example, a line from a song
by Masaharu Fukuyama:

Watashi no subete wa
Anata no mono
Dakara motto motto
Anata dake no mono

Which, translated directly, means:

The whole of me (my all, literally) is
Your thing
So, more and more,
Only your thing

Which, said in English, sounds choppy and unromantic. The part with 'only' is
made unclear in the English translation, because in Japanese, the
'anata dake' would mean 'only you,' whereas in English 'only your
thing' could imply a negative connotation - simply your thing. However,
the essence is very romantic, and with an understanding of the Japanese
language, the phrase takes on much more beauty. Or maybe everything
just sounds better in a language of which you only have the merest
understanding." Nicodemus is prompty hit in the side of the head with a
board eraser, flung from offstage left.

"Stick to the script!"

Nicodemus mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "get bent," and
continues. "My mentally challenged creator would also like to say..."
He frowns and reads it again.

" 'You fight like my sister!'
'I've fought your sister; that's a compliment!'

That is all."

Nicodemus then drops the parchment, pulls his rapier from beneath his cloak, and
leaps down into the audience. He walks up the mottled carpet, between
the rows of seats, and out the door into the sunlight. Then he pulls an
umbrella out, also from beneath his cloak, opens it, and disappears
into the day.