Translation Corner – Your Love is on the Brink of Death (2)

Have the cosmetics at home already rotted away? Are they all coated with oil? As the sparkling light of the lamp, used to illuminate her own jewelleries, is shining directly overhead, the woman’s face reflected from the oval mirror looks more romantic than those from all others. Inside the counter, where she laid her hands, the light-blue coloured rays are swelling in the form of ring, and while she is impressed by the countless penetrating light rays overhead, the clearly silhouetted nose of the woman, thanks to those refractions, appears to be slightly more charming. Uh-huh. She turns her face to the right, to the left, and exerts a force on her eyelids to check whether her eyelashes has been warped or not.

With her hair in a bun, the saleswoman, the customer notices, is wearing a ring with a tiny, pink stone on it which was waving constantly. This is not for sale, she says, while spinning smoothly the lid of the cream packaged with a ridiculously large box using her ridiculously large gloves to show her the contents. But nobody know, by merely judging from its appearance, whether it is soft, or cold, nor do they know the small parts of the actual product. The odour may be too commonplace, and may be the one she tried from the very beginning; it may be quite favourable, or may be nothing of importance to her. For she has indeed no idea about the cream in the first place. Yet instead of the cream and the like of it, she is more interested in the ring tightly fit in the finger of the saleswoman’s gloves. The ring was worn, among her ten fingers, exactly on her left ring finger, and eight or nine out of ten in this case should be presents from their lovers. The modest design for workplace, as well as the face of the saleswoman surprisingly with no make-up on, all made her feel a bit indecent. Such plainness is a stealth, silent conspiracy to her, for she imagines the twin lovers are so thoughtful for each other that they aren’t even aware of it, as though they are trying to diddle each other every night.

A refined underwear, a cotton fabricated small tank top, a small chain of elegant necklace and whatever will be fine, yet now her unadorned, unpretentious body, as though a symbol of something, looks so magnificent. It attracts the attention of eyes particularly when one is on the bed or at somewhere dimly-lit, or even while having a prolonged sensation in each other’s body temperature. The same attention paid to a piece of product which one can flip through, stare at and conceal. Her lover can perhaps exult at her, and feel good about it, and sometime later, the strong shrewd and shameless temperament of this saleswoman who successfully got him excited, will live day by day more briskly, and amplify, and slip at times, and, as though it will seep into the air, one will smell it at last. Uh-huh. That’s why even someone like me who merely met her once through this silly promotion of cream can have captured such an imagination, she thought.

[To be continued]

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