Hon'inbo

[deathgod]

The following text is a short story intended to be the prologue for a novel by the name "Hon'inbo" I still have to write, then translated into english and abridged for an english class homework. If anyone's interested I will post the original or full-lenght translation as well. Forgive me any spelling or grammar mistakes, as english is not my primary language.


Yohei had not been a good student, but a kind boy with a immovable love for the game, which had always fulfilled his duties acceptable. He had died that morning.
His teacher did not know how many of his scholars would yet have to die, but a third of them was ill.
The doctors keeped coming over since that house was protected by the bakufu, they would look at the infected, say it were the measles. Half of the city was ill, plagues spread like wildfires in Edo, where millions of humans lived.
The day before he had started choking blood; it had been horrible to see how slimy, bloody sputum stained the board.
He sat in his private study – a great privilege –, at the board, the beautiful bowls of rosewood unnoted on the tatami, inside of them small, perfectly shaped lenses of slate and shell longed to receive a higher meaning beneath his hands, to receive a glimpse of eternity, but not this time.
Time ran short.
On the board, on lines drawn by sharp blades and on superior grain waited a thick stack of paper, blank, next to it the requiered utensils. He thought it was outrageous to use the board as a desk, but he did not have another one.
He turned up the sleeves of his kimono with the emblem of the school, prepared the ink. Wetting the fine tip of the brush, he looked out of the window. Then the tool lowered towards the paper to create beautiful, elegant characters, telling what had to be told:
The story of his live.

[Stefany93]

Little scary but nice!