A Whole Page of Spring Wind, Not One Word Is Mine

3: 3

3

By the time I reached the book fair, Nadia's travel journal was already sitting in the main display area.

The custom planner rested inside a glass case.

Beside it were her new stickers and craft papers.

The display card read Nadia Matthews.

The feature slot that had been mine was right here.

Glen Donaldson looked uncomfortable when he saw me.

"Mr. James contacted the organizers himself. I had no choice but to make the adjustment."

"Where are my sample copies?"

He led me to the archive room.

The box holding my translation had been shoved into a corner.

One corner of the cover was folded over, and a few pages of proofs lay scattered on the floor.

"Things got jumbled when they moved the display tables. Just reprint them."

I picked the pages up off the floor.

The annotations on them were all handwritten.

Some of those sources had taken me two years to track down.

You couldn't get them back by running the pages through a printer again.

Nadia arrived soon after.

Neal followed behind her.

She saw the box and asked softly, "How did it end up like this?"

Neal looked at me.

"This is your translation?"

"Mm."

Nadia's face filled with apology.

"Why didn't you say something sooner? I thought you were just helping the publisher organize materials."

Neal frowned too.

"You never mentioned it seriously before."

"Three months ago, I told you the organizers were giving me my own feature slot."

He thought about it.

"Nadia was negotiating the collaboration that day. I thought you were just sitting in."

"So my things never counted as anything real?"

"Stop comparing everything to your sister."

I wasn't comparing myself to her.

I only wanted my own name to appear on my own work.

Nadia took my hand.

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to give the slot back to you?"

As she leaned in, she lowered her voice. "But Neal sponsored this section for me."

I pulled my hand back.

Neal's face darkened.

"She's already willing to give way. What more do you want?"

Nadia's eyes reddened.

"Forget it. It's all my fault."

Neal moved to shield her at once.

"Don't cry."

The care he gave her was always concrete.

Finding materials.

Buying the display space.

Standing between her and every doubt.

When it was my turn, all I got was a soft "Don't make a fuss."

The new-product showcase started soon after.

Neal warned me, "There are reporters here today. Put away your little mood."

I picked up the box.

"I'm taking the translation with me."

He glanced at the sample copies.

"It's in that state already. It won't look good carried out there."

The main display area was packed.

Nadia stood on the stage showing off her journal.

Someone asked where her inspiration came from.

She smiled and looked toward Neal.

"Someone brings me back a small piece of the world every time he travels for work."

Applause rose from the crowd.

A reporter recognized me.

"Did Mrs. James take part too?"

Nadia said with a smile, "My sister does translation and proofreading. She doesn't really like being in front of the camera."

Someone added, "So she helped out behind the scenes."

The translation I'd spent two years putting together, dismissed as irrelevant in a single sentence of hers.

Neal came over.

"Go wait in the car first."

"Why?"

"Don't make things hard for Nadia."

I looked at him.

"It's hard for me too."

He froze.

Just then a staff member came running over.

"A pipe burst in the archive room. The books in there are all soaked."

I rushed over.

The water had already risen past the bottom of the box.

My handwritten translation was soaking in it.

The ink was bleeding out, page by page.