Summary (締め切り 02年10月31日)

Written By Ann Beattie(P286)
How many love stories do you have in your mind ? And does each of them have a specific word that brings a clear memory of it back to you ? For the heroine in this story, the word "snow" has everything about her love in a certain winter. Just one word....
Living in countryside, just two of us, seemed like a scene from a poem. You brought in a pile of logs, a chipmunk was running around us. We spent the first week on interior decorating. You looked a crazy king of snow with a towel turban when shoveling the walk to get rid of heavy snow. Many people visited us and the fireplace tempted them into telling amazing happy stories. I remember the night when everything surrounding us was in white. Snow was knee-deep and the world looked as if it had been turned upside down.
However you remember the winter entirely opposite way. For you it seemed that a small curve of light had been shaved from the moon night after night and finally the sky went black. Peoples stories weren't amazing at all but cliches.
I visited the place again in April. (not winter) Our neighbor Allen had died, who had been on my side in bad times unlike all the visitors. Black plastic covering his pool in the backyard remained in my mind. On the way back I drove past the house we used to live in and found a few crocuses but not snow of course
The snow.... Even now the word reminds me of the special winter I spent with you in the countryside.

Snow is Our Love Symbol
We moved to a house in a country side and stayed a winter. My memories of our love related to snow, maybe you don't think so :a chipmunk jumped down from the logs you brought when it was snowing, you were in the white towel turban while scraping snow, looking up at the black sky in the night it was snowing, and so on.
People who visited us seemed to think of us weird or amazing, alothough you don't think so. You think things simpler than I.
I drove back in spring. Allen, next door had died. I sat with his wife and coudn't help looking out at the pool covered with black plastic. It was raining, the cover collected water. Later I saw crocuses blooming in front of the house used to be our house. I embarrassed because the flowers were just blooming no matter who care about them.
People forget details of their lives so do I. Snow symbolizes our love I think.
Alothough we couldn't find the other's truth.

この二人、四十代くらいかしら? もっと若いかな?

This is a certain love story.
Leaving the city, "I" stayed with her lover in the snowy country. They spent a winter in the deep snow and that ended by the time the snow is gone.
The life there seemed like kind of dramatic for visitors as well as "I" though the lover says any life would seem dramatic if you omit details.

It is impossible for people to place an event precisely as if it were a sequence of scenes in a film. When you recall a certain event, you remember only some impressive moments and symbols and assemble them just like a jigsaw puzzle.
And the days she spent with her lover is all symbolized by "snow" in her memories. The word "snow" still reminds her of just that love. The memory from the word was more dramatic for her than a barest story told the way that her lover said.
In spring she visited the place where she stayed with her lover. Her good friend had died, his pool still covered with BLACK plastic, and some crocuses were blooming just like a few dots of white on the ground, which could not compare with snow white. It was no longer a world covered with white snow so that she realized her love was over.



If I describe that winter, it is the snow.
I exactly remember one night we spent together, a chipmunk jumped and ran through the house. Most of the time of our first week we spent was scraping snow, at that time you put a towel turban like a king of snow, and finding some secrets in the house. A lot of people visited us, we all gathered around fireplace and told their amazing stories. But amazing stories is not amazing anymore because they always told the same stories. One night you gave me a lesson how to tell a story dramatically. Then, I drove back that house in April. I heard Allen had died next door. Allen was the good friend in my bad times. He had a pool in the backyard, covered with black plastic. When I drove through in front of our house, just a few dots of white crocuses I could see. I was embarrassed. The flowers remanded me of that winter nevertheless there was no snow.
The winter I spent with my lover in countryside was my memory. It became a word but I remember.



You and I fell in love, left the city and spent one winter together in the country. What I remember about that winter and what you remember about it are far different, and so are the ways that we told about it.

I remember the details and moments that makes the whole story dramatic. I remember the chipmunk, the pattern of wallpaper, the white towel which you wore on your head and the amazing stories told by the many visitors we had there. I remember the night knee-deep in snow. I felt like that the world had been upside down.

You remember it too, but not in a dramatic or romantic way. You thought that our visitors told the same stories people always tell and you said “ Any life will seem dramatic if you omit mention of most of it.”

I drove back there not long ago in April. Allen, next door, who always had been the good friends even in bad times, died. When I sat with his wife in their living room I saw Allen’s pool covered with black plastic. When I drove past the house we used to live in, I found a few dots of white which are crocuses and no field of snow. I felt embarrassed.

People remember seconds and symbols: the black shroud over the pool and the white field of snow. The symbol of that winter and the love for me is the snow. So even now the word “snow” brings me a special feeling and reminds me of the love in that winter. The snow disappeared and so did our love.


I remember clearly the sweet days I spent one winter with you and a lovely chipmunk.

We decided to live together in the countryside, and our first week in the house was spent making the rooms comfortable. The day of the big snow, when you had to shovel the walk, you looked like a crazy king of snow in white towel turban. A lot of people visited and told us amazing stories. I enjoyed them, but did they think any of them would come true? No, it was as hopeless as giving a child a matched cup and saucer, I think now.

I also remember the night, knee-deep in snow. It seemed that the world had been turned upside down, and looked as if we were looking into an enormous field of white flowers.

However, you remember it differently. I found you to be a realist, but I might be a romantic. Then our love was over.

In April, I drove back to the house when I knew Allen, next door, had died. In spite of all the visitors, he had been the good friend in bad times. Sitting with his wife in their living room, I saw Allen’s pool still covered with black plastic for winter. When I let that day, I found some crocuses bloom in front of the house where we used to live. Just a few of dots of white, no field of snow.

This is my love story. What I remember about all that time is one winter … "The snow". Even now, snow reminds me of my lovely days with you. Though neither of us could have said where the heart was, an artery cleared.



アン・ビーティ、他の作品、読んだことないけど、たくさん翻訳(燃える家―ほか15の短篇など) も出ているし、他のもの(The Burning House: Short Stories)も読んでみようかな・・・
Snowの単語/Summary 提出後のMLでの討論/
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