I sat down (Taneyev’s native language actually translates to that so I translate it directly although it’s not possible to sit up in the sense the writer uses, or sit sideways, etc.) underneath the sycamore tree (the story is set in an area of the world where there are no sycamore trees, so the writer is either uninformed, or making a conscious ambiguous remark that is not verified by the forthcoming narrative) that hovered lonely (trees don’t hover ; this must be poetry) by the creek that ran through the rear of Grandfather’s property (“Grandfather” is not mentioned again in the rest of the story so this may be a deflection, or forgetfulness on the part of the writer. Additionally, “rear of Grandfather’s property” may be a crude anatomical joke.) The rain began to fall, and thunder reverberated in the distance (no problem with translation here; my commentary would be that rain and thunder and lightning are a lazy metaphor for writers, something I do in every single original story I’ve ever written.)

(Now I think about the title I wrote, why is something a translation “of” but a commentary is “on”? Who came up with the original rules about how prepositions are used? But I may be digressing. Anyway…)

A goat drinking in the creek stopped for a moment and looked at me. (potential misreading here. Goats don’t exist in this part of the world either; the word may actually refer to a troll or a tricycle.)

All of a sudden, I felt thirsty (perhaps the correct translation is “deranged” considering what happens next) and I threw myself into the creek. The goat/troll/tricycle was startled but remained where it was (making me think it was probably a tricycle) and didn’t react when I buried my head under the surface of the water.

My teeth (whether they were real teeth or dentures I do not know) hit something hard. I chomped down on a cylindrical object and brought it up, shaking the water from my long blond hair like a Viking warrior (seems to me the writer is stretching here), and extending my arms to grasp what I’d retrieved from the depths of the creek (a quarter of a meter deep if my geographical research is correct): a stained-glass javelin.

I extricated myself from the creek and raised the stained-glass javelin to the heavens.

I wanted lightning to strike my standard (you can only imagine how many words I considered before I came up with “standard”) to give me the two-billion-volt charge that would turn me into a superman.

[Comment from the translator’s editor: glass doesn’t attract electricity the way the writer and translator think. And a two-billion volt charge will kill you, not turn you into a superhero.]

The lightning bolt surged through me, expanded, twirled, shimmered, and I rose up into the air (probably not), up and up, until I slipped the surly bonds of Earth (Taneyev stole that phrase) and leaked through the atmosphere into space.

And I, and we, changed everything that’s ever happened because of those possibilities (I have no idea what he’s talking about) [Comment from the translator’s editor: I don’t either.]

And I went in between. “Between” however you want to think about what “between” means. Literally. Or maybe it’s a science-fiction other-zone. Perhaps it’s that unseen moment.

(Sorry, but I don’t understand that, but maybe as a translator and commenter, I’m not supposed to.) [And I have no comment.]

In the between between the between and the other is another between. I suspect some translators and commenters and critics and readers and others who pretend to read but only skim and scan will not understand, so we’re done now.