Min Kyaw - 5 short stories

Ko Thila

Ko Thila's heart was burning. Her head was spinning. She felt her body shaking. The pain of weakness and sadness was covered by pride and anger.

Ko Thila understood that something had to be done. But she didn't know what to do. She couldn't see the person sitting in front of her clearly. She thought she could hear what he was saying clearly.

Finally, he had to do something. When he came out of the printing house, Ko Sila had to do a second, unthinkable thing. He thought that the unthinkable thing had come out of his mouth. “It’s done, it’s done, from today on I won’t write anymore.”

This is Ko Sila's fifty-seventh decision.

"But I wonder if I've made this decision before," Ko Thila couldn't remember. This time, he made a decision that was completely his own.

Look....

The words "It's done" are already echoing in my mind.

The footsteps that came and went fell on the ground. Even the ones that rose from the ground seemed to be a loud cry of "Good, good, good."

I don't see or want to see the cars and vehicles on the road. I don't see or want to see the people walking on the road.

Usually, Ko Thila would study the cars, the vehicles, and the people closely and compose a letter as soon as it moved her. Now, without anyone's prompting, she decided not to write anymore.

Then someone stepped forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

"What's the matter? Where are you going with the teacher's scolding?"

He had found U Tīm Taung. He was the owner of Tīm Kyaung Printing and Publishing. “The cemetery,” Ko Tila answered abruptly. “What to do with the cemetery? Why don’t you go find a good plot for a novel?”

The publisher, Ko Teem Taung, had not yet corrected his angry expression, and he did not yet know the tone of his anger, so he stood next to Ko Thila, speaking aimlessly. Then he looked at Ko Thila's face.

“What-what-what are you wearing? Here, U Tham Taung, you can go your own way, please.”

U Tim Taung was shocked when he saw and heard Ko Thila's expression and words. He immediately corrected his expression.

"How is it, Thila? I'm asking you a question. Leave it alone. I've run out of other places to go now. I'm looking for you because I want to see you."

Ko Thila suddenly stopped. “What do you want me to do?” “What will happen to you, teacher? Are you angry? Come on, Ko Thila, let’s talk calmly in the tea shop.”

"I don't want to talk. I don't want to hear. You go your own way. I'll go where I want to go."

"Not yet, sir, because I have something to tell you. Just a moment."

Finally, despite her refusal, Ko Thila went into the Yamin Phyu Pyar Tea Shop with the publisher, U Teem Taung.

I arrived. But my heart is still sad.

“Now, teacher, what would you like to drink?” “I don’t want to drink anything.”

"Why are you so angry, teacher? Please take it slow, teacher. Now, I'll just order some tea."

U Tim Taung looked at Teacher Ko Thila intently and ordered two cups of tea. Ko Thila's face was still stern.

"Dear U Tim Taung, I know what you want to see me for. You don't have to say this. I'll say it myself. I won't publish the book you told me to publish."

Ko Thila spoke firmly and quickly. U Teem Taung's face immediately turned pale.

“Ha.. how can you do that, sir? I’ve already sent out order cards to the village. I even postponed the novel by that writer, the science fiction writer, for a month, because I want to get a manuscript from you,” U Ting Taung said softly.

“Don’t you say it again, if I don’t write, it’s already over.” “Why not, sir? Why don’t you write? Why? Do you want the money in advance? Or do you not like the way I pay?”

"I don't want to say anything about U Tim Taung's affairs here. What I want to say is that I have decided that from today on I will no longer write. I am no longer a writer."

"What's up, teacher?"

"Are you so far away, U Tin Taung? I don't write anymore. Haven't you heard that I'm not a writer?"

Teacups arrived in front of them. U Tim Taung was thinking about it.

At that moment, a person came to their table. It was the writer Tamar.

"Huh...U Tim Taung Gyi and Ko Thila? I'm ready. I want to meet U Tim Taung," Tamar said, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

Ko Thila gave a sullen face. “Now, Teacher Tamar, what should I drink? I know about the meeting with you. Isn’t it about the remaining copy fee? Come on, Teacher Tamar, let’s talk about this later. Please clear up this matter for me.”

"What?" "Oh, this teacher, Ko Thila, is no longer writing." "Yes, Ko Thila, you are again playing tricks on U Tim Taunggyi."

"I'm not kidding. I've given up writing."

"Yes, yes, Ko Thila. Tell me about it."

" What can I say? I've been writing for 15 years now. I've never said that a novel costs two thousand copies. In this era, even writers like Pyae Lei Win and others write tens of thousands of copies. What can we do if we don't even spend two thousand copies?"

Tamar didn't respond. U Tim Taung looked at Ko Thila's face and said, "Drink up, Ko Thila, the tea will get cold." Ko Thila picked up the tea bowl and took a sip.

“Here, Ko Ta Ma, think about it, I am a person who has been working in the literary industry for a long time. I have written many short stories. I have been praised and criticized by critics. Now I have also written the socialist cartoons that you are talking about. I have also written nostalgic and youth-friendly works. Just look, I came from the “Lightning” printing house. Before, they printed one book for me. I printed two thousand books. The manuscript fee is not calculated by percentage like Pyae Lei Win and others. I write for four hundred. Pyae Lei Win and others print for ten thousand. The manuscript fee is fifteen percent. So I pay three thousand. That ten thousand is enough. A person like me who has been writing for 15 years only pays four hundred. Even if the number of copies is less than five hundred, it is not enough. Hwi...Ko Tila spit out a mouthful of saliva and took a sip of tea. “So, do we still need to write, Ko Ta Ma?”

“Yes, Thila. This problem is not yours. It is a problem that many writers face. The number of copies sold or not is also a matter of the readership. We cannot interfere in anything. No matter how hard you try to write, your novels are not about teaching girls and boys how to write love letters and autographs. The ones who read the most today are mostly fourteen, fifteen, and twenty-somethings, aren’t they? Those ages want to write love letters and autographs. Can you write them?”

"Well, that's why I'm not writing anymore, I'm just saying."

"I can't even say that, Ko Thila. You write because someone told you to, don't you write because you want to write? What, you write because you want to be famous?"

"Not like that. But isn't it a shame to be a writer without even finishing five hundred thousand copies?"

"I don't think you need to consider these things. You're a writer. If you want to write, you'll write. That's it. Is it up to you whether the copies are sold out or not, whether you buy them or not?"

"You're a good talker. What can I say? You've sold more than me."

"There's no need to measure like this. Just write what you have to write."

“Yes. Yes,” U Tim Taung said, puffing on his cigar. “So, a manuscript for me.”

"That's right. People like you are not good either. Okay, if you don't write the kyats, you won't write. That way, I'll just go back to school and be a cow," Ko Thila said, standing up.

"Wait, Ko Thila," Ko Tamar stopped him.

"I don't want to see you either, sir. I still have business to attend to." Ko Thila made a move to take a step forward, then turned to Ko Tam,

"Here, Kotamar, do you have about ten rupees? My child is sick at home."

U Tim Taung called the tea shop owner and asked for money.