Min Khak Soe San - The Night of a Peeping Tom

Every night... he peered through the glass panes. From where he stood, he could see the moonlight covering the tiled roof of the white one-story house like a sheet of ice. He could also see the branches of the jasmine garden swaying gently when the wind blew. He could also see the night flowers blooming like dew in the soft white light. Except for a few places where there were trees and bushes, the moon was shining brightly and the land was wide open.

He could see it. He thought he could smell the scent of someone he didn't know, and he could vaguely see it, amidst the dark, patchy mist and distant fog.

And...

In the window of the farthest room of the little house... he could see the faint outline of a young woman, her shadow cast on the window by the light from the room.

He could hear the faint chirping of insects. He realized that the night was starting to get cold and hard. The room suddenly felt cold, even though there was no wind blowing. Was it his imagination? Maybe. He couldn't concentrate on the book he was reading.

It's almost eight o'clock. What would "she" be doing at this time? Sitting at her desk as usual, writing something? Or sweeping with a feather broom?

Are you sweeping the floor with a broom or doing some light exercise?

He felt like going to the window and peeking at the little girl over there. No, no, no. Peeping at a woman is a very low thing to do. Okay, I decided last night. I'll never look in that room again.

He was lying on his bed, still reading the book. Okay... look how interesting this is... People within 60 miles of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant explosion will be exposed to radiation for the next 30 years.

There are many deaths from leukemia and other cancers. Now... isn't that an interesting story? He was thinking that an explosion at a nuclear power plant was murder. If that was a case worthy of the Supreme Being, how would he be charged in front of Yama? If it were the kind of ridiculous spectacle you see in plays, a nuclear reactor would be placed in front of Yama, dressed in flashy clothes (and sometimes with a mustache painted with a strange paint). Yama would sit on a throne, a little stiletto...

Well... he thought, if he was going to sit in front of a leaking nuclear reactor, it would be more appropriate to give Yama a gas suit than to dress him in spikes and a pair of stilettos. If he wanted, Yama could wear that suit and take a photo of himself. Murder is really about waiting for the person who will bring the charges.

It is necessary to realize that she is just a bride who is waiting for her.

US Secretary of State George W. Bush said, “When an incident has the potential to affect neighboring countries, the international community must act.”

"According to the law..." "Well... neighboring countries? If you look out my window, that girl and I are neighboring countries...

Could her spying harm her country? No... Her presence in that room is hurting my feelings. Good girl... I need to establish an international law between you and me...

He suddenly remembered. Oh my God.... Where have my thoughts gone? He shook his head, trying to wake up his consciousness. I was reading... I was reading.... The Soviets built the Chernobyl plant..., that girl in the window with her long hair... . . . Europe

Radioactivity in... I want to see your face just once, girl...

Haven't you ever seen in those cheesy novels and movies how nice it is to go out in the yard on a clear night and pick flowers or (hopefully, maybe) sing a song? The entire Soviet civilian nuclear program... What would it take for her to notice the man who lives right next door to her? A pair of flares, an SOS radio message, a ride around the world on a motorcycle? Honestly, I didn't even notice when "she" first arrived at that house... When I first glanced out that window...

Oh my...oh my..., I'm lost in thought again. Oh no...don't think...don't think, I'm reading...I'm reading...I'm...reading...I'm...reading..., wow!!!

I can't. Well... I've tried my best to control my temper, but I can't, my duty is over... he gave himself an excuse (not very elegant, and already too common because he used it too often). Then he threw the book on the bed and jumped down. He pulled up a small chair. He put it down near the window. He remembered that his movements were a little fast, but he didn't know it.

Then... he slowly opened the glass door.

I saw "her".

On the window pane, you can see the silhouette of a woman, sitting in front of a desk, leaning forward. She may be writing something or reading a book.

The outline of the shadow, except for a few places where it crossed the wood of the glass door, was clearly visible. (It could also be that his mind was trying to cut it off.) The straight nose, the full lips, and the narrow curve that ran from the bottom of the chin to the neck were the end of the black shadow field, a smooth, continuous line.

Only one thing is bad. I don't know what her eyes are like. And. . . Is her skin fair or dark? Let it go...it doesn't matter. She'll be as elegant and dark as a copper shield. She'll be as soft and warm as a statue of a goddess of light carved from clouds. Let's leave the matter of skin color aside...

"She" is "only her." (If the current racial issue in America were to arise, she would not support either side.)

I want to wrap her in a golden veil. I will build a palace on the crystal-white court with the fragrance of love that comes from my bosom. I will catch a half-hearted laugh and fly to see her beauty.

I will raise her in a cage as a child. I will make her bloom like a purple flower every morning. I will not wake her up. How long is a lifetime? I will feed her grapes while talking about love on the next day of her life. I will weave a scarf of kisses made of daisies and wipe her face every morning. Please don't laugh. He who thinks love is a joke is a savage. Send him to the zoo. In the bed of the blue sky, the heart of a butterfly is already dreaming of the moon.

Every night, he peeks through the glass panes of the window.