'Disappointment' by Enid Blyton.

'Disappointment' by Enid Blyton.

Once I found a fairy

In my cup of tea.

She was nearly drowned

And wet as wet could be.

I picked her out and dried her

And asked her if she'd stay;

"Oh, no," she said, "I mustn't,"

And off she flew away.

DOS DE CRONOPIOS Y SUS TRADUCCIONES

 

Alegría del cronopio

Encuentro de un cronopio y un fama en la liquidación de la tienda La Mondiale.

-Buenas tardes, fama. Tregua catala espera. 

-Cronopio cronopio? 

-Cronopio cronopio. 

-Hilo? 

-Dos, pero uno azul.

El fama considera al cronopio. Nunca hablará hasta no saber que sus palabras son las que convienen, temeroso de que las esperanzas siempre alertas no se deslicen en el aire, esos microbios relucientes, y por una palabra equivocada invadan el corazón bondadoso del cronopio.

-Afuera llueve- dice el cronopio. Todo el cielo. -No te preocupes- dice el fama. Iremos en mi automóvil. Para proteger los hilos.

Y mira el aire, pero no ve ninguna esperanza, y suspira satisfecho. Además le gusta observar la conmovedora alegría del cronopio, que sostiene contra su pecho los hilos -uno azul- y espera ansioso que el fama lo invite a subir a su automóvil.

 (Julio Cortázar)

Costumbres de los famas

Sucedió que un fama bailaba tregua y bailaba catala delante de un almacén lleno de cronopios y esperanzas. Las más irritadas eran las esperanzas porque buscan siempre que los famas no bailen tregua ni catala sino espera, que es el baile que conocen los cronopios y las esperanzas.

Los famas se sitúan a propósito delante de los almacenes, y esta vez el fama bailaba tregua y bailaba catala para molestar a las esperanzas. Una de las esperanzas dejó en el suelo su pez flauta -pues las esperanzas, como el Rey del Mar, están siempre asistidas de peces flauta- salió a inprecar al fama, diciéndole así:
-Fama no bailes tregua ni catala delante de este almacén.

El fama seguía bailando y se reía.
La esperanza llamó a otras esperanzas, y los cronopios formaron corro para ver lo que pasaría.
-Fama -dijeron las esperanzas-. No bailes tregua ni catala delante de este almacén.
Pero el fama bailaba y se reía, para menoscabar a las esperanzas.

Entonces las esperanzas se arrojaron sobre el fama y lo lastimaron. Lo dejaron caído al lado de un palenque, y el fama se quejaba, envuelto en sangre y su tristeza.
Los cronopios vinieron furtivamente, esos objetos verdes y húmedos. Rodeaban al fama y lo compadecían, diciendole así:

-Cronopio cronopio cronopio.

Y el fama comprendía, y su soledad era menos amarga.

 (Julio Cortázar)

TALES OF CHRONOPES AND FAMES
By Julio Cortázar
Englished by Sandra Dermark

CHRONOPE JOY
Chronope meets fame at Marks & Spencer sale.
"Good evening fame. Truce, katala, expect."
"Chronope chronope?"
"Chronope chronope."
"Thread?"
"Two reels. A blue one."
The fame considers the chronope. He will never speak until he knows he's got the right words, fearing that hopes, always on the lookout, will not glide though the air (those shiny little bugs!) and invade the chronope's kind heart due to a word spoken wrong.
"Rainy outside," the chronope says. "All of the sky."
"Don't worry," the fame replies. "We'll leave in my car. To protect those reels of thread."
And he stares into the air, but there's not a hope in sight, and he sighs in relief. He likes, as well, to observe the heartwarming joy of the chronope, who presses the reels of thread (a blue one) to his chest and expects impatiently that the fame will invite him into his car.

CUSTOMS OF THE FAMES
It once happened that a fame danced the truce dance and the katala dance in front of a store full of chronopes and hopes. Most ticked off were the hopes, since they always expect fames not to dance the truce dance or the katala dance but the expect dance, the only one known to chronopes and hopes. Fames stand in front of stores on purpose, and this particular fame was dancing the truce dance and the katala dance to annoy the hopes. One of the hopes left her flutefish on the floor (hopes, just like King Neptune, are always aided by flutefish) and came forth to scold the fame, addressing him like this:
"Fame, do not dance the truce dance or the katala dance in front of this store."
The fame kept on dancing and laughing. The hope called for the other hopes, while the chronopes flocked around to see what the outcome of it all would be.
"Fame," all the hopes said, "do not dance the truce dance or the katala dance in front of this store."
But the fame kept on laughing and dancing still to disturb the hopes. Then the hopes struck the fame down and injured him. They left the fallen fame by a fence, and the fame complained, clad in his own blood and sorrow.
The chronopes stole closer guiltily, those humid green beings. They flocked around the fame and warmed his heart addressing him like this:
"Chronope chronope chronope..."
The fame understood, and his loneliness felt easier.

LA LLUVIA Y LAS PLANTAS, Y OTROS CUENTOS

 LA LLUVIA Y LAS PLANTAS

Caía la lluvia. Zarandeaba el viento las ramas de los árboles. La niña, cansada de su encierro, habló a la lluvia desde la ventana de su habitación:

—Lluvia, mala amiga, ¿por qué caes? Me tienes presa en casa. ¡Cesa ya de una vez! ¡Quiero ir a jugar!

La voz cantarina de la lluvia replicó:

—Las plantas, amiguita, tienen sed. Si agua no les doy, ni flores ni frutos darán después.

(Anónimo - Febrero, día 9; 365 cuentos de Susaeta)

SERENATA A UNA GATITA ASOMADA A LA VENTANA...

Micifuza está acatarrada. Su mamá le ha prohibido salir al jardín. Micifuza bosteza. Micifuza se aburre. A Micifuza se le hace interminable el tiempo. Micifuza no hace más que tosiquear. Micifuza lloriquea. Micifuza se acerca a la ventana del salón y aplasta su hocico contra el cristal...

Fuera, en la plaza del pueblo, los transeúntes van y vienen, se afanan, se cruzan en la calle, se saludan, intercambian unas palabras, sonríen, gesticulan, menean la cabeza, se separan, continúan su camino...

Micifuza lanza un gran suspiro. Micifuza se considera desgraciada. Micifuza dice para sí: "nadie piensa en mí..." Micifuza se siente muy enferma. ¡Pobre Micifuza! Pero sigue apegada a la ventana... no tiene otra cosa que hacer...

De pronto ve, justo delante de su casa, a un personaje extravagante, que se ha detenido y la mira. ¡Sí, la mira a ella, a Micifuza! Es una ardilla, vestida con una larga capa bordada, envuelto el cuello en insólitos collares de flores; bajo las patas delanteras tiene un estuche de guitarra. ¡Sí, la está mirando!

La gatita le hace una señal. Entonces la ardilla comienza una extravagante pantomima; saca su guitarra, la templa, se pone a tocar una melodía y entona una larga canción. Marca el compás con la cabeza; las flores de los collares laten al unísono. ¡Qué cómico resulta todo!

¡Detrás del cristal, Micifuza no oye nada, pero se divierte enormemente! ¡Sí, Micifuza está encantada! Micifuza ronronea de placer. ¡Micifuza aplaude! Micifuza palmotea de alegría con dos patitas sedosas. Micifuza se siente casi curada... Micifuza grita: "¡Bravo! ¡Muchas gracias, gentil ardilla!"

La ardilla tampoco oye nada, pero está encantada de ver los alegres gestos de la gatita, que parecía tan triste momentos antes... La ardilla deja la guitarra y se pone a hacer una espectacular serie de cabriolas y de piruetas. Después vuelve a coger la guitarra, hace a Micifuza una graciosa reverencia y, agitando su pata, agitando las flores, se aleja lentamente...

La serenata a la gatita asomada a la ventana ha terminado...

Pero Micifuza ya no está triste. Micifuza, solita delante del cristal, inventa saludos y reverencias. Micifuza toca una guitarra imaginaria. Micifuza da saltitos. Micifuza baila. Su mamá no comprende lo que está ocurriendo, ¡peor para ella!, pero se alegra porque el caso es extraordinario: ¡Micifuza ha recuperado la sonrisa!

DOÑA CLUECA, ENFERMERA

¡No reconoceríais a doña Clueca, con su toca de enfermera, su cuello almidonado y su delantal blanco! No os riáis. No es por el Carnaval por lo que se ha vestido así... ¡Es para cuidar mejor a sus siete polluelos! Sí, las cosas van mal: ¡todos a la vez han caído con sarampión!

¡Cuánto trabajo para la gallinita! Va de una cama a otra con su bandeja repleta de píldoras, polvos y tazas de tisana; a unos les da cordial, a otros píldoras...

¡Y tiene que cuidar del fuego! ¡Para que sus pollitos estén bien calientes! ¡Y hay que subir la leña, con lo pesada que es! ¡Y preparar los siete caloríferos!

Y, además, tiene que entretener a sus pequeños con diversos juegos, cantarles canciones infantiles, contarles bonitas historias...

¡Qué preocupaciones! ¡Qué ajetreo! ¡Doña Clueca la enfermera no sabe ya adónde acudir! Si tenéis algún momento libre, id a echarle una mano, que bien os lo agradecerá...

MEDIANOCHE

Es medianoche en el huerto...

El búho

encuentra muy insípido

su guisado.

¡El ruiseñor

entona su serie

de bemoles!

El conejo

juega a deslizarse

en el tomillo.

Es medianoche en el huerto...

LA TEMPORADA DE LAS CEREZAS

Ha llegado la temporada de las cerezas. El gatito se chupa los dedos: en el jardín de su mamá, el cerezo está cubierto de apetitosas bolitas rojas.

Sin pensarlo dos veces, el gatito trepa por el tronco, toma posición en la rama más gruesa y comienza el delicioso paladeo. ¡Pero desde lo alto del observatorio ve de pronto que el cerezo de la vecina parece más cargado de fruto, mejor provisto, y que las cerezas dan la sensación de ser más carnosas!

De nuevo, sin pensarlo dos veces, el gatito desciende del follaje, ¡aupa!, se encarama en el muro que separa los dos jardines, reflexiona unos segundos: "¿qué dirá la vecina?", retuerce la cola, hace unas muecas y decide: "¡Caramba, quien no se arriesga no gana!" y salta al césped del huerto ajeno... ¡Mira a su alrededor, no ve a nadie y se sube rápidamente al magnífico cerezo!

¡Qué festín, allá arriba, al abrigo del follaje! Decididamente, las cerezas de la vecina son mejores que las de su mamá: son más dulces, tienen un aroma especial, un gusto exquisito, sin la menor duda... ¡Nuestro gatito se da un atracón, embadurnándose los bigotes de rojo y salpicando su blusa azul de manchas violeta!

A la vecina, una jirafa de mal genio, que estaba tomando el fresco en la terraza, le llama de pronto la atención una extraña sombra azul que advierte en su cerezo. No tiene necesidad de largos razonamientos para identificar a tan insólito huésped...

Se levanta, atraviesa el jardín en tres zancadas y grita por todo lo alto:

--¡Ah!, ¡¿conque eres tú, granuja, quien me come las cerezas, eres tú el que entra en mi jardín como un ladrón?! ¡Vamos, baja de ahí enseguida! ¡Desciende del árbol, so tuno, o te voy a coger como a una cereza! ¡No me costará ningún esfuerzo, porque ya ves que tengo la misma talla que mi cerezo!

Al encontrarse bruscamente cara a cara con la jirafa, el gatito, que estaba entretenido apaciblemente en colgarse ramos de cerezas en las orejas, casi se queda sin aliento por la sorpresa.

¿Qué hacer? Ha caído en la trampa... Dirige en torno suyo una mirada aterrorizada. Se estremece. Tiembla. Pero, como está poseído de un espíritu aventurero, recobra el dominio de sí mismo y decide, cueste lo que cueste, escapar de la cólera de la jirafa. Para eso no ve más que una solución: hay que lanzarse al vacío, lo más lejos posible. ¡Se encoge para tomar más impulso, y, tras un vigoroso arranque, salta al aire!

...

Mala suerte: una rama lo sujeta por la blusa. ¡Qué pánico el suyo! ¡La jirafa lo va a atrapar! ¡Ahí está! El gatito patalea y se revuelve y gesticula tanto y tanto, que por fin la tela se desgarra y lo deja libre. Entonces, una hábil pirueta en los aires le hace aterrizar en el muro medianero. ¡Ya está salvado! ¡No le queda más que descender a su jardín! ¡Uf!, el gatito ha evitado la azotaina que la jirafa, conociéndola como él la conoce, no hubiera dejado de propinarle...

Por lo demás, oye gritar con cólera:

--Tienes la suerte de que los gatos caen siempre de pie, pero ¡aguarda, aguarda, que me parece que tu mamá va a pedirte cuentas por los jirones de tu blusa!

Que es lo que, en efecto, ocurre, para desgracia de nuestro gatito... Por algunas señales del banquete, por palabras sueltas y medias palabras, mamá Gata llega a conocer bien pronto la historia completa. Y deja a su minino sin postre, lo que, en suma, no era sino un castigo bien leve, ¡pues el gatito se había llevado al coleto, por anticipado, durante toda la tarde, copiosas raciones de cerezas!

HUMOR DE PERROS

¡Micifuza tiene hoy un humor de perros! Su mamá está desesperada...

--¡Micifuza, lávate los dientes!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, vístete!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, ponte los calcetines al derecho!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, deja pasar a los mayores!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, no interrumpas a papá!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, levanta el codo cuando bebas!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, no hables con la boca llena!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, vete bien derecha!

--¿Para qué?

--¡Micifuza, vete de la mesa!

--¿Para qué?

--¡¡¡PARA QUE TE QUEDES SIN POSTRE!!!

--...

¡Mamá Gata ha ganado!

¡Esta vez, Micifuza no replica...

...y hace callar --¡ya era hora!-- a su humor de perros!

LA MUÑECA GATONITA

Micifuza viste a Gatonita, su muñeca preferida. Su amiga Siamesa la mira, la envidia y le dice:

--¿Me dejas tu muñeca?

--¡No!

--¿Por qué?

--¡Porque no!

--¡Ah!, bueno, ¡yo comprendo! --dice Siamesa, convencida y nada triste...

CARASSIO COLA-DE-VELO

Vivo en una casa de cristal,

doy vueltas y más vueltas en mi bocal,

mi color es de ópalo,

mis aletas parecen pétalos.

Como veis, no soy nada trivial,

y mi nombre es bien teatral:

¡me llamo Carassio Cola-de-Velo!

LA ABUELITA RASCACIA

¡Doña Rascacia es desde hoy abuela! ¡Su hija ha traído al mundo una docena de minúsculos rascacios rosas! Cangrejo, el telegrafista, ha venido hace unos instantes a anunciarle la fausta noticia.

La abuelita se apresura a ponerse en camino para admirar a los pececillos. Lleva en su maleta regalos para los recién nacidos: doce albornoces tejidos con las hierbas marinas más suaves y doce sonajeros de concha nacarada; para su hija, ha elegido un magnífico ramo de anémonas escarlata.

Nuestra buena Rascacia se da toda la prisa que pueda: nada con rapidez a lo largo de una ancha avenida de coral, se mete en una calle tranquila, bordeada de esponjas y de helechos, y por fin se detiene delante de una acogedora casita, excavada en una roca blanca. Siempre con la misma rapidez, doña Rascacia entra, abraza a su hija, la felicita, le da su ramo de "flores", luego se precipita en torno a las doce cunas, que son doce cascarones, adornados de cortinillas de finas algas, y durante largo tiempo se extasía contemplando a sus nietecitos:

--¡Qué preciosos! ¡Qué encantadores! ¡Esta pequeña nadadora es guapísima! ¡Mira, ese se parece a su papá! ¡Y aquel es el vivo retrato del hermano de su bisabuelo! ¡Qué monísimos! ¡Qué vivarachos! ¡Son los bebés más bonitos de todo el Mediterráneo!

Ni que decir tiene que nadie la contradice. En verdad, viendo a papá Rascacio, que contempla feliz a sus retoños, a la mamá, que sonríe detrás de su ramo de "flores", y a la abuela, que perora con animación, ¡no se sabe quién es el que está más encantado, más dichoso, y, sobre todo, sí, sobre todo, más orgulloso!...

Y al marcharse, vaciada la maleta, nuestra Rascacia repite, la trigésimasexta vez por lo menos:

--¡Qué contenta estoy! ¡Ah! ¡Qué contenta estoy de ser abuela!

POLLITOS Y PATITOS

Son las ocho de la mañana.

La gallina color café con leche, muy orgullosa de su nueva pollada, cobija con una tierna mirada a sus ocho crías de semblantes vivarachos y de piquitos puntiagudos.

La pata color chocolate, muy ufana con sus ocho patitos, se extasía contemplando sin cesar sus caritas risueñas y sus ojos picaruelos.

***

Mediodía.

La gallina y la pata, cada una por su lado, llevan de paseo a sus bebés de plumas.

La gallina color café con leche se pavonea, porque sus ocho polluelos tienen un bonito andar, ligero, gracioso, decidido, bien derecho y acompasado. Observa con aire de superioridad a los pobres patitos, que pasan las mayores fatigas del mundo para sostener sus patitas y más aún para dar algunos pasos: ¡dan traspiés, zigzaguean, basculan hacia adelante, patinan hacia atrás, se tambalean, tropiezan con cada piedra!

Y la gallina cacarea:

--¡Ah! ¡Qué desmañados!

***

Son las cinco de la tarde.

La gallina y la pata, seguidas de sus graciosos retoños, se encuentran por casualidad cerca de la charca. Una y otra han venido a disfrutar del aire de la tarde en la orilla del agua. De pronto, la pata color chocolate, con un alegre ¡cua, cua!, se lanza, la primera, a la charca. Bajo las miradas de asombro de la gallina color café con leche, los ocho patitos, que van detrás de su mamá, gritan ¡cua, cua!, y todos ellos ejecutan una perfecta zambullida. Después, en fila india, nadan como campeones entre los cañaverales. Se lanzan hacia adelante, dan la vuelta y giran con agilidad, y rivalizan en velocidad con su mamá. ¡La pata no puede ocultar su placer de ver tan espabilados a sus queridos pequeñuelos! En cuanto a la gallina, no se atreve a decir nada: las proezas de los ágiles patitos han hecho bajar inmediatamente su cacareo, y ella lamenta haberse apresurado al tratarles de desmañados... Sus ocho pollitos admiran sin reserva a los jóvenes bañistas: comprenden muy bien que jamás se atreverán a poner ni siquiera la punta de sus patas en el agua...

***

Son las ocho de la noche.

La gallina color café con leche y la pata color chocolate velan el sueño de sus polladas; las dos mamás están serenadas...

"Es cierto --se dice la gallina-- mis pequeños no saben nadar, pero por lo menos andan a la perfección. Así que mis polluelos y los patitos están iguales..."

"Ya veo --se dice la pata-- que mis pequeños andan muy mal, pero la verdad es que nadan y bucean a las mil maravillas. Y, después de todo, cada cual tiene su especialidad..."

LA CONEJINA PATINA...

Ha helado mucho por la noche. La charca está cubierta por una gruesa capa de hielo.

Arrebujada en su esclavina, la conejina patina...

Su mamá le ha dicho:

--¡No estés mucho rato! ¡Hace mucho frío, te vas a helar!

Arrebujada en su esclavina, la conejina patina...

Comienza a nevar. Los copos se arremolinan. Va siendo tarde...

Arrebujada en su esclavina, la conejina patina...

Su mamá la llama:

--¡Entra, está oscureciendo, y además tus hermanos van a terminar pronto el pastel!

Arrebujada en su esclavina, la conejina se quita los patines...

¡...Se quita los patines y se va, corre que te corre, hacia la cocina!

LA LLUVIA Y EL BUEN TIEMPO

 

LA LLUVIA Y EL BUEN TIEMPO

Tres ranitas verdes y tres gatitos van a la misma escuela. Como todos viven en la misma calle, hacen el camino juntos. Son buenos amigos, pero siempre están discutiendo.

¿Sabéis la causa de que se lleven tan mal? ¡La lluvia, por un lado, y el buen tiempo, por otro!

Los días de lluvia, las ranas, en su líquido elemento, chapotean en medio de los charcos, saltando y riendo a más y mejor, mientras los tres gatitos, cobijados bajo el mismo paraguas, enfundados en impermeables y calzados con katiuskas, suspiran:

---¡Maldita lluvia!

En cambio, los días que hace sol las sedientas ranas gimen de despecho.

---¡Qué calor! ---exclaman---. ¡Esto no hay quien lo aguante!

Los tres gatitos, por el contrario, ronronean de gusto.

Como veis, gatitos y ranitas nunca estaban de acuerdo.

Únicamente cuando hacía un tiempo gris, de intervalos nubosos, sin lluvia ni calor, permanecían juntos, sin disputar. Las ranitas echaban de menos la lluvia, pero al menos no lucía el ardiente sol. Los gatitos se acordaban del astro rey y de sus rayos acariciadores, pero al menos no caía la antipática lluvia.

En estos días grises, ranitas y gatitos caminaban juntos como buenos amigos, llegando a clase los seis cogidos de la mano.

THE DOLL YOU LOST / LA MUÑECA QUE PERDISTE

 The Doll You Lost

I once had a sweet little doll, dears,

⁠The prettiest doll in the world;

Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,

⁠And her hair was so charmingly curled.

​But I lost my poor little doll, dears,

⁠As I played in the heath one day;

And I cried for her more than a week, dears,

⁠But I never could find where she lay.

I found my poor little doll, dears,

⁠As I played in the heath one day:

Folk say she is terribly changed, dears,

⁠For her paint is all washed away,

And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears,

⁠And her hair not the least bit curled:

Yet, for old sakes' sake she is still, dears,

⁠The prettiest doll in the world.

Poem by Charles Kingsley (The Water Babies, Chapter 5)

My own translation:

LA MUÑECA QUE PERDISTE

Tuve una dulce muñequita,

tan bella que no hay otra igual.

Sus mejillas tan sonrosadas,

y sus rizos rubios cual trigal.

Mas perdí a mi pobre muñequita

jugando yo en el brezal.

La lloré por más de una semana,

mas nunca la pude reencontrar.

Encontré a mi pobre muñequita

jugando yo en el brezal.

Dicen que sufrió cambios terribles,

pues su rostro se fue a despintar.

Y las vacas le han partido un brazo,

y no tiene rizos cual trigal.

Aún así, por nostalgia ella sigue

tan bella que no hay otra igual.

Sandra Dermark

THE DANCING STAR - CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 5 of THE DANCING STAR (Ending)

Then all three, Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, Othello Meow, and Adelade the Star, felt something tear at their insides, but at the same time they realised that it was quite pleasant. It was a wish, which is like a little caterpillar crawling all over your heart by night and day, singing the song "Come and fetch me with the dance of the buzzer-buzzers at the bottom of the rabbit hole." As their faces and hands began to fill with tiny wishes and hopes, a fog moistened their cheeks, they began to disappear among their hopes and wishes. Thus they disappeared into such a distant place, such a nearby place, that they shall nevermore return. If you ever let go of a balloon or see it fly, now you know where they go and who is their keeper.

If you want to head for this land, the Land of Nevergothere Ifyousurelywon'treturn, remember! When you get up in bed someday and see that at your place everything remains like it was ever before. The rooftop is on top, like ever before. And therefore the moon beams with a long and lustful kiss upon the crystal waters of Prussian blue of the blue river of Prussian crystal, just like the eyes of Othello Meow when he looks at the deep soft horizon. And dig hopefully in your garden, with a khaki-coloured and red-polka-dotted dream in your hearts. You should not be surprised if you see a little head, a tiny baby star, pop up and address you:

"Good morning to you! I am Adelade the Star!"

There are nights when the sky seems to drop very close to us on Earth. Sometimes on April or August nights, the stars look like numbers. They look like the Maths chickenscratch of a doll or a young girl who has just begun school and is beginning to learn, and this is because, above everything else, always the highest and utmost of goals were, are, and will be the stars.

*** finis***

THE DANCING STAR - CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 4 of THE DANCING STAR

After being with our three friends sliding up and down the Rainbow Slide, they began to chase a cotton candy cloud they had seen passing by, and the trio lost them from sight. The merry apprentice witches were hopeless.

Above Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, Othello Meow, and Adelade the Star there came a thin purple haze that spread as light as a bridal veil, and a thousand lilywhite crystal snowflakes began to fall all over the valley. And the great show of the ice ghosts of the first snows of winter was a prelude to the white sheet that spread towards the Lake of Balloons. The Lake of Balloons was a large lake full of balloons of every size and colour. The popcorn spirits were their gatherers. And those who cared about the balloons to sort them according to size, shape, and colour, but above all, what they liked the most was playing with them. The oldest and wisest spirit, who knew the most about these balloons, was Adolphus Kindred-Spirit. Not only did he partake in the gathering of balloons, he had another task he enjoyed a lot; he gathered in a water tower the sweet rainwater, the treat which popcorn spirits are most fond of. Adolphus Kindred-Spirit, who had quite the sweet tooth, was always kissing the tap of the water tower.

Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, Othello Meow, and Adelade the Star were very fond of asking questions, and they asked solely for asking's sake, and Adolphus Kindred-Spirit replied only for replying's sake:

"Where are all these balloons from? And what are they?" asked the three friends.

"These balloons," responded Adolphus Kindred-Spirit, "are wishes. Mrs. Autumn Fog makes them, as well as some winds that dedicate themselves to these duties. The Sunrise Wind makes the blue balloons, while the Sunset Wind makes the yellow ones. The North-by-Northwest Wind makes the green and red balloons. Though they are also flowers, who grew weary of being rooted and then became balloons. That's why there are poppy balloons, jasmine-scented balloons... Balloons are also foam, and they are formed exactly in the same way that soap bubbles are. Long long time ago, balloons were bubbles that coursed down the waters, the waters of the Shampoo River. But the winds saw the bubbles and told them: 'Now you are a balloon. Come with me to see the wide world.' Balloons are hopes. Hopes which people keep eagerly in their hearts. And they flutter from place to place within the heart, hoping to escape, and when they escape the Lord of Twilight turns them into balloons. That grey balloon over there, with the sad cheekbones and the cherry-red eyes, was once a young gentleman," Adolphus Kindred-Spirit carried on, very excitedly. "In the bleak midwinter he put on a straw boater hat and walked the streets while singing. In summer he had his hair styled like a pompadour and walked the streets while laughing and singing. All of these things he did were outlawed by the laws of his homeland. But this was not the worst thing that occurred to him. He sneezed in a place full of people in front of whom it is advised not to sneeze, and the law sentenced him to death by hanging. And as soon as the executioner tied the noose around his neck, he turned into a balloon and some wind brought him hither."

"And are there always so many balloons?" asked Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn.

"Now there are quite few new ones," replied Adolphus Kindred-Spirit, "it's been ages since the last ones arrived, it seems that as time goes by there are fewer and fewer wishes, and fewer bubbles and flowers and hopes."

"But sometimes," said Adelade the Star, "wishes do come true. And flowers are for real as well. And hope flutters from heart to heart like a butterfly in springtime, like a burst of colour which fills your eyes with dreams."

THE DANCING STAR - CHAPTER 3

 CHAPTER 3 of THE DANCING STAR

Without thinking even for an instant, they got on a very large bubble that was coming out of the device. It was one of the large scarlet bubbles checkered with large checkers. Then what had to occur occurred, and they rose up higher and higher. They saw the whole slope of the hill where Rice-Con-Gee was located, also the whale Emma Corsetdreams sunning herself, and a slide-shaped rainbow with quite many curves and loops. Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, Othello Meow, and Adelade the Star told the bubble to leave them at the beginning of the Rainbow Slide, which was tied to a moon, the moon called Specklepick Colourful. The slide was all in intense saturated shades. The yellow was very yellow, the colour of golden hair. The red was a fleshlike shade of ruby. The violet was leaning on purple, and purplish. The blue was the bluish cerulean cyan of the day sky.

All three launched downwards at breakneck speed, and, upon reaching the end of the slide, they proved that it was as easy to roll upwards as downwards. And then they rolled up towards the moon called Specklepick Colourful.

At the cheek of the moon they found two witches. These were not like the wicked witches in the thick books there were at home; they were so-called apprentice witches, but not much else. The great leader of all witches, the Wicked Witch of the North-by-Northwest, had absolutely forbidden them attendance to black masses and other witchy conventions where they talked about what hairstyle was in to wear beneath the pointed hat, or the fastest broomstick up to date..., long story short of their affairs. The two merry little witches were what we call troublemakers of the highest degree. They introduced themselves:

"We are two witches. I'm Claudia Almond-Nougat, and this is Clara Hazelnut-Sugarplum... well, we're not proper witches yet but soon we will be!"

"How can it be?" asked Adelade the Star.

"The Convention of Witches," said Clara Hazelnut-Sugarplum, "always tells us that we are not prepared yet."

The snag was that, on the one hand, the witch Claudia Almond-Nougat did not like at all to fly on the broomstick. Not that she did not like it, but that she was completely unable to keep herself on the broom. And that in spite of the fact that she was taking a crash course to learn to fly, but she always said in the end: 

"I have always liked to keep my feet on the ground; I'm the down-to-earth kind of person."

And, on the other hand, the witch Clara Hazelnut-Sugarplum messed up her own mind with words; it was never clear if she was tricking others or simply unable to keep her head on. She called the broomstick "cheese," she called cheese "home," and her home "towel," and the towel "umbrella..." and furthermore she said that this was the exact meaning of the words and, if it was not, at least she was having a great lark:

"I get on my cheese snacking on a chunk of home and I head for towel."

THE DANCING STAR - CHAPTER 2

 CHAPTER 2 of THE DANCING STAR

They spent a long time in conversation, telling each other tales from here and there, and also telling tales from there and here. Every now and then or every then and now Othello Meow tickled Adelade the Star, and the latter was even more encouraged to tell of adventures.

Adelade the Star suggested to both of them, to Othello Meow and Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, as well as both Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn and Othello Meow, to come with her to the Land of Nevergothere Ifyousurelywon'treturn, which filled Roger's face with a wide green smile like those of bard frogs when they sing songs to their ladyloves in the lily ponds and their ladyloves reward them with an equally green and wide smile.

His great-great-grandfather had been there and never returned; no one knew either before or afterwards why he had gone forth, but every time his great-great-grandmother was reminded of that land, her gaze was turned towards the ocean and a little teardrop of absence streamed down her left cheek.

Not even the greatest maharajahs, with all their racing elephants and all their lucky crickets, did light-footedly and lunatically undertake a quest like this one. But they all had to wait until from the horizon there rose over the horizon a moon laced with cinnamon lace, and within orange-coloured flesh with bone-colored pips on the orange-coloured flesh. It is then that one can go to the Land of Nevergothere Ifyousurelywon'treturn. When the orange moon rises, you may expect anything to occur. And when it rose that night, Othello Meow and Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn hopped onto Adelade the Star and began their quest, only leaving on the house door this message.

"We will return soon, or maybe earlier, and when we return we shall return."

So they set course for the orange moon and went right through it, through a long passageway like a colourful tunnel, vermillion and chestnut brown, honey golden and purplish, as long as when you have tunnel vision, tunnel vision in many colours. At the end of the tunnel a beastie was expecting them, a beast none of the three friends had ever seen, and who had never seen any of the three friends either. He was a big one, but either he had got or he hadn't not a face like a good fellow, what they call a nice guy. Suddenly the beast became aware of their presence, and moving his head a little to the right and then moving his head a little to the left, he slowly opened his mouth and said:

"Welcome, I am the camel Kamal; hope you are pleased with your quest through these lands."

"Thank you very much indeed," all three friends responded.

Kamal Hunchcamel had them over for afternoon tea, and, moving his head once more a little to the left and then a little to the right, he told them they could go to the town of Rice-Con-Gee, the largest town in the Land of Nevergothere Ifyousurelywon'treturn. That evening there would be a redoubtable opera performed by the eight giraffe sisters, the Pokerface sisters; a great show expected and advertised since ages in every community in the environs. He gave them directions towards Rice-Con-Gee: the way was very easy; as soon as they arrived at the icy seas where the whale Emma Corsetdreams slept, they had to continue straight on and they would find the No Cry Shampoo River, that flowed past the town of Rice-Con-Gee.

Othello Meow, Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, and Adelade the Star took their leave satisfied.

"We have our ears full of explanations and we are thankful. When we return we will continue to listen to you and our ears will receive your explanations."

"Goodbye," replied the camel Kamal moving his head now to the right, now to the left.

The town of Rice-Con-Gee rose on a little hill slope, a perfect place for the winds to be able to play in its environs. The winds saunter or run chasing one another, playing hide and seek, red light green light, and especially blind wind's bluff.

When, at the end of the day, the so forgetful and carefree winds have had as much fun as they please, they sing songs in the centre of town; springtimey wind songs in springtime, summery wind songs in summer, wintry wind songs in winter. In autumn they breathe out in little puffs and get lost around the corners of old townhouses.

At the door of most houses there were cloth-wringing contraptions. Long and short contraptions, short and stumpy contraptions, tall and slender contraptions, depending on the physique of the houses' inhabitants, whether short and chubby or tall and thin.

In the town of Rice-Con-Gee, on Main Street every afternoon and evening sat old Laura Chocolate-Wishes with her accordion, an accordion that, whenever it was in a good mood, told little tales instead of making the passers-by dance. The little tales it told were sometimes or every now and then as sad as when children have the sorrowful shadows of the valley in their eyes at night. But occasionally or every then and now, in the same fashion, those little tales were as cheerful as when children have upon their brows the bright light of the rising sun.

Adelade the Star, Othello Meow, and Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn approached her and asked her:

"What is this little box you have in your hands?"

"It is an accordion, it is as old as I am," quoth Laura Chocolate-Wishes, "but we love one another, we keep one another good company."

"What do you mean," asked Adelade the Star, "by keeping good company?"

"That we speak to one another when no one pays attention to us, we speak of the playing winds, or of the rain that refreshes our cheeks, or of some sleepy moon pretending that she is asleep."

And, upon finishing, the accordion because it was in a good mood:

"Once upon a time, and I mean a long long time ago," the accordion began, "long before the crocopuffs lost their wonderful spectacles, which let them see the same things we see but in black and white; long before the day-blue muslings had their velveteen tails honeyed by falling pots of sweet honey; long before the bell-ringers of the jungle whistled their last excruciating cries; long long time before the sorrowful events that occurred long long time before all that; it was then, some years before that, because crabs have not always walked sideways, a night between springtime and winter, here in Rice-Con-Gee, the Shoemaking Moon, as she is known ever since, sent a message to every shoe in town, who spread the word to all the footwear in the Land of Nevergothere Ifyousurelywon'treturn: 'Tonight all trainers, mary-janes, slippers, flip-flops, sandals, pumps, high heels, clogs, espadrilles, boots, and every other kind of shoe will go out for a stroll on our own, without any kind of feet inside us. Tonight, while those who put us on their feet during the day, on their long and sneaky and greyish or pale or maybe even purplish feet, are fast asleep in their beds, we shall all rise and go forth for a walk.' In the middle of the night, while everyone was asleep, everywhere did all shoes of every kind leave their bedrooms and storage furniture. They walked down the pavement of the streets, up and down staircases, walking up and walking down the promenades. Wellington boots splashed at their hearts' content in the puddles on the pavement. Everywhere, espadrilles and slippers and pumps and sandals nd trainers and flip-flops tiptoed and wore their heels out. Some of them walked with catlike tread, gently sneaking like some people do during the day. Others walked more clumsily, treading loudly with their heels. On that night the Shoemaker Moon came close to the Earth and invited all those shoes to go for a walk with her; therefore, if you ever see a child on a night with a new moon, looking at the new moon through parted fingers, watching that child from over their right shoulder, never over their left as everyone else does, it is because that child is looking at the Shoemaker Moon all full of heaps of espadrilles, sandals, high heels, slippers... all kinds of shoes long story short."

"And if the accordion tells sad stories," asked Othello Meow, "what do you do?"

"If the stories make me really sad," Laura Chocolate-Wishes replied, "I play the sleepy song of the long wind that enters up the slope drowsily. Then the tune carries me away to a place where I have time, lots of time, to dream."

And her eyes, little by little, began to close, until she fell asleep  with her accordion, just like every afternoon on Main Street.

Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn, Othello Meow, and Adelade the Star sauntered up Main Street until they reached Tickle-Laugh Square, where, at the local theatre, the eight giraffe sisters were about to perform. The four eldest were called Lettuce, Pettuce, Rettuce, and Dettuce; the four younger were Lattice, Pattice, Rattice, and Dattice. They came from a line of opera singers and actors with longstanding tradition, the Pokerface family. Both the elder giraffe sisters Lettuce, Pettuce, Rettuce, and Dettuce; and the younger giraffe sisters Lattice, Pattice, Rattice, and Dattice Pokerface, all eight giraffe sisters, were of splodged skin and had splodgy coats.

Yet when our friends reached the theatre by the front entrance, they found it closed and a sign saying: "No opera today, because the eight giraffe sisters of the Pokerface family have quarrelled."

The quarrel was concerning the hats and the jackets that they would have to don for the first time at the evening show. They could not agree on which kind of hat or jacket to wear, or on the way to put them on.

Lettuce, Pettuce, Rettuce, and Dettuce said: "The most convenient thing would be to wear both hat and jacket upright and straight." Lattice, Pattice, Rattice, and Dattice said: "The most alluring thing would be to wear both hat and jacket askew, cocked to the side." The argument lasted for hours and hours, and no solution was reached. Since nothing would be solved by letting the spat go on and on, someone, no one knows exactly who, had the brilliant idea of seeking out the Director of the Theatre.

The Director of the Theatre sent for the Director of Public Cleaning Services for Streets and Squares. The Director of Public Cleaning Services for Streets and Squares sent for the Head of Department of Regional Services for Vaccination Against the Common Cold of the Healthcare Prefecture. The Head of Department of Regional Services for Vaccination Against the Common Cold of the Healthcare Prefecture sent for the General Coordinator of Lighting Devices and Psychedelic Affinities; then the General Coordinator of Lighting Devices and Psychedelic Affinities phoned the Mayor, who, very seriously and with a quite sensible mien, said, speaking like a politician who has studied and practiced politics: "Seek out the Special Committee for Complicated Cases."

The Committee gathered in extraordinary assembly. They were an illustrious and distinguished committee, and, when they were all sitting down together, their mouths opened underneath their noses (as it happens to everyone in every illustrious committee), and they picked their ears and scratched their chins thoughtfully (as it happens to everyone in every distinguished committee). Any person who saw them would have said:

"This must be a quite illustrious and distinguished committee."

Their assembly continued.

Two of the giraffe sisters from the Pokerface family, Lettuce and Lattice, remained looking one another in the eyes and blinking, blinking and looking one another in the eyes, with their laughing little eyes. Suddenly, both of them raised their voices at unison:

"We shall wear our hats askew and our jackets straight."

And that was the end of the quarrel between the eight giraffe sisters and the much expected opera could begin without too much delay. Since giraffes are mute, the song they sang remains shut inside the head of each of the eight Pokerface sisters. The elder four, Lettuce, Pettuce, Rettuce, and Dettuce; and the four younger sisters, Lattice, Pattice, Rattice, and Dattice, only by looking very attentively into their little laughing eyes can the audience realise if they are singing out of key or not.

After the opera, all three friends walked towards the town's outskirts, where they found a great network of devices and contraptions, from which every now and then soap bubbles came out; large soap bubbles checkered with large checkers, small bubbles with small lilac stripes, large bubbles with large scarlet stripes.

As all three looked aghast at the contraption, there appeared a fellow with a strange mien, in turquoise uniform with a casque on his head; a police officer.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Do I know you?"

All three friends were left even more astonished, they did not even know what to reply, nor how to leave this predicament.

"Keep calm! I am a respectful friend to all respectable people. That is why I carry this badge, to seize the people who are not respectable," said the police officer, touching the badge and all the medals he wore on his chest pompously. "But rest reassured, you have the face of respectable people."

"!!!!" (They had not left their surprised state yet.)

"This great contraption you see here," the officer continued, "is a patented soap bubble maker, invented by our most honourable Mayor of Rice-Con-Gee. He has also patented the clothes-wringers that all of our houses boast of. Now he is pondering about something else to take even more profit from the Shampoo River. You may get on the bubble that pleases you the most and hitch a ride on it."

"Are there no objections or problems on the Mayor's side?" asked Roger Rococo Rose-Without-a-Thorn.

"No, of course not! This will flatter him a lot," said the officer beaming his greatest smile.