Vasconcelos My Sweet Orange Tree

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-78269-166-2
Verlag: Pushkin Children's Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 192 Seiten

Meet Zezé, Brazil's naughtiest and most loveable boy, his talent for mischief matched only by his kindness. When he grows up he wants to be a 'poet with a bow-tie' - and to stop making his parents angry with all his mistakes. For now he entertains himself playing pranks on the residents of his poor Rio de Janeiro neighbourhood, and when he has troubles he tells them to the talking orange tree in his back garden. That is, until he meets a real friend, and his life begins to change...My Sweet Orange Tree is a worldwide classic of children's literature, whose cheeky, resilient hero has won the hearts of millions of young readers.

José Mauro de Vasconcelos (1920-84) was a Brazilian writer who worked as a sparring partner for boxers, as a labourer on a banana farm, and a fisherman before he started writing at the age of 22. He is most famous for his autobiographical novel My Sweet Orange Tree, which tells the story of his own childhood in Rio de Janeiro.Alison Entrekin is an acclaimed translator from Portuguese, whose translations include Budapest by Chico Buarque, which was shortlisted for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Vasconcelos, José Mauro de

Weitere Mitwirkende

Entrekin, Alison

Leseproben

Chapter One

THE DISCOVERER OF THINGS

We were strolling down the street hand in hand, in no hurry at all. Totoca was teaching me about life. And that made me really happy, my big brother holding my hand and teaching me things. But teaching me things out in the world. Because at home I learned by discovering things on my own and doing things on my own; I’d make mistakes and because I made mistakes I always ended up getting beaten. Until not long before that, no one had ever hit me. But then they heard things and started saying I was the devil, a demon, a sandy-haired sprite. I didn’t want to know about it. If I wasn’t outside, I’d have started to sing. Singing was pretty. Totoca knew how to do something besides sing: he could whistle. But no matter how hard I tried to copy him, nothing came out. He cheered me up by saying it was normal, that I didn’t have a whistler’s mouth yet. But because I couldn’t sing on the outside, I sang on the inside. It was weird at first, but then it felt really nice. And I was remembering a song Mother used to sing when I was really little. She’d be standing at the washtub, with a cloth tied about her head to keep the sun off it. With an apron around her waist, she’d spend hours and hours plunging her hands into the water, turning soap into lots of suds. Then she’d wring out the clothes and take them to the clothes line, where she’d peg them all out and hoist it up high. She did the same thing with all the clothes. She washed clothes from Dr Faulhaber’s house to help with the household expenses. Mother was tall and thin, but very beautiful. She was brown from the sun and her hair was straight and black. When she didn’t tie it up, it hung down to her waist. But the most beautiful thing was when she sang, and I’d hang around, learning.

Sailor, sailor

Sailor of sorrow

Because of you

I’ll die tomorrow …

The waves crashed

Dashed on sand

Off he went

My sailor man …

A sailor’s love

Lasts not a day

His ship weighs anchor

And sails away …

The waves crashed …

That song had always filled me with a sadness I couldn’t understand.

Totoca gave me a tug. I came to my senses.

‘What’s up, Zezé?’

‘Nothing. I was singing.’

‘Singing?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then I must be going deaf.’

Didn’t he know you could sing on the inside? I kept quiet. If he didn’t know, I wasn’t going to teach him.

We had come to the edge of the Rio–São Paulo Highway.

On it, there was everything. Trucks, cars, carts and bicycles.

‘Look, Zezé, this is important. First we take a good look one way, and then the other. Now go.’

We ran across the highway.

‘Were you scared?’

I was, but I shook my head.

‘Let’s do it again together. Then I want to see if you’ve learned.’

We ran back.

‘Now you go. No baulking, ’cause you’re a big kid now.’

My heart beat faster.

‘Now. Go.’

I raced across, almost without breathing. I waited a bit and he gave me the signal to return.

‘You did really well for the first time. But you forgot something. You have to look both ways to see if any cars are coming. I won’t always be here to give you the signal. We’ll practise some more on the way home. But let’s go now, ’cause I want to show you something.’

He took my hand and off we went again, slowly. I couldn’t stop thinking about a conversation I’d had.

‘Totoca.’

‘What?’

‘Can you feel the age of reason?’

‘What’s this nonsense?’

‘Uncle Edmundo said it. He said I was “precocious” and that soon I’d reach the age of reason. But I don’t feel any different.’

‘Uncle Edmundo is a fool. He’s always putting things in that head of yours.’

‘He isn’t a fool. He’s wise. And when I grow up I want to be wise and a poet and wear a bow tie. One day I’m going to have my picture taken in a bow tie.’

‘Why a bow tie?’

‘Because you can’t be a poet without a bow tie. When Uncle Edmundo shows me pictures of poets in the magazine, they’re all wearing bow ties.’

‘Zezé, you have to stop believing everything he tells you. Uncle Edmundo’s a bit cuckoo. He lies a bit.’

‘Is he a son of a bitch?’

‘You’ve already been slapped across the mouth for using so many swear words! Uncle Edmundo isn’t that. I said “cuckoo”. A bit crazy.’

‘You said he was a liar.’

‘They’re two completely different things.’

‘No, they’re not. The other day, Father was talking about Labonne with Severino, the one who plays cards with him, and he said, “That old son of a bitch is a bloody liar.” And no one slapped him across the mouth.’

‘It’s OK for grown-ups to say things like that.’

Neither of us a spoke for a moment.

‘Uncle Edmundo isn’t … What does cuckoo mean again, Totoca?’

He pointed his finger at his head and twisted it around.

‘No, he isn’t. He’s really nice. He teaches me things, and he only smacked me once and it wasn’t hard.’

Totoca started.

‘He smacked you? When?’

‘When I was really naughty and Glória sent me to Gran’s house. He wanted to read the newspaper but he couldn’t find his glasses. He searched high and low, and he was really mad. He asked Gran where they were but she had no idea. The two of them turned the house upside down. Then I said I knew where they were and if he gave me some money to buy marbles, I’d tell him. He went to his waistcoat and took out some money.

‘“Go get them and I’ll give it to you.”

‘I went to the clothes hamper and got them. And he said, “It was you, you little rascal!” He gave me a smack on the backside and put the money away.’

Totoca laughed.

‘You go there to avoid getting smacked at home and you get smacked there. Let’s go a bit faster or we’ll never get there.’

I was still thinking about Uncle Edmundo.

‘Totoca, are children retired?’

‘What?’

‘Uncle Edmundo doesn’t do anything, and he gets money. He doesn’t work, and City Hall pays him every month.’

‘So what?’

‘Well, children don’t do anything. They eat, sleep and get money from their parents.’

‘Retired is different, Zezé. A retired person has already worked for a long time, their hair’s turned white and they walk slowly like Uncle Edmundo. But let’s stop thinking about difficult things. If you want to learn things from him, fine. But not with me. Act like the other boys. You can even swear, but stop filling your head with difficult things. Otherwise I won’t go out with you again.’

I sulked a bit and didn’t want to talk any more. I didn’t feel like singing either. The little bird that sang inside me had flown away.

We stopped and Totoca pointed at the house.

‘There it is. Like it?’

It was an ordinary house. White with blue windows. All closed up and quiet.

‘Yeah. But why do we have to move here?’

‘It’s good to stay on the move.’

We stood gazing through the fence at a mango tree on one side and a tamarind tree on the other.

‘You’re such a busybody, but you have no idea what’s going on at home. Father’s out of a job, isn’t he? It’s been six months since he had the fight with Mr Scottfield and they kicked him out. Did you know Lalá’s working at the factory now? And Mother’s going to work in the city, at the English Mill? Well there you go, silly. It’s all to save up to pay the rent on this new house. Father’s a good eight months behind on the other one. You’re too young to have to worry about such sad things. But I’m going to have to help out at mass, to pitch in at home.’

He stood there a while in silence.

‘Totoca, are they going to bring the black panther and the two lionesses here?’

‘Of course. And old slave-boy here is going to have to take apart the chicken coop.’

He gave me a kind of sweet, pitiful look.

‘I’m the one who’s going to take down the zoo and reassemble it here.’

I was relieved. Because otherwise I’d have to come up with something new to play with my littlest brother, Luís.

‘So, you see how I’m your friend, Zezé? Now it wouldn’t hurt for you to tell me how you did “it” …’

‘I swear, Totoca,...