E-Book, Englisch, 272 Seiten
Kivirähk Oskar and the Things
1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-915628-07-7
Verlag: The Emma Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
E-Book, Englisch, 272 Seiten
Reihe: Emma Press Children's Fiction Books
ISBN: 978-1-915628-07-7
Verlag: The Emma Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Andrus Kivirähk (1970) is an adult and children's prose and poetry author, a playwright, topical satirist, and screenplay writer. He is the most well-known and prolific figure on Estonia's literary scene today. He has written 12 books for children, all of which are kept in print and widely read. Kivirähk's children's stories are known for their rich fantasy and unique sense of humour. His writing is simple, the plots fast-paced, and the gallery of characters colourful and full of surprises.
Weitere Infos & Material
2.
Dad left. Oskar and his grandmother stood on the doorstep and waved to him as he drove away. Grandma was holding a tea-towel that she swung over her head so Dad could spot them from the far end of the road. Oskar barely wiggled his fingers. What good was waving? It wasn’t going to bring him back!
‘Well, well, Oskar, dear,’ Grandma said when Dad’s car had disappeared from view. ‘Now it’s just the two of us. You go off and play. I’ve got some jobs to do in the garden and vegetable patch, but you can do whatever you please. Don’t worry – I’m not going to make you work, too! When can kids be free if not in summertime? Once autumn arrives you’ll be off to school, and that’s when the real work begins. Make the most of this last free summer.’
With that, Grandma gave Oskar an encouraging nod and strolled off to the vegetable patch, swaying slightly as she went.
Oskar was left alone. Go and play? Easy for her to say! What was he supposed to play with when he’d left all his toys behind in the city? Even his phone! How could he have forgotten it? What an idiot he was! He’d put it on the windowsill to charge the night before, but because he was still feeling so sleepy the next morning he’d forgotten to grab it and drop it into his rucksack. By the time he realized it wasn’t there, they were already halfway to Grandma’s place in the countryside and it was already too late to turn around and drive home. Now that poor little phone of his was just charging away on the windowsill, all on its lonesome.
All on its lonesome, just like him.
Feeling a little unsure of himself, Oskar started exploring the garden. It was early June and the flowers were in full bloom. The whole place was perfectly nice, and Oskar actually enjoyed wandering around – that is, when he and his parents went to visit Grandma together. Sooner or later, the adults would move on to boring topics at the dinner table, eating and eating and having at least five cups of tea to wash it all down. At some point, Oskar just couldn’t take it anymore and would run outside. There, from a respectful distance, he’d inspect the bees buzzing in the blossoms, search for snails in the grass, and flip over the brick that always had worms hiding underneath. If he was lucky, he might spot a lizard on the logpile, and once a big magpie had landed on a branch just a couple of yards away. At these times, Grandma’s garden seemed like an extraordinary place, but it was just like any other kind of entertainment – once the fun was over, it was nice to go back home again. Nobody would want to stay at the cinema for two whole months, would they?
Oskar found his way to the brick and flipped it over. The earthworm was there as usual, as was a black beetle that scuttled off into the grass. He put the brick back the way it was.
Am I really going to come and see this worm every day now? he wondered in despair. I’ll wake up in the morning, walk outside, flip over the brick, and stare at the worm. But then what? What am I going to do with the rest of the day?
Oskar got up, walked to the middle of the garden and stood there. All around, he could hear the chirping of birds and the soft hum of insects. He could see his grandma bent over at the far edge of the vegetable patch. White clouds were frozen motionless in the sky. A lump formed in his throat. He felt terribly alone. The whole world around him felt strange and he didn’t know what to do about it.
I might as well go inside, he decided. I’ll curl up in a corner or crawl under the bed and just hide there.
Oskar recalled their visit to Grandma’s house last Christmas. Mum and Dad were sitting and talking with Grandma next to the Christmas tree, as always, while Oskar crept away to get a satsuma. Suddenly he spotted a mouse. Oskar froze, not daring even to breathe. The mouse didn’t notice him, though – it pattered round the floor a little then stopped where it was. It was so tiny and the kitchen seemed gigantic around it. The mouse twitched its whiskers, its black button-eyes glittering in the light.
Then it turned tail and scampered beneath a cupboard.
Oskar felt like doing the same thing right now – hiding or crawling off into a den. Just like the mouse in the kitchen, the garden was too big and too unfamiliar for him to handle all on his own right now.
So he went inside. All three of them had been sitting together in the kitchen just a few minutes ago. Oskar could still catch the trace of his father’s scent, and the seat cushion where he’d been sitting was a little wrinkled, reminding him that someone had just stood up from there. There was a bowl on the table filled with the sort of sweets that Oskar absolutely detested – ones they never bought in the city – ones which made his grandma’s whole house seem far less inviting. These sweets seemed to signal the fact that he’d been dropped off somewhere far from home, in a strange land where people practised strange customs and ate strange foods. Even the plates, cups, and sugar bowl felt unfamiliar. It was odd – this hadn’t bothered him when he’d visited with his parents. On the contrary, it had made him curious to inspect all Grandma’s things and compare them with what they had at home. On those occasions, it’d been exciting to drink from a completely different cup from the one he normally used. But now, it was suddenly unpleasant. All these unfamiliar things seemed almost to be glaring at him, demanding: ‘Who do you think you are? And what are you doing here?’
Oskar went into the living room. Altogether, not counting the kitchen, there were three rooms in his grandma’s house: the living room, Grandma’s bedroom, and Dad’s old room where Oskar now slept. Whenever they’d spent the night, he usually stayed on a campbed next to his parents. There was no need for the campbed now, of course – the entire bed and the room were all his. So that’s just where Oskar went now – the most familiar room in the house to him. But today it still felt somehow different and strange. The only truly familiar thing there was Oskar’s rucksack, which Mum had packed with his clothes before she left for America, and into which Oskar had forgotten to pack his phone.
A mouse could wriggle into its nest and immediately feel at home there, because it was stocked with all sorts of cosy stuff. Oskar, on the other hand, was having a very hard time feeling at home in Dad’s old bedroom. It was filled with all the wrong things, the wrong smells, the wrong colours. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, but the whole space somehow felt cold. The big white crocheted blanket laid over the bed glinted coldly and the pillows looked too puffy.
Oskar walked over to the bookshelf. He knew how to read but there were only grown-up books on the shelves. Dad had taken all his own old children’s books back to the city for Oskar to read a long time ago. Oskar’s mood grew even gloomier. There wasn’t even anything to read! What on earth was he going do for two whole months? Sit and stare out the window for hours on end, just like the Ghost Lady?
The Ghost Lady lived in the house over the road from them in the city. Oskar didn’t actually know her real name – Ghost Lady was just what he called her. Day after day, this woman would sit in her apartment and stare out of the window. It usually only took Oskar a single glance outside to spot Ghost Lady up on the third storey of her building. She was ancient, with snow-white skin and long grey hair. Oskar used to be afraid of her when he was little, which was how he came up with her nickname. He’d got used to her presence over time, but the name had stuck.
Before, Oskar couldn’t wrap his mind around how someone could bear to stare out of a window for days and days, as if she were a potted plant on the windowsill. He was always busy as a bee running around town, and rarely stared out the window, if ever – only sometimes before going outside to check if it was raining or not. Or when he heard a siren wailing and wanted to see a fire engine or police car speeding by. Ghost Lady, on the other hand, would already be sitting at her window when Oskar woke up in the morning and would still be passing the time there when he went to bed at night. It had seemed bizarre to him before, but now he reckoned maybe Ghost Lady just felt lonely, too. Maybe she had been taken away from home, dropped off in the city with her kids, and now she didn’t know what to do with herself in such a strange place, either. Just the way Oskar was feeling now.
He went to the window and stared outside. A few yards away was Grandma’s shed. Next to the shed stood a lone birch tree so tall that Oskar had to crane his neck back to glimpse its crown. There was nothing else interesting in sight, so Oskar sat there gazing at the shed and the birch tree for a long time as if they were great wonders of the world. There was nothing else better to do, anyway.
The cuckoo clock in the living room chimed and the cuckoo popped out three times. An hour had passed since Dad left! Just one hour! Oskar thought about trying to figure how many hours there are in two months, but the maths was too hard for him to work out. He could already tell that the number would be frightfully large, anyway. It was better not to know.
‘Still, I won’t turn into a Ghost...
