Langley The Land of Green Ginger

Main
ISBN: 978-0-571-32136-0
Verlag: Faber & Faber
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 176 Seiten

When Prince Abu Ali, son of Aladdin, is born his destiny has already been foretold: he is the one who has been chosen to break the spell of the mysterious Land of Green Ginger. His quest brings him into contact with flying carpets, button-nosed tortoises, magic phoenix birds - and two very villainous princes.

Noel Langley was a South African novelist, playwright, screenwriter and director. He wrote the screenplay which formed the basis for the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Langley, Noel

Leseproben

your days be filled with constant joys, and may my story please you, for it has no other purpose.

And now, if you are ready to begin, I bring you a tale of heroes and villains, just as in life; birds and beasts, just as in zoos; mysteries and magic, just as in daydreams; and the wonderful wanderings of an enchanted land which was never in the same place twice.

As long ago as long ago, and as long ago again as that, the city of Peking in the ancient land of China rang with jubilation and rejoicing; for a son and heir had been born to the Emperor Aladdin and the Empress Bedr-el-Budur; the lily whose glad renown I have no need to gild.

To commemorate the auspicious occasion, the Emperor Aladdin had announced a firework display in the palace park, and ordered elegant paper flags, cut in the shapes of golden birds and fishes, to be given to the people of Peking. When these were waved in every available inch of the crowded street, the sight was quite enchanting.

On a more serious note, the Grand Vizier summoned a special meeting of state in the White Lacquer Room of the Imperial Palace.

You may judge for yourself the importance of this meeting, when I tell you that His Gracious Majesty the Emperor Aladdin presided over it himself. Others present included the Lord Chamberlain; the Prime Minister; two senior generals from the Palace Guard; the Master of the Horse; the Mistress of the Robes; and an unidentified friend of the Master of the Horse.

The Grand Vizier himself, having forgotten that he had called the special meeting, had gone to watch the fireworks display in the palace park instead; but, alas, though the display had been advertised to commence promptly at one hour after sunset, hitches and vexations had arisen, and as yet the park was dark and silent.

He then remembered the special meeting, and arrived not only last, but a little out of breath from slipping on a mat in the ante-room.

Regaining his aplomb, he beat importantly on a dragon gong with an ivory wand, and everyone present nodded encouragingly to indicate their willingness to listen attentively to whatever he was going to say.

‘Your Majesty!’ began the Grand Vizier imposingly. ‘Also Lords and Ladies of the Imperial Court! Also the friend of the Master of the Horse. We are met here this evening to give formal voice to our humble and unworthy joy at the birth of a son and heir to our Celestial Emperor of all the Chinas –’

Here everyone present rose dutifully and bowed to the Emperor Aladdin, and seated themselves again.

‘– and to offer our ridiculous and ineffectual assistance in deciding what name or names shall be given to the said son and heir of our Celestial Emperor of all the Chinas –’

Here everyone present rose and bowed to the Emperor Aladdin and seated themselves again; causing the Emperor Aladdin to address them personally.

‘Henceforth,’ he said considerately, ‘you may dispense with the ceremony of rising and bowing at the mention of my name, or we’ll never finish this special meeting, and I am naturally anxious not to miss the fireworks which, after all, I paid for. You may proceed, Grand Vizier.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ said the Grand Vizier. ‘To proceed,’ he proceeded, ‘I cannot stress the importance of the solemn duty which is ours. It is a duty, I think I may safely say, which the whole of China looks to us to bear honourably, shoulder to shoulder, one for all and all for one, and long live the Emperor of all the Chinas –’

Whereupon everyone present rose and bowed to the Emperor Aladdin, and then remembered that he had specifically asked them not to, and seated themselves hurriedly, feeling slightly foolish.

‘I said I could not stress the importance of the solemn duty which is ours,’ continued the Grand Vizier, ‘and it’s quite true. I can’t. But that’s life. You have each been given,’ he said, ‘a piece of paper and a pencil –’

The Lord Chamberlain raised his hand.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said imposingly, ‘but by some pardonable error I have been given no pencil.’

‘You have been given,’ said the Grand Vizier in a sharper voice, ‘a piece of paper and a pencil. On the piece of paper, with the pencil, you will write –’

‘No pencil,’ said the Lord Chamberlain clearly and distinctly.

‘Order, order,’ murmured the Master of the Horse reproachfully.

‘ the piece of paper, the pencil,’ said the Grand Vizier very sharply indeed, ‘you will write five names for the heir apparent to the throne, all of which must be suitable, dignified, and poetic. The papers will then be collected and handed to the Emperor, who will decide which name he likes best. A word of caution,’ he added gravely. ‘I depend on you not to peep at each other’s pieces of paper. Anyone found doing this will have his piece of paper torn up, and will not be allowed to watch the fireworks.

‘The winner will be awarded the Empress’s clockwork nightingale, which can sing three songs flawlessly, once a few minor repairs have been made. The consolation prize is a ride once around the palace on an elephant.’

‘No pencil,’ said the Lord Chamberlain, pathetic now.

The Master of the Horse, who was kinder than some I could mention, broke his pencil in two and gave the Lord Chamberlain the blunt half, and silence fell as everybody present began to think of five suitable, dignified, and poetic names.

Everybody present sat, and they thought, and they thought very hard, frowning now at the floor, and now at the ceiling, and occasionally at the Emperor Aladdin, though not intentionally; but no one seemed able to think of any names at all, except useless ones like and

Time went by, and the Emperor Aladdin began peering over his shoulder at the window, in case the fireworks started without him; and the special meeting began to feel desperate at not being able to think of five suitable, dignified, and poetic names.

At last the silence was broken by the Lord Chamberlain, who suddenly said: ‘’ very excitedly and sucked his pencil and got his piece of paper ready, and everyone present looked at him with envy, and thought to themselves how much they had always loathed the Lord Chamberlain.

The moment he put his pencil to the piece of paper, however, the name he had thought of vanished into thin air; but, as everyone was looking at him, and he had to write , he wrote ‘Lord Chamberlain’ in curly capitals: hoping to cross it out later, unobserved.

Another silence fell, and the Master of the Horse rose and made his cushion more comfortable and seated himself again; but even so, the only names he could think of were the names of horses, which were almost as unsuitable as and

From where the Emperor Aladdin sat on the throne, he could see all the pieces of paper, and the Lord Chamberlain’s was the only one with any words on it (and those were crossed out); so at last his impatience got the better of him, and he rose and said with frigid politeness:

‘If it will not disturb your train of thought, I shall excuse myself and retire to the balcony, as I think I heard a bang.’

Everyone present rose and bowed while he departed for the balcony, and then reseated themselves, and the Lord Chamberlain rather forlornly wrote ‘Bang’ on his piece of paper, then thought better of it, and drew little faces down the side instead, to help him concentrate.

Out on the balcony, the Emperor Aladdin discovered that the hitches and vexations were still delaying the fireworks, and he was about to return to the special meeting, when the Queen Mother, the Honourable Widow Twankey, found him.

‘Ah, you are!’ she cried very loudly, seizing him by the sleeve. ‘My pearl-encrusted snuffbox, Aladdin! That of yours! My sapphire tiara! What a child!’

‘There’s no use to bellow, mamma,’ Aladdin told her kindly, trying to pull his sleeve free. ‘We all how happy you are about it –’

‘Happy?’ echoed the Widow Twankey, unamused. ‘? When your son has just called me, , the Queen Mother, a button-nosed tortoise?’

‘Tut! Calm yourself, mamma,’ Aladdin soothed her. ‘A day-old baby doesn’t talk!’

‘I it doesn’t!’ replied the Widow Twankey loudly. ‘And I know how old my grandson is, to the minute; but he called me a button-nosed tortoise! So don’t just there, Aladdin! something!’

The Emperor controlled an impulse to say, ‘Do what?’ or ‘Such as?’, and proceeded to the Yellow Lacquer Nurseries. There he found his son and heir gazing at his foot, which he held near his nose with both hands.

He bent over the cradle and waved his fingers.

‘Hootchie-cootchie, my itsywitsy!’ said the Emperor Aladdin indulgently. ‘Did his grandma say de Emperor’s own handsome itty melon-flower could talk? Tum on den, talk to oo papa!’

The son and heir lowered his foot and gazed up at the Emperor Aladdin attentively for a moment.

‘Certainly!’ he replied good-naturedly. ‘Hootchie-cootchie to you, too!...