The Boy who growled at tigers
Once upon a time there was a little Indian boy whose name was Sudi. What Sudi liked most of all was tо growl at tigers.
“Be careful” his mother told him. “Tigers don’t like it when people growl at them.”
But Sudi didn’t care and one day when his mother went out shopping, he went for a walk to find a tiger to growl at.
He hadn’t gone very far when he saw one tiger hiding behind a tree. As soon as Sudi came up, the tiger sprang up and growled, “Gr-r-r, gr-r-r.” And Sudi growled right back, “Gr-r-r, gr-r-r!”
The tiger was annoyed.
Category Archive: рассказы и сказки
The Boy who growled at tigers
“GEORGE ELEPHANT!” called the Clerk in Court Number One and a small man with glasses was brought.
«Are you George Elephant?» asked the Clerk.
“You are charged with murder; that you on the 19th day of January murdered Jane Elephant. How say you, George Elephant, are you guilty or not guilty?»
«Very well,» said the Judge. “You may sit down.»
Except for a few remarks on the curious name of the prisoner, few people were interested in the case. The facts as stated were very simple. On the 20th of January the prisoner had walked into a police station. «I have cut my wife’s throat,» he said. «She’s quite dead.»
Ray Bradbury (born in 1920) is an American writer of science fiction whose stories and novels are popular all over the world. Bradbury’s best writing effectively combines a lively imagination with a poetic style. His most famous works include “Fahrenheit 451”, “The Martian Chronicles”, “Dandelion Wine”. Bradbury has also written poetry, screenplays, and stage plays.
A Sound of Thunder
The sign on the wall read:
TIME SAFARI, INC.
SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST.
YOU NAME THE ANIMAL.
WE TAKE YOU THERE.
YOU SHOOT IT.
Wine on the desert
(After Max Brand)
There was no hurry, except for the thirst. But very soon he would reach the cold water in Tony’s house. There was really no hurry at all. Durante had almost twenty-four hours’ head start, for they would not find his dead man until this morning. After that there would be perhaps several hours of delay before the sheriff gathered enough people and started on his trail. Or perhaps the sheriff would be fool enough to come alone.
At last Durante saw Tony’s windmill and his ten acres of the vineyard, with the vines planted in a hollow. During the wet season water gathered in the well. In the middle of the dry season the well ran dry, but long before that Tony had every drop of the water pumped up into twenty tanks.
Once there was a sultan who loved to eat. He ate three or four times a day. One after another, he ate yoghurt soup and potatoes with yoghurt, and meat with yoghurt, and fruit with yoghurt.
His dining-room was beautiful. There were large mirrors, thick carpets and expensive furniture in it. Music was played. Birds sang in their cages.
Every day, the sultan looked in the mirror. He smiled when he saw how fat and round he was.
“I am sure I’m the fattest, the roundest sultan in the world,” he thought.
One day the sultan found that it was very difficult for him to walk: his body was too heavy. He couldn’t wear his beautiful clothes: they were too small.
Far out in the ocean the water is as blue as the petals of the loveliest cornflower, and as clear as the purest glass. But it is very deep too. It goes down deeper than any anchor rope will go, and many, many steeples would have to be stacked one on top of another to reach from the bottom to the surface of the sea. It is down there that the sea folk live.
Now don’t suppose that there are only bare white sands at the bottom of the sea. No indeed! The most marvelous trees and flowers grow down there, with such pliant stalks and leaves that the least stir in the water makes them move about as though they were alive. All sorts of fish, large and small, dart among the branches, just as birds flit through the trees up here. From the deepest spot in the ocean rises the palace of the sea king. Its walls are made of coral and its high pointed windows of the clearest amber, but the roof is made of mussel shells that open and shut with the tide. This is a wonderful sight to see, for every shell holds glistening pearls, any one of which would be the pride of a queen’s crown.
Many years ago there was an Emperor so exceedingly fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on being well dressed. He cared nothing about reviewing his soldiers, going to the theatre, or going for a ride in his carriage, except to show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day, and instead of saying, as one might, about any other ruler, «The King’s in council,» here they always said. «The Emperor’s in his dressing room.»
In the great city where he lived, life was always gay. Every day many strangers came to town, and among them one day came two swindlers. They let it be known they were weavers, and they said they could weave the most magnificent fabrics imaginable. Not only were their colors and patterns uncommonly fine, but clothes made of this cloth had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually stupid.
There were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers. They were all brothers, born of the same old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets and looked straight ahead of them, splendid in their uniforms, all red and blue.
The very first thing in the world that they heard was, «Tin soldiers!» A small boy shouted it and clapped his hands as the lid was lifted off their box on his birthday. He immediately set them up on the table.
All the soldiers looked exactly alike except one. He looked a little different as he had been cast last of all. The tin was short, so he had only one leg. But there he stood, as steady on one leg as any of the other soldiers on their two. But just you see, he’ll be the remarkable one.
Far, far away where the swallows fly when we have winter, there lived a King who had eleven sons and one daughter, Elisa. The eleven brothers, Princes all, each went to school with a star at his breast and a sword at his side. They wrote with pencils of diamond upon golden slates, and could say their lesson by heart just as easily as they could read it from the book. You could tell at a glance how princely they were. Their sister, Elisa, sat on a little footstool of flawless glass. She had a picture book that had cost half a kingdom. Oh, the children had a very fine time, but it did not last forever.
Their father, who was King over the whole country, married a wicked Queen, who did not treat his poor children at all well. They found that out the very first day. There was feasting throughout the palace, and the children played at entertaining guests. But instead of letting them have all the cakes and baked apples that they used to get, their new step mother gave them only some sand in a teacup, and told them to make believe that it was a special treat.
The Emperor of China is a Chinaman, as you most likely know, and everyone around him is a Chinaman too. It’s been a great many years since this story happened in China, but that’s all the more reason for telling it before it gets forgotten.
The Emperor’s palace was the wonder of the world. It was made entirely of fine porcelain, extremely expensive but so delicate that you could touch it only with the greatest of care. In the garden the rarest flowers bloomed, and to the prettiest ones were tied little silver bells which tinkled so that no one could pass by without noticing them. Yes, all things were arranged according to plan in the Emperor’s garden, though how far and wide it extended not even the gardener knew. If you walked on and on, you came to a fine forest where the trees were tall and the lakes were deep. The forest ran down to the deep blue sea, so close that tall ships could sail under the branches of the trees. In these trees a nightingale lived. His song was so ravishing that even the poor fisherman, who had much else to do, stopped to listen on the nights when he went out to cast his nets, and heard the nightingale.