Posts tagged ‘Luca Szabó’

junio 9, 2014

Maral Sassouni – Ádám Dávid: The Gardeners of Sounds

El Proyecto Internacional de Cuentos Allende Los Mares

Translated by Luca Szabó

If for some reason – let’s say, in the first sentence of a tale – raccoons are mentioned, I’m sure that most people will only think about
1. raccoons being obsessed with cleanliness,
2. raccoons being some kind of thieves, based on their ill-boding appearance.
I can assure you that most animals think exactly the same.
Why? It’s this simple:
1. in many languages, such as in Japanese, German, Italian or Hungarian, the animal with the striped tail which is called Procyon lotor has a name that refers to washing, even though I’m fairly sure some of them never wash, as they have the smell of an extraordinarily smelly badger,
2. the black spots around their eyes look like criminals’ masks, and who in their right mind would wear something like that unless they are thieves?
It’s really unfriendly to judge someone based on their looks or their name, but raccoons don’t take it personally, maybe because they are just like their image. At least this was the state of affairs in the infamous Trum family.

Illustration made by Maral Sassouni, artist from France

Illustration made by Maral Sassouni, artist from France

Their daughters started washing their faces shortly after being born, then came all the washing and washing up.

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junio 1, 2014

Vanessa Brantley-Newton – Gabi Both: Real Magic

Beyond the Seas, International Fairytale Project in Hungary
El Proyecto Internacional de Cuentos Allende Los Mares, Hungría

Translated by Luca Szabó

One summer day, right after the morning performance, a certain Gawkini, the director of Suitcase Circus, vanished into thin air. Just like that. Poof! Gone. They couldn’t find him anywhere, not in the big top, not in his caravan, not even in his suitcase, even though the latter had always been his favourite spot. That’s where Piro the magician tried to look for him, but this time he wasn’t hiding in there.
When it turned out that he had just vanished without a trace, Piro took out her magic wand with a star on one end, hit three times, drew two circles, and cast the following spell:
“Circle, turtle, star and spoon,
I need a great big balloon.”

The next moment there was a colourful, cheerful, ribbonful hot air balloon. It was flying about over their heads. They called it Baloo. With another spell, Piro lifted the members of the circus into the air. They all had space in Baloo – Tangle the clown, Bandette the tightrope walker and their son Cinabar, who was already a deft juggler.

Baloo flew high with them, and they were looking for the disappeared director from above. Children were mad about him. In fact, not him, but his flea circus. The adults could never understand why the small kids laughed at the performance of fleas. That’s all right – they couldn’t see them. Actually the children DIDN’T SEE them, either, but they could at least IMAGINE them hopping about, so they found Gawkini the flea rider really funny. He used to shake his head, roll his eyes, make grimaces, and now he was nowhere to be seen.

Illustration made by Vanessa Brantley-Newton, American artist

Illustration made by Vanessa Brantley-Newton, American artist

The time for the afternoon performance was looming, and the children were getting excited about the famous flea circus.

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mayo 29, 2014

Anne Pikkov – Mónika Egri: Curse Criers

Beyond the Seas, International Fairytale Project in Hungary
El Proyecto Internacional de Cuentos Allende Los Mares, Hungría
Translation made by Luca Szabó

There’s no way of knowing when the stories about them started. The meadow whispered them, the leaves on the trees murmured them, the sky thundered them, the bell tolled them. All signs were blurry, everyone heard only wafts, or saw only a shadow. But they were all quite sure that there was something in the woods.
At daytime, gloom covered the thousand-year-old, mossed trees, and as night came, whirling fog started to billow from the depths of the cave. It floated silently, slowly, and it drew strange figures in front of the moon.
Most villagers never ventured near the forest, and if they did, they made the sign of the cross, and they put their best foot forward.
“I’m telling you we should chop down all the trees and burn them. Then we would find out what lives in that forest,” said Goodwine, the old woodworker in the tavern.
“Wouldn’t you be sorry for that much nice wood? How many cupboards and beds could be made with it!” the bootmaker joked. He was as afraid as anybody. So much that his thick moustache was shuddering.
“No, I wouldn’t if that’s what it gets us rid of… them,” but he didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he gulped down another strong shot.
“This is a cursed forest, even though they say that in that cave there’s a treasure…”
“Who says that?” the landlady leaned closer. “I don’t know anyone who would have ventured as far as thirty feet from the edge of the forest. And no one has ever set foot in that cave, not since I was born. And I was born a good long time ago, and, believe me, I know everyone in this village. Noone would risk being captured by the curse criers, nor having their life soured.”

Ilustration made by estonian artist, Anne Pikkov

Ilustration made by estonian artist, Anne Pikkov


“Hush now, woman,” the landlord scolded his wife. “Don’t you dare to say their name here! This is a sacred spot. The tavern is a sacred spot, just ask anybody. Even the priest buys the wine for the mass from us. It is so, isn’t it, lads?

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