Twenty Books from Lithuania for Children and Teenagers illustrarium

Transcription

i l l u s t r a r i u m
Twenty Books from Lithuania for Children and Teenagers

Twenty
i l l u s t r a r i u m
his is what Margaret Mahy, a winner of the Hans Christian
Andersen Award, wrote about the mysteries of books:
“We live in a time when the world is crowded with books.
It is part of the reader’s journey to search through them, by
reading, and then reading again. It is part of the reader’s adventure to find in that
wild jungle of print some story that will leap out like a magician … some story that
is so exciting and mysterious that the reader is changed by it.”
Lithuania is also crowded with books. A few decades ago, we were talking about
ideas such as “the shortage of books”, and now readers are often baffled by the
tens of hundreds of newly published books by well-known as well as unheard-of
authors that glitter in their various design styles and colours on the shelves of
bookshops.
More than 4,000 titles are published in Lithuania every year. Half of them are
fiction and children’s books, constituting 38% and 12% respectively. This means that
every eighth book published on the Lithuanian book market is intended for children or teenagers.
In the last decade, children’s book publishing in Lithuania grew especially fast.
Publishers quickly picked up the rules of the book market, and filled most of the
previously empty niches: more toy books, picture books and fantasy books, as well
as fiction for older teenagers, were published. The current production of children’s
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Books from Lithuania for Children and Teenagers
books is wonderfully diverse in its content, genres, extent, forms, target readers,
by Lithuanian authors. In the last ten years, twice as many translations have been
illustrations and design.
published compared to books by Lithuanian writers.
In 2006, an absolute record in children’s book publishing was reached: more
Books by American and British authors lead in the translations: more than half
than 700 titles were published. The recent economic downturn has been a factor
of all the translations of books for children and teenagers are from the English lan-
in the reduced extent of publishing. In 2009, only 466 titles were published. How-
guage. Quite a few books are translated from German (15% to 19%), French (9% to
ever, 400 to 500 new children’s books a year is considered normal for this country.
6%), Polish (7% to 8%), Italian and Spanish. Children’s books originating from Nordic
Compared to Soviet times, it would even be called high. An interesting comparison
countries are very popular in Lithuania, and so every year new books appear writ-
is that in the 20 years since independence (1990 to 2009), more than 7,000 books
ten by authors from this region.
for children and teenagers were published, which is almost twice the figure for the
whole 50-year period of the Soviet occupation.
New works by Lithuanian authors make up approximately 20% of all the children’s books published. Short fairy tales, stories-tales, and fantasy books are the
The print run of children’s books in Lithuania fluctuates. Depending on the au-
most popular among Lithuanian readers today. However, problem-orientated fiction
thor, genre, extent and purpose, a print run can vary from a few hundred to tens of
and poetry are published as well. The most significant works of children’s literature
thousands of copies. Statistical analyses show that the tendency towards reducing
in the past decade were books by Gintarė Adomaitytė, Rimantas Černiauskas, Juozas
print runs has not changed over the last 20 years. The average print run for chil-
Erlickas, Sigitas Geda, Paulius Juodišius, Kęstutis Kasparavičius, Nijolė Kepenienė,
dren’s books has been decreasing as well (from 18,900 copies in 1993 to 2,700 cop-
Vytautas V. Landsbergis, Gendrutis Morkūnas, Ramutė Skučaitė, Violeta Palčinskaitė,
ies in 2009). However, it has always been almost double the average of the general
Selemonas Paltanavičius, Vytautas Petkevičius, Sigitas Poškus, Vytautas Račickas,
book print run.
Kazys Saja, Mykolas Sluckis, Renata Šerelytė, Martynas Vainilaitis and Vytautė
The Lithuanian publishing system encompasses more than 500 publishers. Be-
Žilinskaitė.
tween 60 and 70 of them publish one or more children’s books a year. However, a relatively small number of publishers dominate in this market: Alma littera, Gimtasis
Roma Kišūnaitė
žodis, Nieko rimto, Egmont Lietuva, Presvika, Mūsų knyga, Trys nykštukai, Obuolys,
Centre for Children’s Literature
Dominicus Lituanus, Kronta, Versus aureus, Tyto alba, Vaga, Baltos lankos, Šviesa,
Martynas Mažvydas National Library
Žara, Rosma and Garnelis.
of Lithuania
The majority of books for children and teenagers (40%) are publications aimed
at the youngest readers. Children’s books are written and illustrated by Lithuania’s
best artists: Kęstutis Kasparavičius, Lina Dūdaitė, Irena Daukšaitė-Guobienė, Jūratė
Račinskaitė, Rimvydas Kepežinskas, Irena Žviliuvienė, Sigutė Ach, Paulius Juodišius,
Lina Eitmantytė-Valužienė, Rasa Joni, Giedrius Jonaitis, Eglė Kuckaitė, Vaidas Žvirblis,
Rimantas Rolia, Laisvydė Šalčiūtė, and others.
One third of the children’s books published are written by local authors. During
the Soviet years, starting from the 1970s, Lithuanian authors dominated the market for a long period of time. After the country regained its independence, translations of foreign authors began appearing, and towards the end of the 20th century
(in 1996) translations of books by foreign writers exceeded the number of books
Tales from the City of Winds by Gintarė Adomaitytė 10
Children and Ghosts by Rimantas Černiauskas 16
Grandma from Paris, or the Nightingale in Zarasai by Juozas Erlickas 22
The White Crow by Sigitas Geda 30
Puff and the Secret of the Green Ball by Paulius Juodišius 38
Florencius the Gardener by Kęstutis Kasparavičius 44
Contents
Under the Sun of Pancake by Nijolė Kepenienė 54
Dominic the Horse in Love by Vytautas V. Landsbergis 60
A Comeback Story by Gendrutis Morkūnas 66
Under a Hanging Bridge of a Fairy Tale by Violeta Palčinskaitė 76
The Devil and the Skylark by Selemonas Paltanavičius 86
Acorn’s Adventures in the Land of Vices by Vytautas Petkevičius 92
Once Upon a Time by Sigitas Poškus 100
The White Doors by Vytautas Račickas 108
The One Nobody Loved by Kazys Saja 116
I Am a Book of Poems by Ramutė Skučaitė 122
The Giants did not Want to Be Kings by Mykolas Sluckis 130
Daftie, Child of the Marshes by Renata Šerelytė 136
A Sack of Jokes by Martynas Vainilaitis 142
A Trip to Tandadrika by Vytautė Žilinskaitė 150
T he C u rio u s L ittle W ind
Everything started when the telephone became hoarse and could no longer ring.
He shivered, he sneezed and sniffled.
The telephone repair man waved his hands about in despair:
“We need a doctor.”
No doctor wanted to take responsibility. I decided to take care of everything myself. I picked up the phone and examined it.
I heard a faint voice:
“Help me …”
I carefully started to take the ailing telephone apart. And then … and then, out
jumped a small creature, a creature I had never seen before. He settled on the cupboard. He had a red scarf wrapped around his neck, and was wearing overalls. He
©Gintarė Adomaitytė
©Daiva Kairevičiūtė
©Gimtasis žodis
puffed up his cheeks, and gave a friendly smile.
“I feel better now,” murmured the telephone.
Gimtasis žodis
A. Juozapavičiaus g. 10a
lt-09311 Vilnius
Lithuania
“Who are you?” I just had to ask.
“The Little Wind. The Curious Little Wind.”
The moment he opened his mouth, all the papers flew off the table.
+370 5 2725352
[email protected]
www.gimtasiszodis.lt
“Oh, sorry,” the Curious Little Wind covered his mouth with his hand.
“So you’re the one who broke the telephone?”
Gi ntarė Adomaitytė
“By accident. It really was an accident.”
The Curious Little Wind was trying to speak as softly as he could.
Tales from the City of Winds
“I was curious to see how it worked. I climbed inside. I tried to get out, one way,
and then another way. But it didn’t work. Just don’t be angry with me. If you like, I
The ten tales presented in this book are both quite independent and linked. They relate to each other
through their setting – the City of Winds. Also, most of the characters, such as Biggest Wind, Little
Wind the Pry, and Little Wind the Tearaway, know each other. For instance, one of the tales introduces
Silent Shoemaker, whereas another one contains a mention of his daughter Sandgrain for whom
“everything in town amounts to a sound”. These fairy tales are playful and witty, but also include
some nonsense elements as well as allegorical allusions. Otherwise, the texts are straightforward
and transparent. We recognise the literary tradition of Oscar Wilde and Hans Christian Andersen,
yet Adomaitytė’s texts are not overly difficult and are entirely comprehensible for readers not yet of
school age or those in the very first grades, as they engender a sensitivity to true literary art.
can help you with your work.”
“What can you do?”
“I can blow the dust out of the house. I can herd the clouds. I can plant trees. I
can …”
I interrupted him. “I don’t care about clouds and dust. I write stories.”
We were both quiet for a moment. I sighed.
“Writing stories is also work. Where do you live?”
Illustrated by Daiva Kairevičiūtė
“In the City of Winds. Why?”
“Is there magic there?”
Vėjų miesto pasakos. Gimtasis žodis, Vilnius, 2003. – 47 p.
isbn 9955-512-38-7
“Magic? What’s magic?”
“You’re magic! You are!” I wanted to shout, but I kept quiet. “Whether you want
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The little wind quickly became tired. Left alone, the little leaf fluttered down
into a puddle.
The tree even turned yellow from anger.
The little wind approached the yellowest leaf.
“You know, when I fly …”
The little yellow leaf did not even feel how he became detached from his branch,
and after a few minutes he ended up in a puddle, next to his friend, the little red
leaf.
The little wind, gracefully whirling at the top of the sycamore tree, approached
the most stubborn leaf, which did not want to turn yellow or red. This is how autumn came to the City of Winds.
S omething that N o O ne K nows abo u t
Once there lived Art Spirit, but nobody could see her. Everyone in whose heart
to or not,” I said calmly, maybe I even sounded doubtful, “you must tell me about
she settled became an artist. However, Art Spirit had no peace. She was always trou-
the City of Winds.”
bled by Troubles.
The Curious Little Wind thought for a minute.
No one knows where in the world good spirits come from. They say that they
“All right!” he agreed, and jumped off the cupboard. “While the telephone is work-
float to the ground with snowflakes and grow out of the ground with the flowers, or
ing, every evening I’ll fly to your window and tell you about the City of Winds. Only
they flow out from musical sounds, or they uncurl from the sweet and early scents
if it’s interesting …”
of autumn.
After a few meetings, I understood more about the City of Winds. Not only the
No one knows where in the world Troubles come from. They say that they climb
Head Wind with all of his Little Winds lives there, but people, too, the Absent-Minded
out of rubbish bins or jump out of overflowing wallets. They say that rats bring
Dame, the Violinist, the Quiet Shoemaker, Chickweed …
them on the tips of their tails.
But the first story will be about the Winds.
No one knows how tired good souls get trying to make every little thing
magical.
T he G reat F lights
And Troubles?
Tomboy, the little wind, loved the sycamore tree that grew in the centre of the
They never travel alone. It is Troubles that push their way into overcrowded buses,
City of Winds. She loved most of all the little green leaf at the top of the tree. Grace-
stir up arguments in the market, and stick a foot out in front of us on a flat road
fully whizzing around it, the little wind asked: “Do you like flying?”
when we go for a walk in our best clothes.
The little green leaf began to blush from the excitement.
“I just can’t imagine life without flying …”
What happens if people into whose hearts Art Spirit has settled become well
known?
The little leaf turned completely red.
Those artists draw houses, trees and people. The more they draw, the better they
“So then, let’s fly!”
get at it. The artists’ wallets become fatter and fatter, they are filled with money, and
The little leaf braced himself. He felt good. Very good. He was flying.
from that money, here and there, pop out a few Troubles. They force the artists to
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look in shop windows, or direct their feet into bars, but not to search for magic. And
without magic, Art Spirit cannot live.
Not waiting for anything, the worn-out and miserable Art Spirit sat on a bench
in a small square in the big city. Little Wind saw her, all gloomy and worried. They
sat her on the edge of a cloud and blew, until she was in their town. Troubles barely
made it after her …
©Algimantas Žižiūnas
This is how there were more Troubles in the City of Winds. No one here had ever
heard of Art Spirit before.
There were never artists living in the City of Winds before. There was enough
beauty as it was: the rain was the purest, the snow the whitest, the grass the
greenest …
There lived a painter. Every day he painted fences, walls, roofs and shutters. The
job might have bored him and become a nuisance, were it not for the stories.
At the painter’s home, not one, and not two, but ten children were waiting. Every
evening they asked their father to tell them either one long story, or three short
ones. Every day, while painting fences, the painter told himself stories, so that he
could later delight his children.
No one noticed that Art Spirit had settled in the painter’s home. The next day,
strange things started to happen. Whatever the painter’s brush touched, a new story
was born. The house became colourful, as it had never been before, and interesting
characters in the stories played and danced on the walls.
Art Spirit looked around the city with her eyes wide open. Now she knew why she
missed stories so much. Angry Troubles were afraid of nothing, but they avoided
stories. They rushed out of the houses where the painter-storyteller had come to
work.
However, Art Spirit was not big, and there was only one painter in the city. Their
work went on slowly. And Troubles … even in the City of Winds there was not a house
which at least one Trouble did not manage to get into.
No one knows that you should not be angry with the Winds and Little Winds, if
they blow a little harder. Winds search all over the world, looking for good spirits.
All over the world, Troubles run after them, almost gasping for breath. If you unexpectedly catch a cold, do not blame the wind, blame Troubles, only Troubles.
Translated by Karilė Dalia Vaitkutė
Gi ntarė Adomaitytė
(b. 1957 in Kaunas) is a prose writer, playwright and essayist. She graduated from Vilnius University
with a degree in journalism and has worked on numerous publications. She has been an independent
writer since 1999. Adomaitytė writes prose for children and adults, screenplays for documentary and
art films, and radio plays. She publishes her essays in cultural weeklies and magazines, such as Šiaurės
Atėnai, Gimtasis žodis, and others.
Adomaitytė is a member of the Lithuanian Writers’ Union. She is a three-time recipient of the
Lithuanian Section IBBY prize for best book for young readers – in 2001 for The House of Dragonflies,
her book for young adults, in 2003 for her children’s book Tales from the City of Winds and in 2006
for Belle Époque Children, her book about child writers. In 2007 The Carousel made it to the five top
children’s books. In 2003 the writer received the Vytautas Tamulaitis Prize for her manuscripts of tales.
In 2005, the Vaižgantas Award marked her book on Bd Jurgis Matulaitis. In 2008, she was granted the
Children’s Literature Award of the Lithuanian Education and Science Ministry.
Adomaitytė lives in Vilnius and Ignalina.
bibliography
Debesėlis ieško vardo (The Cloud Who Wanted a Name): [tales]. Šiauliai: Šiaurės Lietuva, 1999
Pasaka apie liūdną arklį (The Tale of a Sad Horse): [tale]. Panevėžys: Magilė, 2000
Laumžirgių namai (The House of Dragonflies): [novella for young adults]. Vilnius: Agora, 2001
Sparnuotos iškabos (The Winged Signs): [stories about writers]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2002
Vėjų miesto pasakos (Tales from the City of Winds): [tales]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2003
Kelio dulkės, baltos rožės: Apie palaimintąjį Jurgį Matulaitį (Dust from the Road, White Roses: About Bd Jurgis Matulaitis), Alytus:
Sisters of Mercy of the Immaculate Conception of Mary Convent, 2003
Šokis ant stalo (Dance on the Table): [essay]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2004
Mykoliuko diena (Mikie’s Day): [lyrical story]. Vilnius: Žalmedis, 2004
Avis artistė (Sheep the Actress): [tale]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2005
Gėlių gatvė (Flower Street): [novel]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2005
Gražuolės vaikai (Belle Époque Children): [narratives about writers]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2006
Karuselė (The Carousel): [tales]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2007
Paklydusi pasaka: apie kelią, kuris kikeno ir ieškojo savo kelio (The Lost Story: About a Path Who Chuckled and Searched for his Own Path):
[lyrical story]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2010
Vandenės užrašai (Vandenė’s Notebook): [essay]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2010
T r a n s l at i o n s
English: Mikie’s Day, Vilnius: Žalmedis, 2004
T he S ecret P lan
There’s a ghost in the school!
After announcing this news, the professor warned everyone to keep the secret
away from the eyes and ears of all outsiders.
“This is a very serious matter,” he said. “If anyone finds out, they’ll call the radio
and television stations, and the ghost will be frightened by all the publicity, and
will run away.”
“But why?” the headmaster disagreed. “The publicity will make our little town
famous.”
“Rubbish,” retorted the professor. “Nothing good will come from it. The ghost will
run away or hide, and we’ll all look like liars.”
“So what should we do?” Ladybird was disappointed. “Go on living as we always
©Rimantas Černiauskas
©Goda Jackutė
©Versus aureus
have done?”
Versus aureus
Rūdninkų g. 10
lt-01135 Vilnius
Lithuania
to show him on television.”
+370 5 2652730
[email protected]
www.versus.lt
Rimantas Čern iauskas
Children and Ghosts
“First, we have to make friends with the ghost and talk to him. Then we’ll be able
“And do you know how to do that?” jeered Cobra.
“I’ll think about it,” the professor answered. “There are many ways, but it’s no use
using them all at once.”
“So, you’ll dig pits, put down traps, and declare a period of quarantine again?”
continued Cobra, sneering.
“Ghosts are not children,” replied the professor. “We’ll hunt him down not with
traps, but with video cameras.”
“Or with mobile phones,” agreed Ladybird.
The author returns to the characters he introduced in his previous book, An Earthworm’s Tale. There
is, however, one new character, and an important one at that: a small ghost. He appears in a small
boy Petriukas’s room. Curiously, the ghost is not seen by anyone else except his new friend, Petriukas.
But soon the ghost attracts the attention of the earthworm Zigmutis as well. The quiet girl Ievutė,
it appears, can see the ghost. It is well known that ghosts only appear to those who believe in them.
Unexpectedly, teachers begin to take an interest in ghosts as well, apparently hoping to make their
school famous. This witty and humorous story featuring supernatural elements will make all its
readers, thus not just children, smile.
“Or with cameras,” added Suffix.
“Great!” the headmaster said. “You’re all very wise. Please prepare a ghost-hunting
plan by tomorrow morning.”
“A project,” corrected Cobra.
“And silence,” warned the professor, shaking his finger. “Not a word about our
project.”
Illustrated by Goda Jackutė
Vaikai ir vaiduokliai. Versus aureus, Vilnius, 2009. – 120 p.
isbn 978-9955-34-225-0
P eter D isappears
By the following day, the whole town knew about the ghost. The people visited
each other, had coffee and tea together, and tried to guess who the ghost could be,
and whether it was an adult or a child. Some said it was Poshka, who lived in an oak
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Children and Ghosts
tree. Others said it was Swampy, because he wandered about in the marshes. Still
others said it was the headmaster, because he had several names. Finally, they said
it was probably Georgie, the grandson of the cavalry commander, because he was
always playing tricks.
There was even more excitement at the school.
“Really!” Georgie was surprised. “There’s a ghost in our town, and I haven’t seen
him! So where is he?”
“At Peter’s,” Veronica recalled. “Do you remember what he said yesterday?”
“He said that there was some kind of ghost sitting on his shoulder. But there was
nothing there. He was only showing off.”
“Maybe he wasn’t,” Veronica said doubtfully. “Why did he mention the ghost?”
“That’s a good point,” agreed Sigmund the worm. “Peter said that he wanted to be
a ghost when he grew up …”
“Then maybe Peter is the ghost,” said Casimir. “He didn’t come to school today.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” put in Georgie.
“Stop talking please,” the maths teacher interrupted them. “What’s happened?”
“Peter didn’t come to school today,” Casimir explained to her.
“Why?” The teacher frowned.
“Because he’s turned into a ghost.”
“What?”
The teacher fell silent and sat down. Then she took off her glasses, began to clean
them, and asked in a whisper: “Who told you about the ghost?”
“But,” shouted Georgie, “the whole town is talking about it!”
“It’s bad,” the teacher said, standing up, “when children don’t come to school, and
“That’s impossible.”
you’re all going on about ghosts. Open your books and read over the times tables
“It’s true.”
until you know them all off by heart.”
“And Peter didn’t come to school today.” Casimir stood up again.
And the children, including Sigmund the worm, all bent over their books.
“That doesn’t mean that he’s the ghost,” Veronica interrupted.
“And Eva isn’t here …” said Sigmund the worm.
A nother ghost
“Really?”
While the children were poring over their books, repeating the multiplication ta-
They all stopped talking, and looked at Georgie.
bles, the hawk of hawks was perched in the top of a large sycamore tree. He cocked
“Where’s your sister?” the teacher asked.
his head, and watched the unusual scene unfolding below him. He saw Peter pac-
Georgie blushed the colour of a poppy, looked at the teacher and then at his friend
ing backwards and forwards, waiting for his friend Eva. His heart was heavy. He
Casimir, and threw his hands up in the air:
“How should I know?”
wanted to apologise to Eva, and to Ardis the cloud for his cruel words and his bad
behaviour.
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Children and Ghosts
While Peter was walking around the tree sighing, sad little Eva stood outside his
house and waited.
She was frightened, and wanted to tell him as quick as possible about the danger threatening the ghost. Everyone in the town knew about it and was talking
about it. And the professor was making plans to catch the poor ghost and show it
on television.
©Vladas Braziūnas
They would probably have waited until dusk, but the school bell rang, and they
realised that classes had already begun. They both ran towards the school, and
just when they got to the gates they bumped into each other, hitting their heads
together.
“Oh!” Eva rubbed her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” said Peter, rubbing his own forehead.
“Don’t worry,” the girl smiled. “It’ll heal.”
Peter lowered his head: “I want to say sorry.”
“Who to?” Eva was confused.
“To you, and Ardis the cloud.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the girl replied. “Right now, it’s more important to rescue
your ghost.”
“Rescue it?” Peter was surprised.
“Don’t you know?” the girl asked, surprised; and she told him what people were
saying all over the town.
“It’s impossible!” The boy shook his head. “Maybe they want to catch some other
ghost. They’ve never seen our ghost.”
“Don’t tell me that.” Eva was afraid. “Do you think they want to catch Ardis the
cloud?”
“I doubt it,” Peter said soothingly. “Everyone can see the cloud, but they don’t
know that he’s a ghost.”
“Then the professor has found another ghost in the town.”
“There they are!” shouted Georgie, leaning out of the school window. “Standing
around as if they’ve just been kissed.”
As the bell rang announcing the break, all the students waved at them from the
windows of the school.
Translated by Ada Mykolė Valaitis
Rimantas Čern iauskas
(b. 1950 in the Alytus district) is a writer, playwright, translator. He graduated in 1973 with a BA in
mathematics from Vilnius University. Černiauskas worked as a teacher until 1987. From 1996–2004
he taught a course in the Humanities Department of Klaipėda University and led Children’s Literature
seminars. In 1984 he was accepted into the Lithuanian Writers’ Union. Since 1987 he has chaired the
Klaipėda section of the Writers’ Union.
Černiauskas made his literary debut with the collection of short stories This Side of the Clouds. Later
he published several more collections of short stories, children’s books, a collection of plays The Sincerity
Club and a novella, Confession of a Hired Killer.
Since 1994 he has compiled the literary and cultural magazine Baltija.
In 1996 Černiauskas received the Ieva Simonaitytė Prize for his book Campfires in the Attic. His book,
An Earthworm’s Tale, published in 2007, was awarded as the best children’s book of the year. In 2010 he
was awarded the title of the Master of Culture of Klaipėda in recognition of his merits to the town.
Selected bibliography
Šiapus debesų (This Side of the Clouds): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1980
Gusto istorijos (Gustas’ Adventures): [horror novella]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1983
Senelės išdaigos (Grandmother’s Folly): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1984
Tikrieji miestelio vyrai (The Town’s Real Men): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1990
Nuoširdumo klubas (The Sincerity Club): [plays]. Klaipėda: Eldija, 1992
Laužai palėpėse (Campfires in the Attic): [novellas]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1995
Jūra yra sūri (The Sea is Salty): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1997
Gustas (Gustas): [horror novella]. Kaunas: Nemunas, 1997
Kairiarankių šalis (The Land of the Left-Handed): [short stories]. Klaipėda: Druka, 2000
Pasakėlės vaikams, vanagams ir sliekams (Stories for children, hawks, and slugs): [tales]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2003
Samdomo žudiko išpažintis (Confession of a Hired Killer): [novella]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2004
Koridorių vilkas (The Wolf of the Halls): [short stories]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2007
Slieko pasaka (An Earthworm’s Tale): [tales]. Vilnius: Versus aureus, 2007
Vaikai ir vaiduokliai (Children and Ghosts): [tales]. Vilnius: Versus aureus, 2009
Russian: Воинственный характер, Moscow: Mолодая гвардия, 1988
Истории про Густаса и учителя, Kaliningrad: Kладезь, 2006
I f I t ’s not T here , I t ’s not T here
If in the room there is no chair,
No one will sit on it there.
And if the table’s missing too,
No one will place a glass or two.
And if the ceiling we omit,
No fly shall wander over it.
No wall in the room only means
That no one’s shoulder on it leans.
©Juozas Erlickas
©Nadežda Gultiajeva
©Alma littera
If in the room there is no floor
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
With chalk on it, you shall not draw.
And if the room does not have doors,
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
No one shall knock on them, of course.
And if there is no person in there,
Juozas Erlickas
He shall make no friends, it’s clear.
If the room itself is not there,
Grandma from Paris, or the Nightingale in Zarasai
No one will ever find it … nowhere
A joke, the carnival comic, a tragicomic game – these are words that describe poems for children
by this author. The book is compiled of selected poems that both children and adults can enjoy.
Parodies of Soviet caricatures and the strange and deformed morality of present-day life that are
conveyed in the poems warn us that we almost crossed the line beyond which only universal
self-destruction is awaiting us. Having chosen a grotesque way of depicting the world, the poet
speaks about the most important values common to mankind. On the other hand, side by side
with the satirical way of depiction, a romanticized and lyrical outlook on the world and a search for
fundamental values, childhood, life, love, language, and the motherland, is presented.
Illustrated by Nadežda Gultiajeva
Bobutė iš Paryžiaus, arba Lakštingala Zarasuose. Alma littera, Vilnius, 1995. – 158 p.
isbn 9986-02-076-x
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I t F eels Sad in the Au t u mn
A B lind B oy
Golden are the days of the autumn.
Please buy me some colourful pencils.
Grasshoppers sit by the water.
I’ll draw me a colourful home,
Silent on Ladybird Hill
A colourful brother, a colourful sister;
Is a childishly green violin.
Seven courtyards I’ll colour below.
A dragonfly passes me sadly.
A road from each courtyard will take you
Over is summer’s great party …
To far away colourful fields …
Will we ever meet again?
I’ll colour a blossoming cherry,
Never, or some day, maybe …
And butterflies chat underneath it.
Summer’s like a room full of dreams.
I’ll colour the peace of lake water,
Through a blossoming door it now leaves …
The pastures and forests so green.
Standing with oars is the fall.
Down the road, my mother returning,
Leave me your dreams, and that’s all …
And the soothing sigh of birch trees.
My birds will be singing in colour,
And so will the flowering fields.
A path winding up to the mountains,
And travellers looking for the peak.
I’ll colour a sea that’s so distant,
And the flight of a seagull I’ll draw.
Lost at sea, there’s a sail so persistent
In search of long lost pirates’ gold.
I’ll make the black world and the roads there
As colourful as they can be.
Every little detail I’ll colour,
Everything that my eyes cannot see …
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A L ittle J o u rney thro u gh B ig S pring
T he B irthday
Puddles, lukewarm puddles after rain,
There, in the distant past that you don’t have,
Like small patches of a blue sky’s great plane.
My little daughter, little ringing daughter,
Bare legs sinking in the warmth of water.
The animals lived there, both good and bad.
Mother, look! I’m walking upon the sky!
A road, a very long one, runs there winding.
In these puddles, so enormous is the world,
As I was walking on that winding road,
Spreading like a sea of bluebells in my heart.
I didn’t know where I would find you:
Over clouds and over sun I stroll,
On the petals of a tulip or on clouds above,
Having tossed my bare legs into my hat.
In the songs of birds or in the flow of brooks?
Through the puddles as if through the sky I’m walking,
And I was bringing you the words of the native tongue,
Somewhere there and nowhere, to the end of the world.
A little sack of laughter, a bucketful of tears,
I don’t know, perhaps, I’ll find there something.
A long and winding road like a magic rainbow.
Robinson’s adventures will unfurl …
The fragrance of the spring was hovering above.
The road was taking me to you.
I talked to animals, both good and bad.
And when I found you, you could give me more,
Much more than I myself then had …
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T here , W itho u t me
They ate and they drank there, they danced and were laughing,
And plains like some butterflies flew all around.
©Vladas Braziūnas
A thrush was singing, an owl, he was happy.
They were having a good time, but I wasn’t there.
Through the night they searched for a blossom that’s magic.
And the fish of the sea, they had a bonfire.
With the keys from St Peter, a joker had opened
The gates to a fairy tale … but I wasn’t there.
The king, he was offering some wine and some cherries.
Two jokers, they were telling jokes there all night long.
The music was playing, the party was merry.
The princess was waiting … but I wasn’t there.
As if in a photograph, I saw my small face there.
When looking down Linden Tree Hill to my childhood.
I knocked on the gates, but I wasn’t let in there
By teddy bears and by a horse made of oak.
Juozas Erlickas
(b. 1953 in the Akmenė district) is a poet, prose writer and playwright. From 1971 to 1975 he studied
the Lithuanian language and literature at Vilnius University. He later took jobs as an inspector of the
Nature Protection Committee, as stagehand with the Youth Drama Theatre in Vilnius, and worked for
different printing companies. Since 1995 he has been on the staff of the daily Lietuvos rytas.
Erlickas writes satirical prose, plays and poetry. His first collection of humorous short stories Why?
was published in 1979. Over the years of Lithuanian independence he has established himself as one
of the most scathing critics of the Soviet mentality and behaviour stereotypes. His literary work is
supplemented by the persona of the author himself: he performs songs to his lyrics, appears on TV
shows and appeared as a singer in the production of a rock opera. Pas Erlicką is a cafe in Vilnius named
after him.
Erlickas has only written poetry for children and young adults. A Green Declaration and Other Poems
was awarded as the best 1992 book for children and adults. In 1997 Erlickas received the Lithuanian
National Prize for Culture and Arts.
His books have been translated into the Russian, German, Polish and French languages.
Bilietas iš dangaus arba Jono Grigo kelionė greituoju traukiniu (A Ticket from Heaven, or Jonas Grigas’ Trip by a High-Speed Train):
[poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1990
Žalias pareiškimas ir kiti eilėraščiai (A Green Declaration and Other Poems): [poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1992
Bobutė iš Paryžiaus, arba Lakštingala Zarasuose (A Grandma from Paris, or the Nightingale in Zarasai ): [poems]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 1995
Aš moku augti (I Can Grow): [poems for those who have not yet grown up]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 2003
Prisimynimai (Memorieees): [prose, poems]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 2004
Bajorų (The Boyars’): [prose]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 2007
Mano meilė stikliniais kaliošais (My Love in Glass Galoshes): [mystery play]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 2009
T he S ong of W hite N othing
My name is Nothing.
I’m a white boy;
No, not a white boy,
I’m a small ball toy.
My name is Nothing,
A peacock’s feather;
No, not a feather,
A little birch twig.
©Sigitas Geda
©Rasa Dočkutė
©Alma littera
My name is Nothing,
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
Girl of the big winds!
No, you are no girl.
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
You are a pigeon.
How nicely red is
Sigitas Geda
Your little jacket!
The White Crow
Of red rowan tree berries,
Of sandy and white shells,
My mother has made me
The author of this book is one of the most distinct creators of non-traditional poetry for children.
The freshness of his poems comes from his playful attitude towards poetry, which is based on playing
with the poetics of paradox. The world emerging out of ever-existing primary chaos opens up to the
reader. The poet creates his world with the help of myths, legends, and elements of fairy tales, and
imitations of folk songs. Everything is possible here: flying sea calves, sheep, cows, maidens, father,
mother… Mythical creatures, a boy by the name of White Nothing, White Crow, have magical powers
and bring miracles into the child’s world.
My little jacket!
No, there’s nothing
I could be saying.
I’m a small Nothing,
Illustrated by Rasa Dočkutė
And I will be quiet.
Baltoji varnelė. Alma littera, Vilnius, 2000. – 167 p.
isbn 9986-02-807-8
Yes … No …
Yes … No …
Yes.
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The White Crow
E vening ’s P lea
A nimal F lights
How long is this evening!
All the little creatures
My heart, it is aching!
Are hard to describe.
Please pick me white jasmine,
But they are all able
My dear little white crow!
To fly up in the sky.
Please pick me some blossoms,
A grasshopper is flying.
The whitest of all.
He’s all green with joy.
Tell me I can’t find you
Little sheep and cows, too,
On earth any more.
In the flight have joined.
All the little birdies,
As none I have seen!
Just listen and you’ll hear.
Dear crow, I’m pleading:
Just like little people,
Be quick, pick jasmine!
They can speak out here.
Please pick me some blossoms
And the little fishies
That stem from the ground.
Sat down on the sea floor,
Please pick them, and petals
And around a bonfire,
Mark with your lips around.
They sing, and sing some more.
My dear little children,
Dear little white crow.
Be quick and wake up.
Please pick me white jasmine,
In the flower garden
Or green, if it grows.
A horsey’s sprouted up.
Please pick me some jasmine!
Don’t pick it, no need …
Dear little white crow,
Please fly here, I plead.
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The White Crow
A Word abo u t a L ittle M o u se
The little mouse Mickey
And now, little children,
Is a troublesome guy.
Can you tell them apart?
His life is so tricky,
Is that Mickey’s or cabbage’s
And this is why.
Little white head?
Just yesterday, he
Here he is! Catching
Ended up in a river.
Butterflies by a brook …
While we looked for him, he
Dear little mousie,
Swam away, not a shiver.
Let’s go into this book!
Or perhaps he just flew
Hang on, little guy,
To fields of white lilies.
Stay cool and beware:
Check it for yourself:
Hundreds of bad guys
Frogs don’t bite, don’t be silly.
Are lurking out there!
If in miracles, you
But let them be bullies,
Still believe, be alert!
I don’t even care.
In the pond, you will see
We can overcome them,
A stork next to a frog.
Even hundreds, and more …
Sometimes you can read
And always make sure
About storks in books …
You get back when I call.
But where is Mickey again?
Don’t run on those streets
In trouble! Just look!
With no shoes, and that’s all.
While we were chatting
About this and that,
He got lost again
In a big cabbage patch.
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The White Crow
A S ong abo u t P eng u ins
Here’s a pair of small white penguins.
Out of the sea they came here lately.
©Arūnas Baltėnas
Here’s a pair of small white penguins,
Moving towards us very slowly.
Black and white, their little heads are.
All around, the sea is cold.
They’re slowly coming towards us.
Their eyes are round and frosty.
Like pearls, they shine in the sky there.
Sigitas Zigmas Geda
(1943–2008) was a poet, playwright, literary critic, translator and essay writer. In 1966 he graduated
from Vilnius University majoring in Lithuanian linguistics and literature. For a while he edited the
weekly Kalba Vilnius and the magazine Mūsų gamta, but he was dismissed for taking an active and
unwelcome political posture. His first book Footprints was published in 1966.
In the times of ‘perestroika’, Geda was awarded the State Award of 1985 for his poetry book A Starling
under the Moon. In 1995 he was found worthy of the National Award for the books of poetry Seven
Summer Chants and Rebuilding of Babylon. In 1998 he was decorated with the Order of Duke Gediminas
and became a recipient of the Baltic Assembly Award the same year. In 2002 he received the Award of
the Lithuanian Writers’ Union for the best book of the year 2001.
In 1988–1990 he was secretary of the Writers’ Union, an active member of the Sąjūdis Independence
Movement and a member of the Lithuanian Parliament. During the years of Lithuanian independence
Geda was on the staff of the cultural weekly Šiaurės Atėnai.
Here’s a pair of small white penguins,
They’re white, and they’re tiny.
They’re flying up above us.
They can’t find us; they can’t find us.
Here’s a pair of small white …
Užmigę žirgeliai (Sleeping Horses): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1970
Baltojo Nieko dainelės (The Songs of the White Nobody): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1977
Mėlynas autobusiukas (A Little Blue Bus): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1980
Dainuojantis ir šokantis mergaitės vieversėlis (The Girl’s Dancing and Singing Lark): [seven plays]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1981
Žydinti slyva Snaigyno ežere (A Blossoming Plum-tree in the Lake of Snow Flakes): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1981
Varnėnas po mėnuliu (Starling under the Moon): [long and short poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1984
Vasara su peliuku Miku (A Summer with Mickey Mouse): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1984
Baltoji varnelė (The White Crow): [poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1985
Praniukas pramaniūgas (Wayward Praniukas): [long and short poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1986
Karalaitė ant svarstyklių (A Princess on the Scale): [poems and long poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1989
Močiutės dainos (The Grandma’s Songs): [poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1991
Valkataujantis katinas (A Stray Cat): [poems]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1999
Pelytė Sidabrytė (Little Silvermouse): [tale]. Vilnius: Baltos lankos, 2004
Aukso karietaitė (Golden Carriage): [poems]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2006
Pražydęs arkliukas (A Colt in Blossom): [poems]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 2007
S e l e c t e d T r a n s l at i o n s
English: Biopsy of winter, Vilnius: Vaga, 2002
German: Gedichte, Ratingen: Melina, 1999
Latvian: Sokrats runā ar vēju, Riga: Nordik, 2004
Norwegian: Mammuternes fedreland og andre dikt, Oslo: Solum, 1991
Polish: Śpiący Teodendron: Stare wiersze Jadźwingów, Warszawa/Vilnius: Ex libris/Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2006
Śpiewy Jadźwingów, Warszawa: Ex libris, 2002
Russian: Ущербная луна, осенняя богиня, Vilnius: Vaga, 1986
Swedish: Fallande ängel i Palanga, Sätaröd: Ariel, 2001
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The White Crow
T he O pen G ate
“What’s that? Isn’t it the end of the world that the residents of the End of the World
talk about so much, and which you could fall off, break into pieces, and then there
would be nothing of you left, except a flat pancake?” Puff wondered with anxiety
and started rowing back.
The voices of two monsters, Zirzila and Drububula, could be heard in the distance.
After giving each other a good bash, they went on fighting, as they were searching
for the puff in the fog.
The puff froze in terror.
“I’m stuck in a trap. The monsters are on one side, and the end of the world is on
the other. How will I escape now?”
Suddenly he felt a draught. Not understanding what it was, he rowed quickly
©Paulius Juodišius
©Kronta
Kronta
Šiaulių g. 3
lt-01133 Vilnius
Lithuania
towards it.
Shivering with fear, he found himself by a huge gate between high rocks. The
gate was slightly open. An invisible current was flowing through the opening, and
drawing the little nest towards it.
For a second, he wondered what he could do.
+370 5 2121871
[email protected]
www.kronta.lt
Pau li us Juodiši us
Puff and the Secret of the Green Ball
“What can I do? I don’t know what will happen to me if I go through that opening. However, if I stay here, the monsters will catch me and gobble me up like a
piece of seaweed.”
He suddenly heard the strident voice of Drububula right next to him. “I can smell
him. He must be hiding somewhere near here!”
The puff’s oar hit a stone.
Puff belongs to the species of small and agile cuddlies. They live on the branches of the oak tree
which grows on an island. They believe that their island is the whole world. But how about that
green ball, from whence is it? Little Puff puts out to sea in a search for an answer. After having been
exposed to a great danger and challenged by adventures, Puff frees from oppression a community
of fantastic Liumai creatures, but refuses to become their king and travels back home. This dynamic,
but not complicated fantasy tale is furnished with plenty of illustrations by the author.
“Here he is! Hurry! He’s by the gate.”
Zirzila’s teeth emerged from the fog.
“It’ll be better if I fall off the end of the world,” Puff decided, and he dived into
the opening.
“Where are you going, Softie?” yelled the monsters, and they jumped after him.
Illustrated by the author
Puškutis ir žaliojo rutuliuko paslaptis. Kronta, Vilnius, 2009. – 216 p.
isbn 978-609-401-030-9
However, they became stuck in the narrow gate. They started complaining so
loudly that even the moss started to peel off the rocks.
“Out the way, you idiot! Don’t you see he’s getting away?” Drububula shrieked as
she threw herself around.
“You move. Can’t you see that I’m stuck? Why did you squeeze in here in the first
place? You fatso, you …” Zirzila gasped for breath as she steamed.
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“Shut up, you dummy. Your breath stinks. We’ll hang here between these rocks
until we get thinner. You’ll be in big trouble when the master finds out that you left
the gate open.”
“It’s not my fault. It’s that little wizard and his tricks. He spread the fog, and he
got us stuck in the gate. He’s as small as a minnow, but as dangerous as a shark. He
must be poisonous, too. It’s a good thing we didn’t swallow him, after all. I’m just
afraid that he might think of coming back.”
While they were arguing, Puff was travelling across the end of the world.
The strong current that was flowing between the rocks caught his little boat and
carried it away. Feeling frightened, he crouched at the bottom of his nest.
“Aaaah! I’m falling! I don’t want to be a pancake,” he shouted with his eyes shut.
T he E nd of the World
Puff did not know how long he was shouting like that. However, when he opened
his eyes, he could see that nothing awful had happened to him.
The current had taken him through the opening between the rocks to another
sea. Alas, there was no land to be seen here either. Only the same old fog was curling all around.
He calmed down.
“I’m saved. Perhaps that was still not the end of the world.”
After the danger of falling off the end of the world had disappeared, Puff suddenly realised that his stomach had been empty for some time. And that’s a very
unpleasant feeling for any puff.
“I’ve never felt as hungry as this. Why did I feed my acorn to those dummies? Now
I’m going to die of hunger here.”
He shouted as if he was suddenly angry with the whole world: “Nobody will
put any acorns on my grave! I don’t even know where I am. I’m completely worn
out, because of all those monsters, ends of worlds, and crazy travels. I want to go
home. I don’t want to know what that little ball was any more. I don’t want to
know where it came from, and why it came to me. If it hadn’t been for that little
ball, I would be sitting on a branch of a tree now and stuffing myself with sweet,
juicy acorns, and I would be patting my round tummy. That ball brought me nothing but misery.”
He grabbed the ball, and was about to throw it far away into the sea, when his
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nose was tickled by a pleasant smell. He held the ball close to his nose, and took a
deep breath. His heart overflowed with the wonderful smell.
“No, I’m going to eat you!” he shouted at the little ball. “This is how I’ll get my revenge on you. You’re going to go right into my tummy, because you lured me out
of the acorn country!”
Then he opened his mouth, and was about to put the ball in, when suddenly the
©Vladas Braziūnas
sky became dark. It looked as if a black storm cloud had covered it. He lifted his head,
and saw a huge bird right over him.
“Caw, caw,” the bird croaked as it suddenly swooped down.
Puff crouched, but the bird grabbed the ball with its sharp claws, and started beating its wings with all its might. Puff, however, did not want to part with his little ball,
and he held on to it as tightly as he could.
Only a giant could take an acorn away from a puff. And it might not even take one
giant, but all his family and neighbours. That’s how stubborn those puffs are.
The bird beat its wings even harder, and started rising into the air.
Puff went up with the bird, because he was still holding on to his little ball. They
left the nest behind in the sea.
“Put me back at once!” Puff shouted. “Don’t you know that it’s wrong to take somebody else’s acorns? If you do this again, you’ll go to jail!”
The bird paid no attention to the clever telling-off Puff was giving it, and continued rising higher and higher into the air.
“Let go of me, you horrible feathery thief, or I’ll bite you,” Puff threatened angrily.
“I have very sharp fangs. I can split a raw acorn in half with just one bite.”
He pulled himself up, and “Snap!” went his teeth.
“Ouch,” he squeaked, because he had bitten his own finger. He almost dropped
the little ball from the pain.
For some time, Puff remained quiet, as he was thinking hard. After he had thought
a little, he had a great idea. He decided he would tickle the bird’s leg. That is what all
puffs are most afraid of. As soon as he did so, the bird burst out laughing. It laughed
so hard that it forgot to beat its wings. Not understanding what was happening, it
wiggled its talons, and opened its claws.
Puff and his little ball fell into the sea.
Pau li us Juodiši us
(b. 1969 in Vilnius) is a writer and a visual artist. He graduated from the Applied Arts School in Telšiai
specializing in sculpture. Since 2000 he has illustrated and written nine books for children.
In 2006, his Greenfly’s Pie was recognized as the best children’s book of the year.
Kalėdinė kelionė (A Christmas Trip): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Arka, 2001
Linksmi Šmuciko sapneliai (Happy Šmucikas’ Dreams): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Arka, 2001
Trys linksmos pasakėlės (Three Happy Fairy-Tales), Vilnius: Arka, 2001
Tvinklio laikrodukas (Tvinklis’ Little Watch): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Arka, 2001
Lipotapas ir kruopų vagys (Lipotapas and the Grain Thieves): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 2004
Amarėlio pyragas (Greenfly Pie): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2006
Karalius Rampampumas ir sraigių lenktynės (King Rampampumas and the Snails’ Race): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Algarvė, 2006
Mažosios Laimiuko žinios (Little Laimiukas’ News): [literary stories]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2008
Stebuklinga slyva (The Magic Plum): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Algarvė, 2008
Bucikiukas ir pabaisa (Bucikiukas and the Monster): [picture book]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
When night fell, Florencius, the Gardener Bear, took the pitcher containing the miraculous liquid and descended the stairs into the orchard.
It was very dark. Even the moon did not light the night sky as usual. Somewhere,
not too far away, an owl hooted in its awful voice and for some reason the hooting
made Florencius feel frightened.
The rose bush with the most thorns grew on the right side, beside the steps. More
accurately, it was the only remaining rose bush, the only one to survive his failed
experiments. Therefore, not considering the consequences for very long, he watered the rose bush.
Afterwards, he went back inside. He was exhausted and fell into his bed. So that
it wouldn’t be too frightening for him, he pulled the blanket over his head.
At night he was tormented with such dark dreams that he didn’t even dare try to
©Kęstutis Kasparavičius
©Nieko rimto
Nieko rimto
Dūmų g. 3a
lt-11119 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2696684
[email protected]
www.niekorimto.lt
Kęstutis Kasparaviči us
Florencius the Gardener
think about them or understand them.
In the morning it was hard for him to get up. His head felt heavy and his thoughts
were confused.
The Gardener Bear somehow managed to get himself up and outside to look
around.
The sky was overcast. The orchard was covered in a thick dark fog. A few blackbirds flew above his house. The air was as damp and heavy as the inside of a moldy
cellar.
Even his neighbor, Singer Bear, did not cheerfully wave to him through her window as she usually did every morning. All of her shutters were shut tight.
Only, from somewhere inside her house came the muffled sound of music. Most
When you open up this book, on almost every page, you see colourful, playful drawings of bears
working hard at various tasks in the Bear Kingdom. Florencius was a gardener. He grew w
onderful
roses that were liked even by the Queen. One day, the Queen asked Florencius if he could grow her
some black roses. What a disastrous wish! Ambitious Florencius was determined … H
owever, what is
better – the fame of an unsurpassable gardener or a crowd of happy friends? Lovely bears created by
the author and illustrator will help answer this question. The author never explains his ideas in an
outright manner. He allows the reader to grasp meaning through scenes and through symbols and
metaphors. In a subtle way, the entire plot of the book begins to read as a metaphor.
likely she was singing a sad melody accompanied by her lute.
The song sounded so sad that it broke Florencius’s heart to listen to it.
The song was constantly interrupted by quiet sobbing and for that reason it was
difficult to understand the song’s words. All you could hear were disjointed phrases
like “What a dark and sad morning this is” or “Will he ever gaze at me with loving
eyes again?” and then “Why is my heart wracked with pain?”
“And what has happened to her now?” Florencius thought to himself. “She was
Illustrated by the author
Sodininkas Florencijus. Nieko rimto, Vilnius, 2007. – 68 p.
isbn 978-9955-6873-33-9
always so happy and carefree.”
However, his thoughts soon wandered elsewhere. Right now Florencius was most
concerned with those roses. He drew closer to the bush that he’d watered the night
before and reeled back and screeched in surprise.
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45
The roses were black!
More accurately, they were a dirty gray color. Most likely that was because the texture of tears had not been perfectly recreated according to Grandfather’s recipe.
“Well, you could probably consider them black,” Florencius thought to himself.
He examined the roses more closely.
“But how beautiful they are,” the Gardener Bear thought to himself. “It’s strange
that Grandfather called them a nasty plant. How could something so beautiful be
nasty and harmful?”
For some reason the little bear felt uneasy. Gazing at his destroyed orchard and
up at the dark sky, he remembered what Grandfather had written about the spread
of black roses.
Actually, he thought about the final point. There was one simple word written
there: Over. How perceptive his Grandfather had been!
Just then his neighbor’s crying grew louder. He heard words filled with anguish
and hopelessness: “Will he ever forgive my mistakes?” And then: “Oh tears, fall down
my furry cheeks.”
A strong unpleasant smell was coming from the roses. Usually, roses smelled so
nice.
The Gardener Bear grew dizzy from the smell. He began to feel strange.
He felt at the same time very hurt, very angry, but mostly, sad.
He wanted to howl from the pain.
He was so angry that he wanted to do something terrible – something like shouting hurtful and insulting words at his neighbor, or maybe even smashing out her
window.
He was so sad that he wanted to cry so hard that the entire world drowned in
his tears.
Every hair in Florencius’s brown furry hide stood on end when he thought about
what would happen when he brought those terrible roses to the Queen Bear.
Not only the Queen Bear, but of course, her subjects. Very quickly all the bears in
the kingdom would become bitter and the entire Bear Town would drown in feelings of pain and hopelessness.
Finally, on one fateful day the Bear Driver, while driving the Bear Queen on a
slippery, windy road sinking in black fog will get lost and they will disappear for all
time together with the limousine.
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47
Berry-Picking Bear will wander lonely and lost in herself in the thickest and darkest parts of the forest and no one will ever see her charming blue smile again.
Bee-Keeper Bear will get into an argument with his bees, who are angry enough as
Baker Bear will lose his confidence. No one will want to eat his pies or rolls anymore because those pies and rolls will be baked without love and without his inner flame.
it is. The bees will then scatter in all directions and die because bees can only survive
Singer Bear will cry from the bitter early morning until the bitter evening. No
living together in their families. We will no longer hear the pleasant sound of bees
one will hear her happy laughter or angelic voice any longer. And the strings on her
buzzing above dried flowers and everyone will forget what honey tastes like.
lute will grow rusty from her constantly falling tears.
Apothecary Bear will no longer make medicine for the bears, but will make poison
instead. Painter Bear will paint such awful and terrible pictures that even the most
famous art critics in the entire world won’t be able to judge how they look worse –
hanging upside down or right side up.
And then, how will Homeless Bear take it? He is always so sad and depressed as
it is.
All the Bears, drugged like ghosts, will wander through the thick fog and the Bear
Kingdom will be covered in an Eternal Night.
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49
Florencius felt an ice-cold chill go through his body. He felt his lovely brown fur
grow over with bright green mold. He felt his body grow over with thick cobwebs.
Florencius the Gardener Bear gathered what was left of his strength and gave
himself a good shake. Then, he lumbered home and put on a gas mask. He always
did this before spraying poison on his roses. He sprayed the roses to protect them
from pests. This time he put on his gas mask to protect himself from the dangerous smell of the roses.
Then he grabbed his shovel. He dug out the poisonous rose with all its roots and
carried it to the farthest corner of the orchard. There he buried it in a deep hole. For
good measure he took the moss-covered stone that had lain under the veranda since
Grandfather’s times and set it down on top.
The black fog that had covered the orchard slowly began to dissipate. The sky
became clear and blue again. Everything returned to the way it should be in the
Bear Town.
Florencius returned home. Under the shower he washed away all the traces of
hurt, anger, and pain that had stuck onto his fur. He dressed up in his good suit and
went over to Grandfather’s portrait above the hearth. He returned Grandfather’s
magic stick to his portrait. As soon as he did this, he saw that Grandfather became
happy again and even looked younger than he did before.
At that time someone shyly knocked on Florencius’s door. Chimney Sweep Bear
was standing at the door. He was dressed in a tuxedo, wearing a cylinder on his
head, and carrying a rope wound over his shoulder. He had brushes and brooms
tied all over him.
“Hello. I noticed from far away that some sort of thick dark clouds were gathering over your house. I thought that you might need someone to come clean them
out for you.”
“What a pleasant surprise! I probably could use a cleaning job in all my chimneys.
If I might ask, where did you come from? We never had any chimney sweeps in our
town before?”
“From now on you do. Or, more accurately, since yesterday you do,” Chimney
Sweep Bear said proudly.
“Strange, but your face is familiar,” Florencius said, gazing into Chimney Sweep
Bear’s eyes.
“Who knows? Lots of strange people hang around here.”
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51
Florencius handed Chimney Sweep bear a tall ladder, showed him from where
it was easiest to climb up onto the roof, and then went to see Singer Bear, to make
sure she was feeling okay.
He found her twirling happily before the mirror.
She was trying on a lovely colorful brocade dress.
“Hello Florencius,” she said. “Strange, but this morning I felt so sad. And that’s not
©Vladas Braziūnas
typical for me. It must have been because I put the wrong dress on – you know the
one, the dark blue dress with the polka dots in the shapes of tears. Or maybe I had
the wrong shoes on? Or maybe my pearl necklace was wrong? What do you think?”
“That’s probably exactly what it was,” Florencius agreed. “Of course, you might
also blame your earrings.”
“It’s so important that you don’t make a mistake and that you put on the right outfit every day,“ Singer Bear said and sighed. “A mistake like that could cost you dearly.“
Suddenly she noticed the lute set beside the round table. She said in surprise:
“Strange, how did this instrument get here? I should bring it right back to the attic. This instrument gives off a strange sad feeling.”
Florencius grabbed the lute and ran quickly up the spiral wooden stairs to the
attic. He hung the lute on a hook, as high up as he could reach.
Then he climbed down and said good-bye. He went outside, waved his paw playfully at his neighbor, and turned towards his house. High up on the roof, bending
close to the chimney, Chimney Sweep Bear was hard at work.
Although Chimney Sweep Bear was dressed from head to foot in black and cov-
Kęstutis Kasparaviči us
(b. 1954 in Aukštadvaris) is a writer and illustrator. He studied choir conducting at the M. K. Čiurlionis
School of Art from 1962–1972. In 1972–1981 he studied Graphic Design at the Academy of Art in Vilnius.
Since 1984 he has worked as a children’s book illustrator and has illustrated over 45 books. His works
have been translated into 23 languages.
In 1993 Kasparavičius received the Illustrator of the Year Award at the Bologna Children’s Book Fair.
In 2003 he was awarded the Bologna Illustrators’ Exhibition Award for Excellence. His illustrations have
been selected for this book fair’s exhibition eleven times. Kasparavičius has also been awarded the
Golden Pen of Belgrade in 1990; the II Diploma Premi International Catalonia d’Illustracio in Barcelona,
1994; a Diploma at the Tallin Illustrators’ Triennial in 2006; the Best Lithuanian Children’s Book Award
in 2005 and in 2007. In 2008 and 2009 respectively, little Lithuanian readers selected his books
Florencius the Gardener and Rabbit Marcus the Great as the winners of the public action The Book of
the Year (the children’s book category). Kasparavičius was twice (in 2008 and 2010) nominated for the
Hans Christian Andersen Award (gold medal). In 2009 his contribution to children’s literature was
recognized by the Children’s Literature Award by the Lithuanian Ministry of Education and Culture.
The White Elephant received the International Janis Baltvilks Award (2010).
ered in soot, some sort of a strange and mysterious bright light emanated from him.
That light lit up the entire street and Florencius’s orchard. It seemed as though that
light flowed out of his shining eyes.
“Lord, how wonderful!” Florencius whispered to himself in awe.
And he hurried off to the town’s market to meet with the Bear Queen.
Florencius still did not know what he would say to her, but right now that was
not very important.
It was important that the Gardener Bear was walking down familiar streets in
Bear Town and that pain, anger, and suffering were stuffed somewhere deep, deep
underground.
Translated by Laima Sruoginis
Kvailos istorijos (Silly Stories): [stories]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2005
Braškių diena (Strawberry Day): [mystery]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2006
Trumpos istorijos (Short Stories): [stories]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2006
Dingęs paveikslas (The Missing Painting): [fairy-tales]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2007
Sodininkas Florencijus (Florencius the Gardener): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2007
Kiškis Morkus Didysis (Rabbit Marcus the Great): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Nieko Rimto, 2009
Baltasis dramblys (The White Elephant): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2010
Meškelionė (The Bears’ Travel): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Baltos lankos, 2010
Mažoji žiema (The Little Winter): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2010
Bulgarian: Белия Слон, Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Estonian: Valge Elevant, Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Catalan: Coses que de tant en tant passen, Barcelona: Thule Ediciones, 2010
Croatian: Bijeli Slon, Zagreb: Ibis grafika, 2011
German: Das verschwundene Bild, Wien: IDMI Verlag, 2011
Italian: Il giardiniere Florenzio, Bologna: Comma 22 Editore, 2010
Polish: Florian Ogrodnik, Izabelin: Eurograf Librone, 2010
Portuguese: Zanaforius el Grande, Mexico: Fondo de Culture Economica, 2011
Russian: Садовник Флоренций, Moscow: OM Publishers, 2009
Spanish: Cosas que a veces pasan, Barcelona: Thule Ediciones, 2010
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T he Constellation of J oogas
Joogas the Stone was not flint.
“You’re not like anybody else in the family!” his father, Rimas the Flint, would
fume.
Joogas did not have any spare time to play games. From early in the morning till
late at night, he had to develop his flint-like personality. How did he do it?
It’s a secret that his father kept to himself. Otherwise, everybody could become
a flint if they wanted to.
But then once Joogas’ friend Luke the Crocodile got lost in the woods.
How did he get lost? Well, he went round a fir tree from the right side; then he
went round a spruce tree from the left side; and then he saw a bilberry patch that he
had never seen before. Behind the bilberry patch there was a bed of wild rosemary.
©Nijolė Kepenienė
©Šarūnė Kepenytė
©Libra Memelensis
Libra Memelensis
Jūros g. 21
lt-92125 Klaipėda
Lithuania
+370 46 411955
[email protected]
N ijolė Kepen i en ė
Under the Sun of Pancake
Who planted it? Who watered it? Who knows?
All the residents of the house with a forest of aerials on the roof went to look
for Luke. Rimas the Flint was the only one who did not go. He did not let his son
go, either.
“We don’t have time! We don’t have time!” he shouted so hard that sparks were
flying all around them. “You haven’t finished your homework yet! How do you think
you’ll become a flint?!”
That was when Joogas realised that he did not want to become a flint, especially
when his friend Luke was crying in the forest. Very silently, and absolutely not the
flint way, he sneaked out of the door and ran to the forest.
He stepped into the darkness, which was as blue as blue ink. He listened.
An owl was screeching, saying her prayers before going to bed.
Nijolė Kepenienė’s short tales are reminiscent of writers such as Donald Bisset or Miloš Macourek,
or even of Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories. They deal with highly paradoxical situations, abounding
in personifications of things that you would never suspect of being capable to be presented that way,
where even the most mundane of animals tend to behave in highly unusual ways (for one, a cow
catches a “disease of watches”). The author has significantly enriched and deepened the interpretation of the stylistics of nonsense tradition in Lithuanian children’s literature.
He stepped into the darkness, which was as grey as the dirt. He listened.
Yoris the Mole was clattering his pots, heating water for a bath.
He stepped into the darkness, which was as dark as the night. He listened.
Raimonda the Witch was quietly purring a lullaby to her cat Arnulf.
Illustrated by Šarūnė Kepenytė
Po riestainio saule. Libra Memelensis, Klaipėda, 2001. – 64 p.
isbn 9955-9436-0-2
Joogas knocked on the witch’s door. She was very excited to see him. She treated
her guest to some bread and jam, and talked to him very sweetly. She even wanted
him to stay with her for ever: she wanted to turn him into a stone.
However, Joogas was already a stone; but not a flint.
He stepped into the last darkness, the darkest of all, the darkness of death. And
that was where he heard Luke the Crocodile crying.
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Joogas struck such a blaze of sparks that all the sky lit up.
Then the two friends crossed the never-before-seen bilberry patch. They ran
“I’m so proud of you, my friend!” Auntie Rozalia said to Luke. “You showed them
what you’re made of.”
around the spruce tree from the left; they ran around the fir tree from the right.
Then they saw their building tickling the sky with its aerials.
By the way, the constellation of Joogas stayed hanging in the sky. It’s still there,
To tell the truth, all Luke had done was to show the experts his two rows of sharp
teeth. However, who knows what might have been hiding behind those rows of rugged teeth?
over the bed of wild rosemary, and it doesn’t look as if it’s going to dissappear.
A S pot for G ood Work
A R u gged C haracter
Auntie Rozalia grew an extraordinary lily. The flower would bow to everyone who
looked at it. She wrote a beautiful letter about it to the Ministry of Flowers. Imme-
At that time, the spring came from Whisperville, and it went up the hill and
knocked at the door of the building with a forest of aerials on the roof. Nellie the
Ladybird, who was sleeping in the attic there, woke up.
diately, experts from the ministry arrived. They brought ten metres of measuring
tape to measure the height, five scales to weigh it with, and all kinds of equipment
“Oh my!” rejoiced the ladybird. “A third spot has appeared on my wings! Now I’m
sure to find a friend.”
that filled half their van.
The experts filmed, measured, weighed and calculated for more than half a day.
She flew out to look for a friend. She saw Balys the Caterpillar eating away on a
dandelion leaf …
And then Katrionas Katraitis, the chief expert, picked up a scalpel.
“Hi, Balys!” the ladybird greeted him. “Let’s be friends.”
“No, no, no!” Auntie Rozalia started waving her hands in protest.
“Mhrrr … mkrrrr … crush … hrmmmmm ...” answered Balys.
“In the name of science!” Katrionas Katraitis waved the scalpel over his head.
“Excuse me. I didn’t quite hear you properly.” Nellie was a little bit baffled.
One after another, the experts tried to explain how important it was to cut the
“Mrrr …” Balys continued, gobbling at first, but then he spat out everything he had
stem of the lily at exactly that very moment.
“It could be that the flower has more resemblance to a human being than we
in his mouth. “I don’t have time, Nellie,” he said. “I have to eat those leaves from early
in the morning till late at night, in order to become a butterfly one day.”
thought!” shrieked a thin person armed with test tubes.
“That lily will turn the world of science upside down!!!” An awkward person wearing glasses was holding a syringe ready.
“That flower will make me, Katrionas Katraitis, famous!”
Nellie asked Balys to forgive her, and flew away to look for some more friends. She
asked Louisa the Crane, and then she asked Ben the Beaver to be her friends. However, Louisa was busy getting ready to hatch her chicks, and Ben was busy building
his palace. Nobody had time to be friends with her.
The chief expert pushed Auntie Rozalia aside.
Then Nellie felt the wind whistling over her head.
Just at that moment, Luke the Crocodile was in his room, peacefully enjoying his
“Free Wind,” complained the ladybird. “Nobody wants to be friends with me.”
third helping of cream.
“What about me? Wouldn’t I be a good friend for you?!”
“Help! Help!”
The wind’s feelings were hurt.
He heard the words with his heart, not his ears. He did not even know that he was
And so they became friends.
capable of hearing this way.
“What shall we do?” asked the wind.
Luke rushed downstairs, and jumped right into the very middle of the experts,
and bared his teeth.
“Look, Leonora the Witch has hung out her washing,” Nellie pointed out. “If we
play around the clothes, we’ll dry them in no time.”
The experts all jumped into their cars, leaving behind their measuring tapes and
other equipment. All that was left of them was the fumes from their cars.
And so they did. Leonora was extremely happy with the merry wind that dried
her washing so fast.
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“Look! The windmill looks so sad with its sails hanging down. Let’s go and see it,”
Nellie the Ladybird prompted Free Wind again.
Oh what fun they had swinging. And how much flour they ground, too! There
was enough for all the residents of the Woody Forest, and for all the residents of the
building with the forest of aerials on the roof, too. Enough to bake some buns for
all the people of Whisperville …
©Vladas Braziūnas
Nellie the Ladybird was happy. Free Wind laughed out loud.
All summer long, the two friends blew smoke away, turned weathercocks round,
and cooled down people who were hot and tired. Everybody praised Free Wind for
being so keen and clever.
“It’s you who I have to thank, my friend,” the wind admitted to Nellie the Ladybird.
“You’re so clever, and you notice things so easily. You see everything that needs to
be done, and you help me.”
The summer goes so fast. It passes as quickly as the wind.
And when the autumn came, Nellie the Ladybird fell asleep in her attic. In her
dreams, she listened to her friend the wind, who sang her lullabies. Nellie waited
for the spring to paint another spot on her wings.
N ijolė Kepen i en ė
(b. 1957 in Vilnius) is a prose writer and poet. She completed her studies in the Lithuanian language and
literature at Vilnius Pedagogical Institute in 1982 and studies in the English language and literature at
Vilnius University in 2007. She is working as an English teacher in Klaipėda.
Kepenienė debuted in 1992 with Good Night, a book of tales for children. She has written numerous
tales and short stories for children, Loneliness Shared by Two (2000), a novel for adults about the sunset
of a woman’s life, and has published two collections of poetry. Under the Sun of a Pretzel, a book of short
stories, was voted the best children’s book of 2001. Her collection of poems They and the tale-novella
Under the Spell of Tititata were awarded the Ieva Simonaitytė Prize (2002).
The writer also translates from the English language.
selected bibliography
Labanakt (Good Night): [children’s tales]. Klaipėda: Eldija, 1992
Šunų valsas (Dog Waltz): [chlidren’s plays in poetry]. Klaipėda, 1994
Pasaulis „V“ (Planet V): [children’s short stories]. Klaipėda: Artists’ House, 1994
Kopūstų riteris ir kiti (The Cabbage Knight and Others): [short story-fairy tale]. Vilnius: Margi raštai, 1996
Madingiausias krokodilas (The Truly Dapper Crocodile): [tale]. Vilnius: Folium, 1998
Būrimo pamokos (Lessons in Fortune-Telling): [poetry]. Klaipėda, 1998
Džiovintas debesėlis (The Dried-off Cloud): [short stories]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 1999
Skriek vaivorykštės karusele (Smell the Rainbow Carousel): [short story-fairy tale]. Klaipėda: Klaipėdos rytas, 2000
Vienatvė dviese (Loneliness Shared by Two): [novel]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2000
Po riestainio saule (Under the Sun of Pretzel): [tales]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2001
Tititatos užburti (Under the Spell of Tititata): [tale]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2002
Jos (They): [poetry]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2002
10% improvizacijos (10% of Improvisation): [young adults’ novel]. Klaipėda: Eglės leidykla, 2004
Baltosios žąsytės pasakos (Tales of the Snow Goose): [tales]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2006
Pupytė ir jūra, ir sriuba (A Little Bean and the Sea, and Soup): [tales]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2007
Vasarnamis saulės zuikučiams (A Summer House for Sun ): [story]. Klaipėda: Druka, 2007
Netikri padavimai ((Un)true Legends): [tales]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2008
Su saulės vėju (With the Wind of the Sun): [novel]. Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2010
Russian: Между, Klaipėda: Libra Memelensis, 2008
D ominic the H orse and N ick the H ippo
And so Dominic the Horse continued on his journey west. The smell of cornflowers grew stronger and stronger, until he discovered a wonderful field full of them.
And on the edge of the field stood Nick the Hippo. The hippo was standing still,
like a post, speechless, because of the beauty of it all. He might have wanted to say:
“Oh, what a beautiful field! I’d love to play in it!” But, what’s the point, when you want
something but can’t have it?
Dominic galloped over to him, and yelled joyfully: “Hi there, hippo! How are you?”
But the hippo did not reply.
“Good day, my name is Dominic the Horse!” the horse shouted even louder, thinking that maybe the hippo was hard of hearing.
But the hippo went on standing there still as a post. He just stood, and looked at
©Vytautas V. Landsbergis
©Sigutė Ach
©Nieko rimto
the field of cornflowers with his blue hippo eyes.
Nieko rimto
Dūmų g. 3a
lt-11119 Vilnius
Lithuania
put, he did not even look in Dominic’s direction.
+370 5 2696684
[email protected]
www.niekorimto.lt
Vytautas V. Lan dsbergis
Dominic the Horse in Love
“What’s happened to you? Are you deaf?” yelled the horse. But the hippo stayed
Then Dominic walked around the hippo, and stopped in front of him, so that at
least he could see that someone was speaking to him. But this did not help either,
because the hippo simply turned away from the horse. He turned his back on him
impolitely, and continued looking at the field.
“He must despise horses,” Dominic thought. “Maybe a horse kicked him when he
was only a calf, and from then on he thought that all horses kick? Or maybe an African witch put a spell on him and took away his ability to speak? If I’m right, then
that witch must have two voices, and this poor hippo has none … Maybe, somehow,
Working together, writer Vytautas V. Landsbergis and the artist Sigutė Ach have created an original
and strange tale full of mild humour, sincere friendship, loyalty and feelings of love. The plot of the
book is surprising and paradoxical. Dominic, a wild horse who enjoys playing with frogs, meets and
falls in love with a beautiful and slightly whimsical cornflower. As winter approaches, the horse hides
the cornflower under a stone, as the frost is attempting to freeze her. Dominic travels to Africa, where
on an interesting yet difficult trip he meets a white bear, a crocodile, camels, monkeys, a hippopotamus, and other characters who tell him their life stories. Finally, Dominic arrives at the cornflower
field of his beloved. As spring approaches, he returns to Lithuania, as his cornflower is set to once
again sprout from beneath the stone. On her birthday, Dominic gives the cornflower a name – Hope.
In this fantasy, tale, paradox, nonsense, poetry, and a rather open expression of moral values co-exist
harmoniously.
The text and illustrations of this book create a unique and poetic atmosphere, leading the reader at
once to smile and to consider the significance of life, as well as important moral qualities.
Illustrated by Sigutė Ach
Arklio Dominyko meilė. Nieko rimto, Vilnius, 2004. – 143 p.
isbn 9955-9543-1-0
Translated into Swedish, 2006
I could help him get his voice back?”
And so he tried to remember how to save animals that have lost their voice. Once
he saw a man fall off his horse and lose his voice. Then another man ran up to
him, and slapped him a couple of times on his cheeks. The man got up at once …
So Dominic decided to try this method to cure the hippo. He went up to him, and
smacked him a couple of times, first on one cheek, then on the other …
The little hippo suddenly got his voice back, and shrieked: “What are you doing,
kicking me like a horse? Can’t you see that I’m enjoying the scenery?!”
“I’m sorry,” Dominic apologised. “I thought you were sick. Also, I wanted to ask
you where the field of cornflowers is; but since I’ve found it myself, there’s no need
any more.”
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“You horses ask too many questions without thinking first,” Nick the hippo told
him. “And if you could only look at things more carefully, if you could keep quiet
for longer, and could just think calmly, then maybe you would understand that you
can understand everything perfectly without words.”
“I’ll try harder, and will mend my ways,” Dominic promised, blushing. He thanked
the hippo, saying: “Thank you so much for those precious lessons in life.”
“Don’t mention it,” answered Nick, and he turned away again.
Feeling unhappy, Dominic the horse stomped around and felt he wanted to wade
out into the field of cornflowers. But suddenly, he changed his mind, and turned
to the hippo again, and asked: “Forgive me, little hippo … You’re such an intelligent
animal. I’ve never met anyone like you. Maybe you could tell me what you’re thinking right now?”
“I’m thinking about nothing,” answered the hippo after a short silence. “You see,
I’m so very tired of so many unimportant, irrelevant thoughts, that I try my hardest
to think about nothing, and so I simply enjoy the view.”
“Don’t you never get lonely, just standing there and enjoying the view like that,
with no one to talk to?” asked Dominic.
“I’m rarely lonely, because I’m still young,” answered the intelligent Nick. “And
the sad ones are usually the grown-up hippos, who no longer have the time to just
stand and look at a field of cornflowers. They’re always hurrying and always getting
tired, and so they’re always tired and miserable.”
“But don’t you ever wish you had some friends?” Dominic would not give up.
“I have a lot,” laughed the hippo. “Everyone I’ve ever met is my friend.”
“So, am I also your friend now?” asked Dominic, full of excitement.
“But of course. From now on, you are also my friend,” answered Nick, “because no
one ever ends up here by accident.”
“But how will we play together if I live in another land?”
“You see, I have this magic ray of love,” explained Nick, “and in the evenings, before going to sleep, I send it to my friends, and wish them lots of happy thoughts
and lots of luck … That’s how I keep my friends company.”
“Oh! Where did you get it? Could you show it?” Dominic was very interested.
“I can’t show it to you, because you still won’t be able to see it. It’s only a very
rare horse that can see this ray,” explained the hippo. “But you can feel it: just close
your eyes.”
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Dominic the horse closed his eyes, and right away he felt this pleasant warmth all
over his body, going from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and he gradually
became lighter and lighter, like a balloon. And soon, very unusual things started to
happen. The horse felt as if he was being lifted up into the air, flying towards the
clouds, and below him he saw a magnificent field of cornflowers. Over the field he
saw cheerful, colourful butterflies, and not far away there grew some huge baobabs,
©Arūnas Baltėnas
in which some monkeys were mysteriously hiding. They were sitting in the tree tops,
between the thick baobab branches, covered by leaves, and from far away you would
not even know that the monkeys were there.
After looking at the mysterious monkeys, as if he was a light summer’s breeze, the
horse floated further up over Africa; and soon, not far from the field of cornflowers,
he saw Nick the hippo grazing silently. He was standing, fascinated and speechless.
He wanted to say: “What a lovely meadow! It’s great playing here.” But he could not
get the words out. Later, he saw a herd of buffaloes running through the savanna.
And behind the buffaloes ran giraffes, zebras, ostriches and lions. Then Dominic
realised that he was watching a sports competition of animals, which Jean Paul the
cheetah quickly won. After watching these scenes, Dominic felt that his body was
getting heavier and heavier, and was sinking down to the ground. Then, landing
softly, his eyes opened, and he saw the chuckling hippo standing next to him.
“I was flying!” cried Dominic. “How did you do that?”
“It wasn’t me who did it, it was my ray of love,” answered Nick. “And how it does
that, I don’t know. It does whatever I ask it to. Like now, for instance, I asked it to fly
you around Africa, and so it did.”
“But where did you get this ray? I’d so like to have one, too,” asked Dominic, marvelling at his friend’s magic ability.
“I can explain to you how I got the ray, if you have the patience,” said the hippo,
and added: “But I wouldn’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”
Vytautas V. Lan dsbergis
(b. 1962 in Vilnius) is a poet, storyteller, playwright, publicist, and musician. He graduated from Vilnius
University with a bachelor’s degree in Lithuanian Literature. He studied film in Tbilisi and in New York
with the filmmaker Jonas Mekas at the Anthology Film Archives. He has directed 20 documentary films
and three feature films. He writes plays and directs them himself in various theatres internationally.
Landsbergis is well known as a storyteller. He began by telling stories to his children, and then went
on to create an entirely new genre in Lithuanian children’s literature. Rudnosiukas’s Stories were selected
as the best Lithuanian book for children in 1994. The Story of Dominic, a Horse in Love was selected the
best Lithuanian book for children and young adults in 2004 and was included on the IBBY Honours List
in 2006.
The Lithuanian Ministry of Culture awarded Landsbergis for his contribution for children’s literature
in 2005. The writer produced his children’s play Zita, the Little Mouse and received the National Drama
Festival Versmė award. In 2007 Landsbergis was decorated with the Order of Service to Lithuania, The
Knight’s Cross, for his personal efforts to document the sacrifices of the resistance fighters who lost
their lives fighting for Lithuania’s freedom. He was nominated for the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award
in 2008. He received the Award of the Lithuanian Education and Science Ministry for his children’s
writings (2006) and the Lithuanian Government Award for Culture and Arts (2009).
Rudnosiuko istorijos (Rudnosiukas’s Stories): [tales-anecdotes]. Kaunas: Gabija, 1993
Obuolių pasakos (Apple Tree Tales): [tales]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1999
Angelų pasakos (The Angel Stories): [tales from the gospels]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 2003
Arklio Dominyko meilė (Dominic the Horse in Love): [lyrical farcical tale]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2004
Pelytė Zita (Zita, the Little Mouse): [fairy-tales]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2005
Tinginių pasakos (Lazy People’s Tales): [tales]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2006
Arklio Dominyko kelionė i žvaigždes (Dominic the Horse’s Journey to the Stars): [lyrical farcical tale]. Vilnius: Dominicus Lituanus, 2007
Gediminas ir keturi seneliai (Gediminas and his Four Grandfathers): [short story]. Vilnius: Dominicus Lituanus, 2007
Skruzdėlytė Birutė (The Little Ant Named Birutė): [stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 2007
Briedis Eugenijus (Eugene the Moose): [stories of love and other blunders]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2007
Debesys, panašūs į žmones (Clouds that Look Like People): [41 poems]. Kaunas: Mijalba, 2007
Obuolių pasakos ir kriaušių (Tales of Apples and Pears): [tales]. Vilnius: Dominicus Lituanus, 2008
Kaip pelytė Zita pasaulį išgelbėjo (How the Little Mouse Zita Redeemed the World): [tale]. Vilnius: Dominicus Lituanus, 2009
Pranciškus ir jo senelis Palemonas (Francis and his Grandpa Palemonas): [tales]. Vilnius: Dominicus Lituanus, 2009
Latvian: Sliņķu pasakas, Riga: Liels un mazs, 2008
Swedish: Dominic – den förälskade hästen Stockholm: Trasten, 2006
Ukrainian: Любов коня Домінікаса, Lviv: Old Lion, 2008
Мишка Зіта, Kiev: Грані-Т, 2009
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MEMORIES
In the evening, at home, Vilija asked about the woman who lived in the house
that nobody ever noticed. Mother and Father looked at each other for a long time.
They looked as though they hadn’t heard about that house before. They also didn’t
remember the woman named Elizabeth who lived in the village.
But Vilija spent the entire evening thinking about memories.
For some reason, people thought that everyone had to see them and remember
them. You’ve already read about the house. However, the house is not enough. People tried to dress themselves even more brightly. There are people who drive their
cars very fast or who talk very loud. There are those kind of people who actually
try to step on your toes when they dance and those who slobber porridge on you
when they eat.
©Gendrutis Morkūnas
©Lina Žutautė
©Nieko rimto
Nieko rimto
Dūmų g. 3a
lt-11119 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2696684
[email protected]
www.niekorimto.lt
Gen drutis Morkū nas
A Comeback Story
Let’s not forget shopping either. Everybody remembers the kind of people who
buy a lot of stuff and do it very loud.
If you asked a person why they wanted to be remembered, you probably wouldn’t
hear the answer. Some people would start talking about human nature. Other people would talk about how nice it is when other people remember you. Still others
would say that everybody does it. Only one or two wouldn’t say anything. I’m quite
sure that Vilija’s new friend would simply shrug her shoulders and Vilija would
understand that even those who don’t remember anything, do remember something after all.
Before falling asleep Vilija tries to remember as many people as possible. She
names them all in her thoughts so that it would be easier than reciting the alphabet.
After spending twelve years in Children’s Land (we do not find out anything about this land) Vilija comes
back to her family, her school, and the “real” world. It is hard for her to adapt, because she is different …
The majority of images in this novel are depicted according to the principles of psychological realism.
However, very important are the forms of conditional expression – fragments of magical realism,
visions, etc. This book is noteworthy not only for its originality and for its fascinating plot, but also for its
narrator, who thinks a lot, remembers incidents, ruminates over events, is sarcastic at times, but most
importantly, respects the teenagers for whom this book is written.
The Lithuanian section of IBBY awarded A Comeback Story the title of the best book for children and
teenagers in 2007.
Illustrated by Lina Žutautė
Grįžimo istorija. Nieko rimto, Vilnius, 2007. – 216 p.
isbn 978-9955-683-38-4
She was sleepy, but she didn’t fall asleep until she got to the letter “N.” She decided
that she’d continue remembering names after “N” tomorrow and fell asleep. When
she woke up the following morning, she had forgotten everything completely.
The days flew past. Autumn came. Vilija went to school, but she didn’t remember
the woman who lived in the house, nobody noticed, not even once.
In the middle of October Vilija heard that Elizabeth had died.
The entire village came to her funeral. The deceased did not have any family, so
only the neighbors came to the cemetery.
The coffin was buried and the fresh grave was covered in flowers. It was time to
go home, but the people weren’t in a hurry. Everyone stood around the grave, gazing at it quietly. Everyone was quiet until someone said:
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A Comeback Story
“Do you remember?”
And it started. It was as though someone had opened up a bag. A bag that was
huge and was full of memories. Of course, memories of Elizabeth. That same Elizabeth whom everyone had forgotten while she was alive—even the mailman.
Someone remembered that she used to run, taking tiny steps, to the forest to pick
berries. Someone else remembered how well she used to rake during the haying.
Another woman remembered that she was terrified of bees and that she had gotten
very sick when a single bee had stung her. Someone else in the group remembered
eating the pancakes she’d make. The daughter of the closest neighbor sang a song
that Elizabeth had taught her. She sang it right there, in the cemetery. It was a happy
song, but she sang it in a sad voice. The people liked the song very much and it had
the potential of becoming one of the most popular songs in the village.
Everyone went home only when it started to get dark. They didn’t put up a headstone and they didn’t nail together even the most simple board with the deceased’s
name and surname. Then Vilija received a letter. It was from Elizabeth. She wrote it
just before she died. The letter consisted of just a few lines:
“I’m not well. I know I will die soon. I know because I know no one will ever explain one thing to you. Those children you saw drawing pictures the other day were
my children. But they are gone now.”
Vilija had never experienced anything stranger in her life. It turns out, that she’d
seen children who didn’t exist? Where did they disappear to? Did they leave? Did
they die?
Vilija tried to find out in the village, but no one knew anything. Everybody was
of the opinion that Elizabeth had always lived alone and that no one had ever visited her.
When Elizabeth tried to get information out of the older people in the village,
they just answered quietly:
“I don’t remember. I didn’t hear a thing. I don’t know.”
The house where Vilija saw the drawing children stood empty and abandoned. It
looked as though no one had set foot inside it for at least several decades.
One day Vilija didn’t have her final class. It was warm, so she decided to wait
for the school bus at the corner of the school, where the bus always stopped. Since
the school bus only left after all the classes were over, Vilija had tons of happy free
time.
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A Comeback Story
She stood and thought to herself. Though, a passer-by would have said that the
girl was daydreaming, because it seemed to everyone for some reason that twelve-
“I didn’t forget a thing,” Vilija said, insulted. “I’m waiting for the bus right now.
There’s no reason to…”
year-old girls are only capable of talking and sleeping. And if a girl isn’t talking and
Vilija was surprised at her own bravery. It was no joke to talk back to an adult
isn’t sleeping, then in the opinion of most people, she is dreaming. And naturally,
when you are twelve, especially to a stranger. Though, she did doubt just a little
she could only be dreaming about pink ribbons. As it turned out, sometimes things
whether the personage standing before her was actually a man at all. She wasn’t
were different. Twelve-year-old girls are capable of thinking too. And this time Vilija
one hundred percent sure. That smell made her doubtful.
was thinking. She daydreamed while riding in the bus through the forest or before
“Okay,” said the bum and drunk, waving his hand and slowly turning around as
falling asleep. The corner of the school building did not lend itself to daydreaming.
though his movements were as heavy as those of tractor wheels. He turned slowly
There she could only think.
and clumsily, so that it took a full five minutes for him to turn away from Vilija.
From that thinking came a strange smell. When she opened her eyes, she saw that
Suddenly she had an idea.
the town bum and drunk was standing in front of her. I’m sure you can imagine the
smell that Vilija smelled at that moment, though it is hard to describe in words. Af-
“Tell me, do you know something about Elizabeth. About Miss Elizabeth? The
woman we buried?”
ter all, the homeless man and drunk drank and slept in abandoned farms. Besides
People often complain about their memory. Even those people who want to forget
that, he never washed and almost never ate. He never shaved or cleaned his shoes.
something complain about their memory, as do those who could benefit by forget-
He’d walk the center of the street and terrify the cashiers in the shops. I think that
ting. Especially people who are too lazy to remember complain, but especially those
it isn’t difficult to imagine how a man who lives this way smells.
who think that memories can harm them.
The bum and drunk stared at Vilija. His eyes were red. His hair was tousled in all
directions. His hands were shaking.
“Everything’s alright,” the bum and drunk mumbled. “Everyone’s happy. Aren’t
they?”
The only people who don’t complain about memory are those who have none.
When they need to ask something, they struggle to remember what. Trying that
hard, that person can scratch their head for a full hour or shrug their shoulders for
three. They’ll keep it up until they get blisters on their head or they dislocate their
“What are you talking about?” Vilija asked.
shoulders. Believe it or not, but patience always wins in the end. That same person
“The funeral. You buried her.” The bum and drunk’s words were not clear and so
with the blisters on his head or with the dislocated shoulders can suddenly improve
Vilija had to strain to understand what he was saying.
“What funeral?” Vilija wondered if the man hadn’t confused her with some-
his memory and talk about a number of things that he’d forgotten even then when
he was eating baby food.
one else. And for good reason. Up until this point, this man had never so much
However, some people can rub their heads until they shine or dislocate not just
as glanced at her even once. Whenever Vilija saw him coming, she’d walk away as
their shoulders but their elbows and still not remember anything. Those people
quickly as possible. His appearance alone was revolting. We all don’t like bums and
are drunks. They say that alcohol eats away at their brains like the Colorado Beetle
drunks. There are people who are afraid of them. Then there are people who try to
eats away at potato leaves. The memory gets holes in it from beer, wine, and vodka.
kick them or throw rocks at them.
That’s what the doctors say.
“You forgot already,” the bum and drunk said in a condescending tone. “You forget quickly.”
Vilija didn’t know that. That was why she dared ask about the mysterious woman.
Of course, it was foolish to ask. First of all, drunks forget even their own names.
Then Vilija understood which funeral he was talking about. He was talking about
Second of all, bums aren’t at all concerned with women who live in houses nobody
Elizabeth’s funeral. Vilija would never forget this funeral as long as she lived. No one
notices. Third of all, bums and drunks belong to the town, so they don’t know any-
could ever forget a funeral where somebody steps up and sings.
thing about people who live in the village. Town people, even the bums and drunks,
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A Comeback Story
look down their noses at the villages and make it their business not to know anything about them.
That same moment it turned out that even doctors could be wrong. Not all
drunks’ memories are eaten away by the Colorado Beetle. And this bum and drunk
still knew a thing or two.
He turned towards Vilija and said, “I know.”
Vilija waited patiently until the bum and drunk could turn himself around to face
her. That took at the very least a full five minutes, but it was worth the wait. Vilija
could not speak to the bum and drunk’s filthy shoulder and wrinkled ear.
“She was a mother,” the bum and drunk said to Vilija.
The answer surprised Vilija so much that she had to ask:
“Did you draw pictures with your mother as a child?”
“Yes, my brother and I would draw with pencils. Our sister preferred coal. She’d
take it out of the coal stove. Then she’d walk around and sketch.”
She heard a slight cough in the man’s throat that quickly turned into a sob. After
several sobs the man began to cough. Vilija understood that he was trying to laugh,
but that he’d grown unaccustomed to laughing and the laugh was caught up in a
cough. Bums and drunks rarely laugh.
“Then it turns out that I saw you drawing,” Vilija said, coming to an unexpected
conclusion. “But that was a few weeks ago, and you are so…”
She wanted to say that the bum and drunk was so big now, but he would have
been big just a few weeks ago, and even a few years ago. But it was hard to call bums
and drunks big. They were all… well… so dirty. And they smelled.
The man was quiet. A gust of wind blew through the street. She heard the bell
go off inside the school. Vilija knew that if she wanted to find something out, she’d
have to hurry.
“I received a letter. Your mother wrote it. She wrote that those children were gone.
But here you are.”
“I am? Here? Me?” Now the man’s voice was angry. He grew angrier and angrier,
waving his arms and spitting. He waved his arms more and more quickly and the
smell coming from him grew stronger.
Vilija looked around. When she saw the children coming out of the school’s doors,
she felt calmer. It was awful to have a man with crumpled ears waving his arms at
her like that.
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A Comeback Story
“Not one of us is left. Not one. My sister died. My brother and my other sister left.
I am here. My other brother…” Suddenly he grew calm. It seemed as though the
voices of the many children approaching calmed him.
Vilija didn’t even notice when the man disappeared. It seemed as though he’d just
been standing in front of her and suddenly not even his awful smell was left behind.
Remembering how slowly and with what difficulty he’d turned around, she thought
©Vladas Braziūnas
that perhaps she’d just dreamed it all.
In the evening the man disappeared from the town. No one saw him the next
day or the day after that either. People went to the police. To be honest, they didn’t
really want the police to find the missing man. Who wanted bums and drunks in
their town after all?
And the police didn’t even look for the man. The police can only search for a man
when they know his name and his surname. And no one knew the missing man’s
name or surname. The town’s women called the man “the drunk” and the men called
him “the bum.” Have you ever met anyone who went by the name of Bum, surname
Drunk? Or the other way around, Drunk, surname Bum?
Gen drutis Morkū nas
(1960–2009) was a children’s book author. He had a PhD in Physics from Vilnius University and was
employed with the Physics Institute. Morkūnas wrote roughly 70 scholarly and technical articles,
authored and co-authored several books. He was a regular contributor to the news portal Bernardinai.lt,
the weekly Šiaurės Atėnai, and the newspaper Šiaurės rytai.
Morkūnas published his first literary work A Summer with a Cat-Dog in 2005. The Lithuanian Section
of IBBY recognized this debut as the most significant book of the year for young adults. The Story of
Return and the Tales from a Flea House were selected the best books for children and young adults in
2007 and 2008. The Story of Return was included on the IBBY Honour List in 2010. In 2010 he was posthumously awarded the Children’s Literature Prize by the Lithuanian Education and Science Ministry.
Vasara su Katšuniu (A Summer with a Catdog): [novel]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 2005
Grįžimo istorija (A Comeback Story): [novella]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2007
Blusyno pasakojimai (Flea Stories): [short stories]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2008
Velniškai karštos atostogos (Damned Hot Holidays): [story]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Iš nuomšiko gyvenimo (From a Tenant’s Life): [novella]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2010
Bulgarian: Дяволски гореща ваканция, Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Estonian: Kuratlikult kuum koolivaheaeg, Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Latvian: Ellīgi karstas brīvdienas, Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
At the P hotographer’s
Here’s a merry photographer,
Like some duke from fairy tales.
He arranges under glass
Photographs of all of us.
Here’s a fun young lady;
Keeps her hair in a bun.
She’s in her wedding dress, and see,
She looks straight ahead at me.
©Violeta Palčinskaitė
©Irena Daukšaitė-Guobienė
©Gimtasis žodis
Here’s a man, with a moustache, sitting,
Gimtasis žodis
lt-09311 Vilnius
Lithuania
His two soldier sons befitting.
Further on, a family:
+370 5 2725352
[email protected]
A little boy, his dad and mummy.
In the corner, you can see,
Violeta Palči nskaitė
Stands a ten-year-old. It’s me.
I’ll turn eleven in December.
Under a Hanging Bridge of a Fairy Tale
I need a picture to remember.
In this book, the reader will find 33 poems. The poetry can be described as playfully unexpected,
fairylike, stylistically light, graceful, and lucid. From time to time, moods of subtle sadness or romantic
longing are conveyed. Quite a few poems are simply beautiful because of the allusions to childhood
and the search for light and endless kindness. The poems are like walking from a simple artistic form
to a more complex one, while having in mind the stages of a child’s age and his ability to comprehend.
It’s like playing games at first, and then gradually approaching more profound generalizations, the
importance of subtext, and all that is beautiful and mysterious. The title of this book is a line from the
author’s poem The Little Match Girl, based on the fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen.
Illustrated by Irena Daukšaitė-Guobienė
Po kabančiu pasakos tiltu. Gimtasis žodis, Vilnius, 2010. – 56 p.
isbn 978-9955-16-354-1
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77
G lass A rtists S treet
T his is how we B ecame G rown- Ups
In the middle of the night,
From the balcony, yesterday evening,
In a silent
Last year’s kite has disappeared.
Old street,
From cocoons were slowly hatching
Invisible craftsmen
Blue-winged butterflies up there.
Wake up from
And it seemed that nothing happened.
Their dreams.
Just the rain, it washed the courtyard.
Their steps
Just the sun, it played all day there,
Are so fragile.
With a green book, she had opened.
Their houses
Only towards evening, in a whimsy,
So brittle.
Dandelion puffs were dancing.
A glass artist’s craft
Just in tall grass there went missing
Is so old
A little ball from our childhood.
And so pretty.
Just the time was dripping slowly,
In Glass Artists Street,
Not waiting, not waiting.
On a little glass weight,
Just a little child went out there
A fragile
And returned,
Glass ball
But as a grown-up.
Rotates
And rotates!
A little glass girl,
She comes out
To the gates.
A little glass fish,
In a green fountain
It plays.
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79
80
81
A B rook
T he S torm
Bitter wind, the snow it’s sweeping
Old man storm, where have you been?
Under ice, a brook is sleeping.
Through the night, what have you seen?
Wonders frost, all white and old,
I was walking through the streets
Little brook, aren’t you cold?
Sowing fur coats for the trees.
They’re not freezing any more,
Wait a minute, be so patient,
Covered with my coats of fur.
The blizzard’s making you a blanket.
Jack Frost, where have you been?
You will have a fluffy spread
In the morning, what’ve you seen?
Embroidered with a silver thread.
Went outside, inhaled fresh air,
Soft and white the spread will be.
And painted every fence out there.
It’ll make you warm, you’ll see.
Jack Frost, where have you been?
In the daytime, what’ve you seen?
I messed the hair of passers-by,
And tossed their hats high in the sky.
To make it nicer everywhere,
I mixed the sky with earth out there.
Jack Frost, what will you do
In the evening? Tell me, do.
Well, tomorrow morning you shall see
What plans I had for you and me.
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T he H o u se of P eas
In a long and greenish hut,
Peas were partying a lot.
©Vladas Braziūnas
What a wild idea they had,
To party all day in their hut!
Peas were playing, laughing, jumping,
Hopping up and down like monkeys.
They feared nothing, feared no one,
Not even the creepiest worm.
But one day, the walls of the green hut
Couldn’t hold it, and they cracked.
Brothers green peas looked around them.
What has happened? Who has found them?
Little fingers, fast and nifty,
Put them in a pocket swiftly.
What a wild idea peas had,
To party all day in their hut!
Violeta Palči nskaitė
(b. 1943 in Kaunas) is a poet, playwright and translator. From 1960 to 1964 she studied at the Faculty
of History and Philology of Vilnius University.
Palčinskaitė started writing poetry for adults in 1958 and made her debut in children’s literature
in 1965. She has been a member of the Lithuanian Writers’ Union since 1964. She has published
around 25 books for little readers – poems, plays and fairy tales. Her plays-tales have been staged by
several Lithuanian theatres, as well as theatres in Moscow, Kiev, Lvov, Minsk, Tbilisi and Helsinki.
Žirnių namelis (Pea Cottage): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1965
Einu per miestą (I’m Wandering the Town): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1966
Baltosios nykštukės (The Fair Elves): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1970
Namai namučiai (Home Sweet Home): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1977
Kristiano Anderseno rožė (Christian Andersen’s Rose): [plays]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1978
Lietaus nykštukai (Rain Elves): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1980
Aš vejuos vasarą (Chasing Summer): [plays]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1982
Senamiesčio lėlės (Dolls of the Old Town): [poems]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1987
Sapnų taškuota sraigė (A Dotted Lady Bird of Dreams): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1997
Skersgatvio palangės (Window Sills of a Back Alley): [selection of poems and plays]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2003
Karalius pamiršo raidyną (The King has Forgotten the Alphabet): [poems – ABC]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2007
Stebuklinga Mocarto fleita (Mozart’s Magic Flute), [tale]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2008
Po kabančiu pasakos tiltu (Under a Hanging Bridge of a Fairy Tale): [poems]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2010
What could be more melodious than the song of the skylark? What could be more
lovely than that moment when the skylark flies up into the springtime sky? That
moment when you must stop and watch with your head thrown back as the skylark disappears, becoming just a speck in the sky. The skylark is such a small bird,
but it is so strong!
“The skylark is happy because its song is so beautiful,” people say when they listen
to the skylark. They don’t even realize that this tiny bird’s heart is torn with pain.
Only last night something large and black had torn apart its nest. That nest the little
bird had spun out of grass and branches. The little bird had decorated its nest and
was preparing to lay her first egg. In just a few days that nest would have been filled
with eggs. The skylark would have warmed the eggs until they hatched.
However, during the night something stomped across the meadow, grunting and
©Selemonas Paltanavičius
©Sigita Populaigienė
©Žara
Žara
Akademijos g. 4-113
lt-08412 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2729117
[email protected]
www.zara.lt
Selemonas Paltanaviči us
The Devil and the Skylark
growling. It stamped out the nest and ripped apart the grasses that held it together.
The skylark’s home was gone. There was no place left where the skylark could find
comfort or lay its eggs.
The sad skylark flew up into the sky and let out its pain in its song. Only, it is a
beautiful song of sadness that comes out of this bird’s throat, because it does not
know any other way of singing.
After singing sadly like this for a long time, all of a sudden the skylark fell to the
ground. It found shelter beside the first haystack it saw and laid its egg there. This
egg was round and gray as the earth and so lonely. The skylark could not take the
egg with her and she could not stay and warm the egg.
The skylark wiped away her tears, took a deep breath, and flew up into the sky to
The naturalist and writer Selemonas Paltanavičius creates a story in which he weaves in elements
of folklore. A young imp finds a tiny lark’s egg and keeps it as a treasure. Unexpectedly, a “little brother”
emerges from the egg: although very different from the little imp himself, the little brother seems dear
to him, so the imp is more than happy to care for him. This literary story paraphrases nicely some folk
images, thereby conveying the idea of tolerance, including the message that the “other” may be dear and
worth loving. This book was selected by its young Lithuanian readers as the favourite book in 2006.
Illustrated by Sigita Populaigienė
Velniukas ir vieversiukas. Žara, Vilnius, 2007. – 40 p.
isbn 978-9986-34-174-1
sing out her sad song.
That is how the skylark’s egg was left behind beside the haystack. It was so small
and its color blended into the landscape so perfectly, that if one walked past it, one
would never see it. Someone could accidentally step on it. Certainly, people didn’t
have sharp enough vision to see the egg. But the skylark couldn’t see it either.
All day long the sun warmed one side of the egg. The egg was as warm as though
the skylark were sitting on it. But in the evening a cold fog covered the land and the
ground became very damp.
“What bad weather,” someone muttered to himself in the darkness. “If I didn’t
have business to take care of, I’d be spending the night at home sitting beside the
stove.”
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“Oooooh, and what business do we have to take care of?” said a second voice, a
voice much higher pitched than the first voice. “I…”
“Quiet,” the first voice said in the darkness, “we are looking for something that we
did not lose. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re not acting like my child,” the deeper voice said. “We are looking for… Oh,
come here, I’ll whisper it in your ear.”
The first voice whispered something in deep tones into the ear of the second voice,
who spoke in high tones. When the whispering was finished, the second voice said
happily, “Now I finally understand!”
The night was dark and black. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your
face, much less the creatures that were growling and grunting at the end of the
meadow. These creatures gave off a distinctive stink. It was the stench of sulphur
and charcoal.
This was not the first night that these two creatures had been out searching for
something. The older one was old, had a shaggy beard, and crooked horns. The
small one was chubby and hadn’t grown his horns yet. He was just learning his
devilment.
That night the older devil wanted to show the younger devil where sprouts grew,
how money burns, and how much fun it is to go out at night and play tricks on people. Of course, the older devil was no longer interested in playing such devilish tricks,
but he was willing to go out for the sake of his young son. He thought to himself: All
I want is for him to grow up to be a real devil, and not to shame our family heritage.
Those were his thoughts as he searched for something in the underbrush. Yes, this
is where the sprouts ought to grow, he thought to himself. I used to be able to smell
them from far away. Fires made of money burned in every field. What has happened
in this world? What if a time comes when my Little Devil will no longer be able to hide
in the underbrush or fool travelers or take away their money?
“I found it!” the Little Devil called out. “I found it! It’s still warm! Oh, it tickles my
palm!”
“What did you find? Careful, my son. It might be a flower or a butterfly? Toss it
away. Or, no, show it to me. What is it?”
“Look!” the Little Devil said and opened up his palm. The two of them moved in
closer to get a better look.
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It was completely dark, but their eyes could make out the shape of the object in
the Little Devil’s palm. It was the egg the skylark had lost: the gray, round, smooth
egg.
“It’s so small,” the Old Devil said and scratched at his musty head.
“It’s too small to eat and you can’t create any devilment with it. Better throw it
away,” the Old Devil said.
©Vladas Braziūnas
“Oh, but it tickles my palm,” the Little Devil said and then he shook his head. “I
won’t throw it away. I’ll keep it. I’ll treasure it. I haven’t owned anything in my life.
All I have is you, father. Is that alright?”
The Old Devil scratched his musty head again and thought about his young son.
It was true; his life had been full of worry. Why shouldn’t he let his son have this
one small thing. Let him have it, if it makes him happy.
“Can I have it? Can I really have it?” the Little Devil asked.
“You may,” the Old Devil said and pulled him along by the hand. “Just look, a fire
is burning. That means that money which has been earned in a dirty way is hidden
in the ground! Let’s go look for that money. If we find it, it’s ours. But if we don’t
find it…”
“And if we don’t find it?” the Little Devil asked.
“Even if we don’t find it, it’s still ours. We’re not in a hurry. We’ll come back some
time and take it.”
Until the sun came up the Little Devil waded with his father through the wet
grass learning how to sniff out sprouts and how to find money buried deep under
the ground.
Selemonas Paltanaviči us
(b. 1956 in Marijampolė District) is a writer. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Biology from
ilnius University. In 1984 he began working as a forest ranger in the Žuvintas nature preserve. Currently
V
Paltanavičius works at the Ministry of the Environment of the Republic of Lithuania. He joined the
Lithuanian Writers’ Union in 1991.
While in his seventh grade already he wrote a book of stories about nature. After studying biology
at Vilnius University for several years, he handed his manuscript to the publisher, Vaga. And that is how
his first book, Stories of the Green Forest (1978) was published. A few years later he published Why the
Jays Sing. Later he published a collection of stories about children and nature. He has now published over
20 books with a variety of publishers. Besides his body of work in nature writing, he has now written a
few literary works for children, among them It’s us, the Mice! and The Devil and the Skylark and Leonard
the Leopard.
In 2006 his book The Devil and the Skylark was selected as the best book for children at the Annual
Book Elections. That same year the Lithuanian Section of IBBY awarded him a special prize for his use of
folk themes in his writing.
Žalio miško istorijos (Stories of the Green Forest): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1978
Medis užauga didelis (A Tree Grows Tall): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1985
Ir aš turiu saulutę (And I have the Sun): [fairy-tales]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1987
Vabzdžių karalius (The Insect King): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Asveja, 1995
Tai mes, pelės! (It’s us, the Mice!): [short story]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2004
Velniukas ir vieversiukas (The Devil and the Skylark): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Žara, 2005; 2nd 2007
Didvyrio kalnas (The Hero’s Hill): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Žara, 2005
Lietuvos nacionaliniai parkai (Lithuania’s National Parks): [short texts about Lithuania]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 2007
Leopardas Leonardas (Leonard the Leopard): [short story]. Vilnius: Žara, 2008
Aš – lietuvis (I Am Lithuanian): [educational]. Kaunas: Terra publica, 2009
Gandro Jono pasaulis (Jonas the Stork’s World): [tale]. Kaunas: Terra publica, 2009
Kur išskrido pasakėlė (Where did the Tale Fly?): [tales]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2009
Labas, kaip gyveni? (Hello, How Have You Been?): [14 letters from the woods]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2010
Vilkai (Wolves): [educational]. Vilnius: Baltos lankos, 2011
T he I ns u rrection
The next morning, the two friends visited the field hospital under the big burdock
leaf. There were many wounded infantrymen lying there.
“What do you give the wounded?” Acorn asked the doctor.
“Hope,” he replied.
“What hope?”
“That the Hundred Years’ War will soon end.”
“Quiet, you scoundrel! You must treat them with wax, sap, or cement powder.”
“That’s very true,” the doctor agreed. “Today, I could even use simple pollen; but
where can I get some? Cement is needed for fortifications, wax to clean the cannons,
sap to make gunpowder, and all the leftovers are used to build the secret war machine. There’s nothing to anoint the belly with, let alone dress wounds. In a word,
©Vytautas Petkevičius
©Gintaras Jocius
©Alma littera
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
Vytautas Petkeviči us
we’ll treat the wounded when we’ve won the war.”
One private leaned on his straw rifle and said:
“Hey, men, talk is cheap. My grandfather never saw victory on the battlefield; my
father is a prisoner; and I, in the hospital, will not live to see peace.”
Acorn looked around, and his eyes grew dim. As far as he could see, there were
wounded lying and waiting for the end of the war so that they could be treated.
His heart ached on hearing the moans of the suffering. He touched Pea’s arm, and
said:
“I don’t want to shoot any more.”
Acorn’s Adventures in the Land of Vices
“Didn’t I tell you?” his friend sighed.
“You did,” Acorn admitted. “But we must do something.”
This fantasy’s charm is due primarily to the believable representation of a child’s character as the
main protagonist. Born on a branch of an old oak tree, Acorn is happy, energetic and curious, but also
mischievous and naughty. Sent away to the Land of Vices, he begins to understand negative aspects
of his own behaviour. The dynamic plot of the fantasy consists of a re-education process of the main
character. However, in some episodes the writer uses an Aesopian way of speaking to allude to social
and moral issues. This book, written in 1964, is a classic example of Lithuanian children’s literature.
The present edition is the fifth one.
Illustrated by Gintaras Jocius
Gilės nuotykiai Ydų šalyje. Alma littera, Vilnius, 2009. – 151 p.
isbn 978-9955-38-370-3
Translated into Russian, Estonian and Latvian
Acorn was deep in thought all day. He drew diagrams in the sand, argued with
Pea and with himself, until he had made up his mind:
“You, Swifty, must sneak into the cavalry camp at night, and steal the commander’s uniform and medals. I’ll try to undress the colonel of the infantry.”
“I don’t understand,” shrugged Pea.
“There isn’t much to understand. Both Flatbeans look so alike, they could be
twins. We’ll swap their clothes. The soldiers will know what to do with an enemy
commander.”
“What if they can’t work it out?” Pea was still doubtful.
“We’ll help them.”
“What if they don’t believe us?”
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“Don’t be a coward.” Acorn was angry. “Hurry, the summer nights are short.”
Pea ran out. He rolled quietly over the trenches, climbed over the barriers, and,
as he approached the enemy rearguard, he dropped down on his belly and tried to
“So who’s lying underneath the blanket?” wondered Flatbean, as he pinched his
belly. But the ghost would not disappear. Furious, the colonel began pinching his
nose, but the ghost was still striking poses before the mirror.
crawl. But he couldn’t. He was so round that whether he was on his back or on his
“Guard!” the brave man shouted in a strained voice.
knees, he rolled as if someone had pushed him downhill. So he stood up, put his
Hearing the shout, Acorn froze. He was so frightened, he could hardly move. Un-
hands behind his back, and slowly, as if he had gone out for a stroll, directed his
consciously, he lowered his hand towards the hilt of his sword.
steps towards Flatbean’s tent. The sentries, noticing his dignified way of walking,
took him for an important visitor, and stood to attention.
“Don’t kill me!” screamed Flatbean. “Take my troops and let me live.” He knelt
down and put up his hands. “I surrender! Tell me who you are!”
The cavalry commander was deep in slumber. Swifty spread out his cobweb cloak,
placed the helmet, clothes and medals on it, tied it up, threw it over his shoulder,
The sight of the whimpering colonel reassured Acorn just as he was about to flee.
When the sentries ran in, he pulled himself together, and said in a haughty voice:
and retraced his steps.
“Men, remind this fool who I am!”
Acorn was not in the tent. He was lying on his stomach near the colonel’s tent, and
“You are the highest-ranking bean, equal to no one. The Flatbean of all Flatbeans.”
waiting either for the light inside to go out, or for the sentry to fall asleep. In order
“And who am I?” the sleepy warrior asked.
to check whether the sentry was awake or not, he would throw a pebble at him. The
“You are my spirit, my shadow, my ghost, which I don’t need during the day,”
soldier would immediately look around him. There was nothing left but to give him
teased Acorn. “Men, throw him into a pit until the evening!”
a hard blow on the back of the head.
Once inside the tent, he had no trouble gathering up Flatbean’s trinkets and
“Lies! Treason! Obey my commands,” shouted Flatbean, regaining his senses. But
the sentries followed Acorn’s orders, and imprisoned their colonel underground.
clothes. He threw the bundle over his shoulder, and was about to slink out when he
saw a large mirror. It was a temptation to have a look.
Acorn examined himself from head to toe, stretched, twisted, stuck out his
Acorn, the child of the Oak, was so taken with his power and honour that he decided to tease his friend Pea. Groaning under the weight of all his medals, he staggered towards Pea’s tent, and shouted in a deep voice:
tongue, wrinkled his nose, and winked. The mirror repeated his every movement.
“Hey, conspirators, open up!”
Acorn liked this game very much. He put on Flatbean’s blue helmet, his trousers,
Thinking that Flatbean had discovered their plot, Swifty grabbed an ancient pis-
his spurred boots and his red spotted tunic, and pinned on the medals. Dressed up
tol and fired at the moving mass of medals. Fortunately, the pistol was very old, the
in this way, he looked in the mirror again. He didn’t recognise himself. There was a
barrel was crooked, for shooting around corners, so the bullet merely knocked the
fine warrior in front of him, with his hand raised respectfully.
pretender’s helmet off and showed his face.
He turned round a few times, and jangled like a bag full of coins. He liked this, and
he began marching backwards and forwards in front of the mirror, as if he was on
“It’s … it’s … it’s you.” Pea was more frightened than ever, and he began to feel sick.
“It’s you!”
parade. Meanwhile, the colonel was dreaming a terrifying dream. It seemed to him
that the cavalry had cut his regiment to shreds, and they were now chasing him.
“It’s me! It’s me! Who else?” Acorn spread out his arms. “Everything turned out
better than expected. The infantry Flatbean is sitting in a pit.”
When he awoke, he was afraid to open his eyes. But imagine his terror when he
saw himself preening himself in front of the mirror. Flatbean quickly pulled the
“Wonderful! Now tell the buglers to announce the end of the war, so that we can
all go back home with the soldiers, happy and free.”
blanket over his head. But an annoying jangle of medals rang in his ears. The colo-
“And the cavalry? We must plan something for them,” Acorn said pedantically,
nel carefully pinched his thigh, and peered at his ghost walking about. There was
and he began to write something. This time, it was easier. After half a day’s toil, he
no doubt, it was him, walking.
read this proclamation:
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Be gone, horrible soldiers.
Be gone, Flatbeans.
Soldiers, we will learn
To live without masters.
“Wonderful!” Pea hopped about. “Wonderful!”
They printed several thousand leaflets. Their friends carried them to the artillery batteries, loaded twenty or thirty of the largest cannonballs, and ordered them
to be fired into the sky. As the cannonballs exploded over the battlefield, a cloud of
leaflets rained down. The soldiers read the leaflets, threw their caps in the air, and
joyfully burst into song.
When the infantry heard the first notes of the bugles, they dropped their weapons, and within five minutes they had scattered in all directions. There was not one
soldier left. When the cavalry saw this, they retreated as well. They did not believe
the bugle calls, and thought it was just another ploy by the enemy. In the midst of
all this chaos, the cavalry commander woke up. “Why are we retreating?” he roared.
“Where are my trousers? Where’s my sword? Where are my medals?”
When the cavalry heard the hysterical voice of their commander, they urged their
horses on, and retreated across the entire front. Confused, Flatbean wrapped himself up in a sheet, mounted his horse bareback, and, screaming and cursing terribly,
he intercepted the deserters.
“Don’t move! Either you find my trousers, or I’ll grind you cowards to dust! I’ll
show you how poppy seeds are shaken! I’ll make mincemeat out of you!”
The troops stood in formation and waited. The day was waning, but Flatbean,
wrapped in his sheet, ran across the field and threatened: “I’ll shoot you! I’ll squeeze
water out of you! I’ll roast you on a spit!”
The more the cavalry commander ranted without carrying out his threats, the
more the soldiers doubted him.
“Where are your epaulettes?” one man asked.
“You tell me where they are! Cowards, villains, sleepyheads!” Flatbean raged like
a storm.
“Maybe he’s a spy,” the soldiers wondered, and grabbed the commander by the
scruff of the neck.
“I’m your commander! I’m your master!”
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“Very well, but we have to check,” the soldiers said.
They ordered him to saddle his horse. The commander did not know where to
begin. Then, the men ordered him to sharpen his sword. Flatbean turned the whetstone so violently that soon his sword was serrated like a saw. They did not bother
with the third test. They tore away the sheet that Flatbean was wearing, and saw, to
their surprise, that this was not an ordinary bean, but some sort of monster.
“Have mercy on me!” cried the stranger. “I’ll never wage war again.”
©Ona Pajedaitė
The soldiers considered this. At that moment, one of Acorn’s and Pea’s cannonballs exploded over their heads, and a shower of leaflets rained down upon them.
“Be gone, horrible soldiers! Be gone, Flatbeans!” the cavalry cried out. The ground
swayed with their mighty shouting.
At once, the soldiers marched the naked Flatbean to the largest cannon, loaded it
with a hundred measures of devil’s tobacco gunpowder, squeezed their leader into
an empty artillery shell, and fired him towards the moon. For the first time ever, the
soldiers gave a hearty “Hurrah!” and, singing merrily, they turned for home.
“Let’s stop by the camp,” someone suggested. “We can march home together!”
The ground shuddered under the horses’ hooves, a thousand voices sang joyful
songs, and ten thousand feet stomped out a merry jig. Acorn and Pea heard the
noise, and hurried out to meet the cavalry.
“Long live peace!” cried Acorn.
“Hurrah for the cavalry!” Pea affirmed.
Instantly, the cavalrymen dismounted, tied them up, and marched them to the
same cannon from which they had just launched Flatbean to the moon.
“Friends, what are you doing?” cried Acorn.
“Be gone, horrible soldiers!” the men replied.
Just then, the two friends noticed that Acorn was still wearing all of Flatbean’s
medals and his blue helmet.
“We’re innocent, we were only joking!” Acorn tried to explain.
But it was all to no avail. The soldiers loaded it with two hundred measures of devil’s tobacco gunpowder, stuffed the two of them into an empty shell, and lit the fuse.
“What ingratitude!” wailed Acorn. “We only wanted to help …”
A tremendous bang silenced his cries, and the shell flew up into the blue sky.
Vytautas Petkeviči us
(1930–2008) was a writer and Lithuanian political and public figure. From 1953 to 1960 he studied at
the Faculty of History of Moscow Lomonosov State University.
Petkevičius is the author of 30 books, translated into 22 languages. Of these, 14 of his books are for
children. His long short stories-tales have received significant awards: in 1965, the National Award
for the book Acorn’s Adventures in the Land of Vices; in 1970, his contribution to children’s literature
was recognized by the Lithuanian State Award; in 1971 he received the Soviet Union Prize for Children’s
Literature for the book Fathom the Child of a Span.
Ko klykia gervės (Why the Cranes Cry): [realistic story]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1963
Didysis medžiotojas Mikas Pupkus (The Great Hunter Mikas Pupkus ): [tale-long short story]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1973
Kodėlčius (A Boy Who Asked All Questions): [a long short story of miniature stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1974
Molio Motiejus – žmonių karalius (Clay Motiejus – the King of Men): [tale-long short story]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1978
Šešiolikmečiai (The Sixteen-Year-Olds): [realistic long short story]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1987
Gilės nuotykiai Ydų šalyje (Acorn’s Adventures in the Land of Vices): [tale-long short story]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2009
German: Die Abenteuer des grossen Jägers Mikas Pupkus, Vilnius: Vyturys, 1989
Hungarian: Mikasz Pupkasz, a nagy vadász, Budapest: Móra, 1980
Latvian: Kāpēcēns, Rīga: Liesma, 1980
Polish: Wesołe i pouczające przygody myśliwskie Mikuska Pępuska, Niechobrz: Zespół Szkół im. Króla Władysława Jagiełły w Niechobrzu, 2006
Russian: Глиняный Мотеюс – король людей, Vilnius: Vaga, 1983
P tooey !
One day, Vidas the Hamster was walking down the road thinking to himself: “If
these pebbles on the road were grain instead of pebbles, I would have to go back and
forth many times until I had carried them all home. I would stuff my cheeks and go,
stuff my cheeks and go, stuff my cheeks a n d g o, s t u f f m y c h e e k s a n d g o ,
stuff my cheeks a n d g o, s t u f f m y c h e e k s a n d g o , s t u f f m y
c h e e k s a n d g o , s t u f f m y c h e e k s …
“Hi, Vidas,” Monica the Sparrow stopped him. “Where are you going in such a
hurry? What have you got in your cheeks?”
“Ptooey!” Vidas spat out the pebbles that he had in his mouth. “Hi, Monica.”
A T rip to the Park
Believe it or not, this is what happened the day before yesterday.
©Sigitas Poškus
©Rasa Joni
©Alma littera
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
Sigitas Poškus
Once Upon a Time
Tindi Rindi and Vidas the Hamster were on their way to the park.
Vidas went pitter-patter, and Tindi Rindi went flip-flop right behind him. Suddenly, they saw Rattle, walking in front of them. He too was probably going to the
park.
Rattle went trek-trek. Vidas went pitter-patter behind him. Tindi Rindi went flipflop behind Vidas. And suddenly, they saw Telephone walking in front of them.
Telephone went ring-ring. Rattle went trek-trek after him. And Vidas went pitterpatter behind Rattle. Tindi Rindi went flip-flop behind Vidas. And suddenly, they saw
Nutcracker in front of them.
Nutcracker went crunch-crunch first. Telephone went ring-ring after Nutcracker.
“It’s almost impossible to tell a tale from life. What makes humans different from animals is their
ability to laugh, to dream, to love and to create,” says the author of this book. This one puts together
five of his previous books. In all the short tales, readers are addressed in a cheerful and perky manner
as if to teach them to laugh, to dream and to love. The author is no stranger to nonsense, paradox,
and wordplay. But some of the tales, especially the longer ones, take on a more serious tone.
Rattle went trek-trek after Telephone. Vidas went pitter-patter behind Rattle. Tindi
Rindi went flip-flop behind Vidas. All of them went to the park.
They were walking and walking … and suddenly Nutcracker’s legs got tangled
and he fell over.
Telephone fell right on top of Nutcracker. Rattle fell on Telephone. Vidas fell on
Illustrated by Rasa Joni
Vieną kartą. Alma littera, Vilnius, 2009. – 252 p.
isbn 978-9955-38-501-1
Rattle. And Tindi Rindi fell on Vidas … It was not his fault. He got up very quickly.
Everybody started jumping up and down, and scolding Tindi Rindi!
Telephone said: “Ring-ring, I’ll call them and I’ll tell them!”
Rattle said: “Trek-trek, look where you’re falling, you empty-headed scone!”
Vidas threatened them with all four of his paws, and shouted: “I’ll tell Mummy!
I’ll tell Mummy!”
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101
Once Upon a Time
And Nutcracker, whose fault it really was, ran away as fast as he could: “Crunch,
He turned another page and wrote:
crunch, crunch, crunch …”
Now Tindi Rindi became angry, too. Stomp! He stomped with all his feet, and
“I HAVE TO REMEMBER TO READ THAT I HAVE TO REMEMBER TO READ THAT I
HAVE TO REMEMBER TO READ THAT I NEED TO WASH …”
stuck them all in his pockets.
He could not fit any more words on that page.
He put Nutcracker in his jacket pocket on the right. He put Telephone in his jacket
Vidas looked at the words that he had written down, and thought:
pocket on the left. He put Rattle in the inside pocket of his jacket on the right. And
“No more words fit …”
he put Vidas in the inside pocket of his jacket on the left. In that pocket there was
“My handwriting is nice …”
already Pencil, who writes everything down. Then Tindi Rindi went back home, be-
“Nicer than Monica’s …”
cause, believe it or not, it’s no fun going to a park on your own.
“I could fill up the whole notebook if I wanted to …”
Then he pushed it all away, took a few peas out of the kitchen cupboard with his
W rite D own and R emember
inky paws, and went outside to play.
Vidas the Hamster had no trouble remembering things, except for the things that
a young and naughty hamster ought to remember.
A Tale abo u t a W ind R ose
He would never forget to enjoy words that would give him a tummy ache. He
Arthur the Mole could not help wondering how Barbara the Crow always found
remembered to tease Monica the Sparrow. He remembered to disobey his mother.
her way back home, no matter how far away she had flown. However, he did not
However, he would forget to wash his paws before eating or when they got dirty. He
want Barbara to think that he was some silly dummy, and so he never asked her
would forget to pick up his toys. He would forget to clean his shoes.
about it.
One day, Less Educated Rabbit gave Vidas some advice. He said that Vidas should
write down all the things that he did not want to forget.
One day, after the two of them had played “Going Home”, a game that Barbara
especially liked, as if he was continuing to play, he asked her:
“That’s a good idea,” Vidas agreed. “I’ll write them down, and then I’ll
“How do you find your way home from everywhere?”
remember.”
“It’s easy,” Barbara answered. “I can read maps very well.” She pointed with her
He took a notebook and a pen, and on the first page, in capital letters, he wrote:
wing to the game they had just played. “Did you think that we were just playing
“I NEED TO WASH MY PAWS.”
here? No, we were also learning about what’s around us, and about where our home
Then he thought:
is. Also, I have a wind rose.
“What if I forget to read this?”
“What’s that?” asked Arthur.
He turned another page, and he wrote:
“A wind rose is a natural sense of the countries of the world, and it’s also a flower
“I HAVE TO REMEMBER TO READ THAT I NEED TO WASH MY PAWS.”
with eight petals.”
Then he thought:
“What if I forget to read that?”
“I can understand what a natural sense is: like a natural sense to burrow,” said
Arthur. “But what about the flower? Where did you get that from?”
He turned yet another page, and wrote:
“I HAVE TO REMEMBER TO READ THAT I HAVE TO REMEMBER TO READ THAT I
“When I hatched out of my egg, my mother and father planted a piece of the shell.
It grew out of that shell.”
NEED TO WASH MY PAWS.”
“What does this flower look like?”
Then he thought:
“What if I still forget to read this?”
What was the use of talking? Barbara just drew the flower in the sand with her
feet.
102
103
Once Upon a Time
104
105
Once Upon a Time
D on ’ t L et S ea P iglet G et Cold
Towards the evening, a storm started raging. The wind and the rain pounded
mercilessly on the walls of the house. However, the shutters were closed, a fire was
dancing merrily in the grate, and it was cosy and warm. A spring storm was raging
outside, but inside they were having an evening talk, with tea and cake.
Vidas was sitting in his comfortable chair, and did not notice that he was slipping
©Vladas Braziūnas
off to sleep. He did not feel how his mother put a warm blanket over him and tucked
him up in it. He had a dream, and in his dream there was thunder, and there were
waves as tall as houses breaking on the beach.
Through the roaring and the rumbling, he could hear a commanding voice, which
was becoming clearer and clearer: “Don’t let Sea Piglet get cold!”
Vidas got up, put his waterproof coat on, and went outside. It felt as if somebody
had taken him by the hand and led him on a path through the dunes towards the
sea and the pier. Somebody was fighting with the raging water. Waves were breaking over them, and also over Vidas, and they were knocking them both down. Vidas
helped them out of the water.
Finally, soaking wet and tired, both of them went home. It turned out that the
creature was Sea Piglet, who had been washed off the deck of a ship and into the sea.
Sea Piglet hung up his wet clothes by the fire, cuddled up in Vidas’ bed, covered
himself with a blanket, and fell asleep. Nobody in the house woke up. A storm is like
a lullaby to those who live by the sea.
The next day, a bright morning dawned. Vidas, however, was not feeling well.
His mother felt his forehead with her hand. Yes, Vidas had a fever.
“You’re sick, my dear. You’ll have to stay in bed for a couple of days,” mother said.
“Where could you have caught that cold?”
“Where’s Sea Piglet?” Vidas asked in a weak voice.
“You must get some sleep.”
Mother tucked him in.
Vidas sank into a heavy slumber, as is usual when someone is ill. In his dreams,
he saw Sea Piglet, who was hanging his wet clothes up by the fire. A storm was raging outside, and somebody’s voice was whispering: “Don’t let him get cold … Don’t
let him get cold…”
Sigitas Poškus
(b. 1957 in the Šilutė district) is a poet and a prose writer. He studied the Lithuanian language and
literature at Vilnius University. He has been reading children’s literature at Šiauliai University and
Klaipėda University for many years. He has also worked as a journalist on various dailies and weeklies,
he is the editor of several books, and has published methodical literature. Poškus organises creative
writing seminars and lessons for schoolchildren in Klaipėda, he has also worked in the Klaipėda
Artists’ House.
Poškus debuted in 1991 with his poetry collection Poems. Later he published some poetry collections for adults. Since 1995 he has been publishing work for children as well. Short Little Tales (1995)
and Unfinished Story (1998) were awarded as the best Lithuanian children’s books of the year. Short
Little Tales received the award of the magazine Genys for the most significant debut in children’s
literature, while his Unfinished Story received the award of the Lithuanian Section of IBBY for innovation and ingenuity in children’s poetry. The books Once Upon a Time and the Amalgam were selected
as the best children’s and young adults’ poetry books of 2003 and 2007.
Abejojimas eilėmis (Indecision in Lines): [poems]. Klaipėda: Klaipėda Artists’ House, 1993
Vėjarodis (Weathervane): [poems]. Klaipėda: Baublys, 1994
Trumpos pasakaitės (Short Little Tales): [tales]. Klaipėda: Baublys, 1995
Mūsų brolelis (Our Little Brother): [poems for children]. Klaipėda: Klaipėda Artists’ House, 1996
Nebaigta pasaka (Unfinished Story): [poems for children]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1998
Rečitatyvai (Recitatives): [poems]. Klaipėda: Klaipėda Artists’ House, 2000
Vieną kartą (Once Upon a Time): [poems for children]. Vilnius: Mažasis Vyturys, 2003
Dovilės albumas (Dovilė’s Album): [stories]. Klaipėda: GSG, 2004
Re/konstrukcija (Re/construction): [interactive novel]. Vilnius: Ciklonas, 2006
Pajūrio naujienos (Seaside Adventures): [stories, poems, tales]. Vilnius: Ciklonas, 2007
Amalgama: eilėraščiai mažiems ir dideliems (Amalgama: Poems for big and small): [poems]. Vilnius: Ciklonas, 2007
Su varna Barbora (Together with Barbara the Crow): [fairy-tales]. Klaipėda: S. Jokužys’s Publishing House, 2007
Neramios dienos (Troubled Days): [detective story]. Klaipėda: S. Jokužys’s Publishing House, 2007
Vieną kartą (Once Upon a Time): [tales]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2009
F u nia
“Fu-u-u-nia!” I cry out in my sleep, and soon I hear the soft padding of footsteps.
Funia is at my bedside. He touches my stiff body with a warm hand, lifts the fallen
blanket off the floor, and drapes it over me.
Then he sits down on the edge of the bed.
“You’re cold, little Gene … were you dreaming something?”
Of course I was dreaming something. Someone was chasing me, and I ran away,
but it felt as if my legs were tied together. Then I was locked in an empty room. I
tried to find a way out, but I couldn’t (I’m still unlucky in my dreams).
“Yes. I was dreaming, Funia.”
“What?”
“That I was a gangster!”
“Oh, you have such terrible dreams … and your hands are like icicles.” Funia speaks
©Vytautas Račickas
Vytautas Račickas
Giedros g. 35
lt-10234 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2317996
+370 686 9833
Vytautas Račickas
The White Doors
This is one of the most recent problem novels. It deals with the issue of drug users. The story is
constructed out of very short fragments, which could be understood as inner monologues or diary
entries. The main character, Gene, tells most of the stories. Sometimes though, his sister, grand
father, and mother speak. The road towards drug addiction is depicted very delicately. The life in
school and in a drug rehabilitation clinic is shown. Family life is depicted. Very important is the line
of love. As is typical of contemporary fiction for young people, there is some erotica in the book.
Cover designed by Mikalojus Povilas Vilutis
Baltos durys. Vytautas Račickas, Vilnius, 2010. – 211 p.
isbn 978-609-408-061-6
quietly, and squeezes my cold fingers gently. “Let me scratch your back.”
For me, this is the best medicine. I lie on my tummy, and Funia begins to scratch.
His gentle fingers run over my body, like merry barefoot dwarfs. He massages my
shoulders, rubs the back of my neck, my spine and my ribs, touching the spots that
itch the most. Having finished, he tucks the blanket round my body. He smiles; but,
of course, I don’t see his smile.
“Okay, gangster, you’ll warm up and fall asleep again. But don’t dream of terrible
things, and don’t kick,” his hoarse voice says.
I promise not to dream, and Funia returns to his room.
T he Party
It was my first party; the first, and totally disastrous. The others got so drunk they
were hardly able to walk. Sieras swayed like a reed and repeated: “Oh, I’m dying … oh,
I’m dying …” Really, he was as white as paper. Rulas had fallen over. He was kneeling on the ground, and retching so loudly it sounded as if he was vomiting his guts
out. I was lying under a flowering jasmine bush, and clutching the grass with both
hands. It felt as if the earth was rotating at twice its normal speed. “It will always be
like this, if you continue to guzzle alcohol,” I heard Square’s words.
Square had been expelled from school some time ago, but he still hung around
with the guys from school. He never joined the party. It appears he wasn’t interested in girls either.
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The White Doors
“Sorry, and what do you guzzle to be so happy?” asked Ramas.
“We have to believe He’s good. And if you believe, you’ll be good, too.”
He was more sober than the rest of us.
How does Funia know so much? From books, maybe? Probably he reads a lot.
“We have a little something …”
“If you’re good, little Gene, God will live in your heart and protect you from all
Square and his friend, who went by the strange name of Chilly, were smiling
misfortunes.”
from ear to ear.
I silently promised to be good.
“What are you talking about?”
“Come to ‘The Horse’ tomorrow, at about eight o’clock, and you’ll get some.”
At Natasha’s
We went, quiet as clouds, with gloomy faces.
We met in the hollow behind the metal garage.
We followed Square into the woods.
No one ever goes there.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at a white pill in the palm of my hand.
“Natasha’s expecting us at eight-thirty,” said Square.
“A high,” smiled Square.
“Will she give us some food?” asked the always-starving, bug-eyed Sieras.
“Drugs?”
“So what do you want? A screw, or a meal?”
“What do you mean drugs? A high,” Square repeated. “Swallow it.”
“A meal first.”
I did as I was told.
“I don’t know about a meal, but we’ll smoke a joint for sure.”
Rulas, Ramas, Pasha and Sieras each swallowed a white pill too.
We settled down in a comfortable and relatively dry spot in the sun.
“Do you want some dope?” asked Square.
T he W hite D oor
We didn’t answer, but Square knew that was what we wanted.
Funia and I were by the river.
We all got high, and enjoyed the sunshine.
We had been fishing for several hours, but hadn’t caught anything.
“I’m high,” bragged Pasha.
Then we lay down on the warm grass of the river bank.
“I feel it too,” Ramas said with glee.
“I like looking at the heavens,” said Funia.
Square was gloomy. He wasn’t high yet.
“So do I.”
“We’ll take some champagne for Natasha,” said Square. “Sweet champagne. You
“There are two heavens,” Funia said. “One that we see, and one that we don’t see.”
won’t drink any.”
“Doesn’t everyone make it to the other one?” I asked.
“Why not?”
“Only those who live a moral and honourable life on earth,” explained Funia, al-
“Because it’s special.”
though I knew this already.
“So, who’s going to drink it then?” asked Pasha.
“Where’s the entrance?”
“Natasha,” Square winked slyly, and handed each of us a condom.
“Into heaven?”
When we arrived at Natasha’s, each of us had his shirt unbuttoned almost down
“Yes, into the one we can’t see.”
to the belly button. Like real sex gods. She took out a large plate of black caviar sand-
Funia thought for a long time, and then he said:
wiches and a bottle of Russian vodka.
“Well, it should be somewhere. There are these big white doors …”
Square opened the bottle of champagne.
“And God stands at the entrance with His keys?”
Natasha lit the joint, and the room soon filled with smoke.
“Probably.”
“To your arrival!” Natasha finally raised her glass.
“Is God good?”
After her third glass of the special champagne, she passed out.
110
111
The White Doors
Square somehow managed to get her into the bedroom. It was a while before he
came back.
I felt sick. Sick of my own lies, Vyga’s closeness, and her desperate words. Hell! Why
did I ever agree to repair their rabbit hutch? I would never have met her. Now …
Then Ramas, Pasha and Sieras went in by turn. I was the last.
I kissed her goodbye, and asked her to forget me.
I stood by the bed, and stared at Natasha’s white breasts. And then I heard Funia’s
Vyga said nothing. Tears sparkled in her eyes, like two drops of dew.
voice:
“Let’s get out of here, Gene! Let’s go!”
T he M eikštai M anor R ehabilitation C entre
Funia took me by the hand, and led me out.
I’ll say it right away: it didn’t look like a hospital. It looked like the presidential
palace, only a bit smaller.
T wo D ew D rops
We walked through the Lazdynai forest for an hour. Vyga wanted to. She held my
I soon found myself at a large table where all the manor’s residents, forty drug
addicts, were already seated. I knew I would be questioned.
“My name is Gene. Last name Narušis,” I blushed. “I’m from Vilnius. I worked as a
hand and never let go.
Afterwards, when I was driving her home to Salininkai, she asked straight out:
driver, and performed in a theatre. I’ve been using drugs since I was seventeen …”
All forty of them looked at me in amazement. I think they were intrigued by the
“Why don’t you want to be friends, Gene?”
I didn’t know what to say.
words “performed in a theatre”.
“Why are you so quiet? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“You’re an actor?” one of them asked.
“No, I don’t, Vyga. I don’t have anyone.”
“An amateur.”
“You have me.”
“Have you been in treatment before, or is this your first time?”
She took my hand in hers and moved closer, although it was awkward with the
“No, I haven’t been treated before.”
“Where did you get the money for your drugs?” asked another, as if he did not
steering wheel.
Suddenly, I thought this was the perfect moment to tell her that I was a hopeless
know where junkies get their money.
drug addict, that the best I could hope for was a jail cell, or to die in a public lavatory
“First I earned it, then I stole it.”
from an overdose of shitty drugs.
“Have you been in trouble with the police?”
“Don’t you like me, Gene? Aren’t I pretty enough?”
“No, I haven’t.”
I realised that I had made a mistake. I should have said: “Sorry, Vyga, I have a
Then they asked about my family: what my parents did, if I had any brothers or
girlfriend. I’ve been going out with her for two years. We’re planning to get mar-
sisters. Did I have a girlfriend?
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said.
ried and have children.”
Children … never. I will never have children.
“When did you realise that you had hit the bottom?”
“I like you, Vyga, but …”
“When I realised that I could no longer continue with my life and not be
punished.”
“But, what?”
I didn’t have the courage to say.
“Who’s punishing you?”
“I’m leaving for Ireland soon.”
I thought for a long time.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Life.”
“I’m not coming back.”
Finally they asked me to leave the room, and voted on whether I was to be ac-
“I’ll wait anyway.”
cepted into their circle or not.
112
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The White Doors
A few minutes later, I was called back into the room, and was met with loud applause. I had been accepted.
We stood in a ring and held hands, and I said the magic words for the first time:
“God, please grant me the ability to accept things I cannot change, the courage to
change things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
©Vladas Braziūnas
Little did I know that I would repeat this prayer every day of my life.
T iny
A few weeks later, Tiny came to the manor, with his head downcast, looking desolate. He had his spot in Lazdynai, but I guess he was a user too.
When he saw me he was surprised.
“You’re here, too?”
“So you can see. What’s new in the capital?”
“Nothing much. Have you heard about Square?”
“No, I haven’t. What happened?”
“Square is no more. He drove into the River Neris by the shopping centre. Maybe
he lost control of the car, or else maybe he just fell asleep. He was an excellent driver.
And he never drove after drinking or shooting up; although you never know …”
“What happened? He drowned? Why didn’t he save himself?”
“It seems he never even tried; or else he didn’t manage in time. They found him
at the wheel, with his seatbelt still done up.”
Square’s unlucky, I thought. Or he used to be. Maybe he’s living it up like a king
up there … That is, if God opened the pearly gates for him, of course.
“What’s it like here at the manor?” asked Tiny. “I bet it’s as boring as being in the
middle of a desert.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I said.
“Does everyone recover?”
“Unfortunately not. Some run out of patience and go home. However, seven out
of ten kick the habit for the rest of their lives.”
“Well,” said the newcomer bravely. “I’m small. Maybe I can find a place for myself
among the seven.”
I had the same thought myself.
Vytautas Račickas
(b. 1952 in the Anykščiai district) is a prose writer. He studied Lithuanian language and literature at
Vilnius University. Upon finishing university, he worked on numerous publications, edited the children’s
magazine Genys, and served as chairman of the Writers’ Union Literature Fund. He became a member
of the Lithuanian Writers’ Union in 1987.
Račickas’ first book appeared in 1980. Most interest among readers has been created by his trilogy
Naughty Zuika (1985), Zuika is Still Alive (1997), and The New Adventures of Zuika, or True Joy (2001) as well
as the books The Slipper (1996) and Ice-creams of My Youth (1988).
The Lithuanian Section of IBBY selected the novella The Slipper as the best children’s book of 1996. In
1998 the author received the Gabrielė Petkevičaitė-Bitė Prize for his novella Zuika is Still Alive, and in 2003
the trilogy’s third book, The New Adventures of Zuika, or True Joy was awarded the Vytautas Tamulaitis
Prize. According to the Agency of the Lithuanian Copyright Protection Association, he is one of the most
popular children’s authors in Lithuania, reaching the list of the top five most-read authors every year.
At the moment, Račickas is a freelance writer.
Kai mes mylėjome vienas kitą (When We Loved One Another): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1980
Zuika Padūkėlis (Naughty Zuika): [novella]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1985
Mano vaikystės ledai (Ice Creams of My Youth): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1988
Šlepetė (The Slipper): [novella]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1996
Zuika dar gyvas (Zuika is Still Alive): [novella]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1997
Kita šlepetės istorija (The Second Story of the Slipper): [novella]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1998
Šlepetė – 3 (Slipper Three): [novella]. Vilnius: V.Račickas, 2000
Nauji Zuikos nuotykiai, arba Tikrasis džiaugsmas (The New Adventures of Zuika, or True Joy): [novella]. Kaunas: V. Račickas, 2001
Jos vardas Nippė (Her Name is Nippė): [novella]. Kaunas: V. Račickas, 2002
Šokoladas iki pirmadienio (Chocolate until Monday): [short stories]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2003
Pirmas kartas. Selemuko Ropės meilės istorija (The First Time. The Love Story of Selemukas Ropė): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2003
Seni pažįstami, arba Ketvirtoji šlepetė (The Old Friends, or the Fourth Slipper): [novella]. Vilnius: Spauda, 2004
Nippė nori namo (Nippė Wants to Go Home): [novella]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2004
Pamokos po pamokų (Lessons after School): [short stories]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 2005
Gyveno kartą Lukošiukas (Once Upon a Time, there Lived Lukošiukas): [novella]. Vilnius: Spauda, 2006
Nebaigtas dienoraštis (Unfinished Diary): [novella]. Vilnius: Spauda, 2006
Berniukai šoka breiką (The Boys Breakdance): [novella]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2007
Nippė namie: mergaitė, kuri mylėjo tėtį (Nippė at Home: A Girl Who Loved her Daddy): [novella]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2007
Nebaigtas dienoraštis (Unfinished Diary): [novella]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2008
Patricija, Antanas, jo tėtis ir mama (Patricia, Anthony, and his Father and Mother): [novella]. Vilnius: V. Račickas, 2009
Russian: Зуйка-сорванец, Vilnius: Vyturys, 1988
Ukrainian: Пригоди капчика, Vinnitsa: Теза, 2007
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The White Doors
NOTES ON A STON E
People from the city often came to walk in the old cemetery because there was
a variety of foliage there, and in the spring the birds sang, and the air was a lot
fresher.
One autumn, after the summer holidays were over, people walking the familiar
path through the cemetery noticed a strange message written on a stone that was
not a monument.
The dogs liked that moss-covered stone. Not a single one could run past it without
lifting his leg. And unruly locals smashed their beer bottles on it and occasionally
dumped their trash beside it. Now passers-by were shocked by the carefully crafted
letters carved into the stone: Go away! Here lies the one nobody loved.
Despite that message, people didn’t hurry away. No one tossed their trash beside
©Kazys Saja
©Alma littera
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
Kazys Sa ja
The One Nobody Loved
the stone any longer. Before All Souls’ Day more and more often someone would
leave a candle or a few flowers beside the stone. People would gather around the
stone and wonder out loud – who could be buried here? A child who was abandoned
by his or her mother or father? Or maybe a suicide who’d been abandoned by his
family? Or maybe a teacher who was hated by his students? A lonely woman or a
drunk bum? Or maybe the stone was set aside for some loser who was planning on
being buried there?
The dog owners no longer allowed their pets to mark their territory on the stone.
A stern-faced German Shepherd owner, wiped away her tears as she explained that
she only stopped here with her dog so that he could lick the stone or let out a mournful howl. And the German Shepherd, held back on its leash, really did let loose a
The well-known Lithuanian writer Kazys Saja depicts the gloomy and difficult contemporary reality in
his new book. He depicts the lives of the underclass, of criminals, of murderers. However, the author
is mostly interested in the subject of children living on the streets. Eight-year-old Sigitas lives with
his stepfather, who constantly sends him out to the streets to panhandle. After the stepfather is
killed, Sigitas is left alone on the street, and later he finds himself in a boarding school. The story has
characteristics of a mystery and a crime story. The plot is dynamic and intriguing. However, it has to
be noted that the author outweighs the morbid and depressing images in the book with a happy and
meaningful ending. This metaphorical ending gives the reader hope that the young hero of the novel
has a better life to look forward to. There is the possibility of the formation of a new family and a
return to a solid, old, traditional, pure way of life. This book is very popular among older teens.
Illustrated by Agnius Tarabilda
… kurio nieks nemylėjo. Alma littera, Vilnius, 2008. – 127 p.
isbn 9955-08-696-3
howl. And a woman with a gentle voice waved her cane in the air, pontificating to
the people gathered around her that every night she dreamt of the person buried
beside the stone. That she was familiar, she’d seen her somewhere before, but she
didn’t reveal who she was or what she wanted. Probably, she was someone who was
looking for the love that people were too stingy to give her.
Not a single person who came to visit that stone hadn’t been mean or stingy to
someone else, hadn’t rejected someone, hurt them, hated them for no good reason,
not loved someone who they ought to have loved. However, one person did turn up
who was not ready to examine his conscience. This person wrote with white chalk
on the stone:
AND DID YOU EVER LOVE SOMEONE?
116
117
I’d like to meet that trouble-maker. I’d like to tell him first that I know who carved
that painful, accusatory message, and I know why.
I warned everybody else ahead of time that it was a long, long story.
taught to disappear. He’d run out into the yard or he’d hide in his usual prison – an
empty wardrobe. Afterwards, as a reward, he was allowed to pee his bed or to take
part in some mischief and not get punished for it.
While he was sober Adolfas seemed to love his wife. But when he was drunk he
S I G I TA S S NA I PA – T H E F U T U R E S TA R
Not too long ago this territory wasn’t considered within city limits. But now a few
called her by the most awful names and sometimes beat her to the point that she
wouldn’t show her face in the neighborhood for several days.
buildings surrounded by silicone brick fences bear the name A. Liuminas Street.
Once, while sharing a friendly beer together, Adolfas Snaipas took it into his
No one really remembers who that Liuminas was. Some people say that he was
head that there might not be enough for him, so he smashed the bottom off the
a real crook, that he built a factory to produce aluminum plates, spoons, and forks.
bottle and slammed it into Laima’s mouth, knocking out her two front teeth. Her
Other people remember that this edge of the city the people called “Alius” or “Liu-
pretty, seductive smile was gone and the generous men who’d stop by their home
minas.” That is how the name A. Liuminas came about. Now the locals call every
stopped visiting.
fly-by-night who shows up by that name.
When times changed, people no longer purchased aluminum products and so
the factory closed down. The factory was acquired by a new Liuminus, who decided
Then Adolfas Snaipas got the idea in his head that the time had come for their
son, Sigitas, to go to work. He was supposed to start school the previous year, but
he didn’t feel up to it.
to collect plastic bottles from the local dumps and to press them into colorful vases
for flowers.
“You are going to be a great actor,” his father would say to him. “Some day you are
going to be a star. Now we are going to prepare you for your first performance.”
The new owner had taken out loans from the bank that he could not pay off. He
“What am I going to have to do?”
went into hiding. The people say he disappeared “like cheese off a shelf.” Then the
“Nothing. You are going to sit out on the street, hanging your head with a sad look
two-story building was overrun by two homeless families. The first man to move in
on your face. You are going to watch the people on the street. I’ll bet you’ll do better
was Jonas Liubrikas, who, according to the neighbors, “looked like he’d been taken
than those smelly old ladies who hang around outside the churches praying. You are
down from the cross and put up on Golgotha.” He often called his wife, Agute Golgo-
going to sit there quietly, staring at the people. Can you image? Understand?”
tha. Agota was from a village in Dzūkija. They were raising two children: nine-yearold Algis and five-year-old Inga.
“All day long out on the street?” gasped Laima. “Children need to play, run
around.”
The second family was the Snaipas family. That family consisted of three people:
“And we don’t need to eat?” Adolfas shouted at his wife.
Adolfas, Laima, and their eight-year-old son Sigitas.
At first they searched all the corners and along all the fences for colored metal.
They collected those same twisted spoons, forks, bowls, then they searched for old
Then he turned to his son and said convincingly, “You’ll have time to run around.
But for now, for a while, you are going to be the family provider. If it gets cold, you’ll
spread a newspaper under you.”
faucets and door handles. After they sold off all those resources, the Liubrikas and
Sigitas sat there silently with his head bent. His neck was as thin as a cabbage
Snaipas families began pouring contraband alcohol into all the plastic bottles they’d
stem. He listened carefully to every word his father said and wondered what would
collected. Liubrikas was put in prison six months later, but the Snaipas managed to
happen next. When he played with Algis, he’d pretend to be a policeman, or his
get off the hook. Snaipas claimed that his wife’s beauty got them off. It was her “red
drunk father, or a tellatubby, but he’d never tried acting the part of a beggar.
lips, her brown eyes, and her teeth, straight as organ pipes,” he said. Adolfas was not
at all opposed to Laima using her beauty to add funds to the family budget.
If any unexpected guest turned up while his father was out, Sigitas had been
“He should be getting ready to go to school,” his mother broke in. “All the children his age are going into the second grade, and he doesn’t even know how to
read yet.”
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119
“Not a problem, he’ll catch up. Out on the street he can read the street signs. He
can count how many pennies fall into his cap. Only, remember, Sigitas, you aren’t
some invalid or beggar. You have a home. You have parents. You are only acting. If
anyone asks, you tell them your mother died and your father is in jail. You tell them
your grandmother can’t get up out of bed. And never tell them where you live. Lie,
tell them you’re homeless, that your grandmother lives in the country. All actors lie.
©Vladas Braziūnas
They don’t care what they act. They only care that they get paid for it. An actor, even
if he’s playing the part of a beggar, is still a king. And the audience? What’s the audience? A pack of idiots who have to pay for their own stupidity for watching.
Adolfas Snaipas was good at convincing people. When Sigitas was very little his
father had managed to convince him that in a pinch even cockroaches were edible.
There were nine different types. He quickly scooped one up and hid it in his palm,
bringing his palm to his mouth. Meanwhile, he demonstratively chomped on a piece
of bread hidden behind his teeth. Sigitas believed him and would hunt down cockroaches and eat them. He kept it up until his horrified mother got it out of him that
his father had tricked him into it.
“You are a sadist! A pig!” she screamed at Adolfas when he came home. “You taught
your own son to live off cockroaches!”
“He’s as much a son to me as this slipper,” Adolfas shot back. He was drunk
again.
Kazys Sa ja
(b. 1932 in the Pasvalys district) is a dramatist and prose writer. He graduated in 1954 from Klaipėda
Teaching Institute and later studied Lithuanian philology at Vilnius Pedagogical Institute. He is a
signatory to the 11 March Act of the Restoration of Lithuanian Independence.
Saja debuted as an author of comedy. He later wrote short stories, plays, comedies, and books for
children. He has been awarded many prestigious prizes, the most important of which are the 1972
State Prize of Lithuania for the children’s short story Hey You, Hide!, the 1977 Žemaitė Literary Prize for
the book After They Turned into Trees, the 1987 Juozas Grušas Prize for the year’s best dramatic work,
and the Lithuanian Grand Duke Gediminas Order of the Fifth Degree in 1998. The Lithuanian Section
of IBBY selected his novella Seven Sleeping Brothers as the best children’s book of 2009.
Saja’s works have been translated into Russian, Hungarian, Czech, German, and other languages.
Those words ate away at Sigitas for a very long time. He tried to get it out of his
mother what that meant. Did that mean that his father wasn’t really his father?
“He’s your father, your real father,” his mother reassured him.
But then afterwards she sighed and said to Sigitas, “If you know too much, you’ll
grow old too soon.”
Klumpės (Clogs): [short stories]. Vilnius: State Literature Publishers, 1958
Ei, slėpkitės! (Hey You, Hide!): [short story]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1971
Šventežeris (Holy Lake): [play]. Vilnius, 1971
Liepsnojanti kriaušė (The Flaming Pear): [plays]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1980
Pasaka apie du karalius (Tale of Two Kings): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1981
Klaidžiojimas (Wandering): [novellas and short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1985
Būrimas obuolio sėklom (Appleseed Fortune Tellers): [novella]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1985
Pasakysiu kaip draugui (I’ll Tell you as a Friend): [novellas and short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1986
Gvidono apsiaustas (Gvidonas’ Cloak): [novella]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1988
Kentaurų imtynės (Centaur Wrestling): [short and long plays]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1989
Karalius ir juokdarys (The King and the Jester): [plays]. Kaunas, 1989
Nebaigtas žmogus (The Unfinished Person): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 2003
… kurio nieks nemylėjo (The One Nobody Loved): [novel]. Vilnius, Alma littera, 2005
Jei nutrauksim sliekui koją (If we Tear out an Earthworm’s Leg): [novella]. Vilnius: Vaga, 2006
Septyni miegantys broliai (Seven Sleeping Brothers): [novella]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2009
Čia kažkas yra (Somebody’s in): [novella]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2009
Croatian: Kućni duhovi; San u svitanje, Zagreb: Naklada MD, 2004
English: A Tale About Two Kings, Vilnius: Vyturys, 1986
Estonian: Hei, pugege peitu!, Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1977
German: Raufbolde und Kobolde, Berlin: Der Kinderbuchverlag, 1974
Als ich noch Holzschuhe trug, Leipzig: Benno-Verlag, 1983
Hungarian: Az örökös, Budapest: Magvetö Kiadó, 1987
Latvian: Zīlēšana ar ābolu sēkliņām; Ja norausim sliekai kāju, Riga: Sprīdītis, 1991
Russian: Гномы из контрабаса: кому сказка, а кому и быль, Moscow: Детская литература, 1971
Деревянные башмаки: рассказы о детстве, Moscow: Детская литература, 1985
Ukrainian: Гноми i забiяки: кому казка, а кому бувальщина, Kiev: Веселка, 1979
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121
A C lock witho u t a C u ckoo B ird
How could this happen? What’s going on here?
A cuckoo bird has left her clock. She dared!
When grandma made the coffee that she ground
The cuckoo bird was silent: not a sound!
So grandma thought: the cuckoo hasn’t spoken.
And she decided the clock was broken.
©Ramutė Skučaitė
©Sigutė Ach
©Erika Minkevičiūtė
©Lina Eitmantytė-Valužienė
©Nieko rimto
Then grandma said: what can you do? It happens!
It looks like we’ll have to live not counting the seconds!
Nieko rimto
Dūmų g. 3a
lt-11119 Vilnius
Lithuania
When grandma later finished sipping her coffee,
She heard the cuckoo singing by the gates there:
+370 5 2696684
[email protected]
www.niekorimto.lt
Cuckoo! The day’s here! It’s time, you see.
You must have courage to leave a clock or a tree!
Ramutė Skučaitė
The cuckoo bird, she wished grandma well.
I Am a Book of Poems
She stretched her wings and flew away: farewell.
Did something happen? No. No. Nothing happened:
The collection is full of vibrant poems, which present a world full of fun, joy, music and blossoming
flowers. Associations with nature help see the harmonious world of sounds and imitate the mood
created by musical instruments. The organ resembles the ocean and a storm that makes ships sink.
Kanklės, the Lithuanian musical instrument related to the zither, resembles the buzz of a millstone.
The bassoon reminds of a fog, strong rain and the dance of leaves. One chapter is devoted to rhymed
puzzles. Fluent and poetically suggestive puzzles fulfil an aesthetic function, which is one of the
most important functions in a literary creation.
The cuckoo flew away: the time remained.
Illustrated by Sigutė Ach, Erika Minkevičiūtė and Lina Eitmantytė-Valužienė
Aš – eilėraščių knyga. Nieko rimto, Vilnius, 2009. – 168 p.
isbn 978-9955-68-368-1
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123
M u sic
The bells are booming.
Those are my
Days of summer are
Powers. They reside in me.
So full of singing,
My presence
Birds and buzzing bees afar ...
By your side you feel.
A raging storm,
I’m in your laughter,
And silence of white snow.
In your tears, your frights.
A dripping icicle:
––––––––––––––––––––––––
The winter’s in full glow.
My name is Music.
The light and joy
Did you guess right?
And sadness, they’re so pure.
Autumn’s here
With a silver cloud’s allure.
Both snow and flower,
Not so far apart.
You understand, it’s
Goodness in the heart.
That only with truth
And love embraced,
The planet Earth
Can peacefully rotate.
Today, your
Mother touched you
Silently,
And was as close to you as she will
Ever be …
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125
A S ilent W hite Day
Silently white swans are floating.
Tulips, silent, white, are opening.
A little statue of white gypsum
Is standing still, its smile so peaceful.
White walls vibrating around … White milk with foam is crowned ...
A little milk jug, you can see,
Turns white, and happy as can be.
So delightful is this whiteness,
Whiteness, peacefulness and brightness.
Tranquil days like swans are floating
©Lina Eitmantytė-Valužienė
Peacefully, like tulips opening.
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127
A B ee R et u rns H ome
The darkness of the night is here.
A freezing bee is full of fear.
Black wind, the wings of the bee it smacks,
But little bee, she has some wax.
She will make a candle,
There’s nothing she can’t handle.
She will light her way, and fly
Back to her old home, her hive.
It’s warm and humming cosily!
She’ll make it back, you’ll see!
Ramutė Skučaitė
(b. 1931 in Palanga) is a poet, playwright, and librettist. She was deported to Siberia when still a school
girl, so she graduated from a secondary school in Lima and studied French at Irkutsk Institute of Foreign
Languages. She completed her studies at Vilnius Pedagogical Institute after returning to Lithuania.
Skučaitė worked at the news agency ELTA, with the children’s magazines Genys and Žvaigždutė and
other publications. She has published over 40 collections of poetry.
In Soviet times she was awarded the Literary Komsomol Prize for her books Little Bells and The Golden
Trumpet is Calling. She has twice been awarded the Lithuanian Section of IBBY Prize for best book of
the year – Lullaby for a Perch (1993) and A Letter to Sunday (1998). In 2009 she received the Lithuanian
National Prize for Culture and Arts.
Skučaitė translates from the Polish, Russian and French languages. She currently lives in Vilnius.
Žydintis speigas (Blooming Frost): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1965
Klaidų miestas (Mistake City): [tale]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1966
Kiškių troleibusai (Rabbit Trolleybus): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1970
Kas klausosi lietučio (Who Listens to the Rain): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1972
Skamba auksinis trimitas (The Golden Trumpet is Calling): [short poems for children]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1976
Žvangučiai (Little Bells): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1975
Uogelės ant smilgos (Berries on Bent Grass): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1982
Sukit sukit galveles (Spin, Spin Little Heads): [puzzles in verse]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 1984
Mano pamokėlės (My Little Lessons): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1987
Neskubėkim ir atspėkim (Don’t Rush – We’ll Guess It): [puzzles in verse]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1987
Kas sulaužė pupos lapą (Who Tore the Bean Leaf): [puzzles in verse]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 1991
Kalėdų pasaka (A Christmas Tale): [tales in verse]. Klaipėda: Eldija, 1993
Lopšinė ešeriukui (Lullaby for a Perch): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1993
Aš piešiu pasaką (I’m Drawing a Tale): [tales in verse]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 1994
Raidžių namučiai (The Homes of Letters): [poetry]. Vilnius: Kronta, 1997
Spalvos ir skaičiukai (Colours and Numbers): [poetry]. Vilnius: Kronta, 1997
Laiškas sekmadieniui (A Letter to Sunday): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1998
Vaikams vanagams (For Children and Hawks): [puzzles in verse]. Vilnius: Meralas, 1999
Takelis iš naujo (A New Path): [poetry]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2001
Pasaką skaitau, pasaką piešiu (I Read a Tale, I Draw a Tale): [rhymed tales]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2005
Varinis angelas (Copper Angel): [poetry]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2006
Aš esu – kas? (Who … Am I?): [poems]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2006
Aš – eilėraščių knyga (I Am a Book of Poems): [poems]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Jei nereikėtų skubėti (If there was No Rush): [poems]. Vilnius: Nieko rimto, 2009
Russian: Под зеленым зонтиком, Moscow: Детская литература, 1975
Равновесие, Moscow: Советский писатель, 1980
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129
T he D ragon ’s Co u rtship
Neringa danced very briefly with her new clogs. She wanted to save them, so she
took them off again. She walked barefoot through the frozen mud and frost. Only
now, her feet were not cold. The young craftsman’s magic clogs kept them warm,
even though she was not wearing them.
Occasionally, she would hang some amber beads around her neck, put on her
clogs, and walk to the sea. Choosing the highest dune, she would gaze into the distance, as though she was waiting for someone, or hoping for something.
No one knew what she was longing for, or who she was waiting for. She alone
knew, and maybe also her talkative clogs knew … And the waves, whispering to each
other, spread the tale of Neringa’s extraordinary beauty. They sang the praises of her
slender form, her plaits, and her magic clogs as far as foreign shores. The horrible
©Mykolas Sluckis
©Edita Namajūnienė
©Gimtasis žodis
Gimtasis žodis
lt-09311 Vilnius
Lithuania
+370 5 2725352
[email protected]
Mykolas Sluckis
The Giants did not Want to Be Kings
sea dragon heard this praise. The beast had been married a hundred times already,
but he killed his new wives soon after the wedding feasts. One of the wives did not
know how to cook; another did not know how to polish his crown; and yet another
always cried while he amused himself. Now he was a widower, and he decided to
marry the beautiful Neringa.
The dragon arrived with a roar of thunder and lightning. It swept in amidst raging storms and tempests. Old Man Sea was in such turmoil that he hissed day and
night, never closing his eyes.
Neringa was not expecting a guest like that. Her blood froze when she suddenly
heard the dragon’s awful voice:
“The waves were not lying. You are a pretty maiden, and well formed. I haven’t
This novel-length literary fairy tale initially appeared in 1958 and has since become a classic book of
Lithuanian children’s literature. A number of motifs stemming from folk tales and legends are present
in this tale. The main character, a fisherman’s daughter, Neringa, grows as tall as a giant. In her defence
against a sea dragon who is proposing to her, Neringa forms a belt of stones, earth and sand in a bid
to enclose a piece of the sea. This is how that world-famous corner of nature, the Curonian Spit, was
formed, according to this tale. Later, Neringa falls in love with a talented craftsman, Naglis, who is also
as tall as a giant. This tale can be seen as a contemporary version of an aetiological ballad.
Illustrated by Edita Namajūnienė
had a beauty such as you for a wife … Marry me, Neringa!”
His eyes aflame, the dragon’s iron head, crowned with gold, rose out of the waves.
It rose and rose at the end of its scaly neck, until it came level with her.
On seeing such a horror, Neringa took a step backwards and covered up her eyes.
“Marry you? A dragon? Never!” she replied bravely. “Go back to where you came
from!”
“Am I not handsome?”
Milžinai nenorėjo karaliais būti. Gimtasis žodis, Vilnius, 2004. – 111 p.
isbn 9955-512-57-1
Translated into German
“You’re disgusting.”
“Am I not wealthy?”
“Your gold is steeped in blood.”
“Am I not strong and powerful?”
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131
“A wolf could carry your power away on its tail.”
It was as if a scythe had struck stone.
Neringa went away, and never returned to the shore.
The dragon was furious at her contempt. He decided to demonstrate his power.
Not long afterwards, a fisherman returning to the shore uttered a terrible scream.
It was not a wave or a leak in his boat. An unseen hand had pulled him down into
the sea.
The cries for help continued day after day. They echoed at midday, and in the dark
of night. Fishermen were drowning close to home, after sailing great distances and
surviving violent storms.
The dragon sank some like stones; others, he devoured; and of others he drank
their blood.
The terrified fishermen no longer put out to sea. It was better to starve than to
end up in the dragon’s clutches. Then the crafty dragon sent out shoals of fish. You
only had to reach out and grab them! Seeing the masses of fish, the fishermen could
not resist them. They untied their boats, pushed them out into the water, and took
up their oars. Suddenly, the fish began to swim down into the depths. There was
not a tail or a fin to be seen. And the dragon was waiting in the sea, with his mouth
open.
“Help! The dragon!” the fishermen called out, but their cries could not save them.
The fierce dragon roared with laughter over his bloody feast.
Wives, mothers and sisters all screamed and wailed. They ran weeping to the forest, and knelt in front of the sacred oaks. They prayed, and asked the gods to save
them from the dragon. But the gods were busy. The thunder god was forging a new
sledgehammer; he had broken his old one thundering. And the sea god was playing,
picking up sand and scattering it, scattering it, and then picking it up again.
Having failed to rouse the gods, the villagers remembered Neringa. They did not
have to wait for long.
Neringa picked up a huge rock, and hurled it towards the gurgling laughter. A
column of water rose into the sky. The dragon just laughed.
“Ha, ha! A tiny pea hit me in the eye. Can’t you lift a larger stone?”
Neringa looked around, grabbed a larger rock, and threw that into the sea. Hardly
had the water become calm, when she threw another large rock. Tirelessly, she rolled
out more rocks, lifted them up over her head, and threw them at the dragon.
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133
“Well, you’ve certainly stirred up the dust,” the dragon jeered. “You splashed water
in my eyes. Don’t you care for your future husband?”
The stone dropped from Neringa’s hands, and her eyes filled with tears. For the
first time, she was unable to defeat the enemy, and she probably never would … What
was going to happen now? How could she save the coast from destruction? Although
she did not know it, she was the one who had lured the dragon there.
©Vladas Braziūnas
“Aha, maiden, I like you very much,” the dragon spoke again, as he realised that
Neringa had given up.”With a wife like you, I could destroy the whole world. I’ll devour and drown people, and you can throw rocks. So marry me!”
Neringa was so overwhelmed with hatred and anger that her strength came back
to her immediately. She lifted a rock, and threw it with even more force.
Neringa threw rocks at the dragon all day long, making him dance in the sea.
The villagers’ crying and wailing broke her heart. Wherever she went, whatever
she did, the image of the dragon appeared before her eyes. At night, she could not
sleep a wink. She thought and thought about how to defeat the dragon and save
the village.
Realising that even Neringa was powerless against the dragon, the villagers became even sadder. Crying and groaning, they waited for death to come. Weeds grew
up over the roads and fields. The wealthy merchants did not go to town: the fierce
dragon had frightened them all away.
“Good morning, dear sun!” Neringa bowed down to the rising sun. “Do you know
how to defeat that bloodthirsty beast?”
The sun did not send a ray of joy to Neringa, but only gazed sadly through the
mist. The beast was not put off by the sun’s bright rays: he even gorged on fishermen in broad daylight.
Neringa bowed to Old Man Sea, who had fed the fishermen for ages, even
though he demanded sacrifices from them. But Old Man Sea was not as cruel as
the dragon.
Old Man Sea pretended to be deaf, although he did not really need to pretend: he
became deaf to the screams of the drowning fishermen.
The gods were busy, the sun was powerless, Old Man Sea was deaf … But the villagers had to be saved. So Neringa did not grieve, and neither did she give up.
Mykolas Sluckis
(b. 1928 in Panevėžys) is a prose writer. Deported to Russia during the Second World War, he was
brought up in an orphanage. He graduated from Vilnius University in 1951, majoring in Russian
philology. Sluckis has been a member of the Lithuanian Writers’ Union since 1949. He was on the
staff of the children’s magazine Žvaigždutė and was employed with the Lithuanian Writers’ Union.
He has been a professional writer since 1959.
In his books, Sluckis complied with the doctrine of Socialist Realism. His short stories, long short
stories and tales extol the courage of child fighters in the years of the war. He has also depicted the
life of orphanage inmates, and their coming of age.
From over 40 books published by the writer, over half are for children or young adults. His works
have been translated into 14 languages.
Geri namai (Good Home): [novel]. Vilnius, 1955
Stebuklingoji rašalinė (Magic Inkpot): [short long story-tale]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1965
Ežys ir saulė (Hedgehog and the Sun): [tales, tales-long short stories]. Vilnius : Vaga, 1985
Laiškanešys neturi mirti (Postman Should dot Die): [tale-long short story]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1989
Milžinai nenorėjo karaliais būti (The Giants did not Want to Be Kings): [tale-long short story]. Vilnius: Gimtasis žodis, 2004 (1st ed. 1958)
Mėnulio šypsenos (The Moon’s Smiles): [tales]. Vilnius: Vaga, 2005
Skrido bitė vakarienės (A Bee was Flying for Supper): [tales]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2008
German: Neringa und Naglis, oder Das Märchen von den Riesen, die nicht König werden Wollten, Berlin: Der Kinderbuchverlag, 1971
Das undankbare Entchen, Berlin: Der Kinderbuchverlag, 1988
T he A dvent u res of D evilkins and
the Washing M achine M onster
The sun had not yet risen over the marsh, but Daftie woke to her mother’s cries.
“Balsam!” she yelled. “Where are you? Answer me!”
The frightened bear climbed out of the box where it slept and hid under the
bed.
Daftie rose and went to see why her mother was yelling, but she was no longer
there.
She had probably run out to the marsh to look for Devilkins.
Daftie shook her head.
“When is that old woman going to come to her senses?” she thought. “A tadpole
is cleverer than she is.”
©Renata Šerelytė
©Irmina Dūdėnienė
©Alma littera
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
“Sit down, bear,” she said to the bear, which was following her, and sat it down on
a chair. The top of the bear’s head hardly reached the table.
“No, this is no good,” Daftie said, worried. She placed an upside-down pot on the
chair, a pot holder on the pot, and the bear on the pot holder.
“What kind of sandwich do you want, smoked meat or cheese?” she asked.
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
“Smoked meat,” answered the bear, “and cheese,” it added quickly.
“And you’ll have your coffee with …” Daftie began, but was interrupted by the
Renata Šerelytė
bear.
“Milk! Sugar! And perhaps a little butter!” it said hungrily.
Daftie, Child of the Marshes
The main character of this story, Daftie is called the daughter of a witch, so she appears to be a little
witch herself. However, there are characters in this story that are hard to specify, being simply thoughtup figures. However, some realistic characters also feature in the events told, such as Daftie’s mother
who tries to sell or barter her daughter to someone. Daftie is determined to resist. She is especially
hostile towards her mother’s close relationship with Devilkins. Events and situations in this novella-tale
change rapidly, taking on a new configuration as if in a kaleidoscope. The book is fraught with eccentricity and irony, and thus akin to the tradition of nonsense in terms of style.
Daftie sighed.
“Horrible,” she said. “I never knew that stuffed bears were so greedy.”
The bear did not hear her, because it was shufflng about so much. As it drank its
second cup of coffee, Devilkins walked in through the door. The bear was so frightened it nearly choked, and its eyes almost popped out.
Daftie thumped its back with her fist.
“Who’s this?” asked Devilkins, looking down.
“A teddy bear,” Daftie shot back. “It’s going to live with me.”
Illustrated by Irmina Dūdėnienė
Trenktukė, liūno vaikas. Alma littera, Vilnius, 2009. – 119 p.
isbn 978-9955-38-220-1
“Ah,” said Devilkins.
It seemed the bear mattered as much to him as one of last year’s puffball
mushrooms.
“Where’s Missus Mother?” he asked, looking around.
“I don’t know,” shrugged Daftie. “Probably running around in the fields.”
136
137
As soon as she had said this, they heard a deafening whistling noise outside.
Something flopped to the ground with such force that duckweed spattered the
windows.
The bear shrieked, and almost fell off its throne.
“It’s not Mother?” she muttered under her breath. “She’s probably broken the
mortar again.”
Devilkins pretended to be concerned.
“Why can’t she be more careful?” he asked hypocritically.
As they walked out through the door, they saw a strange sight. There was a silent, four-sided monster lying in the marsh. It looked like a cupboard; only, instead
of drawers, it had a door with a window; and its long, grey tail was hanging on a
bush.
“Oh, my!” Daftie was shocked. “What’s this?”
The bear tilted its head and looked at the monster.
“I’ve seen one before,” it said. “It’s a washing machine.”
“You know,” he said, “maybe I will. Perhaps Missus Mother won’t like me so much
“Really?” Daftie looked at the bear with respect. “And what’s it for?”
after I’ve washed. She always wants to cry on my shoulder. It’s very difficult for me.
“For washing,” said the bear.
I’m getting rheumatism from all those tears.
A flicker of fear crossed Devilkins’ face.
“Bals-a-a-am!” The call was much closer now.
Daftie rattled the door, peered inside, and quickly stepped back. She didn’t like
Devilkins quickly made up his mind.
what she saw inside. It was hard, and full of strange little holes. Grandmother
“I’m going in,” he said.
couldn’t even live in such a small space.
The bear closed the door and winked at the pale Devilkins, who pressed his nose
Devilkins sat on the ground looking annoyed. The bear explained how the thing
against the little window.
worked.
Then it grabbed the monster’s tail and began to look around.
“You climb inside, and then you press a button.”
“What are you looking for?” asked Daftie.
Devilkins’ teeth rattled. He shook his head.
“A socket,” the bear was concerned. “You have to connect the cord to a socket.”
“If I’m inside,” he asked, “how can I press the button?”
“There’s an empty peewits’ nest nearby. All the chicks have gone,” said Daftie.
“I’ll press it,” the bear promised.
“Will that do?”
Devilkins turned pale.
“I don’t know,” murmured the bear. “But I’ll try.”
“N … n … no,” he stammered, “I … I … don’t want to. You go ahead and have a wash.”
It put the cord into the peewits’ nest, and pushed the red button. The monster
“I’m very hairy,” said the bear. “The drum will get clogged.”
groaned, shook, and began to rotate.
“Then let her … go in it.” Devilkins pointed to Daftie.
Devilkins turned too, his eyes wide with terror.
“What!” she shot back. “Get in it yourself!”
Mother emerged from under the bushes, all flushed and out of breath.
“Bals-a-a-am!” An echo rang over the marsh.
“Goodness me!” she cried. “What’s going on here?”
Devilkins hesitated.
“Devilkins is having a wash,” replied Daftie. “Can’t you see?”
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139
Mother rushed to the door, but she couldn’t see anything. Everything was covered
in soap suds. Then she tried to open the door.
“Hey!” shouted the bear. “Don’t touch that!”
She drew back her hands.
“Does it bite?” she asked fearfully.
No one answered. She sighed deeply, and sat down in front of the rumbling wash©Arūnas Baltėnas
ing machine. Soap suds, bubbles, shreds of clothing, a length of rope, and maybe
even Devilkins’ tail, all spun round madly
Finally, the monster stopped, and the door opened majestically.
“My dear Balsam!” Mother screamed so loudly that a shiver ran down Daftie’s
back. “Where are you?!”
No one answered.
“The monster’s swallowed him!” she screamed again.
Daftie was worried. She put her hand inside the machine, and felt something
rough. She pulled with all her might. Something large and flat flew out, knocked
Daftie on the head, and landed on the duckweed.
“Ah!” cried Mother.
She stepped back in disgust. At her feet lay the flat and placid Devilkins, fragrant
with cleanliness. Only his wide-open eyes moved.
“There you are,” said Daftie.
She rolled Devilkins up in a bundle and gave him to Mother.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “it’s probably better this way. When you’re sad
and want to be comforted, you can unroll him, and blow your nose.”
Mother looked very unhappy. She put the bundle under her arm, and trudged
off towards the house.
“I feel sorry for poor Devilkins,” the bear said, and a tear rolled down its cheek. “I
didn’t know this would happen. What will become of him now?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Daftie. “Mother’s very careless with the laundry. She’ll
probably throw him in a corner somewhere.”
She looked at the washing machine, and added: “At least we know now that this
thing’s not good for washing in. Let’s stay away from it.”
“Ah yes,” the bear agreed, feeling guilty.
Renata Šerelytė
(b. 1970 in the Kupiškis district) is a prose writer, poetess, playwright and literary critic. In 1994 she
graduated from Vilnius University majoring in Lithuanian language and linguistics. After graduation
she worked with different Lithuanian periodicals.
Her first collection of short stories Skinning Fish was published in 1995. She has published several
other collections of short stories, two novels, a book of poetry for children and several dramas. Junda’s
Fate was recognized as the best children’s book of the year. The novel Constellations of the Ice Age,
published in 1999, received the Žemaitė Award in 2000.
Works by Šerelytė have been translated into the English, French, Swedish, Russian, Georgian, Polish
and other languages.
She lives in Vilnius.
Žuvies darinėjimas (Skinning Fish): [short stories]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1995
Balandų ratas (A Circle of Goose-Foot): [short stories]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1997
Jundos lemtis (Junda’s Fate): [adventure historical long short stories for children].Vilnius: Tvermė, 1997
Prakeiktas kardas (A Cursed Sword): [adventure historical long short stories for children]. Vilnius: Šviesa, 1997
Ledynmečio žvaigždės (Constellations of the Ice Age), [novel]. Vilnius: Tyto alba, 1999
Ėriukas po baobabu, arba Megztinis su uodega (A Lamb under a Baobab, or a Sweater with a Tail): [poems for children]. Vilnius:
Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2000
O ji tepasakė miau (She only Said Meow): [short stories]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2001
Vardas tamsoje (A Name in the Dark): [novel]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 2004
Krakatukų brūzgėlynai (The Bush of Krakatukai): [tale]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2008
Trenktukė, liūno vaikas (Daftie, Child of the Marshes): [tale]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2009
German: Sterne der Eiszeit, Berlin: Rowohlt, 2002
Blaubarts Kinder, Klagenfurt/Celovec: Wieser Verlag, 2010
Polish: Gwiazdy epoki lodowcowej, Wołowiec: Czarne, 2004
Imię w ciemności, Wołowiec: Czarne, 2005
T he C row F loats on an I ceberg
Ice rattles, slow,
Slow.
Icebergs float, flow, flow,
Flow, flow.
The crow rows,
Rows,
On the grey float,
Float.
©Martynas Vainilaitis
©Rimantas Rolia
©Kronta
Crow, Crow, where will it lead?
Kronta
Šiaulių g. 3
lt-01133 Vilnius
Lithuania
Where will it lead?
Where? To the sea!
+370 5 2121871
[email protected]
www.kronta.lt
To the sea!
I will make a nest on the shore,
Martynas Vai n i laitis
Shore.
My little crows will number four,
A Sack of Jokes
Four.
The crows will grow large,
Nothing is more enjoyable to a child than jokes, fooling around and merriment. This poetry book
is full of entertaining, joyful and humorous poems. The beauty of Martynas Vainilaitis’ poems comes
from their simple, clear and easily flowing ideas.
Large.
They’ll set out and sail far,
Illustrated by Rimantas Rolia
Far.
Juokų maišelis. Kronta, Vilnius, 2006. – 104 p.
isbn 9955-595-60-4
They’ll sail braver,
Braver.
And catch some herring for their mother,
Mother.
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A Sack of Jokes
W e M ade a S nowman
S leepy and L azy
We made a snowman,
Clouds gather above the sycamore.
A mindless snowman.
After the heat, it will be rainy.
But who arrives before the shower?
And the snowman said:
Sleepy and Lazy.
“Little ones, it’s sad without a snowoman!”
“Hello, bead-like brothers,
We made a snowoman for the snowman.
Sleepy and Lazy!”
A mindless snowoman, just like the snowman.
“Ha,” replied the sluggish brothers,
“Lying in our bedsie.”
Well, the old snowoman
Wanted grandchildren.
After the rain, the heatwave passed.
The wind will clean the sky.
We blew into our hands,
We see, jumping out of bed fast,
And made snowchildren.
Sleepy and Lazy.
“Where are you going, bead-like brothers,
Sleepy and Lazy?”
“We’re in the cloud castle air,”
The sluggish brothers saysie.
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145
A Sack of Jokes
T he B lack Cat
Through the garden, evening,
Grey, grey evening,
Descends slowly.
On a bench, a cat
A black, black cat,
Purrs lowly.
Oh, what a great cat!
Oh, how I like the cat!
Again and again,
I pet his fur,
His black silky fur.
Flash white lightning!
I pet his tail,
His long, long tail.
Flash, a bright fire!
“You’re a special cat,
An electric cat,
Purring, yes you are!”
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A Sack of Jokes
T he F rog ’s F lu
After the frost, the rain began to soak
The meadow with the little frog’s croak.
It croaked and bathed in a puddle,
And it is not known, rather a muddle,
Whether the water or the croaking forced
The poor frog to grow hoarse.
Having never heard of such a fate,
All of the frogs became very afraid.
They gathered at the marsh site,
In the castle of the Clover White,
And invited the wise Bumblebee,
Doctor of the meadows, he.
Bumblebee, the meadow physician,
Knew much, his wisdom beyond derision.
“Froggy, lie down, and let the leaf cover you.
You’ve fallen ill with the green flu.
Spend a few days in bed resting,
And you’ll live to croak again!”
Martynas Vai n i laitis
(1933 – 2006) graduated with a degree in theatre from the Lithuanian State Conservatory in 1957.
He worked at the Marijampolė Drama Theatre and on the editorial staff of the Žvaigždutė and Genys
children’s magazines.
Vainilaitis began to publish his poems in periodical literature while still studying. He published his
first collection of poetry for adults, Larks Leading the Plough, in 1960, while Bean Sheaf, his first poetry
collection for children, was published in 1963.
Vainilaitis received the State Prize of the Republic in 1976 for My Little Oriole, and in 1983 he was
granted the title of distinguished cultural worker. He was later awarded numerous prestigious prizes,
and his books Charms of the Bone Witch, The Silver Paddle and A Bridge Over the Quagmire have been
named best children’s book of the year. In 2003 Vainilaitis received the Soldier’s Cross of the Order of
Vytautas the Great. In 2004 he was included on the IBBY Honour List and became the first winner of the
Children’s Literature Award by the Lithuanian Education and Science Ministry.
His poems have been translated into the Russian, Swedish and Ukrainian languages.
Vyturiai palydi plūgą (Larks Leading the Plough): [poetry]. Vilnius: State Literature Publishers, 1960
Pupų pėdas (Bean Sheaf): [poetry for children]. Vilnius: State Literature Publishers, 1963
Pramuštgalvis beždžioniukas (The Bull-Headed Ape): [poem for children]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1964
Ežio namas (The Hedgehog’s House): [poem]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1967
Dundulis dunda (Rumble Rumbling): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1969
Mano volungėlė (My Little Oriole): [collection of poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1975
Kiškių pilaitė (Rabbit Castle): [collection of poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1978
Triušiukai (Bunnies): [toy book]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1985
Spalvoti nykštukai (Coloured Elves): [collection of poetry]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1986
Gegutės šaltinis (The Cuckoo’s Well): [collection of poetry]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1988
Skruzdėlytė po kanopa (An Ant under the Hoof): [tale in verse]. Vilnius: Viltis, 1994
Žydras povas povinėja (Blue Peacock Struts Around): [collection of poetry]. Vilnius: Lithuanian Writers’ Union Publishers, 1995
Kaulo bobos apžavai (Charms of the Bone Witch): [collection of tales in verse]. Vilnius: Meralas, 1999
Ežiukai Devyžiukai (Nine Little Hedgehogs): [tale in verse]. Vilnius: Žara, 2000
Pelėdos giesmė (Owl Song): [tale in verse]. Vilnius: Žara, 2001
Sidabrinė kultuvėlė (The Silver Dolly): [tale in verse]. Vilnius: Žara, 2002
Geltona muzikėlė (Little Yellow Music): [collection of poetry]. Vilnius: Žara, 2003
Nykštukas Kilipštukas (Kilipštukas the Elf): [tale in verse]. Vilnius: Žara, 2004
Juokų maišelis (A Sack of Jokes): [poems]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2006
Mauliukas (Mauliukas): [poem]. Vilnius: Kronta, 2009
Russian: Цветные гномы, Vilnius: Vyturys, 1989
Swedish: Januari, Stockholm: I denna vida värld, 1993
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A Sack of Jokes
T he C rying
The four halted and listened. They could hear a soft crying noise in the forest. It
kept stopping and starting.
“Well, well!” the rabbit was stunned. “Someone’s crying!”
“That’s reassuring,” the frog said, feeling rather relieved. “Just think about it.
Someone who’s crying is not dangerous.”
“I believe,” the penguin puffed on his little pipe, “that the crybaby is from the
same heap.”
“Why didn’t I realise that!” the dog said, concerned.
“What are we waiting for? Forward!” The rabbit jumped up.
“Me, too,” said the dog.
“Unfortunately,” the penguin said in a dejected manner, “I’m not only fat and
©Vytautė Žilinskaitė
©Gintaras Jocius
©Alma littera
clumsy, but also a little lame.”
Alma littera
Ulonų g. 2
lt-08245 Vilnius
Lithuania
the silvery grey triangle was visible.
+370 5 2638877
[email protected]
www.almalittera.lt
Vytautė Ži li nskaitė
A Trip to Tandadrika
Again, he put down his block, and plopped down so that a single sharp point of
“I suggest,” the frog said, pulling down her hat, “that we think clearly. We’re in
trouble, and in such dangerous circumstances …”
But the rabbit and the dog hurried off in the direction of the crying. They tramped
through deep snowdrifts. Once the dog sank up to his ears in the snow, and the rabbit helped him out by lowering a juniper branch for him to hold on to. But when
they started off again, the crying had stopped, and it was impossible to work out
which way to go.
They waited for a little while, stopped, and looked around.
Vytautė Žilinskaitė’s fantasy novel was created in 1984 and is considered to be one of the most important
works of Lithuanian children’s literature from the second half of the 20th century. The novel belongs to
the toy story tradition well-known throughout the world. Six toys – Rabbit, Toy, Frog, Penguin, Doll, and
Pilot – are taken away to the rubbish heap on New Year’s Eve, gather together in the forest and fly away
on a spaceship to Tandadrika, which is described as “the homeland of games, the planet of toys”. Each
character believes he will become happy on this planet and that his dreams will be fulfilled. Due to
“technical difficulties”, the spaceship lands on various other planets along the way. Much like in Antoine
de Saint Exupéry’s The Little Prince, the world of each planet conveys some idea and raises a problem.
The characters’ portraits change in the course of the journey, and their hidden vices and shortcomings are
shown. The narrative is dynamic and charged and constantly reveals new secrets full of the comic. Having
invoked the language of Aesop, the author brings up the eternal problems of good, sensitivity, peace,
friendship, and responsibility while demonstrating how power, might, and passion for objects destroys
the most noble moral values. Thus, in a certain sense this work contains attributes of the cautionary tale –
but these attributes are elevated to a philosophical plane.
“Look!” whispered the dog. “Over there, by the tree stump!”
A little way off, there was a huge tree stump, and on it sat a slender being, with
her face buried in her hands. The two friends walked up to her, and took a good look.
It was a doll. She was dressed in a nightdress, had a shoe lace tied around her waist,
was wearing one elbow-length glove, and was completely bald. The snow all around
her was dotted with tiny pits where her tears had fallen.
“Good evening!” said the rabbit cheerfully.
“We’re so sorry. We couldn’t knock because there’s no door,” the dog said softly, in
order not to frighten her.
The doll lifted her head, and, with her eyes lowered, turned her pale face towards
Illustrated by Gintaras Jocius
the two friends.
Kelionė į Tandadriką. Alma littera, Vilnius, 2003. – 296 p.
isbn 9955-08-411-1
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“Who are you? What do you want?” she said, without a hint of fear.
“No! But she’s as stubborn as a mule.”
“We’re two toys, a rabbit and a dog, from the same terrible garbage truck.”
“It’s too bad,” sighed the dog, “that the penguin isn’t here. He’d smoke his little
“We have a fire nearby. Look, I’ve got some matches,” the rabbit tapped his shirt
pipe and a good idea would instantly pop into his head.”
buttons.
The rabbit was offended. “And I’ve come up with a marvellous idea, even without
“… and we’ve decorated a tree …” added the dog.
a pipe. Let’s grab her by the arms and legs and go!”
“… we’ve got guests …”
“Wouldn’t that be rude?” the dog asked doubtfully.
“… I’ve an idea … would you please join us by our warm fire?”
“And wouldn’t it be rude to leave her here alone?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve! So let’s go!”
“Yes, that’s true.”
The doll was just getting ready to jump down from her perch, when suddenly she
Quietly, the two friends walked back to the tree stump. They rubbed their paws
stopped, shook her head, and said in a dull voice:
together, and grabbed her, one by the legs, the other by the head.
“Thank you, you’re very kind. But it’s no use.”
“Why?” the two friends asked at once.
“Ow!” screamed the doll. “How dare you! Let me go! I don’t want to go! Leave me
alone!”
The doll did not reply. Instead, she turned her back to them, and stiffened like a
But they wouldn’t listen to her.
wax figure.
“You know,” the dog tried to scare her, “if you stay here, you’ll be attacked by a wolf,
T he S i x th
with jaws like this!” And he held both of his paws wide apart.
It wasn’t easy to carry her. Their feet sank in the deep snow, and their burden
“And he’ll tear you to shreds.” The rabbit held his paws very close together.
was heavy and still kicking. Occasionally, the doll managed to get free. She’d fall
“Ooooo! Oooo!” they both howled in terrible voices. “He’s sneaking up already!”
into the snow, and begin to burrow like a mole. They were getting impatient with
“Don’t try to scare me, and don’t show me anything,” the doll said coldly. “I can’t
all this catching and carrying.
see, and I don’t want to.”
“It’s useless carrying her,” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Why?” The dog was surprised.
The doll turned her face towards them, her lowered lashes quivering.
The dog and the rabbit got a surprise. A figure appeared in front of them, wearing
overalls, a helmet and huge dark glasses.
“Because I’m blind.”
“Good … good evening,” the dog said, regaining his composure.
“Well, well,” was all the rabbit could say.
“That’s quite true, it is a good evening,” the stranger said, a little tartly. And with-
“I don’t need anything.” The doll turned her back to them again. “No holiday, no
out any further ado, he put his arm around the doll’s waist.
tree, no fire. If a wolf were to sneak up on me, I’d leap into his tummy myself. It’s
hopeless. Leave me alone.”
Instantly, it became easier to carry her, and not long afterwards, all four arrived
at the fire.
The friends drew aside to have a talk.
“We’re back,” announced the rabbit.
“What an unfortunate creature.” The rabbit shook his head. “I’ll never complain
“And we’ve brought some guests,” the dog added.
again that I have only one ear and half my whiskers.”
“And I won’t complain that I have a pea for a nostril, and I won’t say what for a
“That’s very clear,” said the penguin, not at all surprised. He was clearing the snow
from his block with a piece of wood.
tail …”
“We’ll put the doll in the hat,” explained the rabbit.
“Oh, a tail is a tail,” declared the rabbit.
“But what shall we do? Can we leave her here?”
“Oh,” moaned the frog. “I haven’t got warm yet, and she’s all covered with snow
and as cold as an icicle.”
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153
“That’s why she has to get warm,” said the rabbit firmly. “Get out of my hat!”
“My, how ungentlemanly,” the frog said, disgusted. She moved towards her basket,
hoping that no one would take her shawl away.
But the rabbit, as bold as ever, covered the doll with it. The dog threw some sticks
into the fire, and the flames leapt up, shooting sparks into the air. The dog then
dragged a few bigger logs nearer to the fire, and they all settled down comfortably.
The stranger sat down last, and looked at the flames through the large lenses of his
dark glasses. It was then that they noticed that one of his sleeves was completely
empty; it swayed like a pendulum at the slightest touch.
“I wonder,” worried the frog, “if many more will come here from the heap.”
“Not a single one,” answered the penguin, smoking his little pipe.
“How do you know?” The frog was incredulous.
“The pilot,” the penguin said, and gestured towards the stranger.
“Which pilot?” The frog was confused.
“Just like a ship’s captain, a pilot is the last to abandon the scene of a crash,” answered the chubby one.
“And how do you know he’s a pilot?” asked the dog in surprise.
“The helmet,” said the penguin.
“I should have known,” said the dog.
G etting Acq uainted
For a good half an hour, the toys sat around the fire, warming themselves. Some
even had a sleep, but no one spoke much. Consequently, the rabbit felt uncomfortable. Whether he liked it or not, he was the owner of the fire.
“Well, well, this is fine!” He jumped up, as if someone had poked him. “It’s just as
if we’ve all swallowed our tongues. We’re a fine group here: the tree’s decorated, the
fire’s burning cheerfully, we’ve got a good stack of logs, we have enough matches.”
He beat his chest. “So, let’s do something.”
“What can we do when we’re in such a horrible situation?” replied the frog.
“I have an idea,” the dog said. “Let’s all introduce ourselves.”
“There you are!” The rabbit jumped up again. “Yes! We have to introduce ourselves.
Let’s all say something about who we are.”
“We must have order,” warned the frog. “I’ve organised a lot of meetings, and I
know that everything must proceed according to a daily plan.”
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“What kind of daily plan?” asked the dog, his mouth agape. “It’s night …”
“So, let it be a nightly plan, then,” sneered the rabbit.
“Hee, hee, hee,” laughed the dog.
“How frivolous.” The frog made a face. “I’ll say it again: we must tell our stories in
clockwise order. We’ll begin with the one who proposed this plan.”
“With me?” asked the rabbit, nonplussed. “Fine, let it be me, then. My name is
Quadrille …”
“Hee, hee, hee,” the dog laughed again.
“Why are you laughing at me?” asked his friend.
“Don’t you know,” asked the frog, “that a quadrille is the name of a dance? A dance
that has been out of fashion for ages?”
“No, I didn’t know,” admitted the rabbit. “They didn’t ask me when my name was
chosen. Well, well, that’s a fine thing. A dance!”
“I have an idea.” The dog raised his head. “If your name is a dance, we can change
it. How about Waltz or Clog-dance?”
“Or Rock’n’roll,” joked the frog sarcastically.
“Well, I quite like Quadrille.” The rabbit was offended. “Back in the days when I still
had two ears, I heard that old things always come back into fashion. My name will
also be fashionable one day. But look, I’d really like to see how it’s done …. I’ve always
lived in a toy box. Once I had a ride on a real tricycle; twice I’ve been on a merry-goround; and once I went on a real train. I might have travelled more. Perhaps I would
have seen the whole country. But one day Bill the Bulldog came to visit.”
“Bill … the …. the … Bulldog?” the dog stammered. “Really? The one with a flat face
and a stump for a tail?”
“Flat at the front, and a stump at the back,” confirmed the rabbit. “He came to
visit. He grabbed me by the ear and dragged me through the whole house. He
ripped off one ear and pulled out my whiskers. But luckily, I managed to save the
other ear …”
Vytautė Ži li nskaitė
(b. 1930 in Kaunas) is a poet and prose writer. She graduated in 1955 from Vilnius University’s Faculty
of History and Philology with a degree in journalism.
Žilinskaitė has been publishing her work since 1950. In 1961, she published Don’t Stop, a Moment,
a collection of poetry that approaches prose. Žilinskaitė has created the beginning of new trends in
Lithuanian humour with her satire, and in addition writes no small amount for children. In her tales
and plays, she displays the requisite knowledge of children’s psychology and everyday life, pregnant
imagination, and conventional situations.
Žilinskaitė was awarded the State Prize of the Republic in 1972 for her humoristic work and in 1979
for the children’s book The Robot and the Moth. In 2007 she received the Lithuanian Ministry of
Education and Science Children’s Literature Prize for her book Kintas. The Lithuanian Section of IBBY
recognized Kintas as the best book for children and teens in 2006. Her books Tiputappy, The Girl Who
Wasn’t Afraid and Kintas were selected the best children’s and young adults’ books of the year in 1996,
2000 and 2006. In 2008 the writer was included on the IBBY Honour List.
Nesustok, valandėle (Don’t Stop, a Moment): [poems]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1961
Mikė milžinas (Mikey the Giant): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1967
Melagių pilis (Castle of Liars): [poetry]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1968
Senelio Šalčio ūsai (Santa Claus’ Moustache): [stories for children]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1969
Robotas ir peteliškė (The Robot and the Moth): [tales and short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1978
Gaidžio kalnas (Rooster Mountain): [short stories for children]. Vilnius: Vaga, 1981
Tik niekam nesakyk (Don’t Tell Anyone): [fairy tale]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1988
Kumeliuko kerštas (The Vengeful Colt): [tale]. Vilnius: Vyturys, 1991
Tiputapė (Tiputappy): [short story]. Vilnius: Lietus, 1996
Nebijokė (The Girl who wasn’t Afraid): [short stories]. Vilnius: Vaga, 2000
Kas atsitiko? (What Has Happened?): [humour stories, satire, parody]. Vilnius: Pasviręs pasaulis, 2000
Kelionė į Tandadriką (A Trip to Tandadrika): [fairy-tale]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2003
Kintas: [novella]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2006
Jūrų kriauklė (The Sea Shell): [novella]. Kaunas: Šviesa, 2006
Radinių namelis (Lost and Found): [tales and short stories]. Vilnius: Alma littera, 2009
Bulgarian: Сребристото лунно куче, Sofia: Отечество, 1987
Croatian: Što se dogodilo?, Rijeka: Društvo hrvatskih književnika, 2004
English: The Robot and the Moth, Moscow: Радуга, 1991
German: Das Gespenst unter dem Stuhl, Berlin: Kinderbuchverlag, 1986
Hungarian: A robot és a pillangó, Budapest: Móra Kiado, 1988
Polish: Robot I motyl, Warsaw: Nasza Krięgarnia, 1989
Slovak: Variācie, Bratislava: Obzor, 1986
156
157
Ach, Sigutė 6, 60, 122
Adomaitytė, Gintarė 7, 10–15
Alma littera 6, 22, 30, 92, 100, 116,
136, 150
Arklio Dominyko meilė | Dominic
the Horse in Love 60
Aš – eilėraščių knyga | I Am a Book
of Poems 122
Baltoji varnelė | The White Crow 30
Baltos durys | The White Doors 108
Bobutė iš Paryžiaus, arba Lakštingala
Zarasuose | Grandma from Paris,
or the Nightingale in Zarasai 22
Černiauskas, Rimantas 7, 16–21
Daukšaitė-Guobienė, Irena 6, 76
Dočkutė, Rasa 30
Dūdaitė, Lina 6
Dūdėnienė, Irmina 136
Eitmanytė-Valužienė, Lina 6, 122, 127
Erlickas, Juozas 7, 22–29
Index
Geda, Sigitas 7, 30–37
Gilės nuotykiai Ydų šalyje | Acorn’s
Adventures in the Land of Vices 92
Gimtasis žodis 6, 10, 76, 130
Grįžimo istorija | A Comeback
Story 66
Gultiajeva, Nadežda 22
Jackutė, Goda 16
Jocius, Gintaras 92, 150
Jonaitis, Giedrius 6
Joni, Rasa 6, 100
Juodišius, Paulius 6, 7, 38–43
Juokų maišelis | A Sack of Jokes 142
Kairevičienė, Daiva 10
Kasparavičius, Kęstutis 6, 7, 44–53
Kelionė į Tandadriką | A Trip to
Tandadrika 150
Kepenienė, Nijolė 7, 54–59
Kepenytė, Šarūnė 54
Kepežinskas, Rimvydas 6
Kuckaitė, Eglė 6
… kurio nieks nemylėjo | The One
Nobody Loved 116
Kronta 6, 38, 142
158
159
Landsbergis, Vytautas V. 7, 60–65
Libra Memelensis 54
Milžinai nenorėjo karaliais
būti | The Giants did not Want
to Be Kings 130
Minkevičiūte, Erika 122
Morkūnas, Gendrutis 7, 66–75
Vieną kartą | Once Upon
a Time 100
Vilutis, Mikalojus Povilas 108
Žara 6, 86
Žilinskaitė, Vytautė 7, 150–157
Žutautė, Lina 66
Žviliuvienė, Irena 6
Žvirblis, Vaidas 6
Namajūnienė, Edita 130
Nieko rimto 6, 44, 60, 66, 122
Palčinskaitė, Violeta 7, 76–85
Paltanavičius, Selemonas 7, 86–91
Petkevičius, Vytautas 7, 92–99
Populaigienė, Sigita 86
Poškus, Sigitas 7, 100–107
Po kabančiu pasakos tiltu | Under
a Hanging Bridge of a Fairy
Tale 76
Po riestainio saule | Under the Sun
of Pancake 54
Puškutis ir žaliojo rutuliuko paslaptis |
Puff and the Secret of the Green
Ball 38
Račickas, Vytautas 7, 108–115
Račinskaitė, Jūratė 6
Rolia, Rimantas 6, 142
Saja, Kazys 7, 116–121
Skučaitė, Ramutė 7, 122–129
Sluckis, Mykolas 7, 130–135
Sodininkas Florencijus | Florencius
the Gardener 44
Šalčiūtė, Laisvydė 6
Šerelytė, Renata 7, 136–141
Tarabilda, Agnius 116
Trenktukė, liūno vaikas | Daftie,
Child of the Marshes 136
Vaikai ir vaiduokliai | Children
and Ghosts 16
Vainilaitis, Martynas 7, 142–149
Vėjų miesto pasakos | Tales from
the City of Winds 10
Velniukas ir vieversiukas | The Devil
and the Skylark 86
Versus aureus 6, 16
Illustrarium
Catalogue edited by Roma Kišūnaitė
Translation and editing by Laima Sruoginis, Karilė Dalia Vaitkutė, Ada Mykolė Valaitis, Joseph Everatt
Graphic design by Jokūbas Jacovskis
Design and layout by Inter Se, Lithuania
www.interse.lt
Printed in Lithuania by
www.kopa.eu
Published by the International Cultural Programme Centre, Lithuania
www.koperator.lt | www.lituania-bologna.eu
Supported by the Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Lithuania
Acknowledgements
The Centre for Children’s Literature of the Martynas Mažvydas National Library of Lithuania
Arūnas Baltėnas
Vladas Braziūnas
Algimantas Žižiūnas
isbn 978-609-8015-12-6
© International Cultural Programme Centre, 2011
The reproduction of this catalogue, even in part, in any form or media
is prohibited without written consent of the copyright holder.
Circulation: 800

Twenty Books from Lithuania for Children and Teenagers illustrarium

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