Κυριακή, 5 Ιουλίου 2009

σίλια


Once upon a time, a little old woman and a little old man lived in the bush in a hut all made of corn stalks. They had a little yellow dog called Turpie. The little yellow dog always barked when any one came near the hut.
One night, when the little old woman and the little old man were fast asleep, out from the gloomy gullies came the Hobyahs, creep, creep, creeping. Through the grey gum-trees came the hobyahs, run, run, running. Skip, skip, skipping on the ends of their toes, ran the hobyahs. And the hobyahs cried, ‘Pull down the hut, eat up the little old man, carry off the little old woman’.
Then yellow dog Turpie ran out barking loudly. The hobyahs were afraid. They ran home as fast as they could go. But the little old man woke up from the dream and cried, ‘Little dog Turpie barks so loud that I can neither slumber nor sleep. In the morning I will take off his tail.’ So the little old man took off little dog Turpie’s tail to stop him from barking.
The second night, along came the hobyahs. Out from the gloomy gullies came the hobyahs, creep, creep, creeping. Through the grey gum-trees came the hobyahs, run, run, running. Skip, skip, skipping on the ends of their toes, ran the hobyahs. And the hobyahs cried, ‘Pull down the hut, eat up the little old man, carry off the little old woman.’ Then yellow dog Turpie ran out, barking loudly. The hobyahs were afraid. They ran home as fast as they could go. But the little old man tossed in his sleep and cried, ‘Little dog Turpie barks so loud that I can neither slumber nor sleep. In the morning I will take off his legs.’ So the little old man took off little dog Turpie’s legs to stop him from barking.
The third night, along came the hobyahs. Out from the gloomy gullies came the hobyahs, creep, creep, creeping. Through the grey gum-trees came the hobyahs, run, run, running. Skip, skip, skipping on the ends of their toes, ran the hobyahs. And the hobyahs cried, ‘Pull down the hut, eat up the little old man, carry of the little old woman.’ Then yellow dog Turpie barked loudly. The hobyahs were afraid. They ran home as fast as they could go. But the little old man heard Turpie. He sat up in bed and cried, ‘Little dog Turpie barks so loud that I can neither slumber nor sleep. In the morning I will take off his head.’ So the little old man took off Turpie’s head. Then little dog Turpie could not bark any more.
That night along came the hobyahs. Through the long grass came the hobyahs, creep, creep, creeping. Through the grey gum-trees came the hobyahs, run, run, running. Skip, skip, skipping on the ends of their toes, ran the hobyahs. And the hobyahs, cried, ‘Pull down the hut, eat up the little old man, carry off the little old woman.’ Now little dog Turpie could not bark any more. There was no one to frighten the hobyahs away. They pulled down the hut. They took the little old woman away in their bag. But the little old man they could not get, for he hid himself under the bed. Then the hobyahs went home. They hung the bag upon a big hook. In it was the little old woman. They poked the bag with their fingers and cried, ‘Ha! ha! little old woman.’ But when the sun came up, they went to sleep. Hobyahs, you know, used to sleep all day.
When the little old man found the little old woman was gone, he was very sorry. Now he knew what a good little dog Turpie had been. So he took Turpie’s tail and his legs and his head and gave them back to him. Then little dog Turpie went sniffing and sniffing along to find the little old woman. Soon he came to the hobyahs’ house. He heard the little old woman crying in the bag. He saw that the hobyahs were all fast asleep. Then he cut open the bag with his sharp teeth. Out jumped the little old woman, and she ran home against as fast as she could go. Turpie did not run away, but crept inside the bag to hide.
When night came, the hobyahs woke up, and they poked it with their long fingers. They cried, ‘Ha! ha! little old woman.’ Out of the bag jumped little dog Turpie, and he ate up every one of the hobyahs.
And that is why there are no hobyahs today.
η celia, η πιτσιρίκα που στοιχειώνουν οι εφιάλτες με τα hobyahs, είναι ένα 9χρονο κοριτσάκι που ζει στην αυστραλία του 57, σε μια εποχή που τα κουνέλια είχαν γίνει μάστιγα και στα επίκαιρα του σινεμά έδειχναν τις μαζικές εξολοθρεύσεις, ενώ ο μεταπολεμικός φόβος για τον κουμουνισμό ήταν σχεδόν όσος και για τα κουνέλια. μπορεί και πιο μεγάλος. η ταινία της ann turner [γυρισμένη πριν από ακριβώς 20 χρόνια] ξεκινάει με το θάνατο της [πολύ μορφωμένης και κουμουνίστριας] γιαγιάς που αφήνει τραύματα στην πιτσιρίκα και έναν πατέρα που προσπαθεί να εξαφανίσει όλα της τα ίχνη [της καίει όλα τα βιβλία κι απαγορεύει στην κόρη του να μπαίνει στο άδειο δωμάτιο].
η ζωή της celia γίνεται πιο ενδιαφέρουσα όταν μετακομίζουν δίπλα τους ένα ζευγάρι κουμουνιστών με τα παιδιά τους και αποκτάει ένα κουνέλι για κατοικίδιο, μόνο που και τα δύο είναι είδη προς εξολόθρευση και η συνέχεια είναι αρκετά οδυνηρή, ειδικά για τη μικρή. με κρατική εντολή τα κουνέλια απαγορεύονται ακόμα και σε κλουβιά στο σπίτι και σε μια επιχείρηση σκούπα της αρπάζουν το νεαρό φίλο και τον κλείνουν σε στρατόπεδο συγκέντρωσης, μαζί με εκατοντάδες άλλα κουνέλια. ο μπάτσος θείος της είναι αυτός που της στερεί το χνουδωτό φίλο, ο οποίος καταλήγει πνιγμένος μέσα στην ποτίστρα [η σκηνή που τον κουβαλάει νεκρό για να τον θάψει είναι απ' τις πιο δυνατές της ταινίας, περισσότερο επειδή δεν προλαβαίνει να τον σώσει απ' το στρατόπεδο -έχει μόλις βγει απόφαση που επιτρέπει τα κουνέλια ως κατοικίδια]. στη συνέχεια η celia σκοτώνει το θείο [και καλά το κάνει το κάθαρμα, μακάρι να ήταν τόσο εύκολο να ξεφορτωθείς όσους σου δημιουργούν τραύματα, αλλά αυτά γίνονται μόνο στις ταινίες].
μόλις κυκλοφόρησε σε dvd από την second run.