Haroun and the Sea of Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

Goodnight.’
    Buttoo stalked off to the swan-boat in a great huff. ‘If people have no taste,’ was his parting shot, ‘the best things are a waste. Tomorrow, unappreciative Mr Rashid, it is your turn. Let us see how “very pleasant” your audience finds you .’
    ~ ~ ~
     
    That night, Haroun found it difficult to get to sleep. He lay on the turtle’s back in his favourite long nightshirt (bright red with purple patches) and tossed and turned, and just as he was about to drop off at long last he was woken up completely by noises from Rashid’s room next door: a creaking and a rumbling and a groaning and a mumbling and then a low cry:
    ‘It’s no use—I won’t be able to do it—I’m finished, finished for good!’
    Haroun tiptoed to the connecting door and very carefully opened it, just a crack; and peeped. He saw the Shah of Blah in a plain blue nightshirt without any purple patches at all, pacing miserably around his peacock bed, muttering to himself while the floorboards creaked and moaned. ‘ “Only praising tales” indeed. I am the Ocean of Notions, not some office-boy for them to boss about! —But no, what am I saying? —I’ll get up on stage and find nothing in my mouth but arks . —Then they’ll slice me in pieces, it’ll be all up with me, finito, khattam-shud ! —Much better to stop fooling myself, give it all up, go into retirement, cancel my subscription. —Because the magic’s gone, gone for ever, ever since she left.’
    Then he turned to stare at the connecting door and called loudly, ‘Who’s there?’ So there was nothing for it; Haroun had to say, ‘It’s me. I couldn’t sleep. I think it’s the turtle,’ he added. ‘It’s just too weird.’
    Rashid nodded gravely. ‘It’s a funny thing, but I’ve been having trouble with this peacock, myself. For me a turtle would be better. How do you feel about the bird?’
    ‘Definitely better,’ Haroun admitted. ‘A bird sounds okay.’
    So Haroun and Rashid exchanged bedrooms; and that was why the Water Genie who visited Arabian Nights Plus One that night and crept into the Peacock Room found an unsleeping boy of about his own size staring him in the face.
    ~ ~ ~
     
    To be precise: Haroun had just dozed off when he was woken by a creaking and a rumbling and a groaning and a mumbling; so his first thought was that his father hadn’t found the turtle any easier to sleep on than the peacock. Then he realized that the noise wasn’t coming from the Turtle Room, but from his own bathroom. The bathroom door was open and the light was on, and as Haroun watched he saw, silhouetted in the open doorway, a figure almost too astonishing for words.
    It had an outsize onion for a head and outsize aubergines for legs, and it was holding a toolbox in one hand and what looked like a monkey wrench in the other. A burglar!
    Haroun tiptoed towards the bathroom. The being inside was talking non-stop in a mumbling, grumbling way.
    ‘Put it in, take it out. The fellow comes up here, so I have to come and install it, rush job, never mind my workload. —Then, wham, bam, he cancels his subscription, and guess who has to come back and take the equipment out, right away, pronto, you’d think there was a fire. —Now where did I put the blasted thing? —Has somebody been meddling? —Can’t trust anybody any more. —Okay, okay, okay, let’s be methodical. —Hot tap, cold tap, go halfway in between, go up in the air six inches, and there should be your Story Tap. —So where’s it gone? Who’s pinched it? —Whoops, what’s this? —Oho, aha, is that where you are? Thought you could hide from me but I’ve got you now. Okay. Time to Disconnect.’
    While this remarkable monologue was being delivered, Haroun Khalifa moved his head very, very slowly, until half an eye was looking around the door-jamb into the bathroom: where he saw a small, ancient-looking man, no bigger than himself, wearing a huge purple turban on his head (that was the