"Michael Ende - Momo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ende Michael)

"Maybe you'd care to translate that," growled Jim Ironside. "We're only simple seafaring folk,
and --"
"Don't bother the professor now," Sarah broke in, "or you'll ruin a unique opportunity. This
spinning-top creature probably dates from the earliest phase of life on earth -- it must be over a billion
years old. The one variety known today is so small you can only see it under a microscope. It's
sometimes found in tomato ketchup, or, even more rarely, in chewing gum. A specimen as big as this may
well be the only one in existence."
"But we're here to eliminate it," said the captain, shouting to make himself heard above the sound
of the storm. "All right, Professor, tell us how to stop that infernal thing."
"Your guess is as good as mine," the professor replied. "We scientists have never had a chance
to study it."
"Very well," said the captain. "We'll try a few shots at it and see what happens."
"What a shame," the professor said sadly. "Fancy shooting the sole surviving specimen of a
Teetotum elasticum!"
But the antifriction gun had already been trained on the giant spinning-top.
"Fire!" ordered the captain.
The twin barrels emitted a tongue of flame a mile long. There was no bang, of course, because an
antifriction gun, as everyone knows, bombards its target with proteins.
The flaming missiles streaked towards the Teetotum but were caught and deflected. They circled
the huge figure a few times, travelling ever faster, ever higher, until they disappeared into the black clouds
overhead.
"It's no use," Captain Gordon shouted. "We'll simply have to get closer."
"We can't, sir," Jim Ironside shouted back. "The engines are already running full ahead, and that's
only just enough to keep us from being blown astern."
"Any suggestions, Professor?" the captain asked, but Professor Eisenstein merely shrugged. His
assistants were equally devoid of ideas. It looked as if the expedition would have to be abandoned as a
failure.
Just then, someone tugged at the professor's sleeve. It was Momosan, the beautiful native girl.
"Malumba," she said, gesturing gracefully. "Malumba oisitu sono. Erweini samba insaltu
lolobindra. Kramuna heu beni beni sadogau."
The professor raised his eyebrows. "Babalu?" he said inquiringly. "Didi maha feinosi intu ge
doinen malumba?"
The beautiful native girl nodded eagerly. "Dodo um aufa shulamat va vada," she replied.
"Oi oi," said the professor, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
"What does she say?" asked the first mate.
"She says," explained the professor, "that her tribe has a very ancient song that would send the
Travelling Tornado to sleep -- or would, if anyone were brave enough to sing it to the creature."
"Don't make me laugh!" growled Jim Ironside. "Whoever heard of singing a tornado to sleep?"
"What do you think, Professor?" asked Sarah. "Is it scientifically feasible?"
"One should always try to keep an open mind," said the professor. "Many of these native
traditions contain a grain of truth. The Teetotum elasticum may be sensitive to certain sonic vibrations.
We simply know too little about its mode of existence."
"It can't do any harm," the captain said firmly, "so let's give it a try. Tell her to carry on."
The professor turned to Momosan and said, "Malumba didi oisafal huna huna, vavadu?"
She nodded and began to sing a most peculiar song. It consisted of a handful of notes repeated
over and over again:

"Eni meni allubeni,
vanna tai susura teni."