Enjoy!
READ AND ANNOTATE THE FOLLOWING EXCERPT.
Haroun had already smelled unhappiness on the night air, and this sudden' mist positively stank of sadness and gloom. 'We should have stayed at home/ he thought . .X 'No shortage of long faces there.'
'Phoo!' shouted Rashid Khalifa's voice through the greeny-yellow mist. 'Who made that smell? Come -on, admit.*
'It's the mist/ Haroun explained. 'It's a Mist of Misery.' But at once Snooty Buttoo's voice cried out, 'Lenient Mr Rashid, it seems the boy wants to cover up his stink-making with inventions. I fear he is too much like the folk of this foolish Valley—crazy for make-believe. What I must put up with!.My enemies hire cheap fellows to stuff the people's ears with bad stories about me, and the ignorant, people just lap it up like milk, For .this reason I have turned, eloquent Mr Rashid, to you.* You will tell happy stories, praising stories, and the people will believe you, and be happy, and vote for me.'
No sooner had Buttoo uttered these words than a harsh, hoi wind blew across the Lake. The mist was dispersed, but now the wind burned into their faces, and the waters of the Lake became choppy and wild.
'It's not hi the least Dull, this Lake/ exclaimed Haroun. 'In fact, it's positively Temperamental!' As the words left his lips, a penny dropped. 'This must be the Moody Land/ he burst out
Now the Tale of the Moody Land was one of Rashid Khalifa's best-loved stories. It was the story of a magical country that changed constandy, according to the moods of
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Salman Rushdieits inhabitants. In the Moody Land, the sun would shine all
night if there were enough joyful people around, and it
would go on shining until the endless sunshine got on their
nerves; then an irritable night would fell, a night full of
mutterings and discontent, in which the air felt too thick to
breathe. And when people got angry the ground would
shake; and when people were muddled or uncertain about
things the Moody Land got confused as well—the outlines
night if there were enough joyful people around, and it
would go on shining until the endless sunshine got on their
nerves; then an irritable night would fell, a night full of
mutterings and discontent, in which the air felt too thick to
breathe. And when people got angry the ground would
shake; and when people were muddled or uncertain about
things the Moody Land got confused as well—the outlines
of its buildings and lamp-posts and motor-cars got smudgy,
like paintings whose colours had run, and at such times it
could be difficult to make out where one thing ended and
another began . . . 'Am I right?' Haroun asked his father.
'Is this the place the story was about?'
It made sense: Rashid was sad, so the Mist of Misery
enveloped the swan-boat; and Snooty Buttoo was so
full of hot air that it wasn't surprising he'd conjured up this
boiling wind!
'The Moody Land was only a story, Haroun,' Rashid
replied. 'Here we're somewhere real.' When Haroun heard
his father say only a story, he understood that the
Shah of Blah was very depressed indeed, because only
deep despair could have made him say such a terrible thing.
Rashid, meanwhile, was arguing with Snooty Buttoo.
'Surely you don't want me to tell just sugar-and-spice tales?'
he protested. 'Not all good stories are of that type.
People can delight in the saddest of sob-stuff, as long
as they find it beautiful.'
Snooty Buttoo flew into a rage. 'Nonsense, nonsense!'
he' shrieked. 'Terms of your engagement are crystal clear!
For
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Haroun and the Sea of Storiesme you will please to provide up-beat sagas only. None of your gloompuss yarns! If you want pay, then just be gay.'
At once the hot wind began to blow with redoubled' force; and as Rashid sank into silent wretchedness the greeny-yellow mist with the toilet stink came rushing towards them across the Lake; and the water was angrier than ever, slopping over the side of the swan-boat and rocking it alarmingly from side to side, as if -it were responding to Buttoo's fury (and also, in point of fict, to Haroun's growing anger at Buttoo's behaviour).
The mist enfolded the swan-boat once again, and once again Haroun couldn't see a thing. What he heard were sounds of panic: the uniformed oarsmen crying out, 'O! O! ' Down we go!' and the infuriated shrieks of Snooty Buttoo, who seemed to take the weather conditions as a personal insult; and the more shrieks and yelps there were, the rougher the waters became, and the hotter and more violent the wind. Flashes of hghtning and rolls of thunder lit up the mist, creating weird neon-like effects. * Haroun decided there was nothing for it but to put his Moody Land theory into practice. 'Okay,' he shouted into the mist. 'Everybody listen. This is very important: everybody, just stop talking. Not a word. Zip the lips. Dead silence is very important, on the count of three, one, two, three.' A new note of authority had come into his voice, which surprised him as much as anyone, and as a result the oarsmen and Buttoo, too, obeyed him without a murmur. At once the boiling breeze fell away,%the thunder and hghtning stopped. Then Haroun made a conscious effort to
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control his irritation at Snooty Buttoo, and the waves calmed down the instant he cooled off. The smelly mist, however, remained.
'Just do one thing for me,' Haroun called to his father. 'Just this one thing. Think of the happiest times you can remember. Think of the view of the Valley of K we saw when we came through the Tunnel of I. Think about your wedding day. Please.'
A few moments later that malodorous mist tore apart like the shreds of an old shirt and drifted away on a cool night breeze. The moon shone down once more upon the waters of the Lake.
'You see,' Haroun told his father, 'it wasn't only a story, after all..'
Rashid actually laughed out loud in delight. 'You're a blinking good man in a tight spot, Haroun Khalifa,' he said with an emphatic nod. 'Hats off to you.'
'Gullible Mr Rashid,' cried Snooty Buttoo, 'surely you don't believe the lad's hocusing and pocusing? Freak weather conditions came, and then went. No more to be said.'
Haroun kept his feelings about Mr Buttoo to himself. He knew what he knew: that the real world was full of magic, so magical worlds could easily be real.
