Otfried Preussler
The Little Water Sprite
Translated from the German by Anthea Bell
Illustrated by Winnie Gebhardt-Gayler
THE NEW YORK REVIEW CHILDREN’S COLLECTION
NEW YORK
THIS IS A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOK
PUBLISHED BY THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS
435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
www.nyrb.com
Copyright © 1956 by Thienemann-Esslinger Verlag, Stuttgart
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Louise Fili, Ltd.
Originally published in German as Der kleine Wassermann.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Preussler, Otfried.[Kleine Wassermann. English]The little water sprite / by Otfried Preussler ; translated by Anthea Bell ; illustrated by Winnie Gebhardt-Gayler.pages cm. — (New York Review Books Children’s Collection)Originally published in German by Thienemann Verlag in 1956 under title: Der kleine Wassermann.Summary: A water sprite born in the spring grows quickly, has many adventures, and even plays some pranks.ISBN 978-1-59017-933-8 (hardback)[1. Water spirits—Fiction. 2. Ponds—Fiction.] I. Bell, Anthea translator. II. Gayler, Winnie, illustrator. III. Title.PZ7.P9245Li 2015[Fic]—dc232015009754
ISBN 978-1-59017-940-6
v1.0
For a complete list of books in the NYRB Classics series, visit www.nyrb.com or write to:
Catalog Requests, NYRB, 435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
Contents
Title Page
Copyright and More Information
THE LITTLE WATER SPRITE
A Real Little Water Sprite
A Fine Boy
Turn Round, Little One
All Over the Mill-Pond
Cyprian the Carp
The Nine-Eyed Lamprey
No Webbed Fingers
The Little Green Houses
Dry Feet
Rain, Where Are You?
The Wooden Box
The Sliding Game
Twenty-Five of the Best
Boo!
Harp Music
Pure Silver
This Is Too Much!
Roast Stones
The Box of Lightning
Hocus-Pocus
Good Night, Little Water Sprite
Biographical Notes
The Little Water Sprite
A Real Little Water Sprite
One day when the Water Sprite came home, his wife told him, “You must be very quiet today. We have a baby boy.”
“You don’t say!” cried the Water Sprite joyfully. “A real little boy?”
“Yes,” said his wife, “a real little water sprite. So take your boots off and go in quietly, please. I think he’s still asleep.”
The Water Sprite took off his yellow boots and went indoors on tiptoe. His house was built of reeds, and it stood deep down on the bottom of the mill-pond. Being a water sprite’s house, it was covered with mud instead of plaster. But apart from that it was just the same as other houses, only much smaller. It had a kitchen and a dining-room, a living-room, a bedroom and a hall. White sand was spread neatly over the floor, and pretty green curtains made of waterweeds hung at the windows. Of course, all the rooms were full of water – the hall and the kitchen and the dining-room too. What else would you expect in a house at the bottom of a mill-pond?
Well, the Water Sprite tiptoed through the hall into the kitchen. From the kitchen he crept into the living-room, and from the living-room he crept into the bedroom. He went up to the bed very, very quietly, and there he saw the little Water Sprite, lying asleep in a basket made of rushes. The boy’s eyes were shut, and his little fists lay one each side of the fat red face on the pillow. It looked as if the little Water Sprite were putting his hands over his ears.
“Do you like him?” asked the Water Sprite’s wife, who had come in too and was looking over the Water Sprite’s shoulder.
“He’s a bit small,” said the Water Sprite. “Otherwise he’s all right.” He bent over the basket and began counting. “One, two, three, four, five …”
“What are you counting for?” asked the Water Sprite’s wife.
“I was just making sure he’s got the right number of fingers,” said the Water Sprite gently. “Look at his strong little legs! He shall have a pair of beautiful yellow boots when he’s bigger, and a reed-green coat and brown trousers, and a bright red pointed cap – I like his hair best. Do you know, I’ve always wanted a little boy with green hair like that.”
“Oh, do be careful!” cried the Water Sprite’s wife. “Now what are you doing?”
“Leave me alone,” said the Water Sprite. “I must see if he’s got webbed fingers too. That’s important for a water sprite’s child.” The Water Sprite tried to open one of the boy’s fists. But then the little Water Sprite woke up, rubbing his eyes.
“Look!” cried the Water Sprite suddenly. “Look at that! Did you see them too?”
“Well, has he got webbed fingers?” smiled the mother.
“Oh yes, he’s got webbed fingers all right,” cried the Water Sprite happily. “But now I can see his eyes. They’re green, green! They’re real water sprite’s eyes!”
Father Water Sprite picked the little Water Sprite up out of the basket and held him high above his head. Then he danced round the room with him. He made the walls of reeds shake, and the white sand swirled on the floor. And he sang, over and over again, “We’ve got a little water sprite! We’ve got a little water sprite!”
Fish came swimming up from all directions to stare in through the windows with their big round eyes.
The little Water Sprite kicked his arms and legs happily. And anyone could see at a glance that he was indeed a real little water sprite.
A Fine Boy
“I think we ought to give a party,” said the Water Sprite to his wife that evening. “What do you say? First thing tomorrow I’ll go and invite all the relations. Then we can show the little boy to the whole family. And you must cook us some good things to eat. It’s not as if we were poor people – we needn’t be mean.”
So next day the Water Sprite went to invite his family to the party. He sent fish with messages to the relations who lived a long way off. The Water Sprite’s wife stayed at home to do the cooking. She was busy with her pots and pans and dishes all day long, stopping from time to time to feed the little Water Sprite.
The Water Sprite had asked twenty-seven relations, and twenty-six turned up. There were twelve water sprites with their wives, and one well sprite, and the little elf woman who lived under St. John’s Bridge. The well sprite lived in the well behind the fire-station. He was very old and he had a white beard. The other water sprites and their wives came from the village pond and the frogs’ pool and the duck-pond, the Red Brook and the Black Brook, the trout stream, the Stony Beck, and five other streams besides.
The little Water Sprite’s father gave them a warm welcome. “It’s good of you all to come on time,” he said. “My wife and I are glad to see you, and we hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.”
“Don’t you want to show us your little boy first?” the water sprite of the Stony Beck asked the little Water Sprite’s father.
“Not yet,” said Father Water Sprite. “We’ll have something to eat first, and you can see the little boy later.”
So the twelve water sprites and their wives, and the well sprite, and the little elf woman from St. John’s Bridge, all sat down at a long table. The water sprite of the mill-pond had put it up outside his house – such a big party would never have got into the living-room. The white-bearded well sprite sat in the place of honour in the middle.
First of all th
e little Water Sprite’s mother gave her guests duckweed soup. Then they had a dish of roast fish eggs with fried waterweeds. After that she served up a salad made of preserved watercress and finely chopped marsh marigold stalks. And anyone who wasn’t full by that time could finish off with a plateful of stewed frog-spawn and pickled water-fleas. The Water Sprite and his wife were certainly not mean!
“Tell me, didn’t you ask your brother-in-law the moor sprite?” the water sprite of the Red Brook asked the water sprite of the mill-pond towards the end of the meal. “Surely he ought to be at this party?”
“Of course I asked him,” said Father Water Sprite. “I wouldn’t forget my brother-in-law the moor sprite, would I? I sent him an invitation by my fastest trout. Goodness knows why he hasn’t turned up.”
“I expect the journey took longer than he’d expected,” suggested the well sprite. “He’ll turn up all right, if I know him. He wouldn’t do that to you. Well, what about it – will you show us the little Water Sprite now?”
“If you’re quite sure you’ve had enough, I’ll go and get him,” said the Water Sprite.
He was just about to go indoors to find the little boy when all of a sudden the mill-pond went dark, so dark that you couldn’t see an inch in front of your nose. The water sprites’ wives were frightened.
“Help! What is it?” they cried.
“Nothing, nothing,” came a deep-voiced reply. “It’s only me. Good day to you.”
And when the darkness cleared away again, who did they see but the moor sprite? He had brought a great wave of coffee-coloured bog water along with him when he arrived, that was all.
“Welcome!” cried Father Water Sprite. “We’d almost given you up. I was just going inside to fetch our little boy.”
“Go and fetch him then,” said the moor sprite. “In the meantime, I’ll have a bite to eat.”
His brown hands reached for the nearest dish – it was the marsh marigold and watercress salad – and before you could count to three, it was empty. Then he swallowed a plate and a half of stewed frog-spawn and pickled water-fleas, and after that he started on to the remains of the roast fish eggs.
“You’ve got to keep at it,” he said, smacking his lips. “Travelling gives you an appetite.”
He ate and ate until Father Water Sprite came back out of the house, carrying the little boy in his basket. Then the moor sprite left the plates and dishes, jumped up and exclaimed with such enthusiasm that he almost swallowed the wrong way: “Goodness me, what a fine boy!”
All the water sprites and their wives, and the well sprite, and the little elf woman from St. John’s Bridge, crowded round the basket, and they all said so too. But soon the white-bearded well sprite held up his hand and said, “Stop this shouting all at once! Let’s give the little Water Sprite our good wishes.”
“Quite right,” the others agreed.
So each in turn wished the little Water Sprite health and happiness and long life, and everything else a little water sprite can desire.
But the moor sprite secretly put his hand in his pocket and brought out his flute. And when at last it came to his turn, he said, “Boy, you shall have a merry heart!” Then he pursed his lips and set the flute to them.
How the moor sprite played for the little Water Sprite! It was a joy to hear him, and a joy to watch too. A thin thread of brown water floated up together with the music out of every hole he uncovered. The moor sprite bowed and turned and swayed as he blew, and so the threads drifted behind the flute like a trail. It looked as if they were dancing.
Then the thirteen water sprites followed their example and danced with their wives. The whitebearded well sprite and the little elf woman from St. John’s Bridge took hands too and joined the dance.
But suddenly they all stood still, rooted to the spot, and stared in surprise.
They were staring at the little Water Sprite.
He had scrambled out of his basket, and now, steering himself with his little arms and legs, he was swimming happily round the moor sprite.
“Is it possible?” asked Father Water Sprite in astonishment. “Can the child really swim already?”
“See for yourself,” said the well sprite softly, stroking his white beard.
Even he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Turn Round, Little One
Before long the little Water Sprite could swim like a grown up – after all, he had made an early start. He soon learnt to talk too. Water sprites grow up much faster than human children. It must be something to do with the water.
At first the little Water Sprite was only allowed to swim around the living-room. Later on his parents let him into the hall and the kitchen, where he explored all his mother’s pots and pans. But what he liked best was to swim to one of the windows, draw back the curtains and gaze out at the green water. Sometimes fish shot past close to the window-panes, or a newt came swimming by. Sometimes he saw his father or mother swimming away from the house or coming home again.
However, the little Water Sprite soon got bored staying behind closed windows all the time. “Why can’t I go out?” he asked his father.
“Because you can’t go out of doors in nothing but your shirt, that’s why,” replied Father Water Sprite. “It wouldn’t do at all. But I’ll find you something to wear. I think you’re big enough now.”
The very next morning he brought the little Water Sprite a pair of brand new trousers made of gleaming fish skin, a reed-green coat, a bright red pointed cap, and of course a pair of real water sprite’s boots made of yellow leather. The little Water Sprite put his clothes on. They were a perfect fit. Then Father Water Sprite called Mother in.
“Look at that!” he said, pointing proudly at the little Water Sprite. “We’ve lost our baby and got a son instead, a son we can be proud to be seen with! Do you like him?”
“Oh dear!” said Mother. “You could have let the clothes wait a little longer. He’s only a few weeks old. Still, I know what you men are – children can’t grow up fast enough for you.”
“Well, as for you women,” said Father Water Sprite, “you’d like to keep them hanging at your apron strings all their lives. Why, you’re not crying, are you?”
“No, no,” said Mother Water Sprite, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re just imagining things. Of course children have to grow up some time,” she added. “You’re quite right. And our son does look fine in his green coat!”
“Well, what’s wrong, then?” asked Father Water Sprite. “There, I knew you’d be pleased. Turn round, child, so your mother can see you properly.”
He took the little Water Sprite by the shoulders and turned him round.
“Look at the cap,” he told Mother. “Doesn’t it suit his green hair? And the boots – I made them myself, out of the best, most expensive leather I could find.”
“Anyone can see that,” Mother agreed. “The boots are particularly good.”
“But do you know the best thing?” asked the little Water Sprite then.
“The best thing?” Mother Water Sprite wondered.
“Yes,” cried the little Water Sprite, beaming, “the best thing is that I don’t have to stay at home any more. I can go out at last! I shall swim about outside all day long! Aren’t you glad?”
“Well, well …” said Mother Water Sprite. “But if you don’t mind, I think I’d better get back to the kitchen. My soup will be burning.”
But she said that because she felt tears come into her eyes again. She didn’t want them to see how hard it was for her to let the little Water Sprite out of the house so soon.
All Over the Mill-Pond
“Now then,” Father Water Sprite announced after breakfast, “we’re going out swimming together for the first time. Keep your eyes open, my boy, so you can see everything and tell Mother all about it afterwards. Ready?”
The little Water Sprite nodded. “I can hardly wait!”
“I know how you feel,” said Father Water Spri
te. “But you must go and say good-bye to your mother first.”
The little Water Sprite said good-bye to Mother, and she told him to be a good boy and stay near his father. But she asked the big Water Sprite: “Do me a favour, husband – don’t forget how small our son is. This is his first outing, remember!”
The two Water Sprites swam out of the door. Keeping close to his father, the little Water Sprite swam several times round the water sprites’ house. As the house stood at the bottom of the mill-pond, they could swim over it too and look down the chimney.
“Hi, Mother!” the little Water Sprite called down the chimney. “Can you hear me? Look out, there’s a fish just swimming up to your kitchen window!”
Then he swam down close to the window himself, opening his eyes very wide and sticking out his lower lip, just like a fish.
He gaped at his mother, who was standing by the kitchen table doing the vegetables.
It made Mother laugh, but Father Water Sprite tapped the little Water Sprite on the shoulder and said, “That’s enough now! You’ll have plenty of time to play at fish tomorrow. We must be on our way now.”
He took the little Water Sprite all over the pond. Whenever they met a fish the boy said good morning to it. He wanted to learn the fishes’ names as well, but there were too many, and he soon got mixed up.
“I was just the same at first,” said Father Water Sprite. “Don’t be impatient. It will come right in a few days.
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