Prevod

There were so many toys in the children’s room. On top of the cupboard stood the money box, made of earthenware in the shape of a pig. It had the usual slit in its back, and the slit had been widened with a knife so that silver dollars could go in too; two had gone in, besides a great many smaller coins. The money pig was so stuffed that he could no longer rattle, and that is the highest achievement a money pig can aspire to. There he stood on the top shelf, looking down at everything in the room. He knew very well that with what he had in his belly he could buy it all, and that is a comforting thought.

The others thought about it too, though they said nothing; after all, there were other things to talk about. A chest drawer stood ajar, and a large doll peeped out. She was rather old, and her neck had been riveted together. She looked out and said, “Shall we play at being people? That’s always something!” And then there was a commotion; even the pictures turned round on the wall, showing that they too had another side, though they did not mean to be contrary.

It was the middle of the night, and the moon shone through the window, providing free illumination. Now the game was to begin, and everything had been invited, even the perambulator, though it belonged among the rougher toys. “Everyone has their own worth!” it said. “We can’t all be nobility! Someone has to be useful, as they say!”

The money pig was the only one to receive a written invitation. He stood too high for them to think he could hear a spoken one, and he gave no answer as to whether he would come, for he was not coming. If he was to take part, he would have to enjoy it from home; they could arrange things accordingly, and so they did.

The little puppet theatre was set up at once so that he could look straight into it. They meant to begin with a play, followed by tea and intellectual exercises, and they began the latter straight away. The rocking horse talked about training and thoroughbreds, the perambulator about railways and steam power—all subjects within their own fields, which they could speak about with authority. The clock talked politics—tick, tick! It knew what the hour had struck, though people said it did not go quite right. The rattan cane stood proudly displaying its ferrule and silver knob; it was well shod at both ends. On the sofa lay two embroidered cushions, pretty and stupid—and now the play could begin.

They all sat watching, and were asked to crack, bang, and rumble as loudly as their pleasure prompted them. But the riding whip said he never cracked for the old, only for the unbetrothed. “I’ll bang for anything!” said the cracker. “One has to be somewhere!” observed the spittoon. Such were their various thoughts on being at the theatre. The play was no good, but it was well performed. All the players kept their painted sides turned outwards; they were only meant to be seen from one side, not from the back. And they all acted splendidly, right out in front of the theatre, for their strings were too long, but that only made them more noticeable. The riveted doll was so moved that her rivets came loose, and the money pig was so moved in his own way that he decided to do something for one of the players: to put him in his will as the one who should lie with him in an open grave when the time came.

It was such a treat that they gave up the tea and carried on with the intellectual exercises. This was what they called playing at being people, and there was no malice in it, for they were only playing—and each thought about himself and about what the money pig was thinking, and the money pig thought furthest ahead, for he was thinking about his will and his funeral—and when would that come about? Always sooner than one expects. Crack! Down he fell from the cupboard—there he lay on the floor in bits and pieces, while the coins danced and leapt. The smallest spun, the larger ones rolled, especially one of the silver dollars, who was determined to get out into the world. And so he did, and so did all the others. The pieces of the money pig went into the rubbish pail, but the very next day a new earthenware money pig stood on the cupboard. There was not a penny in him yet, so he could not rattle either; in that he resembled the other one. It was a beginning, at any rate—and with that we shall end!