The Pasta Detectives - Rico, Oskar und die Tieferschatten (englische Ausgabe mit Vokabelhilfen) (Rico und Oskar 1) (eBook)

Andreas Steinhöfel (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
208 Seiten
Carlsen Verlag Gmbh
978-3-646-93764-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Eigentlich soll Rico ja nur ein Ferientagebuch führen. Schwierig genug für einen, der leicht den roten oder den grünen oder auch den blauen Faden verliert. Aber als er dann auch noch Oskar mit dem blauen Helm kennenlernt und die beiden dem berüchtigten ALDI-Kidnapper auf die Spur kommen, geht es in seinem Kopf ganz schön durcheinander. Doch zusammen mit Oskar verlieren sogar die Tieferschatten etwas von ihrem Schrecken. Es ist der Beginn einer wunderbaren Freundschaft ... Finally: the highly praised bestseller in English for early readers!

Andreas Steinhöfel wurde 1962 in Battenberg geboren. Er ist Autor zahlreicher, vielfach preisgekrönter Kinder- und Jugendbücher, wie z. B. »Die Mitte der Welt«. Für »Rico, Oskar und die Tieferschatten« erhielt er u. a. den Deutschen Jugendliteraturpreis. Nach Peter Rühmkorf, Loriot, Robert Gernhardt und Tomi Ungerer hat Andreas Steinhöfel 2009 den Erich Kästner Preis für Literatur verliehen bekommen. 2013 wurde er mit dem Sonderpreis des Deutschen Jugendliteraturpreises für sein Gesamtwerk ausgezeichnet und 2017 folgte der James-Krüss-Preis. Zudem wurde er für den ALMA und den Hans-Christian-Andersen-Preis nominiert. Andreas Steinhöfel ist als erster Kinder- und Jugendbuchautor Mitglied der Deutschen Akademie für Sprache und Dichtung. Seine Serie über Rico und Oskar wurde sehr erfolgreich fürs Kino verfilmt. Zusätzlich zu seiner Autorentätigkeit arbeitet er als Übersetzer und Rezensent und schreibt Drehbücher. Seit 2015 betätigt er sich in seiner Filmfirma sad ORIGAMI als Produzent von Kinderfilmen.

Autor

Andreas Steinhöfel wurde 1962 in Battenberg geboren. Er ist Autor zahlreicher, vielfach preisgekrönter Kinder- und Jugendbücher, wie z. B. »Die Mitte der Welt«. Für »Rico, Oskar und die Tieferschatten« erhielt er u. a. den Deutschen Jugendliteraturpreis. Nach Peter Rühmkorf, Loriot, Robert Gernhardt und Tomi Ungerer hat Andreas Steinhöfel 2009 den Erich Kästner Preis für Literatur verliehen bekommen. 2013 wurde er mit dem Sonderpreis des Deutschen Jugendliteraturpreises für sein Gesamtwerk ausgezeichnet und 2017 folgte der James-Krüss-Preis. Zudem wurde er für den ALMA und den Hans-Christian-Andersen-Preis nominiert. Andreas Steinhöfel ist als erster Kinder- und Jugendbuchautor Mitglied der Deutschen Akademie für Sprache und Dichtung. Seine Serie über Rico und Oskar wurde sehr erfolgreich fürs Kino verfilmt. Zusätzlich zu seiner Autorentätigkeit arbeitet er als Übersetzer und Rezensent und schreibt Drehbücher. Seit 2015 betätigt er sich in seiner Filmfirma sad ORIGAMI als Produzent von Kinderfilmen. Peter Schössow, Jahrgang 1953, gehört zu den renommiertesten deutschen Illustratoren. Nach seinem Studium an der Fachhochschule für Gestaltung in Hamburg arbeitete er unter anderem für Spiegel, Stern und »Die Sendung mit der Maus«. Darüber hinaus hat er eine Vielzahl von Kinderbüchern verfasst und illustriert, für die er mehrfach ausgezeichnet wurde, unter anderem mit dem Troisdorfer Bilderbuchpreis und dem Deutschen Jugendliteraturpreis. Peter Schössow lebt in Hamburg.

Textauszug

The piece of pasta lay on the pavement. It was fat and crinkled, with a hole right through the middle. Some dried-up cheese sauce and dirt were stuck to it. I picked it up, cleaned off the dirt and looked up past the old windows of Dieffe 93 into the summer sky. Not a cloud in sight. Definitely none of those white stripes that jet engines leave behind. And besides, I thought to myself, I don’t think you can just open an aeroplane window and throw out your food.

I let myself into my block of flats, whizzed up the yellow-painted stairway to the third floor and rang Mrs Dahling’s bell. She had large, bright curlers in her hair, just as she did every Saturday.

»Could be rigatoni. The sauce is definitely Gorgonzola,« she declared. »It’s nice of you to bring me the piece of pasta, dear, but I didn’t throw it out of the window. Why don’t you ask Mr Fitzke?«

She grinned at me, tapped one finger against her forehead, rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Mr Fitzke lives on the fourth floor. I hate him. Also, I don’t think the piece of pasta is his. Mrs Dahling was my first choice because she often throws things out of the window. Last winter she threw out a television. Followed five minutes later by her husband, though he came out of the front door. After that, she came down to see us, and Mum had to pour her a drop of whisky.

»He has a girlfriend!« Mrs Dahling had exclaimed in shock. »And the stupid cow is no younger than I am! Give me another swig of that stuff!«

The very next day, with the telly in smithereens and her husband gone, she bought herself an amazing new flat-screen TV and DVD player. We sometimes watch romantic films or thrillers together, but only at the weekend when Mrs Dahling can have a lie-in. During the week she works behind the butcher’s counter at a department store. Her hands are always red raw because it’s so cold in there.

When we watch television we eat canapés with boiled ham and eggs or smoked salmon. If it’s a romantic comedy, Mrs Dahling sniffs her way through at least ten tissues, then starts complaining about the film. »As if that sort of thing really happens! When a man and a woman get together, that’s when the misery begins, but of course they never show that in films. What a pack of lies! Another canapé, Rico?«

»Are we still on for this evening?« Mrs Dahling called after me as I ran up to the fourth floor, two steps at a time.

»Course!«

Her door banged shut and I knocked at Mr Fitzke’s. You always have to knock at Mr Fitzke’s. His bell is broken. It probably has been since they built the flats in 1910.

I had to wait, wait, wait.

And listen to the shuffle, shuffle, shuffle behind the old wooden door.

Finally Mr Fitzke appeared, dressed, as usual, in his dark blue pyjamas with the grey stripes. His wrinkled face was covered in stubble and his stringy grey hair shot out from his head in all directions.

What a mess!

A strong smell of mould wafted out. Who knew what Mr Fitzke kept in there. In his flat, I mean, not in his head. I tried to look past him without him noticing, but he stood in my way. Deliberately! I’ve been in every flat in the building apart from his. Mr Fitzke won’t let me in because he doesn’t like me.

»Ah, the little dimwit,« he growled.

At this point I should explain that my name is Rico and that I am a child proddity. That’s a bit like being a child prodigy, but also like the opposite. I think an awful lot, but I also need a lot of time to figure things out. There’s nothing wrong with my brain, though. It’s a perfectly normal size. Only sometimes a few things go missing, and unfortunately I never know when or where it’s going to happen. And I can’t always concentrate very well when I’m telling a story. I have a mind like a sieve – at least I think it’s a sieve, it could be a cheese grater or a whisk … and now you see my problem.

My head is sometimes as topsy-turvy as a barrel full of lottery balls. I play bingo every Tuesday with Mum at the Grey Bumblebees senior citizens’ club and they have a drum full of bingo balls there which is just the same. I have no idea why mum enjoys going there so much because it really is only for pensioners. Some of them never seem to go home, because they wear the same clothes every week – just like Mr Fitzke and his one pair of pyjamas – and a few of them smell a bit funny. Maybe Mum likes it so much because she wins all the time. She beams every time she goes on stage to collect one of those cheap plastic handbags – she only ever wins cheap plastic handbags, in fact.

The pensioners don’t really notice. Quite a lot of them gradually nod off over their bingo tickets or don’t follow what’s going on. Just a few weeks ago one of them sat completely still at a table all the time the numbers were being called. When the others left, he didn’t get up, and when the cleaning lady finally tried to wake him up, she realised he was dead. Mum thought he might already have been dead the Tuesday before. I thought so too.

»Hello, Mr Fitzke,« I said, »I hope I didn’t wake you up.«

Mr Fitzke looks even older than the pensioner who dropped dead at the bingo. And he’s really stinky dirty. Apparently he doesn’t have long to live either. That’s why he wears his pyjamas all the time, even when he goes to the supermarket. When he does drop dead, at least he’ll be wearing the right clothes. Mr Fitzke once told Mrs Dahling he’d had a heart problem ever since he was very small. That’s why he gets out of breath so easily, he said, and one day it’ll be KA-POW! But even if he is about to die, he could still get dressed, or at least wash his pyjamas sometimes. At Christmas, for example. I wouldn’t like to collapse in front of the cheese counter at the supermarket and smell totally gross, not when I’d only just died.

Mr Fitzke stared at me, so I thrust the piece of pasta under his nose. »Is this yours?«

»Where did you get that?«

»The pavement. Mrs Dahling thinks it could be rigatoni. The sauce is definitely Gorgonzola.«

»Was it just lying there,« he asked suspiciously, »or was it lying in something?«

»Huh?«

»Where’s your brain gone? The piece of pasta, you dimwit!«

»What was the question again?«

Mr Fitzke rolled his eyes. Any minute now he would explode.

»For goodness’ sake! Was your bloody piece of pasta just lying there on the pavement, or was it lying in something! Dog poo, for instance.«

»It was just lying there,« I said.

»Then let me take a closer look.«

He took the piece of pasta and turned it around in his fingers. Then he put it – my piece of pasta! – into his mouth and swallowed it. Without chewing.

And then he slammed the door. KER-ASH!

He’s not right in the head!! The next piece of pasta I find, I’ll drop it in dog poo, wiggle it round a bit, then bring it to Mr Fitzke, and when he asks if it was lying in something I’ll tell him it’s Bolognese sauce.

I’d really wanted to ask everybody who lived in the building about that piece of pasta, but now it was gone, swallowed up by Mr Fitzke. I was sad. It’s always like that when you lose something. When I had it I didn’t think it was that great, but now it was suddenly the best piece of pasta in the world. That was how it was with Mrs Dahling. Last winter she was moaning about her husband being a cheat, and now she’s watching one romantic comedy after another and wishing he’d come back.

I wanted to go down to the second floor, but I thought it over and rang at the flat opposite Mr Fitzke’s first. That was where the new person who had moved in two days ago lived. I hadn’t seen him yet. I didn’t have the piece of pasta any more, but it seemed like a good time to say hello. Maybe he’d let me in. I like visiting other people’s flats.

This flat had been empty for a long time because it was so expensive. Mum had thought about renting it. There’s more light on the fourth floor than on the second and even a bit of a view. You can look out through the trees over to the old, flat-roofed hospital on the other side of the road. But when Mum found out what the flat would cost, she had to drop the idea. Luckily for me, because then Mr Fitzke would have been right next door to us. The greedy pig.

The new person’s name was Mr Westlake. That’s what it said on the sign under the doorbell. He wasn’t at home, and I was actually a little bit happy about that. It made me nervous, thinking that I’d have to say his name out loud. East and west, if you see what I mean. I always get left and right mixed up, even on the compass. When it’s a matter of left or right, the lottery balls in my head always start to jumble.

I was angry as I ran down the stairs. If Mr Fitzke hadn’t destroyed my evidence, it would have been a great day to be a detective. The pool of suspects was very small. For example, I could rule out the two fancy apartments on the fifth floor. The Runge-Blawetzkys had gone off on holiday the day before, and Mr Marrak, who lives next door to them, hadn’t been seen for two whole days. He was probably staying at his girlfriend’s, who also did his washing for him. Every few weeks Mr Marrak could be seen running around with a giant bag of washing. He ran out of the building, back into the building, back out, back in and on it went. Mrs Dahling once said that the young men of today were useless. Once upon a...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 24.3.2023
• Reihe/Serie: Rico und Oskar
• Reihe/Serie: Rico und Oskar
• Illustrationen: Peter Schössow
• Übersetzer: Chantal Wright
• Zusatzinfo: Schwarz-weiß illustriert.
• Verlagsort: Hamburg
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Kinder- / Jugendbuch ► Kinderbücher bis 11 Jahre
• Schlagworte: Abenteuer für Jungs • Berlin • Buch für Jungs • Freundschaft • Geschenk für Junge • Geschenk für Kinder • Großstadt • Großstadtabenteuer • Großstadtkind • Jungsalltag • Jungsbuch • Jungsfreundschaft • Kinderbuch auf Englisch • Kinderbuchklassiker auf Englisch • Kinderkrimi • Klassenlektüre • Lehrer • Preisgekrönt • Schule • Schullektüre • Steinhöfel • Ungleiche Freunde • Unterrichtsmodell • Vokalbelhilfen • Weihnachtsgeschenk
• ISBN-10: 3-646-93764-5 / 3646937645
• ISBN-13: 978-3-646-93764-0 / 9783646937640