Dienstag, 8. Dezember 2020

 

tale 88 for days

Written by Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com

Learn languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334 79 74

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For days

 

He had been sitting in his attic for days, surrounded by books, paintings, and musical instruments. Sometimes he would sit down at the piano and play a little, but that didn't satisfy him either. Three times a day the housekeeper brought him his food, changed the water to wash his hands. The wood stove remained untouched and the windows opened because it was summer. So he could hear the hustle and bustle of the neighbouring children in the yard. Why didn't he go out to them? They liked him, the weird bird from the attic. He always told them something funny. Most of the time they surrounded him and didn't let him go until he had delighted them with some tale. That was the customs duty that the crowd of children demanded of him. But only of him, the other people in the house were punished with indifference. They were just grey and boring. Children need colours to fill their world of thoughts. And that was what made him tremble, what made him shudder not to be able to satisfy the children with their demanding eyes. The previous day even one, the smallest and cutest, had come to his door and knocked. They knew from the housekeeper who thought he was a good-for-nothing that he wasn't sick. "What should be with him!" She had answered the little child, "he is sitting at his table and does nothing." He hadn't opened the asking knock and the small, light steps had sadly gone back down the stairs. However, at some point he would have to show himself and admit that he, like everyone else, was colourless and average. Should he tell them that he too just lived into the day and followed his instincts? No, he couldn't. He was ashamed of being able to offer them only chocolate and existence. But if we want humans to develop, we shouldn't just stuff our children with sweets and buy them all sorts of toys from the shop window. One needs spiritual nourishment. He could tell them some fable (story in which the animals can speak) of Aesop, they would also be happy about it. Like Phaedrus and later Jean de la Fontaine. But he knew that one or the other would read the original sooner or later, and then of course would be very disappointed and lose a role model.

We need illusions, but we have to be careful not to destroy them in the most brutal way. He wanted to stay true to them, but above all to himself. And so he stayed locked up in his attic.

 

Further to tale 89!

 

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