tale 77 the old monkey tells his tale 2 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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The old monkey tells his tale 2   With a strange pronunciation, a voice asked me: "What are you spying around here?" It was right, I had hidden like an agent and watched the people, listened to them. What could I answer to that now? Since, to the best of my knowledge, none of the monkeys had ever crossed the mountains, it never occurred to me that the monkeys there could be hostile. I was silent because I didn't know what to say and that only made me more suspicious. I was left alone again, but now I could at least have a look at the room, or rather the cell, in which I was held. As far as I know, there was no such thing in my home country. Or maybe I was never shown anything similar? We all lived in the trees there and only came down to the ground to drink water. After a few days next to half-rotten bananas and stale water, I was taken to a place under a tree house village to collect the rubbish on the ground. There was a terrible smell, there was a mixture of fruit residues, feces and urine. So, I should be doing slave labour. I didn't get anything to eat apart what was left on the floor, and the little polluted stream seemed to be my fountain. When I wasn't working, garbage was thrown at me. A disgraceful treatment! At night I had to sleep there on the floor. I slowly learned to understand their language, although all contact with me was avoided. This state of affairs had lasted for a few months, and the prospects of how I was to get out of here weren't exactly rosy. Once when I was dreaming and probably working too slowly, the core of an apple hit me on the head. I raised my fist angrily and shouted in her language: “Do you think this is an ape-worthy behaviour?” The answer was malicious laughter, but from that day on I was at least not pelted with rubbish anymore. And then at some point, the thought occurred to me what would happen if I just left. So I moved with a normal step in one direction without evoking the slightest reaction. When I reached the end of the valley, it was certain that I could actually have done that much earlier. It was just the initial intimidation that held me back. Or just my stupidity? Now things went uphill again, but this time I wasn't so curious about what was going to show up on the other side, because this place had to be left first. I didn't even look back. When I reached the top, a plateau opened up in front of me, with few trees, but grass and bushes two meters high. Which ape colony should live out here? But now I wasn't going to hide. Upright and quite conspicuous, I made my way through the undergrowth. That was to change quickly, however, when I heard a terrible roar. They weren't monkeys, it sounded more like huge kittens. I quickly went in the direction of a nearby tree to get an overview of the situation once I climbed on it. So I crept from tree to tree, penetrating deeper and deeper into the plain. At night I slept on one of the fruit trees. Sometimes I would hear these cats, but I could never see one. Well Who was hiding from whom here? When danger doesn't take real shape, one becomes careless. That should happen to me too. As I sauntered along, I suddenly noticed that something was following me. When I walked it came closer, when I stopped it stopped too. It wasn't far away when my nose picked up the penetrating smell of carnivores. Now the fear came! Where was the next tree? My persecutors also noticed that they had caught my attention. And that way, the real hunt began. I took my legs into hands and practically flew over the undergrowth and bushes, but the kitten was getting closer and closer. All body functions had stopped working, only locomotion was rotating at full speed. My pursuers probably wondered how a monkey could run so fast. But it didn't help, the distance got shorter with each step. Behind me, that kitten started the last, decisive leap. I felt the deadly breath on my neck as I lost the ground from under my feet. It seemed like an eternity, darkness around me, then a hard bounce. I must have broken every bone, but I didn't feel it. Up at the edge of the hole I saw the cats a long way off. It could have jumped down without any problems, but certainly not up again. Annoyed and hissing, it looked down at me. Then I passed out. You need allies, every enemy of your opponent is your friend. I heard a tender voice and believed myself in paradise. A female monkey angel with a beautiful face floated before my spiritual eyes. This angel was just changing the bandage on my forehead. I slowly opened my eyes and there she was, young and pretty. She said something to me, which of course I didn't understand. Well, another country with a different language. Do you have a foreign language in paradise too? The picture disappeared. I imagined that I was making her a declaration of love. But the surprise was great when the next time I woke up, the angel had turned into a bearded, old monkey. "Where is my angel?" - I asked. “God is way too ugly!” The doctor, who understood my language, had to smile. “We can't be that sick anymore if we haven't lost our sense of humour! Your angel has other foster children too.” He probably saw the disappointment on my face, and that my first words weren't necessarily humorous. A few minutes later, my angel was back.   part 3

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tale 76 the old monkey tells his tale 1 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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The old monkey tells his tale 1   The old monkey was sitting in a hammock on the veranda of his tree house, smoking his pipe and listening to the sounds of the jungle. There was an old book on his lap. His granddaughter came out of the anteroom and sat down next to him. "Grandfather! Tell me a little bit about the good old days!” “The good old days, hmm. Maybe they weren't so good!” “But you always tell so funny stories.” “Of course, but that doesn't mean that I really felt these events that way back then.” “Tell me!” she begged. He lit his pipe again, which had gone out, and began. I was born into a small local community. That's what I can remember. There was a very old temple of the banana god there. The priest was a tall, fat man with thin legs, who always looked at the young females. But I think he had a good heart because he was good with children. The older members of the ward were not so pleased with him, they thought he was immoral. I don't think he was a saint either. But you can only expect people with life experience to be informed or advised enough to give advise later on. So every morning, when everyone was looking for food, an older member was selected to look after the young. So my parents sent me there too. But very often I arrived late. The guardian asked my mother about it. Until they found out I was at the temple. Of course, this did not necessarily confirm my belief in the banana god, but it was a sign of my inclinations. Otherwise, the guardians weren't very enthusiastic about my presence, probably because they didn't quite know what to do with me. The residential area was not very large and not very dangerous and since I, as a somewhat overweight kid, would not have been able to follow the games and hustle and bustle of the others, I usually went on excursions alone. Experience shapes and changes personality. But this is generally not that easy in a small community. Everyone is classified and fitted into the community mosaic. If he does not want to integrate himself or thinks he is different, the order will be disturbed. A small, close group creates inflexibility and leads to intolerance in the long term. Classes started later and a big party was held for the newbies on the first day. One wanted to make the wonderful thing of learning palatable to them. Soon enough, however, I discovered that the teachers themselves simply had bananas and coconuts on their minds. So it was no wonder, I was seldom paying attention. I almost never missed, but that was probably more due to the compulsion of habit. It was a thin, but still a community connection. I was different from them in everything else. During the classes, I usually lay with my arms crossed behind my head somewhere on the edge of the group on a branch with a wonderful view into the distance. When the teacher once asked me what I was doing, I only gave him a quick look “Don't disturb me!” And continued to look at the wide mountains. One of the young, females turned to me with "Go home If you don't like it!" Now everyone else had turned their heads in my direction too. Facial expressions of incomprehension showed me that I really had no business here. I slowly got up and walked away. The teacher called after me shouting "But I didn't allow you to do that!" I came back a few branches and answered "Nobody asked you either." A break had occurred that should catapult me ​​over the mountains. Nobody was missing me, nor did I miss them. It was a long time before I got to the heights. What do you think was on the other side? Behind me the treetops slowly blurred into a green, uniform carpet. Full of hope, without feeling hunger or thirst, I climbed up, in the end on all fours. But how big was my disappointment to have the same picture in front of me as behind me. However, I didn't want to go back. What an embarrassment it would have been to come back after such a short time. As I slowly approached the valley, I could only watch the same game in reverse. The uniformly green carpet was transformed piece by piece into streams, rivers, lakes, clearings, forests and trees. When the first monkeys came towards me, I hid and let them pass me. The strange thing was that they looked almost exactly the same, and the clothes weren't that different from those of my homeland. But I couldn't understand what they were saying. They had a different language. Even the villages were set up along the same lines. There were places for children, village squares, pantries and construction houses, the same everywhere. But then why did they need a different kind of communication? Suddenly a hand grabbed my neck from behind. I tried to turn around, but that iron hand pressed my head against the floor. Other hands held my arms and legs together, I was tied, something was shoved into my mouth so I couldn't scream, and finally a sack was pulled over my head and then night fell. I was taken somewhere. It was cool where I was now, I heard a door close. I don't know how long I lay there, after a while, I fell asleep. The way over the mountains and the hunger had had its effect. I was just tired and exhausted. When I woke up again, my arms and hands had been tied to a kind of peg, which was now slowly straightening up. The sack was pulled from my head, I looked into a light.   Part 2

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Märchen 109 die wahren Helden der Geschichte 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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Die wahren Helden der Geschichte!   Es waren einmal zwei Freunde auf der Bananeninsel. Sie saßen oft zusammen am Strand und beobachteten die tosenden Wellen. Der eine war reich und der andere arm. Der Reiche teilte sein Essen, seine Kleidung und sein Haus immer mit dem Armen. Als sie also eines Tages wieder am Strand saßen, wollten der Arme dem Reichen für sein Wohlwollen danken und sagte: „Mein lieber Freund! Ohne dich wäre ich bestimmt hungrig, würde frieren und wäre schlecht angezogen.“ "Bitte, danke mir nicht!" antwortete der Reiche. Der Arme war etwas verwirrt und dachte, der Reiche müsse ein sehr guter Affe sein. Nach einer Weile begannen der Reiche zu reden: "Ich schäme mich, dass ich nicht an deiner Stelle bin." Der Arme war noch verwirrter und verstand nicht, was der Reiche sagen wollte. Deshalb saß er schweigend da und wartete darauf, dass sein Freund seine Rede fortsetzte. „Erinnerst du dich an die Geschichte unserer Insel?“ fragte der Reiche. Der Arme nickte. „Heute haben wir Demokratie, aber natürlich gibt es arme und wohlhabende Affen auf der Insel. Ich bin reich, weil mein Urgroßvater den Königen und Tyrannen gute Dienste leistete. In seinen Erinnerungen schrieb er natürlich sehr stolz, dass er der beste Diener seines Herrschers gewesen sei.“ Obwohl der arme Affe ziemlich überrascht war, dies zu hören, schwieg er und wartete darauf, dass sein Freund fortfuhr. „Und ich weiß auch aus den Erinnerungen meines Urgroßvaters, dass dein Urgroßvater nicht an einer solchen Gesellschaft teilnehmen und zum Reichtum der Könige und Tyrannen beitragen wollte. Natürlich war er kein Held, der ein Schwert nahm und auf der Straße gegen Könige und Tyrannen kämpfte. Aber heute wissen wir, dass diese Regime zusammengebrachen, weil es so viele kleine Bürger gab, die die Zusammenarbeit mit diesen Königen und Tyrannen boykottierten, dass ihr Regime einfach wirtschaftlich zusammenbrachen und dies zur heutigen Demokratie führte.“ Der arme Affe hatte die ganze Zeit mit offenen Augen und offenem Mund zugehört. „Natürlich“, fuhr der Reiche fort, „wenn einer nicht mit dem System zusammenarbeitet, bleibt er arm und selbst seine Nachkommen haben nicht die gleichen Möglichkeiten auf ein wohlhabendes Leben.“     Fahr mit Märchen 110 fort!

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tale 109 the real heroes of history 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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The real heroes of history!   Once upon a time, there were two friends on the banana island. They often sat together at the beach and watched the rousing waves. One was rich and the other was poor. The rich always shared his dinner, clothes and house with the poor. Therefore, one day when they were sitting at the beach again, the poor wanted to thank the rich for his benevolence and said: “My dear friend! If it weren’t for you, I would certainly be hungry, cold and poorly dressed.” “Please, don’t thank me!” replied the rich. The poor was a bit confused and thought that the rich had to be a very good monkey. After a while, the rich began to talk: “I feel ashamed that I’m not on your place.” The poor was even more confused and didn’t understand what the rich wanted to say. Therefore, he sat silently and waited for his friend to continue his speech. “Do you remember the history of our island?” asked the rich. The poor nodded. “Today, we have democracy but, of course, there are poor and there are wealthy monkeys on the island. I’m rich because my great grandfather served the kings and tyrants well. He wrote in his memories, of course very proudly, that he had been his sovereign’s best servitor.” Although the poor monkey was rather surprised to hear this, he kept quiet and waited for his friend to continue. “and I also know from my great grandfather’s memories that your great grandfather didn’t want to participate in that kind of society, that he didn’t want to contribute to the kings’ and tyrants’ wealth. Of course, he wasn’t a hero taking a sword and fighting against kings and tyrants in the street. But today, we know that those regimes broke down because there were so many small citizens who boycotted cooperation with those kings and tyrants, that their regime simply broke down economically and that this led to today’s democracy.” The poor monkey had listened all that time with eyes and mouth wide open. “of course,” continued the rich, “if one doesn’t cooperate with the system, one stays poor and even one’s offspring doesn’t have the same chance to make a wealthy life.”   Continue with tale 110!

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