|
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 |
|
------------------------------ |
|
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. |
|
----------------------------------------------- |
|
-------------------------------------------------- |
|
------------------------------------------------- |
|
--------------------------------------------------- |
|
|
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen