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tale 78 the old monkey tells his tale 3 Written
by Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com Learn languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334
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The old monkey tells his
tale 3 My angel did not only take
care of my injuries, she also took care of my training. I had to learn the
language if I wanted to integrate into the society of my new surroundings.
Although she had no idea of the structure of communication and language, she
went to work with a lot of affection, adding a few new words, phrases or
whole sentences every day. For me it wasn't the first language and so I
started to compare the different language structures with each other. It went
quickly, until I could leave my sick bed, I was able to communicate. She
probably enjoyed the whole thing too, so we continued to meet every day to
study together. In doing so, she slowly showed me the whole city. Since the
surface was ruled by big cats, these ape people had created a home
underground. They mainly fed on roots and mushrooms. To protect against carnivores,
deep traps were built, like the one I fell into and that saved my life. Many male monkeys looked
jealously at us when we strolled through the underground avenues. She could
have got any of them. What did she want with me? My free spirit? If we choose
something, without being too extravagant, it should be something special,
interesting, a little exciting, a little new every day. There is nothing
worse than being bored. She talked to me about her family: Her father was a
magistrate, not too high-ranking, but with important tasks. Her mother was
the senior nurse in the hospital. I told her about my adventures so far. She
dreamed of travelling and getting to know other cultures. Even then, I could tell
stories so beautifully and she fell in love with me. Each of my stories
sounded like a fairy tale. Her parents didn't like to see me either, because
I only put “stupid” ideas into their daughter's head. They would have liked
to see me leave the country as soon as possible. So, I made some of them
jealous, while others saw me as a danger to their usual lives. Not everything ends as
nicely as it started. Maybe me or she just got bored. Above all, I was fed up
with the fact that the monkeys always found it suspicious where I was, what I
was doing and so on. One morning my beautiful woman didn't really want to
meet me either, so I decided to go on a short trip to the mountains. I went
and went, always straight ahead, before I noticed, I had overcome the small
mountain range. This new area looked so
familiar to me. Indeed, it was my home valley. At first, of course, I thought
of going to my old fellows. They immediately called everyone they knew
together, so we sat on our old lakeshore. The interest they showed was a
mixture of envy and the desire to satisfy their malicious joy. They really
expected that I would have come back as a kind of penitent and that I would
now ask them for a readmission. "The prodigal son had returned
home." The disappointment was written in their faces as I said goodbye. "Did you visit your
parents too?" asked the granddaughter, who had listened very carefully
throughout the story, but searched the distance with her eyes, as if all the
places of the stories had really appeared to her. The grandfather paused a
little. Now the granddaughter turned around. He looked at the floor because
he hadn't really thought that this was also part of his story. “Well,” he
thought, “How do you tell about something that you haven't fully digested
yourself, that you've just put off because you don't really like to deal with
it? A friend, acquaintance or other can be forgotten, deleted from memory.
But relatives, i.e. blood relatives, remain, nobody chooses them, they can
only be avoided. And that's why he lied, that should rarely happen in his
story. He didn't want to make these people worse than they were. “No, I
didn't visit them?” was his answer, but in his head was what had already
numbed his mind a thousand times. It was only shortly
before he left that he found out that his father was actually not his birth
father. A correct monkey who had never let his adoptive son know that there
were no chaining blood ties, he would always be grateful for that. But he
wasn't an outstanding personality either, just an average monkey like a
thousand others crouching in the trees. He certainly deserved a better female
than his mother. She, on the other hand, had a will but no character, had a
good nose to support her opportunism. His real father had been rich, his
stepfather, who had pulled her out of the mess, poor, and her next husband
again a owner of vast banana groves. The stepfather's
relatives were not much better than his own mother, having always supported
the ruling classes at the time of the great wars, becoming rich in the
process, not having to go to the front, but holding secure positions far back
behind the front, and could not stand it now that someone was not like them. Once these relatives had
called a party together to celebrate someone’s anniversary, the new hairstyle
of his stepfather was sarcastically praised. That was his mother's work,
which prompted her to comment immediately: "Well, he used to be a grey
monkey, but today you can really look at him." and he, the stepfather,
had to spoon out the salted soup. |
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