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tale 81 the old monkey tells his tale 6 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 6 It didn't sound very
convincing when he spoke of a "community". Any coexistence is a
structure or a society, but community just sounded too idealistic, in
contrast to the principle of authority that was here in front of my eyes. He
noticed that I didn't believe a word he said and began to provoke me. He had
started with it and now had to prove his ability to rule over me in front of
the others if he wanted to maintain the group's respect for him. His gestures
became more and more aggressive, and when he saw that I wasn't reacting, he
drew his knife. Something I had already learned from my first contact with
cultures and monkeys: "Fear destroys self-esteem and makes you
vulnerable, and a prompt reaction disarms the enemy." When he had
reached for his knife, I tore a burning stick from the fire and stabbed it into
his face. The people sitting around were so surprised that they stayed there
paralyzed. The blinded leader screamed like hell, everyone was taking care of
him. In this mess, I was pushed further and further into the background. I
slowly turned and disappeared into the night. I was about fifty yards
when I observed torches and heard footsteps behind me. The horde started
looking for me. It was pitch dark, the moon was completely obscured by
clouds. I didn't know where I was going, which was not entirely safe, with
the angry monkeys behind me, maybe a slope in front of me. The lights of the
torches could still be seen. I had to be far enough away by sunrise not to be
spotted. The next morning I climbed a peak, everywhere the same picture,
almost endless mountain peaks. I couldn't go back, just forward. Mountain
valleys with dry scrub and cacti, or stony ridges. Up a mountain, stones and
rocks, sometimes a bit of snow, depending on the altitude, down again on the
other side, through the mountain valley, monkey-high, dried out, prickly
bushes and cacti. Advancement was only possible where the melting snow water
washed out smaller riverbeds. When I felt safe, I only went during the day.
On a cactus, I saw a tuber in an inviting red colour. That should be some
fruit. I bit into it. The taste was sweet too. But there were tiny spikes on
the shell that now hung on my hands and lips. It took three days to
wander around before I hit a beaten path. I didn't know which way I was going
because the clouds obscured the stars at night and the sun during the day.
One direction of this foot-wide path was up, the other down. I needed a
little fire to warm up and something to eat. The water wasn't the best
either, the more I drank, the more thirsty I became. We don't just drink to
absorb moisture, we need minerals and salts. Of course, meltwater or
rainwater do not have time to dissolve these mineral resources. Experience shows that the
way down is easier than the way up, and that's how it went pretty quickly.
When I got around a rock again, I suddenly saw a small fire in the distance.
But how big was my disappointment to find out that it was the mountain valley
of the Horde. I turned around immediately and was perhaps even faster up than
on the way down. In the meantime it was night again and almost impossible to
see the paw in front of my eyes. Understandably, I didn't want to run into
the members of the Horde and kept hiding. It went along a rock wall, the path
got narrower and narrower until I was standing in front of an abyss. How deep
it went down there couldn't be seen, only the roar of the water that rushed
past there in the depths filled my ears. Carefully keeping my balance, I
crossed an increasingly narrow stone bridge. The merciless wind whistled in
the middle and I got down on all fours. Completely exhausted, I fell on my
back on the other side. When I woke up a few hours later, it was already
daylight, I looked at the whole thing again and was convinced that I would
not go back there again. A deep gorge, a few hundred meters, no wider than
maybe ten or twelve meters. Below the water rushed through this tightness and
above the wind whistled. A constant raging and whistling amplified by the
echo made me almost deaf. The bridge was a huge, elongated rock that had
tumbled out of one of the rock faces, but was too big to fall all the way
down through the narrow gorge. Now I only went on in
daylight again, these paths would actually have been ideal for chamois.
Slowly it led downwards and then somewhere the path just stopped. Steep walls
around me and in front of me a fast stream that came out of the wall on the
left and disappeared into a tunnel in the right wall. How should it go on
now? Experience had shown that
the water either rains from the sky or gushes out of the ground. Maybe this
water was such a beginning. So I got in and walked slowly with the water into
the opening tunnel. Of course, it got darker and darker and I hit this or
that part of my body against the uneven wall or ceiling or slipped on the
slippery rock. I had already walked a long way when I suddenly fell into the
depths and lost consciousness. When I woke up, I saw
flowers all around me, humming bees, pretty monkey girls. Was I dead and was
this the paradise of the banana god? |
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