tale 80 the old monkey tells his tale 5 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 5   Different valleys, different languages ​​and of course different behaviours. A few examples should demonstrate this. One of them shouted something to me, moving the hand of his outstretched arm downwards. I couldn't have dreamed what he wanted from me, so I walked up to him. It was only later that it turned out that the hand movement served as an invitation to call someone. In other valleys, either the whole arm or just the hand was moved a little in a circle upwards and towards oneself. In some areas, only monkeys in love held hands, in others also family members or even friends. In the third, the female animal always ran behind the male. The culture or area or degree of relationship then determined the distance. "Haha!" laughed the granddaughter. “Here it’s different, if males want something, they run after us, females,” and then in a sadder tone, “but later we have to follow them.” Now her face lit up again “Isn't there a place where they always walk next to each other?" With the mountain monkeys, because …………. “But wait a minute!” the granddaughter burst out, “you haven't told the nicest part after the rain yet!” For a moment, he paused. Again something he didn't want to or couldn't explain. Very few events end in catastrophe or in eternal happiness. Most things fizzle out or are just slowly forgotten as if they had never happened. It only becomes something really big if someone remembers it in particular, it touched or struck one deeply. Especially when one is surrounded by people or places connected with what was happening. It was different with the old monkey. Only things touched him that he wanted to keep in mind. Everything else was lost or forgotten because he always went from one place to another alone. Very often, he also changed his personality. Lingering in the same place with the same people means constancy, but also being forced into a certain role, although one changes, but movement in the environment usually takes place more slowly. Back then, the old monkey wanted to try it out or perhaps find it. Sometimes he played the role of the devoted, the soulful, the independent and so on. The environment offered him various options and he chose what he wanted. The granddaughter looked at him and realized that his thoughts were somewhere far away. However, she dared not disturb him, waited patiently for his thoughts to come back. Meanwhile, various scenes were playing in her head as well. For example, there was a couple next door. The male was a stranger, but as long as the environment felt they were happy, he was tolerated. Or a pretty female who had given herself not to a very rich monkey, but to a banana-rich monkey. There was a lot of chatter and envy. But can we blame someone for seeking security? What don't we do for a little feeling of security? The old ape thought about how much monkeys don't understand each other even though everyone is using the same words. As long as only body language works, both sides are much more attentive and express themselves more clearly because they don't want to be misunderstood. Then the little things come along, with the language, the game begins. The last trees and bushes were gone, just a little moss here and there, of course not a monkey soul far and wide, the ideal place for a hermit. After the summit I would have expected a valley again, but what I saw were even higher peaks. It got colder and colder, the air clearer, and at the end snow-covered skyscrapers. Climbing a tree is not necessarily the same as climbing a mountain slope, the legs are more involved. Slowly, hunger and thirst began to plague me. Somewhere I heard stones hitting each other. The sounds were too regular to be natural. And around the next mountain slope, something flickered there. A fire! But no monkey around! Hm! Now one came. There was a cave. After a moment's thought, I went down to him. When he saw me, he raised his head for a moment and then went on working. He was forging a knife. I sat down by the fire to warm up a little and waited. "Where are you from?" he asked. I was pleased because I knew that language and answered. He examined me a little more closely, probably because of my pronunciation. “You hiked a lot.” “I visited some valleys and spent a certain amount of time there.” “Why did you leave your home?” “I don't know, but ……..” “Have you screwed up something?" "No, I didn't feel like listening to the old teacher's chatter." "And then you thought that you had to try life yourself!" "Maybe that's it." When the sun was about to disappear behind the mountain tops, others came to the camp. "Has the committed some crime?" one said. "Ask him yourself?" replied another. "Hey you! What drove you here?” I wondered if a monkey has to do commit a crime to break out of the shackles of society. A monkey, probably the leader, sat opposite me and asked me to tell my story. It got quiet, everyone was curious. When I finished, I saw the disappointment on their faces. "That's a virgin." it broke out of one. Many laughed. "So you're just wandering around." The leader examined me with his eyes. “A strange bird! Do you know who we are?” I suspected it, but didn't know anything more, so I shook my head. “We are outcasts! Society thinks we are dangerous to order. They don't want us, that's why we've built our own community here in the mountains."   Part 6

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tale 79 the old monkeys tells his tale 4 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 4   This kind of taunts did not only take place in the stepfather's family. The maternal grandmother had five daughters who kept arguing with each other over the slightest little thing. An example should also illustrate this beautiful society. The old monkey might have just attended classes by this time. He asked one of his aunts why she had dedicated her life to the banana god. She explained to him that her father's death had hit her very deeply and that it had completely changed her life. On the way home, he wanted to talk about it with his mother, whereupon she only sent him the disparaging remark: “Oh, what? A male ape had left her. Don't believe a word she says!" This train of thoughts played out in a few seconds, as it had passed through his head a thousand times. That's why the granddaughter didn't notice that she had hit a sore spot here. Was it really that painful? Probably not. He had learned to live with it, but couldn't have explained it. A monkey does not always have to be able to clearly define everything in order to continue to put one foot in front of the other. He went on to the next valley. So, I said goodbye to my surprised, or rather disappointed companions and walked in a straight line towards the opposite mountain range. Equipped with all spiritual support, which actually consisted of a kind of malicious joy, because the nose of these envious people who had never left their valley had shown exactly that one or the other would have liked to come along. "You're just fleeing from something!" it still sounded in my ears. They had probably only heard these sayings from their parents, who were afraid that their dear children might get wings. Such a thing could not even have occurred to them, since they had no idea about life yet. What would I expect this time? A huge, big meadow, of course. At least that was how it looked from above. One could have walked on it. But I knew from experience ………… Hm! Experience? Yes, apart from my home valley, it was the third. And I knew from this experience that this green carpet meant a rainforest without end. I happily climbed the first larger tree that came up, then swung from one to the other, did a few somersaults and enjoyed life. My exercises turned out to be too high-spirited because one branch suddenly broke. But falling from four or five meters is not very dangerous for us monkeys. We always land on our feet like a cat. The impact on the ground turned out to be surprisingly soft. It wasn't solid earth, it was swamp. The impact made me sunk in to my waist. I quickly looked for a firm hold. There were only bushes and shrubs. At first they prevented my further sinking in. Slowly and carefully, I pulled myself up to a tree. But what did I look like now! Like a wild boar that had rolled in the dirt. So I couldn't come face to face with any beautiful monkey girl. A handsome monkey doesn't necessarily have to smell like banana or coconut, but he can't be covered in dirt from head to toe either. So on I went from tree to tree, to a stream, river or lake. But everything was swamp there. It took a long time before I found reasonably pure water. I jumped in and immediately felt how the already dried-on dirt and mud was loosening from my fur. What a refreshment! But I shouldn't enjoy this benefit for long. Lightning struck next to me. A crocodile, which was about to nibble on me, had been hit by a long lance. But before I wanted to make sure who had just given me back my life, I jumped out of the water and climbed up a tree. Then I looked around. A pretty monkey girl was sitting on a branch diagonally above me and almost rolled over with laughter. In the calming water surface, I looked at myself from head to toe to find out what was so funny about me. It had to be my condition and maybe the horror on my face. Females don't always like these super monkeys. In addition to something so flawless, they often feel superfluous. Well, who doesn't need the feeling of being needed sometimes? She had done me a service, I was indebted to her. And there are moments when both parties seize this situation as an opportunity to get closer. So, I slowly climbed up to her and sat opposite her. However, she didn't want to look into my eyes. I said something to her, she answered, but we didn't understand each other. Another language again. “Sprichst du Deutsch?” no answer, “Do you speak English?” just a wink, “Est-ce que tu parles français?” - no answer either. “Well, I still have to learn Spanish or Russian!” I also had a new teacher. With moderate pace, we set out for her village. She had just been out hunting, so it was quite a distance. As it is well known, monkeys don't necessarily like rain. But there are also occasions here when the water from above can have its charm. When it started to rain, I took a very large leaf from a tree and held it over me like an umbrella and offered her a place under it next to me. At first she was a bit shy, but then she snuggled very close to me. "Long live the rain." It had just come at the right moment.   Part 5

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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 79 74

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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.   Part 4

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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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