La brizna de pasto en el desierto

Un hombre estaba atravesando el desierto. Al rededor de él no había nada más que arena, piedras y rocas, el cielo azul reluciente y el sol ardiente. En la mitad de su camino se le ocurrió descansar y buscó un lugar adecuado. Un poco lejos del camino encontró un peñón que le podía ofrecer sombra durante su descanso. El hombre se acercó. Al llegar vió algo raro: En la sombra de le roca crecía una brizna de pasto, de hecho.
“¡Qué sorpresa! ¿De dónde vienes tú?”, le preguntó el hombre. Después se rió de si mismo:
“Estoy tan solo que empiezo hablar con la hierba. Será mejor examinar de donde viene ella.”
Excavó la plantita de la arena y la puso al lado cuidadosamente. Después empezó a cavar más y más profundamente. Aunque no tropezara con un manantial brotante, en ese lugar el suelo estaba verdaderamente mojado. Cuando el hombre de nuevo se puso en camino no olvidó de reponer la brizna en la tierra mojada. Con unas piedras construyó un pequeño muro para proteger la planta contra la desecación por el viento caliente del desierto. Después siguió caminando.
Al regresar pasó por el mismo lugar. Por supuesto miró si su pequeña planta estaba viva. Se alegró mucho: La brizna se había vuelto en un verdadero pequeño manojo de hierba. El hombre cavó un poco más profundamente y llegó a una parte aun más mojada de la tierra. Con un pañuelo, dos palos y unas piezas de cuerda, que había traído para el regreso, mejoró la protección de su planta contra el viento.
Muchos años después un amigo del hombre tuvo que atravesar el mismo desierto. Entonces le pidió a su amigo: “Pues mira qué fue de mi planta – si todavía existe.” El amigo se lo promitió. Cuando éste volvió del viaje le contó: “Tu manojo de hierba se ha vuelto en una pequeña pieza de prado. Otros viajeros han encontrado el lugar. Han subido el muro y puesto más palos con pañuelos. Alguién ha cavado un pozo y lo ha cubierto con una pieza de cuero. Al lado del pozo crece una hermosa higuera . En sus hojas canta un grillo.”

Everything Else

In a land in our time there lived a man, who read a book and found lots of wonderful stories therein. There were true and invented stories, experienced and pensive, enjoyable and painful stories. There were stories which contained stories, and such which were actually not stories. For every story he read, there occurred to him nearly five which he had either experienced or thought up himself. So the thought came to him, that a lot in the world was a story which could be healing for himself and others; he only needed to absorb the healing stories well and to forget the terrible ones immediately. Then he would learn which story he had used when and for what. So he organised his own stories which he knew, and which had become a help to himself and others, or could become so. Sometimes he noted it down when a new story came to his ears and sometimes when a helpful story occurred to him, he memorised it.

Then he saw before him in a picture the storystories of this life arranged in long shelves, as in a large pharmacy. And behind the counter there sat a man who had learnt to listen to himself and others. He was a master of his subjectspecialty. His talent was that he understood how to tell the right thing at the right time to himself and to those who visited him.

The Scent of Bread

“Wife”, spoke the baker, “I am getting older and my strength is lessening. All my life have I baked the bread for this village. Yes, people have come from afar to buy my rolls. The day will come when I will have to lay aside my bowl of dough, and who will then continue with my trade?” For they had no children. “Go search for a young man” the woman said, “who can help you with your work, and whom you can teach all about the art of baking bread. When you are old and can no longer work, he shall continue with the shop, and you shall look at him with pride as if he were your son.” As she said it, so it was done. The baker spread the news that he was seeking an apprentice who would like to learn his trade. In the following days, four young men came into his shop, wanting to become a baker. He found it difficult to choose and asked his wife again. She said: “Tell all of them to come again!” And so he did. The first man introduced himself to the baker’s wife. She asked: “Why do you want to learn a baker’s trade?” “I like to get up early, and go to bed before the night is falling. And, what is more, a baker is among the first to hear the news of the village and of its surroundings.” The second man came and she asked him: “Why do you want to learn a baker’s trade?” “My parents died early, and I need to care for my wife and children.” The third man came and she asked him: “Why do you want to learn a baker’s trade?” “I deem it an honour to bake for men the bread that God has given us.” The fourth man came and she asked him naught. “Him we take”, she told her husband. “Why should we take him?” “When he arrived, he inhaled eagerly the scent of bread.”