Le village de montagne

J’ai demandé à un client : « Si vous voulez, imaginez-vous une fois votre vie comme un village de montagne, dans lequel le fleuve a débordé et a amené beaucoup de boue et d’éboulis. Après ce malheur le conseil municipal se réunit avec les villageois, les pompiers et la protection civile et ils discutent de ce qui est à faire. Il arrive tout d’abord des gens avec des pelleteuses, des bulldozers et des camions pour enlever le plus gros des éboulis. Pouvez-vous vous imaginer cela ? » « Oui. » « Vous pouvez voir comment ils déblaient tout ça. Après l’équipe de rangement il arrive des gens avec des tuyaux et des balais. Ils enlèvent toute la boue et le sable du village, toute cette saleté qui est venue de l’arrière-pays. Vous pouvez voir comment ils font tout couler vers le bas dans la vallée. Vient ensuite l’équipe des artisans. Il y a des maçons, des plâtriers, des peintres, peut-être aussi des électriciens, des installateurs, des stucateurs, des restaurateurs. « Que font-ils d’après vous ? » « Ils peuvent plafonner ou cloisonner. » « Exact. Quoi d’autre ? » « Poser une moquette. Câbler. Placer des tringles à rideau. » « Exact. Après les artisans arrivent les jardiniers. Ils aménagent de nouveau les parcs et les jardins. On rajoute peut-être un puits au village ou un tilleul au village pour améliorer encore plus le village, pour qu’il soit mieux qu’avant. Et un monument commémoratif. Peut-on imaginer cela ? » « Pas très bien. » « Eh bien, vous n’avez pas besoin de vous imaginer tout ça. Dites bonjour à votre âme, pour qu’elle fasse ça pour vous, comme ça vous n’avez pas à vous en occuper. Après il y a des personnes très importantes qui arrivent. C’est l’équipe de prévention. Ce sont eux qui veillent à ce que cela n’arrive plus. Ils peuvent planter la pente au-dessus du village par exemple, pour que les racines des arbres fixent la terre. Ils peuvent construire des murs et des grillages dans le style d’un paravalanche. Ils peuvent creuser un lit plus profond pour le ruisseau, peuvent construire des marches de barrage et des bassins de retenue ou même une déviation pour l’eau du ruisseau qui est de trop. »

¿Dónde están las estrellas durante el día?

Ella tiene dos años y muchas preguntas. “¿Dónde están las estrellas durante el día?”, por ejemplo le pregunta a su padre.
“En el cielo”, contesta este, “así como por la noche.”
“¿Entonces están apagadas? Es que no brillan para nada.”
“¡Claro que sí! Siguen brillando. Pero el sol es tan luminoso que ya no se ve la pequeña luz de las estrellas. Es como cuando ya no oyes música baja si de repente alguien pone en marcha una máquina ruidosa. La música baja todavía está, solo ya no se la percibe. La música está acallada y las estrellas están deslumbradas.”
Ella piensa un momento y dice: “Ahora sé también donde están mis sueños durante el día cuando estoy despierta.”

(Por Stefan Hammel, traduccíon: Bettina Betz)

Coger zarzamoras

Cuando era niño, a menudo ayudaba a mis padres en el jardín. Me acuerdo de como mi padre me instruyó a cosechar zarzamoras: “Toma una mora en la mano y tira un poco de ella. No fuertemente, solo un poco. Si está madura, cae en tu mano por sí misma. Si no se suelta por sí misma, déjala. Todavía tiene un sabor agrio.”

Margarita y Lucía

En la rendija de un muro vivían dos lagartijas, Margarita y Lucía. Lucía estaba todo el día echada en el muro tomando sol. Margarita pasaba la mayoría del tiempo buscando insectos para sí misma y para sus hijos. Cuando veía a Lucía echada en el muro, se enfadaba.
“¡Tú cómo gastas el tiempo! Si fueras lagartija decente, por fin te preocuparías del bienestar de tus hijos. ¿Qué es lo que haces todo el día allí arriba?” Lucía pestañó y dijo: “Recupero energía. De esta manera sí que hago algo para mis hijos.”
“Lo veo diferente”, gruñó Margarita. “Y un día te llevará el águila ratonera o el halcón.”
“Esperemos a ver qué pasa”, opinó Lucía y se desperezó en el sol. Margarita prefiría buscar presa en la sombra de los arbustos bajos. Pasaba mucho tiempo cazando hormigas. A menudo parecía cansada. Su vida estaba cada día más amenazada: Ya no tenía nada que contraponer a la rapidez de los gatos y a la de las comadrejas.
Los hijos de Lucía se volvieron fuertes y despabilados, todo como ella misma. Pronto empezaron cogiendo las arañas más gordas, los cárabos más rápidos y aun grandes libélulas. Pero lo que les gustaba lo más era echarse en el muro al lado de su madre y estirarse a la luz del sol.

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 Alchemist

In the olden days, there lived a man whose profession was that of those who call themselves alchemists. This man boasted that he could make gold. Now, when the king of his country heard about this, he had the man come before his throne to tell him about his secret. It was in vain that the man asserted that he did not know anything about it. “So then I will imprison you as a liar and an impostor”, the king said. “For this is what you are – either because you have publicly claimed that you can produce gold although you cannot, or because you claim today that you cannot do it although you can. Just tell us what you need for making gold. You shall have it in your dungeon. As soon as you have completed your work you shall tell us, and if you reveal to us how you have accomplished your task, you shall be released.”

Now the poor man had plenty of time to try out his alchemist skills. One day he reported to the jailor: “I have discovered something.” “So what have you discovered?” “I have discovered the secret of how the Chinese produce their porcelain which they sell for gold at our royal court.” The jailor reported this to the king, and the king asked his prisoner to be brought before him once again. After the alchemist had reported his discovery to the king, the king exclaimed: “You have not discovered how to produce gold, but something which is worth more than gold.” With these words, he asked the guards to set the man free, to clothe him like a nobleman and send him home with precious gifts.

The Island Flower

On a small island in the middle of the wide ocean grew a wonderful golden yellow flower. No- one knew how it got there, because there were no other flowers of this kind on the island. The seagulls came flying in to look in wonder at this miracle. “It is as beautiful as the sun”, they said. The fish came swimming in. They looked out of the water in order to admire it. “It is as beautiful as a piece of coral”, they said. A crab came onto the land in order to observe it. “She is as beautiful as a pearl on the sea bed”, he said. And they came almost every day to admire this flower.

One day, when they came again to look at the flower, they found the golden petals brown and dried-out. “Oh dear”, said the doves, the fish and the crabs. “The sun has destroyed our flower. How can we refresh our hearts now?” And they were all sad. Yet a few days later, in place of the flower, stood a wonderful, delicate white ball. “What is that?”, asked the animals. “It is as soft as a cloud”, said the doves. “It is as light as sea spray”, said the fish. “It is as fine as the shimmer of the sun in the sand”, said the crab. And all the animals rejoiced. A puff of wind blew over the island and carried this white wonder away across the island in thousands of tiny flakes. “Oh dear”, sighed the doves, the fish and the crabs. “The wind has blown our ball away. What can cheer our souls now?” And they were all sad. One morning, as the sun rose above the sea, hundreds and even more hundreds of wonderful golden yellow flowers shone in the golden morning light. The doves danced in the sky and the fish in the water, and the crabs danced a jig with their friends, and everyone was happy.

Treasure Hunting

“In a land deep in your heart, there once lived a people which was as happy or unhappy as any people, and as rich or poor as any people, and as satisfied or longing as any people, and among them lived a boy who had a dream which many boys have: He wanted to search for a hidden treasure. Now this may not seem so peculiar, but this boy was lucky enough – or would you not call this lucky? – not only to have the dream of such a treasure but in fact to have found, in a secret hiding place in the garden, a key to just such a treasure. He had the key, the treasure belonged to him! But how should he find the treasure now, since he did not know where it was hidden? The boy sat down pondering.”

Island Map

“Look here”, said the old seafarer and rolled out a map. “This here is the Island of the Blissful.” His grandson regarded it attentively while the man stood up and took another map from the shelf. “And this here”, he continued while he unrolled this second map, “is the Island of the Ill-Fated.” “But that’s exactly the same island!” exclaimed the young man. “Perhaps it is the same, and perhaps it is not”, said the old man in a mysterious tone. “But I can tell you this much: The maps were drawn by two different cartographers. Both have visited the island. One went to all the bleak and desolate mountains on the island and measured all the spaces. The other went to all the beautiful, fertile places, and measured the island from there. Look here: they have also drawn in the paths along which they wandered. Whoever makes his way with the first map, looks from one beautiful peak to the next, and the dreary areas are hidden by the beautiful mountains. However, whoever makes his way with the second map, looks from one desolate peak to the next, and the beautiful scenery landscape remains hidden behind them.”