The Simpleton

The Simpleton was quite glad to be able to leave the huge house of his father, where he was regarded as simpleton and no one took him serious.

"What should I do? Where should I go? What would I enjoy?" he asked himself, because no one else was there, he could ask. He thought no more of the knitting needles, because he did not really mind.

"These knitting needles are probably a sign that somebody was happy about the fact that I was born, but otherwise they mean nothing," he thought now that he no longer had to justify his actions.

"All have always considered myself a simpleton, now I want to do a real stupidity," he continued in his thoughts. But whose leg could he pull? His father was invulnerable, he was too fond of his mother, his brothers were gone, and someone from the servants? That did not appeal to him. He also did not know whether one or the other was not on his side.

"I'm trying to find out if there are fairies" he decided.

Fairies are sensitive. You may not call them by their names; this makes them angry. "I go to the mountains to find Hriob Zagel" Simpleton decided. "Hriob Zagel is the Lord of the mountain thunderstorm. He is big and strong, and if he is dangerous, he also helps poor people sometimes. It is my adventure, maybe a dangerous adventure, but perhaps a help to find my way." Despite his youth and in spite of his confusion Simpleton still had the idea of a life worth living, the idea of responsibility and usefulness and the desire to seek the beauty of life and to recognize it.

And Simpleton went on his way. He walked towards the mountains through several villages. He met more people; not as many as in the city, but the villages were inhabited. "Where are you going?" asked a housewife, he had asked for bread. "I'm going to Hriob Zagel to ask his advice," answered the youth. "When you meet him, could you ask him how he does sourdough, because he is also the Lord of the sourdough." "Yes," replied Simpleton. "When I meet Hriob Zagel, I'll ask him."And he went on.

The landscape was wild and rocky. On overgrown meadows grew young alder, ash and undergrowth between ferns and thistles. He did not meet any more people. Suddenly he heard a harsh, nasal "wah, wah, wah", accompanied by a series of rattling and guttural sounds. "This is not possible!" Simpleton thought, because "wah, wah, wah" is the warning cry of the Steller's bird. The Steller's jay lives only in North America. First, he wondered, whom the Steller's jay warned against what . Suddenly a flock of ravens fluttered and flew into the remote thicket. Yes, of course, the Steller's jay is akin to the raven.

Simpleton knew all this because he had read many books and surfed in the Internet. Since all thought he was stupid and no one wanted to deal with him, he had time enough.

And then he saw the Steller's Jay. The beak was long and narrow and the hood pronounced. The plumage was black on the head, throat, chest and upper back, colored dark blue on abdomen, trunk, tail and wings. White streaks were on the forehead, and he had a white stripe above the eye. Wings and tail had darker horizontal stripes. He had come from the South of the Californian distribution area, because his whole figure looked bluish.

"So, where do you come from?" he asked without expecting an answer. But the bird replied: "It is really no matter of yours, but the Lord of the storm and the storm have swept me here." "Do you mean Hriob Zagel?" "Yes, just that." " I want to go to him. Do you know where to find him?" "Not exactly. He has blown me here and then no longer cared about me. But you have somewhere to go up the mountain." "Aha!" "When you meet him, ask him how I can get back to where I belong!" "Yes, I will do that."

The Simpleton went on; suddenly he stumbled. He thought at first that he had tripped over a root, but then he saw that it was the Pooka. The Pooka is an Irish leprechaun, but he also quite likes to roam the rest of the world.

"Why do you have to pull my leg?" asked the Simpleton. "You could help me instead!"

"Your problems are too deep for me," the Pooka said. "It is easier to mock you. That's still better than if I ignore you. The worst thing you can do to a human being is, if you ignore him."

"Yes," said the Simpleton. "That's what I know but if you make the milk of the milkmaids sour and if you lead the hiker astray and make me stumble over a root ... I do not know ....? - Do you know where Hriob Zagel is?"

"Of course I know where Hriob Zagel is. He is my uncle. And milkmaids do no longer exist today."

"You know what I mean. What, Hriob Zagel is your uncle? You come from Ireland and Hriob Zagel is an Unearthly of the Central European mountains."

"We are just international."

"So where is he?"

"Up there!"

"Should I give him a message or ask him anything?" asked the Simpleton in memory of the housewife and the Steller's Jay.

"No, no. I'm fine, and Hriob Zagel is mountains above me. He does not need my greetings."

"But how are you similar to him?"

"He mocks the great, and I mock the little people. He is Lord of wind and weather and I of roots, hey, hey, hey, hey!"

He could almost not be heard any longer, and now his laughter mingled with the sounds of the forest, his gnarled figure disappeared in the thicket of the forest.

"But Hriob Zagel is also the Lord of the leaven" Simpleton called, but he heard only the rustling of the wind.

The Simpleton went on and tried to lift his feet, because he did not want to stumble over a root once more. The branches streaked his face, and he had to laboriously work through the underbrush, because even the footpaths had ceased. The vegetation was still dense. He wondered if he would meet Hriob Zagel before the end of the treeline. Probably not, because Hriob Zagel was the Lord of the storm . Below the treeline, he could not let off steam, because the trees slowed the storm.

Being careful of herbal obstacles gradually became a habit, and Simpleton thought about his brothers. He thought of Rupert, who would probably interrupt his search at many a place of entertainment. How old was he? How long would such a life be satisfying to him? And he thought of Herbert, who went with Rupert. Herbert probably would sometimes come into a mood that life should be more than parties.

A mouse baby peeped out from a foxhole under a root. It brushed his mustache hairs of his elongated, pointed nose, so long that it was almost half of the small body. Behind a piece of moss, so the Simpleton recognized it only at second glance, hung out a long mouse tail. Over the mustache trusting, lovely jet-black eyes.

"He still does not know how terrible the world can be," thought the Simpleton.