"Kirschen" Hörbuch Erzählung zum Entspannen, Einschlafen & Träumen von Wilhelm Scharrelmann

Hello and nice to have you here. I'm Rico. Stories are great! A wealthy woman tells her guests why the first cherries of the year play such an important role for her. Behind her wonderfulness, as she calls it, is a heartbreaking story. If you don't want to miss a story and haven't subscribed to the channel yet, subscribe to it and activate the bell. And now, have fun listening! Cherries by Wilhelm Scharrelmann The dessert was already served and we were just waiting for the sign of our hostess to lift us from our seats, when the servant put a large, shimmering plaque of particularly well-read taste on the table, whose precious, polished crystal bowls were only filled with selectively beautiful, fresh cherries, whose dark red blood to the dazzling white of the silver and the shine of the polished crystal formed a wonderful contrast. Each of us praised the delicious, cool fruits, but was surprised to see fruits offered again in silence, after the fresh fruit had already found little appeal. I'm celebrating the first cherries of the year today, our hostess took, who would like to have guessed our thoughts, smilingly the word when the servant had left the room again. It's a celebration of remembrance for me. Yes, a celebration, if you will. It just doesn't have a happy occasion like other celebrations. But I celebrate it every year as soon as the first cherries ripen. One of the most painful memories from my childhood is associated with these fruits. Even if you know the occasion to my habit, you may call it a grill, a wonder, a joke of the age, what do I know. You will poke your armpits and say, well, old people have their peculiarities. My dear, I'm not grumpy about it, but it's really not the age that brought me to the idea of ​​my celebration. I've been celebrating it since my father came back to some fortune, since then I've been doing it every year in silence, just for me. It's a pleasant coincidence that I'm spending the evening of my celebration with you this time. But the most beautiful thing is the morning of my day of cherries. There I let a few baskets full of cherries be distributed to the children on the playgrounds of all schools in the city. I do it in memory of the day when I first learned about the impoverishment and hopelessness of poverty as a child. Tell us, we ask you, and our host drove on. I already told you that my habit is linked to a memory from my childhood. I was a six-year-old girl at the time, and I still know as clearly as it would have been yesterday what joy the first school trip brought me. Days before, I was feverish with anticipation, and I think my dreams were seldom filled with such restlessness again as in the night before the upcoming big event. But for me, a school trip was an event, because my parents were poor, poorer than I understood it with my six years. Soon after my birth, my father lost his entire fortune due to a stroke of fate. When I think back on those years today, I only fully understand how my poor mother must have suffered at the time. For her, the time of my first childhood was gloomy and gray due to the shadows of poverty and constant deprivation. A harmless, happy trip with us children to the green would have appeared to her as a waste. That is why I hardly ever came out onto the street where my parents lived. You can imagine what joy a trip had to promise me, which was supposed to lead far into a coffee garden in front of the city gates. But already the day before, the first drop of remorse fell into the cup of my joy. I can still see everything clearly in front of me. It was dusk, and I sat on a bench at my mother's feet. Excited, I muttered about what joy the next day would bring. But my mother remained quiet and silent. She only stroked me a few times gently with her hand over the table and looked at me quietly and sadly. Suddenly, I slowly saw tears welling up from her eyes. I was distraught, unhappy, and myself close to crying. She did not answer my question of what was wrong with her. She just sighed, took my head between her two hands, and kissed me long and tenderly. The next day, I had forgotten what had happened and was standing in my Sunday dress, ready for lunch, and was waiting impatiently to be able to move out at the moment. The food had already been cleared. My father had come home at noon, annoyed and distraught, and had not stood at the door of the excursion, so I should have noticed how unhappy my parents were just on that day. But I did not have an eye for it. Only when my mother told me, Go to your father and tell him to give you some change. When he sent me back to my room, I suspected that something had happened. A little crazy, I did what I was told. My father immediately grabbed the bag and gave me some nickel coins. I do not remember how many there were, but I know for sure today that they were the last ones he had. Shining with joy, I jumped out. I had never been so rich in my life. The afternoon brought a chain of blessings. With singing we marched out and played, sang and hummed in the green. There was a cake shop in the garden and a swing, on which one flew up to the lowest branches of the trees. But the most delicious thing for me was a stand with cherries. They were big, black, tempting fruits, sweet and fresh as if they had just been picked in paradise. At home I never got any. Today, however, I could buy what I wanted. One bag full after the other I devoured, and when I went home in the evening, my bag was empty. Blessed with the pleasures of the day, I came home. My mother undressed me naked. Suddenly she whispered in my ear in the dark of the room, How much money did you have left? Nothing, I said without hesitation. There were such beautiful cherries. I felt her twitching at my answer. Nothing, she asked silently, and I began to beat my heart with the peculiar, dull sound of her voice. A fearful silence followed. Then I heard a sigh coming out of her chest. Silence, behavior, and yet clearly in the oppressive silence of the room. At that moment I suddenly understood what had happened. I had spent my money, easily spent for cherries, and at home we suffered the least. Just so as not to destroy my childhood joy, my parents had let me go. My father did not want me to be the only one who had to stay at home throughout the class and had given up his last nickel for it. The following day there was no lunch, and for the first time I understood how unbearably cruel life can be. None of my secret bitter tears could bring back only one of the easily spent pennies. I have not forgotten the day to this day. Every time I see the first cherries in the streets, it comes back to life in me. I feel again the terrible pressure of poverty and do not have peace of mind until I have pleased a flock of cherry-hungry children. They will find it childish and ridiculous, but could they pass by the first cherries of the year without being painfully reminded of their childhood? Thank you for listening. If you liked the story and you are not sleeping yet, I would be happy about a thumbs up and a comment. And if you can not sleep yet, you will find another story here. See you soon!