Hörbuch Erzählung zum Entspannen & Einschlafen "Der Zeisig" von Wilhelm Scharrelmann

Hello and nice to have you here. I am Rico. Stories are great. In today's story, the author reports about an animal friend he acquired at a flea market. At first a bit skeptical whether he should exchange the little one after all, but he keeps him and will be happy about this decision for a long time. However, like almost all stories by Mr. Scharrelmann, this one also takes a sad turn. If you don't want to miss a story and haven't subscribed to the channel yet, then subscribe to it and also activate the bell. And now have fun listening. The Zeissich by Wilhelm Scharrelmann Every autumn a large flea market is held in my father's town. In the middle of the city, on the market square, around Roland and in front of the old town hall, a colorful world emerges in a few days. Faster than mushrooms shoot out of the earth, sales and show houses, carousels and swings are built. And with the first days of the market, a murderous confluence of musical performances begins. Turntables and children's trumpets, children's snares and batons have become alive like with a spell. The callers in front of the shop scream to it, and the wild ones in the audience scream and rattle with their chains. Between the rows of shops, a laughing, screaming crowd rushes past the sights and novelties of the market. Gaff and gnash, and gnash and gaff again, so that the days of the market pass like in flight. At least for us children, this market, which lasted a full ten days, even eleven days in happy years, offered true bliss. You could buy the most unheard of things there. Apart from the most common articles that could never really appeal to me, sugar sticks and honey cakes, table knives and glass cutters, knife sharpeners, shotguns with real incendiary caps that contained real gunpowder, carousel rides and shooting range sightings. Apart from these things, there was almost every time an object on the market that immediately aroused my whole interest, put me in a fever of excitement and made me completely blind and deaf for all other pleasures. Once it was a little figure, not bigger than my little finger, which was carved out of wood and carried a pair of mobile arms and legs. So far, there had been nothing special about the doll. But what excited me was that it was not standing on its legs, which it could not have carried at all because of its mobility, but on three fine white pig tails, which stood as supports on the dresser, so that the feet just hovered over the floor. If you hit or knocked on the plate on which you had put the figure, it moved with quiet, hardly noticeable movements, while swinging its loosely hung legs back and forth as if it were really walking. The shop where this sight was sold was small and inconspicuous. A man in a Tyrolean costume sat behind the sales table and played on a Zita, on whose record he had put his figures, which now danced to his funny alpine songs, as if they had a secret clockwork in their body. I was so fascinated by the sight that I forgot everything else about it. What? The whole market, with all its charms, sank before this one small shop, and I had no peace of mind until I had bought one of the little dancers for a nickel and was able to carry it home, more carefully than if I had carried a living being in my hand, afraid not to break one of the trembling legs or to bend the pig's chest, on whose elasticity the little lady's dance art was based. At home I put my figure on the table top, drummed on the table with one hand, whistled on a comb, and it was blissful to see the little lady begin her dance again. I don't know what fate the dancer had in the end. Eventually she will have gone the way that all toys take and must take. For a while she will have been guarded with jealous care and loved with love. Gradually she will have been treated more equally, and finally forgotten. The next year, however, I bought an object that was not in danger of being forgotten or of becoming equal to me. It has kept my interest for years, and I still remember it vividly today as if I had just held a photograph of it in my hands. The object I am talking about was a Zeisig. One evening I bought it on the flea market for a series of sour-savory crumbs from a merchant who had built a real people's barracks on a corner of the town hall out of little Harz peasants. I stood still as if banished, and watched in astonishment and interest the restless back and forth of the little birds behind the woody bars of their narrow cages. There were Stieglitz, Henflinger, Zeisiger, Kreuzschnäbel, Buchfinken and Dompfaffen. The Dompfaffen were the most beautiful. With blood-red breasts and black caps on their heads, they sat on the small seat-posts of their cages. I would have liked to have owned a Dompfaffen, but they were the most expensive of all and for the few groschen that I had saved, not to have. The Zeisiger were the most wealthy, but even a Zeisig cost so much that all my goods would have been enough to pay the price. As long and carefully as I thought about it, I could not decide. Every day when I went to the market, I went to the corner of the town hall, to look up the trader's stand again, and saw with pain how one of the birds after the other passed into strangers' hands, while the others, one day like the other, restlessly jumped from one bar to the other, back and forth, back and forth, to flutter up in fear, as soon as a passer-by came too close to the farmer or made a quick move. On the last evening of the market, I finally decided, and bought one of the little Zeisiger. The trader assured me that no bird would be as tame as the little Zeischen. One day the little farmer withdrew from the line, threw an old newspaper around for protection, and I hurried home with my treasure. When I arrived there and looked at the bird in peace, I saw to my annoyance that the trader had cheated me. He had given me a bird whose wing was lame. Perhaps the bird catcher's net had hit him hard there at the time. At first I wanted to bring the bird back and trade it for another, but then I could not decide. It seemed to me that no one could look more trustworthy than the trader. And who knew, when I got another one, whether he would not soon catch a disease or make a mistake that was only less easy to recognize. These were quite tricky reasons, but I was glad later that I had kept the bird. Especially this animal, whose lame wing had spread the swing springs so strangely that it looked as if it had forgotten to put the springs together properly, made me more happy than ever a cage bird after that. It only took a few weeks until he had become so tame that he not only fluttered around freely in the room, the lame wing was still enough for short flights, but also let himself be taken away from me by the farmer, whereupon he voluntarily jumped on the held finger and took a few peanuts from the fingertip. From then on he learned the most incredible things, turned on a small rake pole that I had made for him, patiently sat on a small carousel, jumped up and down a ladder at my command and was soon the favorite of all. One day, however, he fell off the ladder that I had made for him and the misfortune wanted the ladder to fall over at the same time and as easy as it was for him, a leg broke. My pain was indescribable. I shined the broken leg with all my care on the sick man, put him in a little box of cotton and took care of him like a sick child. The leg rails, which I had made out of a few broken logs and fastened to the broken barrel, fulfilled their task very well and after 14 days the damage was healed. Hans was able to use his leg again and even if it was still stiff and unsteady at first, he gradually learned to move on it again and after a while he was able to pick up his jumps from one pole of the cage to the other. But I never let him climb the ladder again. With each day, however, he became more tame, let himself be carried through the room while sitting on a finger, but never stood up as much as on the flowerbeds in front of the window, where he liked to climb around too much, watching the sparrows on the street with clever eyes and for a while chomping into the black flower soil with his beak. His cheerful squeak, which he made hear and every time ended with a strange creak, was so exhilarating that it made every listener smile. The fame of his art spread over the whole neighborhood and all acquaintances wanted to see the bird, which was so trustworthy that he did not let himself be disturbed by a stranger. All my playmates envied me for the bird. This one and that one tried to buy it from me, but I only laughed about such purchases. One day I came home and found our apartment empty. My mother had to have left. The bird feeder was as usual open, but at the same time both windows were wide open. I was shocked, looked around and found my bad suspicions confirmed. The time was gone. I stood as if bewildered. How could such a thing be possible? My pain for the missing bird was so great that I forgot everything else about it. But as much as I whispered and chanted, no sign could be seen again and after a few days of hopeless hope, I had no choice but to go into the inevitable. It has never been clarified who opened the window on that day. Maybe it was unsecurely closed and the wind opened it with a bang. If Hans could have flown properly, the loss would have been painful. But I am sure that soon after his escape, a cat caught him and devoured him. The poor thing. He could hardly ever fly through the room without landing. How was he supposed to get ready in the open? How to look for his food? I mourned for him like for a dear friend. Of course, an animal is not a human being, but a faithful animal cares so little for a good person. And in my memory, the little one is still alive today with its lame wing and stiff leg and will stay alive for a long time. And this story of him is a proof of that. 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't sleep yet, you will find another story here. See you soon.