"Der alte Laden" Hörbuch Erzählung zum Entspannen & Einschlafen von Wilhelm Scharrelmann

Hello and nice to have you here. I am Rico. Stories are great. Today's story is again about past memories of Mr. Charlemagne. A funny event for him in his childhood is not at all in retrospect. While he writes these lines, he seems to have come over the dark time that followed the event. Nevertheless, I take away a certain sadness from his words. So a little spoiler. This is not the funniest story on the channel. If you don't want to miss an audiobook and haven't subscribed to the channel yet, then subscribe to it and activate the bell. And now have fun listening. The Old Shop by Wilhelm Charlemagne I remember it very well. Even though years have passed since then. Many years. It was on a day as bright and bright as the most beautiful summer day. And yet it must have been already more to autumn, as far as I can tell. In any case, the sun seemed pale and golden in the narrow alley where our parents' house stood with its large sign, from which the many-sounding words sprang, Colonial and fat goods. The one through the front door, which had a large, white brass handle, stood in front of the long bar, which was painted yellow, and carried the large scale, on which my father used to weigh the bags when they went into the pawnshop. Otherwise, the small scale also did, which stood at the end of the bar next to the sugar cans and on which the penny goods were weighed in the small pointed bags. The shop walls were taken in by large shelves, in which drawer after drawer lined up, one painted yellow like the other and similar to each other to be confused. At the front end of the bar, close behind the front door, neatly arranged in row and row, stood the candy containers, which, through their glass walls, clearly showed each visitor which tempting content they contained. Round glass lids protected the content from dust and nasty hands, and the round-bellied vessels made the sugar rolls and rods appear even thicker and more colourful than they really were. We children never got anything out of it. There was no patience in the candy business, even though it certainly wouldn't have made a difference if we had occasionally got a taste of it. So the candy containers remained an object of shy and unbridled longing, which could not even be expressed in words. It was said to come out of it with spartan self-reliance. So on the day I want to tell you about, the sun was shining. That is essential for my story. Maybe I wouldn't have kept it in my memory if the sun hadn't shone so brightly into the narrow street. As I remember it today, the sun was the only peaceful and joyful thing on that day. Everything else was less joyful. I still clearly remember that on the day I saw the bar from my father's shop, behind which so much pound of butter and lard had been weighed, so many bags of coffee beans and so much pound of sauerkraut were suddenly no longer in the shop behind the door with the blank brass handle, but outside on the street in the bright sunshine, in front of the small window of our shop with its many small windows. Because at that time, the windows were not as big as they are today. Even the windows were more modest at that time. Many small windows together also made a big one. So the bar was outside on the street, and I was sitting up there and mumbling with my legs. And that seemed to me to be just as strange as a funny thing. I only understood years later how little funny it was, what I wanted to tell. But at that time I still had no understanding and no feeling for it. At that time I did not know why so many people were actually there in the morning, why the big shelves in the shop were moved from the wall and why a whole row of wagons stood outside in front of the door, three or four in a row, one after the other, walking up the slowly, piece by piece from our shop. The shelves, the big and the small scales, a few sacks full of flour and a few full of coffee beans and others with white beans and peas and rice, the big Swiss cheese and last but not least the bonbon glasses and the khaki straws. As I said, at that time I did not understand what all this meant. My mother's eyes might have been able to tell me, but I still did not understand their silent language. Everything seemed to me to be funny in every way. I had found a horse carriage by sugarcane strings, which I had found in one of the empty exits of the bar. I had made a horse carriage. The sugarcane, which stood peacefully on the plinth next to the sugarcane, as a horse carriage, was climbed on the sugarcane and now called out in a funny way, and every time someone came out of the shop fully packed, where the people were standing cramped, I asked him if I should drive him home quickly. I had just strapped on. Then I pulled the old sugarcane again, which now, pulled by my string, made a real hopper on the old hopper plinth, which at that time still covered the bourgeois path in our alley. Sure, if the sun had not shone, I would not have known all this today. Time erases some things, but it was just opposite me in the sky and shone right into my face, and I sat and blinked at the bright light that it sent me, so bright and friendly as if it were a real sunny and joyous day today. Could there be a more beautiful horse than my father's old sugarcane? Even if he only had three legs, he ran better on the three than some more lively on his four. And as the whip of the leather-covered seat fell down, the sun's light reflected in matt reflections on its bare, shabby surface. I laughed and screamed with joy, ran through the air with my whip in a great swing and plucked at the reins in front of overconfidence, which the chameleon made to tip. And then came the playmates. They looked curiously out of the doors, and after a few minutes my long yellow slide was full of everyone who had found their place. It looked like a real omnibus. I banged with my whip and shouted hurray, and every time I shouted hurray, the others also shouted with me, and loud it sounded over the otherwise quiet, sun-lit street. Hurray! Only a few years later did I realize that at that time, on the bright, shining days, I was sliding out into misery, into poverty of long, gloomy years. Because on the day I am talking about, the believers increased our shop with all that was in it. The shelves and wagons and the bonbon glasses and the sacks full of flour and the big, beautiful Swiss cheese, which was as big as a millstone, and the millstone and the chameleon, too. Suddenly someone came and chased my passengers with a terrible, long, fluttering curse from the omnibus. I did not want to, because it was our millstone and my father's old chameleon, and no one could order me anything. But a few of the mischievous ones grabbed me and put me on the floor, and while I was still speechless about the rape of the man with the big, swollen cheeks, whose lips the curse had been licked before and who had chased me so inconsiderately of my property, others came and carried the millstone, without losing a word, carefully, slowly, as the dead burglars did with the coffin of the old Carsten Diekmann, who was so heavy that they had to sit him down on the way and suffocate, and also one of the wagons, which were ready for it. And then the gaul came. With a pocket knife one cut off the strings, which I had previously knotted. With a whip the horses moved, and all the glory slowly wandered down the road and disappeared around the corner. It was like a dream, and the sun seemed bright and radiant. The street lamp, which was just in front of our front door, cast a long, sharp shadow on the pavement, and on the roofing mat the spades were making noise. All the rest I remember only darkly. I only remember how a few days later we moved with what was left of the few of us. Somewhere. Into rooms that were dark and unfriendly, narrow and cramped, into a house that did not have a shop like the old one and no bars and no shelves, where there were no sacks full of flour and sugar and no bonbon glasses. One world had sunk, another had opened up. Today I have once again walked through the street where I used to sit on the counter. A human age has passed since then. The shop is still there, but the show window with its many small windows, behind which used to stand the sugar case and the small bowls with raisins and almonds, has long since received a single large window, like all the show windows today, which have something to hold on to. And instead of the petroleum lamp with the glazed prisms on it, which made fun of it in the evening, today the gas light is burning behind the blank window. There is still a stuff shop running in the house. I stood there for a while and looked through the windows into the lighted shop. Back there is a door through which it used to go into our room. Today the office seems to be in the room. A handsome man stands with a satisfied face behind the bar on a small desk and counts the bills in the register book because there is no customer in the shop at the moment. I could not avoid it. I had to enter and buy some expensive sweets for my little one at home. When I see my youngest rich man who welcomes her cheerfully, I say, there, they are from our shop. But he does not know what I mean by that. Hello again. Thanks for listening. If you liked the story and you are not sleeping yet, I would be happy about a thumbs up and a comment. If you can not sleep yet, you can find another audiobook here. See you soon.