Tales

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Ever since I began teaching at the mixed junior-high,’  almost two years ago, the garden had fascinated me.’  Each morning on my walk to work, I would stop a moment at the gate and admire how expertly cared for were the borders leading to the house.’  Here was no ordinary gardener with green fingers but’  a man who not only spoke to plants but who also interpreted their voices.’  For a long time I had been toying with the idea of contacting him.’  One day I made up my mind – I reached out to the phone. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œHullo.’  Is that Mr. Greensmith?’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  A deep bass answered, ‘œYes.’  Who’™s this calling?’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I wondered whether I detected some …

‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œNaomi, you will come to my birthday party tomorrow. wont you? I’™m so excited.’ ‘ ‘ ‘  The girls, both five and best friends, spent most of their free hours together sharing all there was to share. ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œHello Girls – Julia, Naomi. Doing anything special?’ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œNot really.’ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œJust talking, Grandpa.’ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œThen come with me, Julia. I’™ll show you something really exciting – I think you’™ll just love.’ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œWhere?’ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œJust over to the fountain ‘“ there.’ Pointing. ‘ ‘ ‘  Not only the family loved the fountain at the flower corner of the garden, the many birds that visited to drink and wash had made it their own soon after it had been set up. ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œMaybe you …

‘ ‘ ‘  Harry Hawthorn was a small, timid, dark-haired man. Quiet spoken, he loved his peace after a hectic days’ work and to that end had never married. He just could not tolerate the thought of coming home to, what he termed, a squawking baby or a talkative wife.’  ‘ ‘ ‘  Thus it was that Harry loved his quiet home after a strenuous day at the office and his looked forward to, scotch. At the time this story takes place, this peace became disturbed quite suddenly and unexpectedly when his back neighbour, who, it seems reurned from his work at a similar time,’  began to shout and storm with his wife on a regular daily schedule. These shoutings disturbed Harry terribly. ‘ ‘ ‘  …

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Mr. Justin Langley, a retired Judge of the High Court, was a serious man.’  There were none who remember seeing a smile take the place of the ever grave expression that appeared as would a mask covering his features. Many associates and barristers jokingly knew him as Woodface Langley. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Now in his retirement, he loved nothing more than working peacefully in his front garden or reading in his well- stocked library. The Langley’™s back garden was dominated by a great maple tree except for which there was little to speak of. This tree was a friend and playmate for many young’  children who lived nearby. These very children, however, were the one bane to old Justice Langley’™s life. …

‘ ‘ ‘  Don’™t walk under an open ladder- bad luck. Ringing bells ‘“ a new angel has received wings. Watching a spider weaving a web in the morning ‘“ you’™ll have a lucky day. Superstitions to me are like water drops on a duck’™s back.’  neither they nor the bunk they call astrology. Bunk, all bunk! That was yesterday. Today I’™m not that sure. ‘ ‘ ‘  Describing a good life in one word? Walter Ibenson the renowned philosopher and philanthropist said that such a word would be none other than ‘œhappy’. Whether crippled or whole, poor or rich it’™s the happy person who has a good life ‘“ a good arrangement of the person’™s genealogical’  make-up – I suppose. ‘ ‘ ‘  I happen …

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Adamstown, in the western foothills of the Cascades is a ‘˜one-horse’™ town between Eugene and Salem.’  In the north Rockies, it’™s known as a one-horse town not because there would be only a single horse outside the bar at noon but because it has only one of most of the necessities for it to be called a town at all.’  ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  One school, one supermarket, one barber, a doctor, a baker and a car-dealer who was also the town’™s mechanic.’  It also possessed an extremely rich real-estate man.’  If one needed a hospital, it was to Eugene they would go. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  There are two roads in Adamstown.’  The main one joining the trunk road from Salem to Eugene,’  the …

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Dennis Wheeler awoke with an elated spirit upon a sunny November morning in Sydney that had the makings of a particularly hot day in the hills.’  In his middle thirties, he felt he had a lot going for him; an enviable reputation in a leading engineers firm’  a happy marriage and family,’  a lovely home. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  He slipped out of bed and began routine exercises.’  He was tall with a strong, if wiry,’  physique and dark straight hair. Reliable in word, he was a man who could also be tough and stubborn in his dealings. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  A senior partner in his engineering firm, Dennis specialised in the design of steel and concrete spans. Increased traffic from Sidney over the …

‘  ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The sounds that came to the man’s ears were as beautiful as they were familiar. They were of the rain forests he knew so well.’  But it was in effect the silence that dominated. It seemed to be a part of the mist that hung like a veil of gossamer over all.’  Sounds seemed only to accentuate the silence; the kind of silence that could be felt.. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Occasionally the shriek of a Teeka would shatter the stillness like the shattering of a fine sheet of glass but silence would return, as always, accompanied only by the sound of rain drops from leaves as they fell onto a world as primaeval as it had been a million years …

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  It was early spring. Three small eggs lay in a nest warmed by the mother bird’s down. Through the hours and days,’ ‘  soundless and unmoving, she maintained her vigil on the clutch.’  Her plain brown colour so blended with her background that she was barely visible.’  It was her mate that to himself, attracted all attention. Completely black, except for a bright orange beak, he perched now here now there, deliberately visible and sang. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  His chains of sound were so beautiful, so spontaneous, that many a human ear may well have been enthralled. The wood was home to many families of blackbirds and their singing filled the air with a magical sound. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Covered with a soft grey …

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Jonathan straightened from having worked bent double’ for some twenty minutes. He stretched muscle bound arms to the side and back, delighting in the relief’ this brought to his athletic, well formed’ body.’ Tall, his pale hair showed from under his conical ‘dunce’s’™ hat of khaki, his Kovah Tembel as fondly termed by Israelis. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  He was proud of his up and coming orange grove. The trees now in their second year had a freshness of youth about them. Only a person who loved trees could feel as he. For him they were truly alive. ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The four acre plot was small compared to the tract of land his family had worked in the Ukraine. The Ukraine,’  wasn’™t that a hundred years ago?’ ‘  …