The Child of the Sun by Silvia Irina Zimmermann

Author:Silvia Irina Zimmermann [Irina, Zimmermann, Silvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ibidem Press
Published: 2020-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

Parintele Simeon’s Wonder Book. A Very Moral Story

Once upon a time, there was a monastery. Such a tiny, white little monastery, nestling at the foot of high, high mountains, the peaks of which stuck right up into the clouds. Like a flock of gigantic birds, the little white houses clustered round their white church, against a background of dark fir trees, so dark and thick that they made the houses look all the whiter by contrast. At daybreak and at sunset, a bell with a rather shrill voice would go dingle, dingle, dingle... and the doors of the many little houses would open all at once and black-frocked monks with their dark-veiled headdresses would troop into the church for prayers. On Sundays and on feast-days, the little bell would go dingle, dingle, dingle, much more often, and the monks would seem to be saying their prayers all day long. But worst of all it was in time of Lent; then the little bell left the monks no peace at all, and as they were all very old, I think their knees must often have felt stiff and sore.

In the tiniest and whitest and cleanest little house of all lived Parintele17 Simeon, the tiniest of little monks; so small was he that he almost looked like a dwarf. He was a dear old fellow, with very few teeth left in his head, so that he mumbled when he talked. His beard was as white as his whitewashed walls. His black frock was so long that he stumbled over it. Suffering from gout, he wore huge felt shoes so that he shuffled more than he walked. He had a kindly smile and children and dogs loved him.

Once I saw Parintele Simeon inside his dear little white house. He had taken off his dark cassock, and was sitting in the tiniest of tiny little rooms upon the tiniest of three-legged stools. His under-robe was as white as his beard, as white as his walls, and as white as the boiled potatoes, which he was eating with a white wooden spoon.

Half of the tiny little room was filled up by a huge whitewashed oven, all twisty and strange of shape. I never saw anything as white as Father Simeon’s dwelling; the only dark spots in it were the black bowl he ate his potatoes out of, and a huge dark leather volume, which lay upon a wooden bench.

Now there was something very mysterious and wonderful about this book, which was Father Simeon’s most cherished treasure – all the monastery stood in awe of and envied this precious book... It was fat... fat... and tremendously heavy, and had so many pages in it that it would have taken you a whole day to count them – a whole day!

The children of the village nearby knew about this book. In fact it was the pride of all the countryside, and it was said that no other monk in any other convent in the country possessed such a book.

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