The happiness of the fisherman...

"...In a port on a western coast of Europe.

lies a poorly dressed man in his

Fishing boat and dozing..."

This is how the "Anecdote on the Lowering of the Work Ethic" begins, which Heinrich Böll wrote in 1963. Today I had to think intensively about this story, may. Surely one or the other knows it in the original or in one of the various modified copies. - But before I quote Selbige, I would like to report first of all, how it came to the fact that it came to me again in the memory.

After we made a detour to the Tiny House manufacturer Woodee yesterday*, the longing for sea air has taken us to the small community of Wisch, in the district of Plön. Wisch, Low German for 'meadow', is for us program, we stand shortly thereafter on a small meadow directly behind the dike. - Oli, whom I have known for many, many years, has invited us here for a beer. - So we sit shortly thereafter with Oli and his partner Britta on the dike, look at the sea and it makes plöpp, plöpp, plöpp. Do you know the Flens advertisement? - Exactly like that, "refreshingly different", I love this tart "Bügelbier". But here in the north, with a view of the setting sun, it tastes especially good.

Oli makes a strangely relaxed impression. - He talks about fishing and about the kate - the kate is located directly behind the dike. From a window you can look directly at the sea. - One of Britta's ancestors built this cottage to house his studio. Even today, the whole thing looks a little like something out of the paintbox of some impressionist. In front the dike and the sea, in the back meadows and fields. - Am I dreaming? - Everything seems so relaxed and peaceful, even Oli.

What more could you want? - Oli seems to be asking himself the same question. - As long as I have known Oli, he has worked, worked a lot, a lot. For his job, he has driven every week, not just just 1,500 kilometers, to be "stationed" in Hunsrück for the week. Far from home, he also pursued a responsible job, a managerial job, I guess that's what it's called. - But as long as I have known Oli, he really only wanted one thing: fishing. - Later on - and now and then in between, if you have time.

Now I could say that everything has its time. - We do not lack the time. - After all, time is always the same. An average life: 80 years, 960 months, 29,220 days, 701,280 hours, 42,076,800 minutes, 2,524,608,000 seconds. - Sounds like a hell of a lot, doesn't it? - In the end, a few seconds, hours or days don't matter, do they? - But in the end, every second is just a blink of an eye, a blink of an eye in time. Zupp, past. And already more than fifty years have passed. Gosh, I've gotten old. - There "everything has its time" gets a completely different meaning.

Now and here I only know, Oli always wanted only fishing. - I ask myself the question, what if? What if Oli had just "only" gone fishing?

Do you hear any remorse? - No, not a trace! - And I don't have the feeling that Oli regrets anything either. - Everything has its time - I would do everything the same way again. Everything? - But that reminds me of something else. What was the saying in the 80's? - "School takes time - Time is money - Money is luxury - And we can't afford luxury by any stretch of the imagination" - Just a joke? 😉 I don't know.

And what about Oli? He fishes, that seems to make him happy. In any case, he seems relaxed, more relaxed than ever before. Relaxed, happy and somehow younger. I wish him that it stays like that. 

But I had promised you the "Anecdote to lower the morale". - Here it is:

"A smartly dressed tourist just put a new color film in his camera to take the idyllic picture: Blue sky, green lake with peaceful snow-white wave crests, black boat, red fishing cap. Click. Once again: click. And since all good things come in threes and is safe, a third time: click.

The brittle, almost hostile sound awakens the dozing fisherman, who sleepily sits up, sleepily angling for a pack of cigarettes; but before he finds what he is looking for, the eager tourist has already held a pack in front of his nose, put the cigarette not exactly in his mouth, but in his hand, and a fourth click, that of the lighter, completes the hasty politeness. That barely measurable, never verifiable excess of nimble politeness has created an irritable embarrassment, which the tourist - speaking the local language - tries to bridge through conversation.

"You'll make a good catch today." Shaking of the fisherman's head. "But I've been told that the weather is favorable." Nodding of the fisherman's head. "So you're not going to go out?" Shaking of the fisherman's head, rising nervousness of the tourist. Certainly he cares about the welfare of the poorly dressed person, gnaws at him the sadness of the missed opportunity. "Oh, you don't feel well?"

Finally, the fisherman moves from sign language to the truly spoken word. "I feel great," he says. "I've never felt better." He stands up, stretching as if to demonstrate how athletically built he is. "I feel fantastic." The tourist's expression grows increasingly unhappy; he can no longer suppress the question that threatens to blow his heart out, so to speak: "But then why don't you go out?"

The answer comes promptly and succinctly. "Because I already went out this morning." "Was the catch good?" "It was so good that I don't need to go out again, I had four lobsters in my baskets, caught almost two dozen mackerel..." The fisherman, finally awakened, now thaws and pats the tourist reassuringly on the shoulders. His worried expression appears to him as an expression of misplaced but touching concern.

"I even have enough for tomorrow and the day after," he says to ease the stranger's soul. "Will you smoke one of mine?" "Yes, thank you." Cigarettes are put in mouths, a fifth click, the stranger sits down on the edge of the boat shaking his head, puts the camera out of his hand, for he needs both hands now to give emphasis to his speech.

"I don't want to get into your personal business," he says, "but imagine if you took a second, a third, maybe even a fourth trip out today, and you caught three, four, five, maybe even ten dozen mackerel - imagine that." The fisherman nods.

"You would," the tourist continued, "go out not only today, but tomorrow, the day after, indeed, on any favorable day two, three, perhaps four times - do you know what would happen?"

The fisherman shakes his head. "You would be able to buy an engine in a year at the latest, a second boat in two years, in three or four years you might have a small cutter, with two boats and the cutter you would of course catch much more - one day you would have two cutters, you would...", the enthusiasm catches his voice for a few moments, "you would build a small cold store, maybe a smokehouse, later a marinade factory, fly around in your own helicopter, spot the schools of fish and give instructions to your cutters by radio. You could acquire the salmon rights, open a fish restaurant, export the lobster directly to Paris without middlemen - and then...", again the stranger's enthusiasm takes his breath away. Shaking his head, saddened in his deepest heart, almost losing his vacation joy, he looks at the tide rolling in peacefully, in which the uncaught fish are jumping merrily.

"And then," he says, but again his excitement takes his breath away. - The fisherman pats him on the back, like a child who has choked. "What then?" he asks quietly. - "Then," the stranger says with quiet enthusiasm, "then you could sit here in the harbor with peace of mind, dozing in the sun - and looking out at the magnificent sea."

"But I'm already doing that," says the fisherman, "I'm sitting calmly by the harbor and dozing, only your clicking has disturbed me." In fact, the tourist, who had been instructed in this way, left thoughtfully, because he had once believed that he was working so that one day he would no longer have to work, and there was no trace of pity for the poorly dressed fisherman left in him, only a little envy.

*Almost three weeks have passed since I started this blog post. I simply had no time. There was the apartment cleaning, there was... Everything has its time. 

How is it with your time? - Has it changed, or what has changed, because of Corona?