Have you ever seen a child who doesn't like cherries? I ask because I haven't, and I've seen a lot of things in my life. Believe it or not, I have seen a child who is not afraid of cold water. But I have never seen a child who would burst into tears when offered a cherry.
I myself have lived and died for cherries, when I was only a lad so small that I could barely reach the door handle. But, however much I longed for it, I could not have longed for it. We had an orchard so big that a hundred thrushes could hide in it.
There was a cherry tree in there, a whole forest's worth. And there were cherries there that the king could not get his teeth into a better cherry. That was no great matter, but it was greater that we could not get a tooth in it.
No, because when God gave us a meagre harvest, our father always consoled us with it:
- No cherries this year, my servants. We take to market what little God has given us. We need the money for school, bread, new clothes. But don't be sad: if there are no cherries, there'll be Jerusalem artichokes.
And when there were so many cherries that he broke off the branches, this is how our father used to make us sad:
- Thank God, there are so many cherries this year that we can't wait to bring them to market. We're selling all the good ones - but we don't have to water the mice. There's more, there's more. What the bird has cut down will be yours. The sweetest is the one half eaten by the sparrow, there's no better cherry taster in the world.
- "It's not fair -" I put my lips to my mouth, grimly.
- What's not fair, hey? - asked our father.
- The fact that we are left with only the dregs of the cherry.
- "Oh, my son, King Matthias is dead, there goes the truth," my father patted me on the shoulder, laughing.
But the next morning he still got us out of bed with it:
- Kids, who likes crunchy cherries? There's a small cherry tree in the corner of the garden, the first one to grow this year. You've never dreamed of seeing a crop as beautiful as the one you're about to have, all yours with the whole tree.
Well, I set to work in the garden so hard that my little brother and sister couldn't follow me. Our father could hardly get me back:
- Stop, you canoe runner! Wait for your little brothers and sisters!
When my brothers and sisters clung to my two arms, our father called after me:
- There are seven cherries on the tree, and three of you share them. You're the oldest, I'll see what justice you'll do, fair Matthias.
My father went to his business and we ran down to the end of the garden. The seven cherries laughed at us from afar; as soon as we got under the tree I plucked two of them.
- First of all, I take my share, because I am the biggest.
I've never had anything as good as that in my life, and I've had seafood. I couldn't stop eating two more mouthfuls of crunchy cherries. That was even better than the first two.
- You ate my share! - my little brother whined as I crunched the cherry.
Oh, dear, I forgot all about that! Never mind, I'll think of something to comfort my little brother. I stroked his round cheek and ate two cherries again.
- Don't cry, Janika, you see, now I've eaten the Mariska part, and she's not crying because she's a good girl.
Janika covered her mouth at this consolation, and Mariska looked longingly at the last cherry, laughing and blushing red on the branch hill. It was the most beautiful of all.
- You know what, kids? Is it true that we all got two or three cherries? Let me have this one, for which I have divided the rest among you.
By this time the most beautiful cherry on the branch hill was no longer red. I knocked it in as if it had never been there. But my little brothers and sisters rolled past me as if they had never been there. By the time I got there, they were on their way back, eyes red with tears. My father came with them.
- Well, you've distributed the cherries nicely.
I turned redder than a red cherry, and listened like a hen in wheat. The louder my father spoke:
- Aren't you ashamed of yourself for bullying the little ones? Is that the truth?
Suddenly I got the courage to meet my father:
- Alas, father, King Matthias is dead, there goes the truth!
My father smiled, but cut a wispy stick from the willow tree anyway.
- You see, the truth is not lost. I'll do to you what King Matthias would have done to such a monstrously just legion: I'll measure out some crisp cherries for you.
This cherry was grown on a willow tree, yet it was crispier than the other. Since then, I have not liked crunchy cherries.
