Here Comes the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought I’d made it quite clear that I didn’t want any of this mind-hacking stuff, but I suppose you didn’t listen. In one ear and out the other, that sort of thing.’
    Ganger grinned ruefully and rubbed his knee. ‘Force of habit,’ he said. ‘Won’t happen again.’ He got to his feet, dusted himself off and walked to the door.
    â€˜By the way,’ he said, as he turned the handle and half-inserted himself into the gap. ‘While I was in there, I couldn’t help noticing. That stuff with the blue stockings and the polar bear. Very original.’
    He closed the door just before the stapler hit it.
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    In the Blue Mountains, high above the encircling plain, a woodcutter paused from his work and leaned on his axe. The sun, chugging along on two cylinders and with a pair of tights doing service for a fan belt, glinted on his curly red hair and fearless blue eyes. Far away, a bird sang.

    â€˜Greetings, Cousin Bjorn,’ said a voice behind him. ‘Yet another really beautiful day, is it not? Pleasantly mild, yet neither too hot for work nor too cold for a moment merely standing and listening to the voice of the stream as it laughs its way down the hillside to our tranquil village.’
    â€˜Drop dead, Olaf,’ Bjorn replied.
    Olaf shrugged. ‘It is a pity that one so young and so blessed by Nature should be as sour at heart as a green apple,’ he observed tolerantly. ‘Nevertheless, I am sure that sooner or later you will overcome your internal anguish and find true peace. In the meantime, there is wood to be cut.’ He shouldered his axe and walked away down the hill, whistling a folk-tune.
    Bjorn could take a hint. He lifted the axe, whirled it round his head, and brought it down on the base of the tree. The head flew off and landed in the crystal waters of the stream.
    â€˜How unfortunate,’ observed a white-haired, rosy-cheeked woodcutter, who had been tying his shoe behind a venerable elm.
    â€˜Yes,’ Bjorn agreed. ‘Another eighteen inches to the left and it’d have taken your leg off.’
    The elder, whose name was Karl, sighed, seated himself on a tree trunk, and motioned the young man to join him.
    â€˜Hostility,’ he said, offering Bjorn an apple, ‘is like a rough-handled axe. It wounds those you use it against, and it blisters the hands of the user. Try and be a little more peaceful within yourself, Cousin Bjorn. Life is a wonderful thing.’
    â€˜Apples give me gut ache,’ Bjorn replied. ‘Specially bloody Cox’s.’ He threw the apple away over his shoulder. ‘Now would you mind shifting yourself, because if you don’t you’re going to be right under this tree when I chop the bugger down.’

    Karl shook his head and smiled. ‘You’ll have to find your axe head first, Cousin. Always remember that,’ he added, as he got up and walked away. ‘Always find your axe head before you start to cut down your tree.’
    Bjorn made a rude noise and stumped across to the stream. It took him quite some time to find the axe head, during which his shoes got absolutely soaked.
    â€˜Good-morning, Uncle Bjorn,’ said a voice above his head. He looked up to see a little girl, about ten years old, in a pretty blue dress. ‘Mother thought you might be hungry, so she sent you some food. If you would like a refreshing draught of beer, I can run back to the house and get some for you.’
    Bjorn lifted the napkin and made a face. ‘Leave it over there,’ he said. ‘And tell the dozy cow I can’t stand waffles, right? Waffles give me wind.’
    The girl nodded. ‘Uncle Bjorn,’ she said, ‘I was running blithely through the woods just now and I saw a beautiful flower, as blue as the heavens themselves. Look, I picked it to show you. It’s such a lovely flower, I’m sure there must be a wonderful story about it and how it got its