Peter Ellinger Short Stories

    ERMINTRUDE               The story of Ermintrude was told to me by Joseph Stölzl, nicknamed Peppi, who had been   the bosom pall of my late father. It took place at the beginning of the 20 th century, when the Habsburg Empire was still intact. I met Peppi years later – after the end of World War II. By then, Peppi had risen in the world, had settled in London and became Sir Joseph-Dieter von Stölzenfeld.             Initially, I found it hard to translate into English, the story which Peppi related in German.   However, the story was compelling: quite apart from providing a glimpse into bygone days, it was a vivid reminder of the vagaries of fate. So, I decided to persevere. I only hope that I have succeeded.               Let me then start by taking readers to the delightful pa...

    SHEEN’S CHERISHED MEMORY                      “Faith is in the heart of the believer”. An episode in the life of our School’s Principal, Dr. Joseph Katz – nicknamed Sheen on account of his shining pie bald head – drives the point home. During Sheen’s long life, I feared that making the story public might add insult to the injury we – his callous pupils – inflicted on him in his heyday. Recently, though, I received the obituary written about the late Dr Katz   by my old bosom pal, “Pilkin” – originally answering to   Chayim Rosenberg but currently   known as Rabbi Loeb Zohar. When I finished reading the moving composition, it dawned on me that the story need no longer be regarded as privileged. I abandon my discretion willingly! Freedom of speech – as we all know – is the paramount privilege conferred on ordinary humans – including a mendicant professor - in o...

    THE RAINBOW SNAPPER        The waitress, in the small restaurant in South Melbourne , was looking   at me   askance.   She was one of those buxom self-assured women, who prefer to   be called   girls and who want you to believe they were going to remain   eternally   youngish.   She had rattled their "specials" down as soon as I was seated   and, coaxingly,   mentioned that the snapper and the rainbow trout were real   fresh. Although I   was   the first customer she was   now   standing   there   restlessly, overtly   resenting   that,   instead of ordering one of   these   dishes,   I   had proceeded with a conscientious perusal of the menu.   "A slow operator" – was written   all over her face and the assessment, I suspected,   was not   confined to my standing as a patron of the establishment. ...