"If sharks were men," Mr. Keuner was asked by his landlady's little girl, "would they be nicer to the little fishes?"

"Certainly," he said. "If sharks were men, they would build enormous boxes in the ocean for the little fish, with all kinds of food inside, both vegetable and animal. They would take care that the boxes always had fresh water, and in general they would make all kinds of sanitary arrangements. If, for example, a little fish were to injure a fin, it would immediately be bandaged, so that it would not die and be lost to the sharks before its time. So that the little fish would not become melancholy, there would be big water festivals from time to time; because cheerful fish taste better than melancholy ones.

"There would, of course, also be schools in the big boxes. In these schools the little fish would learn how to swim into the sharks' jaws. They would need to know geography, for example, so that they could find the big sharks, who lie idly around somewhere. The principal subject would, of course, be the moral education of the little fish. They would be taught that it would be the best and most beautiful thing in the world if a little fish sacrificed itself cheerfully and that they all had to believe the sharks, especially when the latter said they were providing for a beautiful future. The little fish would be taught that this future is assured only if they learned obedience. The little fish had to beware of all base, materialist, egotistical and Marxist inclinations, and if one of their number betrayed such inclinations they had to report it to the sharks immediately.

"If sharks were men, they would, of course, also wage wars against one another, in order to conquer other fish boxes and other little fish. The wars would be waged by their own little fish. They would teach their little fish that there was an enormous difference between themselves and the little fish belonging to the other sharks. Little fish, they would announce,

are well known to be mute, but they are silent in quite different languages and hence find it impossible to understand one another. Each little fish that, in a war, killed a couple of other little fish, enemy ones, silent in their own language, would have a little order made of seaweed pinned to it and be awarded the title of hero.

"If sharks were men, there would, of course, also be art. There would be beautiful pictures, in which the sharks' teeth would be portrayed in magnificent colors and their jaws as pure pleasure gardens, in which one could romp about splendidly. The theaters at the bottom of the sea would show heroic little fish swimming enthusiastically into the jaws of sharks, and the music would be so beautiful that to the accompaniment of its sounds, the orchestra leading the way, the little fish would stream dreamily into the sharks' jaws, lulled by the most agreeable thoughts.

"There would also be a religion, if sharks were men. It would preach that little fish only really begin to live properly in the sharks' stomachs.

"Furthermore, if sharks were men there would be an end to all little fish being equal, as is the case now. Some would be given important offices and be placed above the others. Those who were a little bigger would even be allowed to eat up the smaller ones. That would be altogether agreeable for the sharks, since they themselves would more often get bigger bites to eat. And the bigger little fish, occupying their posts, would ensure order among the little fish, become teachers, officers, engineers in box construction, etc.

"In short, if sharks were men, they would for the first time bring culture to the ocean."

Bertolt Brecht

A man is driving home one night from working late at the office. As he crosses a bridge out of the city, approaching the middle of the bridge, he sees a man standing on the edge, outside the safety barrier.

Smith is a religious man and a firm believer in doing right. He wonders if he can help; and he knows that he should try to save this man in distress. So he stops his car, and walks back to the fellow, who looks as if he is about to make the leap.

"Hello, my friend", says Smith as he gets to around three metres away from the jumper and stops. "You must be in terrible distress. Perhaps I can help you?" he says warmly.

"Keep back!" shouts the man. "You can't help me! It's too bad! It's too late!"

"My friend, I see you are in pain. But sometimes another can help. Tell me, are you a believer? In times like these, our chosen faith can often show us the way and provide comfort. Do you follow any faith my friend?"

"I can't tell you, I'm ashamed to be here", sobbed the man.

"Well", Smith replied, "The Koran tells us that we should not take our own lives, and we should place our trust in Allah. Are you a Muslim my friend?"

"No, that isn't my religion", the man sobs.

"Ah, the Torah tells us we should not take our own lives, and we should put our trust in others and the will of the Almighty. Are you of the Jewish faith my friend?"

"No, no, that isn't my church!" is the sad reply.

"Hmm, the Bible tells us we should not take our own lives, and we should trust in God and pray for guidance", Smith tried.

"Yes, I'm a Christian", the man sobbed.

"Well, that is great news!" Smith exclaimed from the heart. "So am I. Perhaps we can pray together, to ask for guidance in these hard times. Will you pray with me, my friend?"

"It won't do any good but if you insist!" the fellow cried back. "It's too late, it's much too late!"

"Well, my friend, I understand your pain, but God can heal all. Let us pray together."

So Smith recited a short prayer and toward the end, the other joined in and they prayed together.

"Well, my friend, I feel better, how about you?" joked Smith. "Tell me, what denomination do you belong to?" he enquired, and moved in a little.

"I'm a Protestant" said the man with difficulty, racked by sobs.

"That is good, my friend, very good - so am I" said Smith. "And tell me - what branch of the Protestant faith do you belong to?"

"I'm a Third-Day Salvationist actually" replied the man, who looked as if he was doing better.

"Good Lord! That's amazing! So am I", replied Smith, a wide smile on his face. "Let us ask the Lord together for guidance today", and they both observed silence for a few seconds, heads bowed.

Smith moved forward gently, a warm smile on his face as he recognised a brother who needed help. He was within arm's reach at last. The poor fellow had relaxed a little by now.

"Now tell me, I am with the First Convention Church - what is your Church my friend? Is it yours by chance?" asked Smith.

"No, no, I am with Pastor Jones of the First Day Tabernacle", the man replied.

"You are - what?" said Smith. "With - who?" he stuttered, his countenance changing.

His face changed suddenly into a mask of hate. He lunged forward, screaming "Die you heretic bastard!" and pushed the man off the bridge.

Many thanks to a3.cp