when grandma smokes a pipe E-Book

W.T. Wallenda

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 332

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The three lovable scoundrels Willy, Ernest and Tommy set up a shared flat in the deepest Bavarian wilderness. The discovery of a marijuana plant turns not only their lives upside down, but also that of half the village. Grandma Huber and her women's group discover weed for themselves and are enthusiastic about this herbal medicine. When three gangsters turn up and blackmail the scoundrels, the village idyll is threatened with end. The grandmas won't stand for that. They turn the tables and prepare for battle. When Grandma smokes a pipe - shows in a humorous way that young and old can get along excellently with each other. This wonderfully over-the-top and refreshing weird (crime) comedy captivates its readers with humor and suspense.

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Chapter 1: How it all began

Chapter 2: A completely normal day

Chapter 3: 100 ,000 euros is a piece of cake

Chapter 4: Batman and Robin in action

Chapter 4: When grandma smokes a pipe

Chapter 5: Don't mess with grannies

Chapter 6: When cops hunt and acquaintances of acquaintances meet acquaintances

Chapter 7: Mine - yours - to be

Chapter 1

How it all began

More had gone wrong in her life than is normally possible. This sentence would have said everything that had happened so far. Nothing else had happened until that day. Her life was comparable to zero, nothing, nichts, niente, nada.

Like every day, the earth rotated both on its own axis and around the sun. Like every day for millions of years, the sun rose in the east in the morning, displaced the night and the moon and set in the west in the evening to make room for the night and the moon in its wake. This was and is the same procedure all over the world and is therefore no different in Bavaria.

Good old Germany. Somewhere near Munich and yet away from civilization, there was a small village where there wasn't really much apart from a church, a bakery, a few standard houses and several farms. It smelled permanently of manure and, at regular intervals, of slurry or odel, as they say here in Bavaria. Although the term smell was very flattering. Stinking to high heaven would be a more appropriate term.

Every day, the farmers milked their cows and then drove them out to pasture. Nothing ever seemed to change in the village. Everything stayed the same and always would. It was probably better that way. Because any change, no matter how small, could only harm the village, where twenty percent of the villagers were human, fifty percent cows, ten percent chickens, five percent cats and the remaining percentage was made up of horses, donkeys and other types of animals.

It is unnecessary to mention the name of the village, as you neither know it nor can you find it quickly on a map. Even Google Maps struggles forever to find it in its mountains of data, only to place a dot somewhere in the vast Bavarian pampas.

The main road led into the village and out again on the other side. Those who crossed the village hardly noticed it. Except, of course, for the smell. It lingered inside the car for a while.

Recently, the villagers also included the three biggest chaotic people in the world. To call them chaotic was extremely polite. They were the type of people who, although not stupid in terms of IQ, were still pretty simple-minded.

If they were left to their own devices, they would probably barely survive for more than a week in any big city. If you were mean, you could say they are fools, idiots or dolts, but that wouldn't be fair. It would be more accurate to describe them as simple minds. Friendly, kind-hearted and likeable. That probably sums it up best.

No, a big city would be their downfall. Here in this village, however, they were somebody. Here they almost felt like little heroes. Here they lived very close to the ass end of the world, but undisturbed by all evil in their quirky shared flat. A shared flat the likes of which the world had never seen before. Strangely enough, it worked. Each of the three friends had a skill that complemented those of the others. This allowed them to live together smoothly. Or should we call it survival?

It wasn't always like this for the three men. They grew up apart from each other. But as life would have it, all three of them found themselves in the same town one day and went to the same bar. And as luck would have it, all three were sitting next to each other on their stools at the counter of this bar, mulling over their problems. Each for themselves. At least at first. That was the birth of what is probably Bavaria's most curious flat-sharing community.

Their names were Willy, Ernest and Tommy. Objectively speaking, the three of them didn't fit together at all. They had different lives, different interests and, above all, different characteristics. Nevertheless, fate had brought them together because all three had one thing in common. They were born losers who had managed to end up right here in this bar because of bad decisions. But on this day, the lives of the three zeros were to change completely.

Willy was a trained car mechanic and knew more about engines than about women, finances and the daily demands of life in a civilized world, such as cooking, ironing and washing. His life plan had always been to meet a wealthy woman so that he could squander the fortune she brought into the marriage with her. Part one had worked. At least in part. He had met and married Sylvia, who was not very pretty, but all the wealthier for it. Willy had quit his job at Izmir's car service and lived his dream from then on. He went on vacation three times a year, bought old American cars, repaired them in his own small garage workshop, sold them on at a loss and financed his lifestyle with Sylvia's money.

However, she had other plans than Willy. While his wife wanted him to take more care of her, Willy preferred to work on cars. So it was not surprising that Sylvia considered the marriage a failure after just two years. Thanks to a prenuptial agreement, Willy was left penniless after the divorce.

With his assets of 53.85 euros, he hadn't gotten very far. The job at Izmir had of course long since been filled and there was nothing new to be found. Willy had kept his head above water with odd jobs. The beer that had been on the bar in front of him had also been the barman's reward for repairing his car. A casual acquaintance of Willy's.

Ernest had the appearance, or rather the figure, of a Japanese sumo wrestler. His excess weight was also the reason why it never really worked out with women. He didn't get the girls he wanted and he didn't like the ones who wanted him. Ernest was therefore born to be single.

He quickly had to give up his dream job as a police officer because he didn't even make it as far as the sports test. His personal hurdle had already been set at an unrealistically high level during the medical examination.

"Lose 70 kilos and you'll be back," the police doctor told him at the time.

"No problem, I know a diet from Woman’s Health. I'll stick to it and I'll see you again in a few weeks, Doc," replied the overweight police fan full of self-confidence.

That was three years ago. Ernest was still working on the task of reducing his weight enormously. He had lost two kilos since that examination. At least temporarily. However, he had never given up hope of reaching his dream weight.

Ernest made a living from what his uncle from Canada sent him each month. Uncle Eddie was rich. Filthy rich, in fact. He owned two hotels and a supermarket chain. Ernest was Eddie's godchild and his rich uncle sent him an even thousand every month. Too much to die for, too little to live on.

Ernest used to sit in this bar because you always got a free bowl of peanuts with a drink. The heavyweight laughed a lot, was a pleasant fellow and was very tidy. Secretly, Ernest felt like an undercover cop and sometimes he told that to the women he was chatting up. None of them had believed him yet, but he was still working on this tactic.

The third guy was called Tommy. There wasn't much to say about him. Tommy was the youngest in the flat share and the unluckiest guy known to mankind. Whenever there was a blunder around, he would take a running start and shout: "Ass bomb, get out of the way!" and then he was in. Tommy had messed up everything in his life that could be messed up. He had neither a school-leaving certificate nor any training, and he had also messed up his temporary job as a paperboy because he had smashed at least two letterboxes on every delivery round.

For this reason, he had never managed to stand on his own two feet. The only thing Tommy was good at was talking to his houseplants. They understood him and he nurtured and cared for them.

His father had been putting pressure on him for some time. "The boy has to get out of the apartment. Once he has his own place, he'll learn how to earn money. Namely through hard work!"

His mother, on the other hand, had always believed that her son's breakthrough would come. "Once he meets the right woman, things will go uphill for him."

And so his parents had argued about him every morning, every lunchtime and every evening. He had ended up in this bar to get drunk with his 20 euros pocket money or to meet a woman or both. Of course, neither had worked out. Instead, he had met Willy and Ernest.

The catastrophe took its course. Fate sat invisibly in the far corner, rubbing his hands together, laughing and thinking: "This is going to be great fun!"

All three men, for whom nothing had ever gone really well in their lives, met in this bar. You can either like it or dislike it. But one thing is certain. If they hadn't happened to be in the same place at the same time that evening, they would probably never have met. Then they would each have gone their own miserable way to end up in front of their own personal mountain of problems at the height of Mount Everest.

Tommy would have gone over Mount Everest, Ernest around Mount Everest and Willy through the middle. As a team of three, they were now free to choose which route they would take.

It had been Ernest who had been sitting in the middle of the three guests, nibbling on peanuts, looking through the daily newspaper for apartment offers. He had found one advertisement so interesting that he read it out loud. "Looking for a new tenant, small house in the village, shared flat possible, cheap." He paused for a moment and muttered: "Shit! Now I need two more flatmates, then that would be something for me."

Tommy's ears perked up and he looked at the fat newspaper reader. He seemed likeable. The bowl of peanuts in front of him was empty. Tommy pushed his bowl over and asked: "You're looking for an apartment? What a coincidence. Me too. I can't afford one on my own, but a shared flat would be feasible," he said, hoping that his father would pay the rent. At least for a while. As the price for moving out, so to speak.

"Shared flat for three?" came from the other side immediately afterwards. "I'm newly divorced and looking for a cheap room. Guys, if you want, I'll be the third in the group."

It was a done deal and Ernest had bought all the drinks that night. After that, a third of his monthly allowance from Uncle Eddie was gone, he and his new friends were drunk and life was full of stars and hope.

Willy had spent the night in his old BMW and picked up his two new buddies the next morning. Ernest had paid for the necessary tank of gas and Tommy had brought sandwiches that his mom had bought.

When they had passed through the village for the third time without finding their destination, it was Ernest who said: "Guys, we have to keep going. I have a good feeling. I like it here."

"Really?" exclaimed Tommy and Willy simply said: "Pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but idyllic."

After another half hour of searching around, they finally found the address and marveled wide-eyed at the little house and garden.

"Ring the bell," Tommy asked Ernest.

He scratched the back of his head. "You ring the bell, I'm too excited," he passed the task on to Willy, who would prefer Tommy to ring the bell. "You look really nice. If she sees you first, we'll get the tenancy agreement."

They agreed to play puzzles. While they were still playing Schnick, Schnack, Schnuck, and Tommy had already lost the first round, the front door was literally ripped open. A woman stood in the doorway. Mid-sixties, peasant clothes, gray hair, headscarf and a piercing gaze. She eyed the three prospective tenants suspiciously. "You three model boys want to rent my house?" she said in a military tone reminiscent of a drill sergeant from Hollywood's US Army films.

The woman's appearance had been enough to put the three zeros in a kind of figure-of-eight position. Their eyes lingered on Willy, the oldest of the three friends.

"Uh, yeah," he huffed. "We ... well, that's Ernest and Tommy and me." Willy immediately realized that his halting flow of speech was making anything but a good impression. Shit, messed up, he thought.

"He means that his name is Willy," Tommy added, trying to smile as politely as possible. "He's great at fixing cars."

The landlady's eyes pierced the three friends again. However, her expression relaxed a little. "Well, well," she said deliberately, "come in then, but clean your shoes. I don't want to have to wipe them again. And don't touch that plant back there. It's a leftover from the previous tenants. It's hemp or stuff like that. I found it in the barn."

"Hemp? You have a marijuana plant in the barn?" Tommy had asked incredulously, staring at the elderly lady.

"Friend, if you think you can pluck something to make yourself a bag, you're wrong. The police were there last month. They arrested the previous tenants. They weren't just selling marijuana, they were probably selling other things as well. While they were still in the patrol car, I of course gave them immediate notice to quit. That's why I'm renting again. The policemen overlooked the one plant. I'll throw it on the neighbor's dung heap later," she pointed to the other side of the street with her right hand, then said: "So, one more time for everyone! Any of you who think you can happily smoke a few bags of weed can leave your bags packed and turn yourselves in immediately."

Tommy immediately waved his hands away. "I don't smoke."

"Me neither," Willy added immediately.

"Not me anyway. I'm already half policeman anyway. I just need to lose a few kilos," panted Ernest. He was a little out of breath as he had covered the few meters from the garden door to the front door faster than usual. Small beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and dark patches were spreading under his armpits.

The landlady stopped at the end of the corridor, turned around, put her hands on her hips and asked: "Which one of you three boys is responsible for the rent?"

"Him," Willy replied, pointing at Ernest.

"Him," Tommy immediately imitated him.

"Uh... I," Ernest stuttered, thinking at the same time about sending his Uncle Eddie another postcard.

"No women, no drugs, no loud parties and I want my rent on time."

"Perfect," Ernest beamed, "that's exactly my thing. I hate parties," and held out his fat hand to her with a broad grin.

The landlady looked at the mountain of meat, turned away and walked on. "All right, the pug will take care of everything. Come along then. I'll show you the house." She stopped, turned back to the men and asked another question: "Or do you like men and think you can throw pink parties here? Or do you belong to some cult and attract crazy freaks?"

"No," Ernest abruptly waved him off.

"Neither!" Tommy confirmed.

"We are just normal men who are setting up a quiet and orderly shared flat. We want to work and live together peacefully with everyone in a village community," Willy reassured us.

That was convincing enough. You received the rental contract.

The house was small, but very cozy. Sometimes you don't need a lot of space to feel comfortable, you just need the right flair. This house had flair. And lots of it.

For the first time in a long time, all three chaotic people finally had the feeling that they had achieved something. They had done it together and won the bid for a house to rent. They had each played their part. It was clear to them that they were an unbeatable team. The future could come. They were ready. The rental contract was signed and all was right with the world.

Ernest took over the rent and paid the deposit. As Ernest and Tommy didn't have a driver's license, Willy borrowed a Delivery van, picked up all his friends' belongings and drove them here. Tommy diligently helped with loading and unloading. This meant that after a box of glasses had slipped out of his hands on the top floor, tumbled down the stairs and the broken glass was scattered everywhere, he helped by holding the doors open so that his friends could carry the rest of the boxes without barriers.

Willy had recognized Tommy's talent and knew from that day on that his buddy helped best when he sat there quietly and did nothing.

At the end of the evening, Tommy stood in front of his flatmates with the aforementioned marijuana plant under his arm and said: "Our landlady forgot this."

Willy first eyed Tommy, then the plant. "She wanted to throw it on the neighbor's dung heap. Why don't you do that and it'll be gone."

Tommy was uncomfortable. "We haven't even introduced ourselves yet. I can't just go over there and throw something away."

That sounded logical. You should already know someone if you dispose of your organic waste there. "That's right again. Then bang it on our compost heap."

"Okay," Tommy nodded and went outside the door. As he stood in front of the compost heap, he looked at the little plant. "I'm sorry, but you're not allowed here. I have to dispose of you." He stared at the delicate greenery. He felt as if the baby plant was talking to him. Have mercy. I'm still so small and innocent. What can happen if you plant me in the garden? Besides, I have healing powers.

Tommy reached out and picked up the plant, but didn't have the heart to throw it away. "All right, but you'll behave yourself," he whispered, looked for a suitable spot and planted the hemp. "You'll be comfortable here and no one will see you," he said. "Elephant grass is growing in front of you and sunflowers are already sprouting up next to you. You'll have nice neighbors."

Satisfied with this solution, the plant lover went back into the house.

All three chaotic people were happy. For once, life had been kind to them. They had a cozy house with a beautiful garden, a garage and a barn. The latter was more like a large shed, but the term barn sounded much better. There were two apple trees, two cherry trees and two plum trees in the garden. The vegetable garden was divided into a flower bed, a vegetable bed and a herb bed. Elephant grass grew next to it, framed by sunflowers and the newly planted hemp.

A hunter's fence had been erected around the property, with a holey thuja hedge planted behind it. Everything looked quite tidy. Except for the lawn. It grew and grew and grew.

The landlady had noticed this during her regular inspections, but had always left without comment. When she once saw Tommy working in the garden, she mentioned it, but when the amateur gardener explained to her that the lawn had not been mowed in order to provide food for the bees and that all kinds of useful insects felt at home there, she was satisfied, especially as the subject of bee mortality was repeatedly in the press.

However, the lawn wasn't actually mowed because the three men didn't own a lawnmower. After this conversation, Ernest and Willy knew that Tommy had made a very positive contribution to the shared flat. It was important to have a gardener in the house when you live in the country.

Just two weeks later, the landlady had brought them cake for the first time. She had stopped at the garden door in amazement and had noticed with approval that Willy was in the process of painting the old shutters. She looked around and noticed that everything else had also been spruced up.

When their old Mercedes once again failed to start as they were saying goodbye, Willy played his joker. He stepped in front of the car. "Open the hood."

A few minutes later, the engine was humming. "I need to fix a few more little things on the engine, then it'll be like new again. But for now, you can drive," he concluded. "That doesn't cost anything either. I'm happy to do it. However, I do need a few small spare parts."

The landlady's handbag then opened. Willy waved a hundred towards her. "For the materials."

"That's easily enough. There must be 20 euros left over."

She looked at the house, pulled another hundred out of her wallet and said, "Nice color. Maybe you need some more. If it's not enough, just give me a call. And if there's anything left over," she winked, "you can keep it." As she drove away, she hummed a song, grinning and in a good mood.

"There's nothing like a good relationship between tenant and landlord," Willy had told his buddies when he showed them the two banknotes. "For the paint."

Willy's old BMW was parked in the garage. Apart from his highquality tools, it was his only possession worth mentioning. The garage was Willy's kingdom, so to speak. He could spend hours there tinkering with his car. Of course, he would like to have a larger garage, perhaps with two or three more cars to repair and sell later.

He also dreamed of a lifting platform, even more tools and perhaps even his own small workshop, where he would also repair customers' cars.

"One day I'll open Willys Autoservice here," he had once said, setting himself a new goal with this dream. A much better one than catching a rich woman and squandering her fortune.

But for the time being, he was content to keep his old BMW running or look after the landlady's Mercedes. And Willy did that perfectly.

"We should divide up the work in the house so that everyone has roughly the same amount to do," was the initial suggestion.

The plan was good, but the implementation failed miserably. Even the shopping had become a challenge. All three of them had to go. Willy, because he was the only one with a driver's license. Ernest, because he paid with his credit card and Tommy, because he couldn't be left alone in the house. Unless he was in the garden. That's where he did the least nonsense.

The situation was similar with washing, cooking, cleaning and chopping wood. The latter was needed for the small stove in the living room. No matter what work had to be done, they did it together. And as none of the three slobs had a job, it wasn't a problem. It was also extremely effective. Everyone did their part. Willy was the brains of the flat share, Ernest was the only one who really knew his way around the housework and Tommy, because he simply belonged and was easier to look after when he was with them. In short, they had grown into a perfect team of three.

The relationship with the landlady, who had the stupid double name Müller-Meier, was fantastic. She was almost affectionately called Mrs. M. and brought cake round almost every Sunday.

The neighbor to the right of the chaotic shared flat was called Alfons. He was around 60 years old, a board member of the small animal breeding association and a hobby chicken breeder. Alfons was politeness personified and unfortunately also extremely talkative. He kept bringing the three friends eggs of different sizes and colors.

"Great, you don't have to paint any more for Easter," Tommy had said and placed them on the living room table as a decoration the first time. That went well until they rotted and started to stink terribly. Since then, the eggs from Alfon's chickens have either gone straight into the pan or into the fridge.

There was no neighbor to the left of them. There was one of farmer Huber's cow pastures. His farm was diagonally opposite. When the wind was unfavorable, the smell of dung heaps spread like wildfire. We always had to close the windows. Apart from this typical country smell, which city dwellers had to get used to, the three friends felt at home in the village.

The garden beds also proved to be useful. While Willy repaired everything and Ernest kept the house tidy, Tommy lovingly looked after the garden and the plants. That was his world. He made himself useful here and you could even let him handle gardening tools on his own without causing a disaster.

Summer flowers, lavender, rosemary, tomatoes and zucchinis flourished. But the hemp plant had also shot up.

The hemp plant was a gross understatement. A small field of hemp plants had formed around it in the meantime. The previous tenants must have scattered a number of seeds in the soil, which gradually sprouted and grew into magnificent perennials within a very short time. The small hemp field could not be seen from the road. Surrounded by elephant grass, bamboo and sunflowers, the forbidden grass grew in secret. The telltale, typical smell of marijuana that the plant exuded was permanently masked by the almost permanent scent of odel and, of course, dung heaps in the air.

Tommy had never felt so much fun and joy in his life. He looked after his garden, smiled in a friendly manner, greeted everyone and everything and was simply happy.

At first, the villagers who strolled curiously along the garden fence gave him funny looks. He was an outwardly withdrawn member of the human species and quite the opposite of the polite Tommy. When he greeted the walkers with: "Hello, good morning" or: "Have a great evening. Just take a look at the enchanting sunset", they were flabbergasted. You would have thought they thought Tommy was an alien who spoke their language.

Over time, the strangeness subsided and one or two walkers smiled when Tommy came out of the house and greeted his plants by cheerfully shouting "Good morning, garden" or "Hello, my plants, did you sleep well". If he then greeted the walkers, they even dared to greet him back. Tommy liked this and it made him feel more and more at ease.

Of course, the avowed hobby gardener had also informed himself extensively about his new, exotic favorite plants with the peculiar smell and convinced his two living buddies of the positive use of this plant.

"The botanical name of this medicinal plant is Cannabis sativa. It originates from India and was used medicinally in China over 4000 years ago, for example as a remedy for rheumatism."

"I'm bored of your herb stuff," Willy had responded, looking in the newspaper ads for a used lawnmower. "Maybe I can find one to repair."

"Tell me, isn't your hemp weed? The stuff that people in the drug scene buy, make a bag of and snort?" asked Ernest, who sensed a criminal case and already had the headline in mind. Trainee policeman finds the drug bunker of an imprisoned gang!

Tommy raised his hands vehemently and shook his head in denial. "I'm only looking at the whole thing medically. I'm not a drug dealer."

That made sense to Ernest, and his criminal case deflated like a soap bubble. Especially when Tommy read out from one of his books that marijuana could also be used in cookies and cakes.

"You can really eat this stuff?"

"Sure, but only if you're ill. Otherwise it's useless."

After this explanation, all three men were of the opinion that it couldn't be harmful if Tommy continued to tend the plants horticulturally. At least for the time being!

As far as the use of marijuana was concerned, chance had led the way. On a warm summer's day, the grandmother from the Huber farm opposite had stopped in front of the Chaoten's house during one of her walks, leaned her walking stick against the garden fence and watched Tommy plucking herbs for a while.

"Young man," she had said to him. "You have lots of herbs in your garden. We used to have a herb garden when I was your age. My grandmother had a suitable herb for every illness. Unfortunately, I never acquired this knowledge myself."

Tommy raised his head, grinned and replied. "I know quite a bit about that. I've even read a book by Hildegard von Bingen. It took me a while because," he hesitated, "well, because I'm not very good at reading. But never mind. Anyway, she was the number one herbalist in the Middle Ages. She had it down to a tee. She was all the rage back then."

Grandma Huber smiled. "Yes, that's what my grandmother used to say. Only she used different words." She exhaled audibly and groaned a little. "Oh, you know, I have such terrible rheumatism and nothing from this pharmacy really helps me. The quack doctor has no idea either. Do you happen to know if any of your herbs would be good for me? I'll pay for it too."

Tommy felt sorry for the old woman. He spontaneously decided to help her. "I already have an idea. My medicinal herbs could actually bring you some relief."

Grandma Huber's sad face brightened. She had long toyed with the idea of turning her back on the doctor and his pills in order to see a naturopath, an alternative practitioner or a Chinese healer. So why shouldn't she give this young man and his herbs a tiny chance? Her already good mood lifted once again. "What's your name, young man?"

Tommy stood up and walked to the garden fence. To clean his hands, he rubbed his palms against the legs of his jeans. He then held out his right hand. "Hi, I'm Tommy and you can leave out the you. I've always been on first name terms with everyone."

"Elisabeth Huber," said the old woman, shaking his hand and adding: "You can call me Grandma Huber. That's what everyone here in the village says."

"Grandma Huber, I can give you ..."

"You! We'll leave out the 'you' for me too and be on first-name terms," she interrupted him. "What applies to you also applies to me."

The old lady's smile was extremely pleasant. Tommy liked this woman straight away. "Gladly," he replied. "I already have an idea of how I can possibly help you. I'm putting together a special herbal mixture. With a bit of luck, it will work against the rheumatism."

"As tea?" she asked.

"You can make a tea out of it, bake it in cakes and cookies," he thought for a moment and then said, "but it will probably be most effective if you smoke it."

"As a cigarette? Boy, I smoked a cigarette once when I was 16. I felt sick for three days. In contrast, I took a puff of my dad's pipe every now and then. Tobacco with a hint of vanilla. I liked the taste. But I was only allowed to do that when he had a pint of beer and was in a good mood," she laughed.

"A pipe is a good idea. I'll get straight to work and put together a mixture for you. You just have to get yourself a pipe."

"I've kept my dad's old pipe. But tell me, how much does it cost?"

Tommy thought about it for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and said: "Nothing!"

"Only death is free and even that costs life. I'll try your herbal mixture and if it helps me, I'll pay you one euro per pipe filling."

Tommy's face brightened. "Agreed! But I can't manage the vanilla flavoring."

Grandma Huber winked at Tommy. "That's medicine, too. It doesn't have to smell or taste like vanilla," she laughed and waved goodbye.

Tommy looked after the old woman. His thoughts turned to his plants. He sensed that this was the start of something really big. And with one euro per pipe portion, he would also be able to contribute something to the household budget.

"My friends, we're a team! From now on, I'll earn some extra money," he said aloud to himself and immediately set to work.

Just one week later, five euros and five pipe bowl fillings changed hands. Another week later, Grandma Huber visited him again, smoking a pipe and in a great mood. Tommy had just watered the tomatoes and put the watering can to one side. As she walked through the garden door, he called out to her in amazement: "Grandma Huber, where's your walking stick?"

The pensioner raised her whistle demonstratively. She walked normally, didn't limp, didn't drag her leg and, if Tommy wasn't mistaken, she even walked at a relatively athletic pace.

"I no longer need the walking stick. Your medicine works wonders. I'm already thinking about who I should dance with at the Sportsmen's Ball."

Tommy clapped his hands. "That's wonderful."

Grandma Huber strutted straight through the garden. She stopped at the columbines, admired their colors, glanced at the bamboo and the elephant grass sprouting behind it and bent down to pick up a small stone. She threw it to the side into the gravel bed that bordered the house. She even gamely took the small step that led to the raised tomato bushes. When she reached Tommy's house, she explained the reason for her visit in no uncertain terms. "Your medicine is extremely good for me, and that's why I'm here. My dear, good, very best new friend, I need another supply. Do you have any more of the herbs?"

The young hobby gardener's joy was clear to see. At last there was someone who appreciated his gardening skills and made him feel really important for the first time in his life. "No problem," Tommy replied. "I've already prepared a few pipe fillings."

Grandma Huber was beaming with happiness. "Great," she rubbed her hands together. "And since I'm here. My friend, Mrs. Korner, also has an ailment. She would also like to try your herbal mixture. And old Anna Schwinghofer, the fruit farmer's wife who lives at the other end of the village, needs it too. You know, she often has a bad back. All that bending over and then carrying the heavy fruit baskets."

Tommy wasn't exactly a brainiac, but he knew that growing his medicinal plants, i.e. the marijuana plants, and selling his so-called herbal mixture made from them wasn't exactly legal. Nevertheless, he didn't have a guilty conscience. After all, he was doing something good by passing on his harvest. To make it clear to the old lady that what they were doing was illegal in and of itself, he asked carefully: "Grandma Huber, do you know that we have to keep this a secret? I mean absolutely secret."

She winked at him. "Don't worry, Tommy. We girls from the pensioners' coffee party are as secretive as the graves our heirs have already chosen for us."

Suspicious glances rested on Grandma Huber, who corrected her statement slightly. "Better said, we're secretive when we know we have to be. Otherwise, of course, we gossip behind closed doors about this and that, about whoever it is."

Tommy fumbled around a little. He decided to be clearer once again. Although they were both alone in the garden, he whispered: "I think that a not insignificant part of my medicinal herb ..." He couldn't think of the right word. "So ... it could be that the police ... I mean to say that ... so if someone ..."

Grandma Huber clamped her pipe between her teeth and demonstratively put her hands on her hips. "How do you like it!"

"What did you say?"

She took the pipe out of her mouth. "We are secretive! That's it!"

The amateur gardener nodded. This statement was clear and his fears were thus dispelled. The young man's facial features relaxed. "All right, if I can help, I'm happy to help."

Just three days later, Grandma Huber was back and reported that Tommy's medicine had also had a positive effect on Mrs. Korner and Anna Schwinghofer. "The stuff just works!"

Tommy was very proud. "That makes me happy."

"And because your medicine seems to help against all aches and pains at our age, I thought I'd take some for everyone in my senior ladies' group for next Thursday. You know, Tommy, since I've been taking your medicine regularly, or should I say smoking it, I've been feeling great. I can't keep that from my other girlfriends. Otherwise they'll start whispering about me."

Tommy, who would have preferred to keep the dispensing of his herbal medicine a little smaller and therefore more discreet, conceded defeat without objection. "And all your friends smoke pipes?"

The pensioner shook her head in the negative. "No, of course not, but they're herbs, so I can use them in the kitchen. I bake cakes or a few cookies for our non-smokers," she said confidently.

"Wait here." Tommy disappeared and returned a few minutes later. Grandma Huber bagged up a few pipe fillings, three portions for rolling cigarettes and four bags of herbs as ingredients for baking mixes. Tommy was given a Zwanni and they both felt great.

Thanks to Grandma Huber, Tommy's special herbal medicine gradually reached her entire group of senior citizens. The miracle cure was first presented to their two closest friends and when they were unconditionally convinced of its effectiveness, they decided to present it to the rest of the group over coffee. In the Village-mug-Inn, the only inn within a ten-kilometer radius, the senior citizens met every Thursday afternoon to chat, gossip and complain about each other.

From the time Grandma Huber supplied the ladies with Tommy's special medicine, the meetings were brought forward by half an hour. However, the unusual clique did not meet directly at the inn, but behind the bus shelter at the bus stop.

It was a great place to enjoy a communal pipe or two, a home-made bag or a few cookies with special ingredients from Tommy's herb garden. Afterwards, the group returned to the Village-mug-Inn in high spirits and laughing.

From then on, they no longer talked about aches and pains, doctors and boring raffles, but instead chatted about vacations, the Caribbean and the handsome men who are supposed to be there and who should be eaten.

"This is Thailand for women," said Grandma Huber with a mischievous look. "I can check how much a trip like that costs. It's always better than those coffee trips to South Tyrol," she suggested, earning roaring applause.

Tommy had given the pensioners something very special. Joie de vivre!

He had become their beloved herb boy, who, from the old ladies' point of view, had brought some zest into the formerly monotonous village life. Tommy had sweetened their boring lives in a pleasant way. Or should we say greened it?

A pipe filling cost Tommy just one euro. Just like the bag for smoking or the baking ingredient. And you could afford such a portion of happiness for a mere euro, even on a meagre pension.

When the senior citizens invited Tommy to the village pub from time to time, he naturally brought the goods for free for the warm-up round behind the bus shelter.

Tommy loved his garden, and the ladies loved the grass that grew so wonderfully in Tommy's garden. Tommy's herbal cures were the new highlight in their lives.

From then on, the ladies had a motto for their weekly get-together: La vita é bella - life is beautiful.

The constant good mood of the grandmothers in the village also ensured a generally better harmony among the inhabitants. Farmer Huber received freshly baked cakes three times a week, without Tommy's herbs, of course. Grandma Korner raised the wages for her temporary workers in high spirits. Anna Schwinghofer reduced the price of the cider she sold to the other villagers. The queues at the doctor's in the neighboring village became shorter, so he came home in time for lunch.