Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Gorta Mor (Part 7)

The acrid cloying plumes of smoke filling the room emanating from behind the counter took the brothers by surprise. They immediately started choking back coughs. The room had a long row of stools lined up against the counter with a copper bar running the length of it. Further back in the room one could barely see a few random patrons at small tables huddled over glass mugs. Behind the counter two gentlemen stood. They looked like mirror images of each other, both wearing black slacks, white button down shirts, red suspenders, white aprons around their waists, full bushy mustaches, and the beginnings of hair loss at the crowns of their heads.
“Ah, customers!” One expounded to the other in an overly British accent.
“Why yes! Our first ever.” The other replied.
The brothers looked at each other in silence. What was this place? They thought as one mind. It certainly was unlike anything they could have imagined from the outside. They looked around the room once more.
“Um, what about those men over there?” Shamus asked.
“Men? Over there?” The first said to the second.
“Couldn’t possibly be, I think they came with the building.” The second replied back.
Shamus and Darbish were thinking that these two guys must have been cracked. Then again, they sounded British, and generally speaking that was the same thing to the brothers.
“So what is this place?” Darbish hazarded.
“Place?” The first countered, “This is not a mere place! It’s a pub! The very first on your native soil, no others exist in all of Ireland.”
“Yes! We really have the market cornered,” the second continued, “You see we bring a drink with us. Lager! It has amazing properties.”
“Properties?” Shamus asked suspiciously, “What kind of properties?”
“Try one, on the house.” The second stated, pulling two beers from the tap and placing them in front of the brothers.
Shamus looked confusedly to Darbish, “On the house? Surely we can just drink it here.” To this Darbish shrugged.
“Oh absolutely and certainly,” the first said, “it’s merely a saying we use back home to indicate that you will not have to pay for the drink. Free of charge, a gift, if you will from us to our very first and finest customers.”
The brothers eyed the drinks distrustfully and gave into their curiosity. As they brought the mugs up to their mouths the rims happened to tap each other and the owners hooted in unison, “Cheers!”
Both the brothers nearly spit out the lager immediately. The hopped up, carbonated fizz hit their pallets like sledgehammers on baby chicks. Their faces turned sour as the looked at each other and they both realized that they couldn’t let the other outdo them. They swallowed the drink and stared in disbelief at the bar keeps.
“That was horrendous.” Shamus started.
“Yes, and I felt no properties you spoke of.” Darbish added.
“Oh, ho ho ho,” The second laughed, “The first one is not where one feels the magic.”
“Not at all!” The first continued, “You need to keep imbibing to get to the magic. But I tell you what. Since you really are our first customers, and we would hate to make a bad impression of it. Let us let you drink your fill for free and you can decide at the end if there’s any magic there.”

-V-

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