The pub was a traditional landscape of bronze pans, snooker green carpets, pictures of cart horses on the wall. Sensations of beer and the fire. An underlying sweetness haunted the air, like we were still in the orchard.
A blonde woman with short hair sat on the stool near the beer pumps, sipping a yellowed cider. Her dress reminded me of black and white photos. She made me anxious for no reason.
However, I stop worrying when I spot who is behind the bar.
The same man who pulled me out of the mud in Pucel Bec all those months ago stands with his hand on the counter. Hey may even have had the same shirt on. The same jeans. I stared for too long. At first he misread my gaze, and pointed to a spiky ball besides the spirit optics. I realised it was a pufferfish, far from the sea, it’s skin leathery, and coated with dust.
‘They swim to the coast sometimes.’ He said. ‘All the way from hotter climes. Storms pull them in from the bottom of the ocean. My grandfather caught that one. It was about the time we had to watch for-‘
He stops.
‘We’ve met before haven’t we? In the mud?’
’Thank you for your help.’ Was my reply. Weak and too short, but I did not know how to respond.
‘How funny! Told you it would be worth sticking to the path. Look where it’s led you.’
He handed over a pint that was already poured. Maybe they assume strangers want the local stuff here. I took a sip. He was right. It was exactly what wanted. Sweet pear cider on the right side of freezing.
The man smiled.
‘There we go. Stick to the path, and everything is grand.’ the man continued. ‘We say thank you to see you again.’
Something banged against the window. A tapping noise, like claws on glass. A shadow the size of a horse looms up outside. I shrink to the point of crouching. The woman waves me up, and puts hand on my wrist. Her touch is colder than the cider, but comforting.
‘Relax. Enjoy your pint. Seals hang out in stormy weather, right? But they are fine in the end aren’t they?’
‘But did you not see that?’
‘We’ve got enough fruit here to be fine, right? Think of it this way. A carnivore eats only meat, right? But do they care about lemons and carrots? Maybe not. But the concept of a carnivore might. Maybe a crime against their being, right?’
The man behind the bar laughs. ‘Who knows. Stick to the path, that’s what I know. But finish your drink. You’ve stuck to the path today. You can enjoy your evening’
I did finish my drink. I was thirsty after all. For so many years, this would have been an impossible luxury. Archie asleep upstairs made even the nearest boozer essentially on the moon. We did not talk. The shadow did not return. Their pear cider was spot on. I had one more.
Even at goodbye, and their farewell was pleasant, but standard. Like once they said their piece that had nothing to add.
Moon was up on my walk back. I used my phone as a torch. My head was fuzzier than expected, and I swear the spiders had swollen to the size of babies’ heads. What would happen if you went out, and one got you on the ar
Beo Gras is a spooky little place. Perhaps not the most rigorous of walks, but the pub at the end of the trail is a little gem.
:: Strangest feeling when I closed the door to that pub Barbara. It was like shutting the door of an aeroplane. Or some kind of massive vault.
That smell of fruit was overwhelming.
The man had a moon shaped scar on his cheek. Did I mention before he was missing one eye? I am not sure if I should include these details. Feels a bit uncouth.
It wasn't just a shadow. I saw things through the pane. Banana sized teeth pink bumpy gums. Fur the colour of ignored dust. Is this the same one? What if there are more of them?
A nice break from writing woodland though. I think I have a plan for next time.
Also made me think of those nights Archie would return from the pub, crashing around the house. He broke the door handle in the kitchen once. I went crazy. Should I have spotted the signs?
Perhaps being alone is no bad thing.
Anyway, managed to get another weird paw print picture. See below. ::
