BOOK CHAPTERS BY Stuart Englander
Seasonal Allegories: Chapter 4
From O. Henry to Rod Serling, and other short stories in between
Finding A Taste of Home
The deluge kept falling all morning, and well on into the afternoon. Driving conditions had become progressively slower with the relentless rain, but Jerry was in no hurry anyway. He preferred the secondary roads, the two-lane blacktops that reminded him of the winding tracks back home in Britain. At least here he had a chance to soak up some local flavour.
His mind was beginning to wander with thoughts of home. It was only natural. The American experience was something quite different from what he was used to his whole life. From driving on the right side of the road to the ever-present light beer, Jerry was starting to feel a little homesick. Coming to his senses again, he shook off his pining ways and concentrated on the road ahead.
He always met the most interesting people along this sort of route, feeling like middle America was his to discover. Fatigue was quickly setting in as the relentless shower kept windshield wipers consistently busy, and now it seemed like a good time for a brief rest and a bite to eat. A break from the hyper-focus on the white lines ahead, put him in mind of the ever-present roadside pubs back home.
After another six or seven minutes up the lonely highway, Jerry found just what he was looking for. A stand-alone old tavern, patched together with spare clapboards and shutters, sat off the shoulder beside an empty fueling station. Through his rain-soaked windshield he was able to read the blinking neon sign above the door, BEER it said. Even a ‘lite’ would go down well about now.
The time forgotten decay of the two structures standing at the shoulder surrounded by wheat fields, seemed to Jerry a picture of Americana as he always imagined it. He wheeled the massive rental car into the gravel parking lot, pulled up his coat collar to ward off the wet, and made a run for the saloon entrance.
It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the faint, barroom light, but Jerry shook off the rain and found a seat at the closest end of the bar. The bartender greeted the stranger with a casual nod while a small group of regulars eyed him cautiously from the far side. Four men of varying ages clustered together, drinking their beers silently.
Typical small-town pub, Jerry thought. Then he chuckled silently to himself. Small town? This was the town, a tavern and a broken-down gas station. He nodded politely in the direction of the locals. In return, the group leader simply nodded back, expressionless.
It was always this way, at first. Silence.
The pub was tiny, even by British standards. The room housed a sixteen-foot oak bar, two tables of six across from the taps stand, and a weather-worn, coin-operated pool table in the back of the room. Anyone having to shoot off the rail would need to hold their cue at an outrageous vertical angle if they had any hope of making a shot.
The bartender slid over to where Jerry was seated. He was tall for a barkeep, standing about six-foot-six, with a muscular build and an all-business expression. He had coarse stubble on his square jaw and a look that said this guy didn’t suffer fools, or troublemakers. Anyone thinking of wreaking havoc in this place would have their hands full with this guy. “What’ll you have, mister?” he asked unceremoniously.
“A beer would be great, thanks.” Jerry replied politely, his accent immediately giving that he wasn’t from around here. As if anyone hadn’t already guessed.
“Any particular brand?” the barman inquired gruffly.
Jerry was taken aback a little at this remark. Usually, whoever was pouring just went to the tap and served up whatever was there. In most of the American bars he’d visited so far, it was a choice of two taps, regular or lite beer. He decided to try his luck. “I’d love a dark ale if you have one. Otherwise, whatever’s going on tap will do quite nicely, thank you.” To go with Jerry’s English accent, his freckled complexion and red wavy hair were dead giveaways he was a foreigner, yet it only raised an eyebrow or two from a couple of the regulars.
The large man behind the bar who one must assume owned the establishment walked over to the beer taps and pulled down a beer glass. This was no ordinary goblet, however. He took down a wide-brimmed, ornate pint measured vessel that stood on a two-inch crystal stem, and placed it under one of the taps. Pulling back the handle, a beautiful, reddish-amber liquid began to flow from the spout. Could that be an English bitter he was pouring?
Much to his surprise, Jerry had hit paydirt with his favourite brew here on tap. “There you go, mate. Cheers.” said the barkeep, setting the glass down on the bar. “You gonna want food?” he asked flatly.
“A spot of lunch would go down nicely, yes.” said Jerry.
“What’s your pleasure?” the proprietor asked.
Jerry’s spirits had lifted with the delivery of the ale, so he decided to try on a little humour. Perhaps a little mood lift would egg on some reaction from the other side of the bar. “I don’t suppose I could get a plate of fish and chips?” Jerry asked with a certain irony in his tone.
“Cod okay?”
“Ah, sure.” said Jerry with a puzzled look on his face. Not what he expected at all, but delighted nonetheless.
The bartender replied without hesitation, “You want mushy peas with that?”
“Well…yes, lovely.” answered Jerry, now totally perplexed. He watched the bartender walk through an open door just off the far end of the bar, and disappear. How or why in the world would a roadside joint like this would have the British comforts of home on hand, was beyond comprehension.
Jerry waited quietly, half hoping one of the regulars would glance his way and strike up a conversation. No one looked in his direction. They didn’t even speak to each other. They stood or sat stoically, gulping sips from their beer glasses, oblivious to Jerry or anyone else in the room. Jerry decided it was just their way and he let it be.
He sipped his ale, thinking, “I’ll probably get a plate of microwaved fish sticks and French fries. Where would he get fresh cod in the middle of nowhere? No matter.” He figured the locals would all have a good laugh at his expense, the ice would be broken, and brief friendships will be engaged. One must have hope.
After about ten or twelve minutes, the bartender re-emerged with a plate of food. He set down in front of Jerry a healthy portion of perfectly battered codfish, surrounded by a mound of crisp, meaty fries and a dapple of fresh mushy peas. Without a word, a small ramekin of tartar sauce appeared beside a bottle of malt vinegar and some packets of ketchup.
“You want another ale?” asked the barkeep, already moving toward the taps.
“Yes, please” Jerry replied, thoroughly delighted. He took his time savouring every morsel of his fabulous lunch, washing it all down with an excellent English bitter. Wiping his chin with the napkin that was supplied, Jerry turned to look out the small, smoke resin encrusted front window.
The rain had stopped some time ago, but the sun that replaced the clouds was quickly disappearing for the day. He was delighted and satiated with this stroke of luck in the middle of…where was he? No matter, he thought. Perhaps there was a chance to extend his stay. Jerry turned back toward the bar owner and asked, “Might there be a motel within a short distance from here?”
The bartender straightened his back and placed his hands on his hips, as if in deep thought. “Nope,” he said finally. “this is pretty much the middle of nowhere. You probably have at least an hour’s drive ahead of you.” and then, “Don’t matter which direction.”
“Best get to it then,” said Jerry as he plunked a large enough bill on the bar to pay for his meal and show his appreciation. “Thank you for your wonderful hospitality.” he said as he put on his coat to leave the tavern. The barman said nothing while he scooped up the empty plates and cutlery and returned to the kitchen.
Jerry tipped a nod one last time toward the four strangers at the other end of the bar. They each nodded back in turn, but the expressions on their faces never betrayed any feeling or emotion. That’s how it is with locals when their space is invaded. I guess. Jerry let them be to their drinks. It occurred to Jerry only as he exited the saloon, each man inside was holding a unique glass of their own, denoting the style of brew they preferred. Curious indeed.
He jumped in behind the wheel of his rental behemoth and started the engine. As he pulled back onto the quiet highway, Jerry’s thoughts were consumed by the strange occurrences in that bar. “I’ll have to remember it to the folks back home in case they ever plan to stir this way.” he thought. Then he realized he never got the name of the saloon or even that of the owner. Oh well, it was the only thing out there on Route #36. It won’t be hard to find again. He made a mental note to return there when heading back this way.
The evening drive continued for two hours more along the arrow-straight, State Road #36. Jerry followed the setting sun as it dipped beyond over the pancake horizon over an hour ago. He knew that fatigue and night driving was not a good combination, so he was anxious to find lodging soon. It was just so desolate out here. He could imagine what the dust bowl looked like back in the days of the terrible drought.
Four gruelling hours had passed before Jerry spotted a faint grouping of lights in the distance. With hopes raised he pressed on thinking, at this point a hot shower and a clean bed are all he needed. His spirits rose as he approached a cluster of bright lights. The sign on a small chain motor hotel revealed itself in bright neon as Jerry drew closer. He parked out front under the canopy and entered through a sliding door that led to the hotel lobby. A fresh-faced, very bubbly young brunette greeted him as he approached the counter.
“And how are we tonight, sir?” she inquired with extreme enthusiasm.
“Tired from a long drive I’m afraid. But, a room with a firm bed will put that right.”
“Absolutely sir. Let’s see what we have available here” said the young woman searching her screen. Then, looking up at Jerry she said, “I only have one suite left if you like, but I assure you, it’s lovely. It’s our very last room I’m afraid, but I’ll have to get maid service to prepare the room.”
Jerry was too worn out to put up a fuss. “If that’s all you have,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “I don’t suppose there’s another hotel nearby?”
“There’s a sales convention in town, so I fear this might be your only option, sir.” She took Jerry’s ID and credit card and kept punching keys on her keyboard. “You’re welcome to wait in the bar while I prepare your suite. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get the room ready.”
Jerry took back his cards and thanked the girl. “Well, I suppose a nightcap wouldn’t hurt.” He headed toward the restaurant entrance. A tired but talkative group of salesmen were standing around the bar. Jerry walked over beside them where a single stool was vacant, and he waited for the bartender to wander his way.
A young man with pop star looks, wearing a black shirt with a red vest approached Jerry from inside the bar. “Good evening, sir. What can I get you?”
“I’d like an ale, please,” Jerry replied.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the bartender responded, “we don’t carry ale. I can offer you a beer, or lite beer.”
The puzzlement on Jerry’s face was obvious as he said, “I guess I’ll have a beer then.”
As the bartender walked away to draw Jerry’s draught, two of the conventioneers had overheard and introduced themselves to Jerry. “I feel your pain, friend. Seems all you can get these days is generic brands. I’m Andy, by the way, and this is Dave.” he said gesturing toward his friend.
“Pleasure,” Jerry said, shaking hands with both men, “Jerry. Very puzzling though, I must say. I had a much better experience this afternoon.”
“Really?” said Dave. “Do tell. We’d love to get a decent draught somewhere.”
Jerry related his entire experience at the roadside tavern earlier that day. As they sipped their drinks, he described in detail, the location of the bar beside a dilapidated Texaco station on #36, and the perfectly cooked plate of fish and chips with a fine English bitter.
His two companions listened quietly but gave each other darting glances as Jerry described the bar. Finally, Andy spoke up. “I don’t want to disparage your terrific story Jerry, but I have to tell you something.”
Dave bowed his head, perhaps in empathy for Jerry’s impending embarrassment. Andy continued, “We know that area quite well, with the broken down Texaco next door. I gotta tell ya, my friend, that bar has been closed down for more than forty years. Practically nobody uses Route #36 anymore.”
Jerry put his beer glass down on the bar and stood up. “Gentlemen,” he said plainly, “I tell you I was in that pub earlier today. In fact, I’m still quite satiated from the large plate of food and the two ales. I did not make this up.”
Dave put his palms forward in a defensive posture. “Whoa there partner!” he said. “We’re not callin’ you a liar or anything, man.” Dave took Jerry’s shoulder and eased back onto his barstool.
Andy nodded in agreement and added, “It’s just that, well, we both live near those parts and we know that The Tin Star’s been shuttered up and decaying for, well, forever.”
Jerry didn’t know what to think or say in rebuttal. Were these two strangers having a laugh at his expense? There was no denying what he experienced earlier that day. “Ok, gents. I get it. Very funny. I’m a good sport. How about another round, on me?
The pair of salesmen agreed to the nightcap, all the time trying to assure Jerry they weren’t kidding around. Then Dave added, “Listen, Jerry. We’re heading back that way in a few days. We’ll check it out. Okay?”
“Yeah, and I’ll tell you what.” said Andy. “Give us your email address, and we’ll let you know what we find. If The Tin Star has actually reopened, nobody would be more pleased than us two.”
Reluctantly, Jerry agreed to their terms and handed each man one of his business cards. Just then, the desk girl entered the bar to inform Jerry his room was ready. As he got up to leave, he said, “Gentlemen, this has been a very long day made longer by what you’ve both just told me. I bid you a good night. I’ll be very curious to find out what you’ve learned.”
The three men shook hands and Jerry left for his room. Tired and confused, he stripped down and climbed into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him for several minutes. While towelling himself off, Jerry obsessed over what Andy and Dave told him. “Impossible!” Jerry blurted out loud, alone in his bathroom.
He put on his robe and walked over to the window that looked out on the desolate highway. Peering back in the direction from where he had come, Jerry decided in his mind. “There’s only one thing for me to do.” he said under his breath. “I shall wake up early in the morning, and drive back to see for myself.” After all, he had no other plans. A four-hour diversion meant nothing to him. He was on vacation. Besides, what’s better than English Ale and beer-battered fish?
Several weeks had passed when Dave rang Andy on the phone. “Hey Andy, do you remember that Englishman we promised to check out the old saloon for?”
“Jeez!” said Andy, “I completely forgot about it. Man, I’ll bet he’s pissed.”
“Maybe we should check it out for laughs. What do you think?” asked Dave.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour.” said Andy and he hung up the phone. He walked out to the back yard where his wife sat sunning herself, and said, “I’m going to go have a beer with Dave at the old Tin Star, honey.”
“Very funny, Andy.” replied his wife. “At least I won’t have to worry about you coming home drunk if you think you’re going to drink there.”
Andy had a good laugh as he gave his wife a peck on the forehead. “I’ll explain later.” he said and he went back through the house and out the front door.
It was around mid-afternoon in the middle of a downpour when Dave and Andy pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of the old ‘Tin Star’ tavern. The day clouded over suddenly as they came closer to the Tin Star and without warning, it just started to rain as they pulled up. The place looked deserted like always, but the ‘BEER’ sign, strangely, kept flashing on and off over the front door. The two friends looked at each other quizzically and got out of the car.
Andy and Dave ran to the front of the tavern, and to their surprise, the door was unlocked. The lighting inside was very faint made worse by the darkened clouds overhead, so the duo gingerly made their way over to the bar. A very large man with a square jaw and all business expression, suddenly appeared behind the bar and said, “What’ll it be boys?”
Hardly able to believe his eyes, Andy said, “Uh…I guess I’ll have a pilsner please.”
“Uh, yeah, and I’ll take a stout if you have one.” Dave chimed in.
Without a word, the bartender turned and headed toward the beer taps and began preparing their drinks. Dave pulled out a barstool and sat down. Andy tried to scan the room, but the faint light made it difficult.
“I don’t get it.” said Dave. “How could we not know about this?”
Andy only shook his head. His eyes slowly adjusted to the elements, and that’s when he noticed a group of four locals at the other end of the bar. They were all standing silently, sipping their beers. Andy called out, “Hey fellas, when did this joint reopen?”
Only one of the patrons looked in Andy’s direction, but he never said a word. He merely raised an eyebrow and then returned his gaze to his beer glass.
That was odd, Andy thought. Dave shrugged his shoulders in disbelief. The drinks arrived and to their astonishment, the two men had gotten exactly what they asked for. Each in its own unique beer glass. Andy was sipping on his pilsner and Dave on his stout when suddenly, the two men gasped in shock at the man that appeared at the other end of the bar.
Without their noticing, a red-haired man appeared before them, sipping on what looked like a reddish-amber ale in a fancy crystal glass. “Jerry?” asked Dave tentatively. “Is that you buddy? Couldn’t get enough of this place, huh?”
It was Jerry, but he just kept staring in his glass while he drank his ale. The other regulars closed in around him, and as a group, they drank and stared off into space. No one looked Andy and Dave’s way again.
There was no expression on Jerry’s face. He was a blank slate drinking an English ale. They all seemed to Dave and Andy, undead.
Feeling a sudden chill, Andy said to his friend, “We gotta get the hell outa here, man. This doesn’t feel right.”
“I hear ya, man.” was all Dave said as he plunked his unfinished beer down on top of the bar.
The pair made for the front door quickly. They jumped into the car as fast as they could muster, and Andy gunned the engine. Speeding off down Route #36, Andy turned to his mate and said, “Look, we gotta come to an agreement. We should never speak of this,” he said. “to anyone. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” was all Dave said. They never visited the ‘Tin Star’ a second time.
As always, thanks for taking the time. Seasonal Allegories is available in Kindle and paperback here.
Dr Mehmet Yildiz ScienceDuuude Terry Mansfield Claire Kelly K. Barrett Terry L. Cooper Dr Preeti Singh Liam Ireland
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