Hilly River Bank

After a while Svante reached the woodland pub’s hilly river bank. Ivy covered the stone building’s façade and brushed against the edges of the amber-coloured panes of glass. Two ashes with bent trunks stood on the hillside. When he had got as far as the front door a big bird fluttered past him; he understood immediately that it was the half blind heron, which was just as comfortable in the yard as the pub owners were upstairs. The heron was spending most of its time by the water. The staff usually carried out tin pails with freshly squeezed or fermented berry juices, which the bird drank with its fire-coloured bill. It was very fond of the drinks and usually made a fuss when it thought that the service was late. Sometimes the half blind heron dragged itself down to the reeds to gorge itself with amphibians and small fishes.
     The woodland pub’s interior was simple, but not without scrolls. Subdued light and a smell of sulphur. The stage with its heavy curtains was found at the farthest end of the hall. Svante went up to the bar counter and ordered a glass of apple cider from the red-nosed bartender. Then he sat down by an empty table and took a swig at the dry cider that left a slight flavour of tar in his palate. Thunderbolts of pleasure spread through his body. He picked away a dried up crumb from the poorly washed glass. A breath of garlic and lemon swept past Svante’s nose when a waitress came carrying a soup tureen and he almost regretted that he had already eaten dinner. Now he was only going to have a few glasses, clean his instrument and then set out for home.

© 2011 Jenny Enochsson