Back from being away

“You are the very last person I ever expected to see again,” says the café-goer. “After everything that happened to you in the past. And especially after you left so suddenly. Without saying goodbye. Without any explanation. Without a word. Like a shadow in the night. And now you are suddenly standing in front of us?

The café-goer speaks in the plural. As he utters the last sentence, he makes a gesture with which he wants to indicate that he is speaking for the rest of the group. All the men nod silently. They take a big gulp of beer. They clearly agree with the speaker.

The visitor stands rooted to the spot. He stares at the figurehead, His face has turned white. His fists are clenched.

“But I have to admit,” says the leader, “you have guts. How long has it been now? Forty years? Or is it even longer?”

Forty-one years, two months and eight days, thinks the visitor. He has never forgotten the moment. His flight, his disappearance from the village, from the close-knit community. Did he have a choice back then? Would he have been able to adapt? Would they have accepted him in the end? As one of them? A buddy? A pal?

“I can still see you standing on the football field,” says the chief, “with your narrow, pale legs. We were afraid that if a ball rolled into you, you would break in half. You were that thin.”

A wild laugh resounds. Yellow teeth, rough fists, greasy hair. The visitor recognizes them. The group of friends from back then has remained the same. Only their hair is greyer, their bellies bigger.

“Do you remember that one time after the match – when you were in the shower – we put your clothes on the centre spot?” says the leader. “If I remember correctly, it was the middle of winter. You had to endure the freezing cold naked to get your clothes.”

Tears roll down the unshaven faces of the group. They slap each other on the shoulders. They haven’t had such fun in a long time. People choke on their beer. Glasses fall over. It doesn't matter.

The visitor looks at his shoes. Louis Vuitton Manhattan Richelieu. He mustn't forget to clean them later in the evening. The floor is covered with beer, wine, chips and peanuts. It would be even better if the guests would start behaving a bit more politely. But you can't just change a habit that has lasted for decades.

He hears the café-goer talking again. But his words now dance like dust particles in the stuffy air. Not much later, the friends roar with laughter one more time. The visitor asks himself the same question. What is he doing here? Why did he have to return to this pub in his hometown after all these years? What is driving him?

He didn't fit in here. He was too dreamy, too smart, too unworldly, too eager to learn, took headstrong, too maladjusted? He never told his parents. About the bullying. About the systematic exclusion. His father was too busy with his job as a tent maker. His mother was too sick, too tired, too fragile to bother her with it.

“But maybe you can still make yourself useful,” says the leader, “If you buy us a round. Doesn’t matter what. Beer, wine, spirits. Then we’ll stop bothering you. At least for the first ten minutes!”

Some of the men fall off their chairs. The lay on the wooden floor like lame turtles. Are they so drunk that they can’t sit up properly?

Perhaps it’s not such a bad idea, thinks the visitor. Even tormentors can be sensitive to gifts. It could be a first step towards rapprochement? To a peace deal, a truce? Why not?”

“What have you become,” says the chief. “Let me guess? You’ve just been released from the asylum? From the madhouse?”

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the front door. New guests are coming in. Something is going on. They are not regulars. They have questions. But they get no answer. What are they doing in this taproom? They want to know where the owner of the pub is.

The visitor is startled out of his reverie. He recognizes the gentlemen. Off course, he invited them. He raises a hand.

“Here I am!” he says excitedly. “It's me! In the back of café! I'm the new owner! I bought the entire pub last week.”