from The Age of Magic

Ben Okri Nigerian British Writer

Two

Mistletoe had a sudden premonition. It happened at an uncertain moment in their wanderings. She was about to say something about the sense of Malasso that had come upon her, when Lao pointed to the lights of a pub in the middle of a lane.

They stepped into its roar of voices like waking from a dream. There were loud drunken conversations in the crowded air. A rock anthem thundered from the jukebox. The walls were dark and plastered, here and there, with fading posters of dancing girls, music concerts, and festivals. The lights were dull and cigarette smoke was dense around the counter. Everywhere reeked of spilt beer.

Many faces turned as they walked in. Lao felt the gazes returning him to the world of colour. He felt the air was suddenly charged. Amid the clouds of smoke he felt the weight of a mute judgement. There seemed an unspoken law in the atmosphere of the pub, which he felt his presence had contravened.

The strength of the gazes had stopped Lao and Mistletoe in their advance. They both looked round, assessing the quality of the mood, feeling for its dangers. For a long moment, in spite of the anthemic roar from the jukebox, there seemed a prevailing uncanny silence.

Deciding that what one decrees from within is what the world sees in you, Lao regained the integrity of his being. At that moment he saw himself as a prince from an infinite kingdom. And he cast a protective spell around Mistletoe, as she cast one around him.

Then they strode into the depths of the pub like enchanters who alter reality by altering themselves. In a moment they seemed like regulars to the pub who had been away for a long time. They went to the counter and ordered two pints of the local beer and looked around, as if they were curious about the new faces they saw leaning against the walls, standing in clusters, darkening the ceiling with smoke.

Three

Lao engaged one of the publicans in conversation. He asked about the copper tankards on shelves along the walls. The tankards were arranged according to their sizes. Some had the design of a goat-footed man, others had a noble stag, etched on their sides. The publican told him that every year, on midsummer nights, they had drinking competitions in the open air. It was a tradition that went back a thousand years. The winner this year was like a figure from a fairy tale. He was completely unknown; and when he won he disappeared to where he came from, without collecting his prize.

“What was the prize?” Lao asked.

The publican gave an obscene leer.

“The prize is every year a secret. Only the mayor knows.”

The publican had to go and serve someone; Mistletoe and Lao drank their beer in silence, leaning against the counter.

The pub had changed its mind about them.

Four

They soon discovered there was a pool table at the back of the pub. On the walls there were dusty swords, ancient poniards, muskets, an armorial shield, and the stuffed head of a stag, with its branching antlers.

To their surprise they saw their driver, Bruno the second. He was coming to the end of a game with one of the bulky denizens of the establishment. Bruno was not surprised to see them.

“I knew you two would turn up here sooner or later,” he said, with mischief in his eyes.

He seemed different from the fresh-faced young man who had driven them from Basel station to their hotel. He seemed more himself.

“I’m glad you came. This is not a very good game. This man is lazy. Do not worry, he does not speak English. Would you like to play? A bet would be nice, don’t you think?”

Lao was immediately interested. He liked the occasional gamble. He hadn’t played pool in years. His skill was rusty. He was fond of the game, the sociability it called for...