The Continental Club - A Short Tale

The Continental Club
If you would understand anything, observe its beginning and its development.

ARISTOTLE

Have you heard of the Continent Bar? A quaint place it was – well, it’s still roaring on today. Many say there are better bars out there but its many, varied occupants feel that Continent Bar is home. It had fresh, clear windows and a large, pine door which welcomed passing customers. Upon entry they could feel the warm fires to their left and the cold dinner tables to their right and ahead, ahead was the shiny bar itself. A portly man, bowler hat neatly on his head and small moustache groomed, rotated a dirty cloth in a large mug, and he smiled warmly at each entry. Usually at the owners side was a small, smartly dressed man who offered no similar show of kindness, but usually a sultry glare and courteous nod.

Well, the people who were commonly sighted at this bar! My, oh my, a rough bunch they were. The portly owner would, rather shyly it seemed, recount the day a prestigious, brash visitor burst in to this peaceful gathering. The visitor arrived at a most opportune moment, as several regulars were trying to buy the bar for a criminal price, and with the visitors guidance (Many suspected him a lawyer and never trusted him for many years) and a slightly heated debate, the argument was sorted out. Some of the patrons exclaim now that the lawyer was invited by the portly owner, though he would never admit to such a disgrace.

Why am I droning on about tedious legal battles, you may ask? Well this fair visitor was in quite the same position we now face, and that is observing the mysteries of this bar. You see, this visitor had met some of its occupants before. As he slowly entered this strangely familiar environment, he found it was occupied by a diverse range of people.

Near the pine entrance was some loud, cheerful men. They all gathered around a small table and weaved dramatic stories, and boasted of their days now long gone. Sometimes the grumpy co-owner would sit with them and, reluctantly, share his own glory stories. On the opposite side of the room, to the right of the entrance, were a substantial gathering of younger men. They drank heavily and grimly spoke of a dark future. There were no merry words here, but rather a hint of past’s dark. The portly owner sometimes took a sympathetic beer to these ashen faced men. And, finally, to the right of the bar sat a strange group of workers, who kept to themselves. They didn’t see it right to intervene in the grandiose legal battle and sometimes took to counting through the day’s earnings instead, though they cast a concerned eye over the bar sometimes. Well, these groups all filled the bar regularly, and made the space aloud with laughter and chatting. Spread out in the bar were other men who preferred to silently drink alone such as the suspicious worker who sat at the main bar or the strange, over-excited ‘tourist’ who sulked in the far right corner.

Oh, I must get to the point. In its nineteenth year of operation on a very grim Spring day, a official looking man had made an attempt to gain the bar, and as we know it was thwarted by our legal friend, the visitor. The rumours went that this official was bankrupt for many weeks, going into Summer, and the owners charged a rather high price for drinks (even for his friends!). This is how the bar, essentially, imploded.

In Autumn the official man started to sit at the main bar again, wearing pressed suits and starting to drink from a crystal goblet. Sometimes he’d steal the drinks off other patrons, and several claimed that he stole their money and sued them out of home in sly, hidden battles. The portly manager and his gruff friend were shocked when this official’s friend didn’t turn up to the bar one day – once again the whispers were that the official took him down legally. The owners started to sweat – this man’s friend had once been an extremely wealthy man, poised to take the bar itself, many years ago! They started to offer cheap beer to the official, since that would appease him, surely?

The owners were sure worried – the portly man changed cleaning cloths three times yet the official was never satisfied. Instead he offered suspicious remarks about how nice the bar was, and how the owner was in handling it. Once, as a great disturbance, he sat with the silent man in the corner.

Yes – this ‘silent’ man didn’t contemplate life passively but was a rather rough figure. He sat by himself in the shadows of the right of the bar, once a close friend of its owners but now just a shadow of his former self. He himself, in what was perhaps an attraction to the official, was rumoured to run a tough gang outside of the bar and said to harm himself, occasionally, though many disdainfully refused to explain these rumours.

Shocking whispers, you must understand. Now our desperate friend, the owner, tried to plead to the lawyer, who was now quite poor and ignored the bar, crying about his sad financial state (Though many later claimed he hid it in shares!) . The sharp owner knew what this meant, that there were other bars in the city which offered more reward. In late Autumn the owners made a solemn pact to never betray ownership of the bar to the official, who now had close friends at all the tables. The once peaceful bar, home of merriment and glory too many, now seemed to collapse in its own pressure of plotting and subterfuge. When the official man suddenly took a wild swing at the friend of the owners, they knew it was enough or the whole bar would destroy itself.

The two owners came roaring in, fists raised, at the official, and for minutes they circled defensively before, with a quick snap, the official took out the gruff co-owner. The portly man, forlornly hanging onto the unconscious body of his friend, retreated to behind the bar and offered insults, as they both did. He watched as the official slowly bullied his other patrons into submission, randomly crashing into the subdued group at the right side of the bar, and even charming and co-ercing the grim patrons near the window, and he occasionally turned to throw beer bottles at the owner.

The official grew bored of this prolonged duel, and given false courage by the slew of fallen bodies around him, took a climatic swing at the silent man in the corner. In quiet tones would many remember the moment that this man, tortured by evil thoughts and submerged, contagious ideals, rose from the shadows with a deadly growl engaged the official in a deathly, bear-like wrestle. As they struggled in this deadly battle the owner rose from his wrecked cover in hope, throwing the occasional cork at the official, when the decisive moment struck.

The owner’s lawyer friend returned suddenly, with a passion, and they both launched themselves at the vulnerable back of the official, successfully restraining him, after which he collapsed under the heavy punches of the silent, crazed man. As the silent man rose so did other fallen patrons with shaken heads and tattered belongings, and they all inspected their precious bar with concern and wonder – at which many claimed they could hardly repay this damage. Their lawyer friend raised a conciliatory hand at this shocked babbling, and as he had learnt from last time, offered them each a modest loan from the kindness of his heart. Many cheered the lawyer and eagerly took their loan, but he glanced suspiciously at the silent man and found, to the drop of his heart, a group of thick men gathered at his flanks. The lawyer groaned at that moment the exhausted owner, drained of all his money and willpower, asked for help in management to the bewildered cries of his gruff, though now spritely, friend.

It must have been quite the bar, and though not the best in the city anymore (Many claim the one of the other side of town is decorated completely different) it now seems to have its own peace – though the tears in the wallpaper near the entrance, and the solid curtains remind all of the terrible fight only... well, only late last year! Quite the bar...

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