Insentient

Chapter 7

The darkness didn't last nearly as long as it did last time, and for that I am extremely grateful. My feet are practically skipping along the path and I don't even jump when a cheery "Guten Tag!" is bellowed out right before I step foot onto the bridge.

This time, I stop and I greet him properly. He's not so scary to me anymore. To be honest, I really think he's just lonely. It almost appears as if he's waiting for me or anyone to come by evidenced by his close proximity to the path each time I've passed.

"Hello," I say, and I notice he's holding something out to me. It looks like a small wooden cup of sorts.

"Trienken diese," he says as he offers it to me. I must be looking at it strangely because he repeats himself and takes another step closer. I peer inside and back up to his very human looking face behind the strands of dark green and black that extend from the top of his head over his shoulders and chest. What used to remind me of seaweed is closer to dreadlocks, I notice.

"What is it?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. I have no idea what he's saying, so I don't believe he'll respond.

"Trienken diese. Es ist bier," he says, and I recognize a word, or at least I think I do...

"Beer?"

"Ja, ja bier!" he nods, causing the locks around his head to bounce wildly.

I stand immobile for a moment, not quite sure if I should take it or not. When I look up at the expectant expression on his darkly streaked face, I automatically reach out and he places the smoothly carved object into my hands.

It's foamy, this liquid inside the cup, and I bring it up to my nose for a sniff.

It's malty and pungent and I swear it smells like beer. I'm still staring at the substance in the cup, debating internally, wondering what will happen if I take a sip.

"Warte," he says, holding up a hand before disappearing from my view for a moment. He reappears with his own cup, raises it, bumps it against mine and proceeds to gulp it down in two swallows before lowering the cup and giving me a nod of encouragement.

"Es ist gut, ich verspreche," he says, and I shrug at his words. I glance into the cup one more time before I raise it to my lips and tilt it slightly.

I sincerely hope this stuff is legit, I think fleetingly before the slightly bitter, nutty flavor hits my tongue. It is beer, and it's actually pretty good, I determine, taking another sip and swallowing before lowering the cup to smile my approval at him.

"Ja, Ja?" he asks with a nod and I'm not entirely sure, but that must mean yes or some variation of the word.

"Yes. Very good," I agree. I haven't shrunk in size, my skin hasn't discolored, and I didn't pass out, so I truly believe this is the real deal and it's delicious, really. I wish I could ask him how he makes it but that would be impossible without an interpreter. Unfortunately, the only one I can think of is the last person I feel like encountering right now.

I take a few more sips under his watchful gaze and I can see him smile beneath the curtain of dreads partially covering his face. I drain the cup and hand it back to him.

"Möchten Sie noch einen?" he asks, and I clamp my lips and shrug in confusion before he raises my empty cup and bobs it up and down.

"Oh!" it dawns on me that he's asking if I want another cup.

"No thank you, but maybe on my way back? It really is good," I say and he's just looking at me pretty much the same way I look at him when he speaks.

I place my hand on the one he's holding the cup with and give it a gentle pat.

"I have to go, but I'll be back," I say with a kind smile and he covers my hand with his other one. It's not cold, clammy or slimy at all. It's warm, just like the gentle expression in his dark eyes.