The Barman

Edgar Brillows is a craftsman,
Not of wood or stone,
But of cocktails.

A creator of merriment,
His crystal creations
Smoked,
Sparkled,
Changed colour,
Or bloomed
Like flowers
Within the glass.

A slight man with greying blonde wavy hair,
Brillows maintains
Impeccable grooming
And immaculate attire.

Wearing a short Van Dyke beard
And neatly trimmed moustache,
An ivory waistcoat
Embroidered with silver thread,
A polished silver pocket watch,
A tailored black suit,
And a crisp white apron.

Attire aside, it is his professional skills
That really set him apart from others,
Personally memorising countless exotic recipes,
Discovered from all over the world.

He has many admirers,
Most of all club regular Frau Knochen.
Nocturna Manager Marcel Carreau
is always amazed,
At Brillow’s incredible talent,
His skill commands
The respect it receives.

This evening,
Leaning flirtatiously with one arm
On the bar is Lenore Morrow,
Twin sister of Leon Morrow.

The siblings are this month’s entertainment,
A musical double act known as Leon & Lenore.

It seems Lenore has taken
quite a liking to Brillows.

Carreau watches from his booth,
Smiles and shakes his head.

“Remarkable…
He has no idea.
Poor Monsieur Brillows.”

The Frenchman chuckles to himself.

“He should be thankful Monsieur Carter-Smythe
Isn’t attending this evening
With Frau Knochen”

Leon Morrow
is young, handsome,
and brash,
As is his twin.
Both siblings have very long straight hair
As black as night.

Both are porcelain skinned,
and dressed in exquisite black attire.
Leon’s tailored suit is an exotic three piece,
Lenore’s gown is flowing and glistens
with a hint of tiny gemstones.

Leon is a skilled pianist,
Lenore, an accomplished vocalist.

They take the stage and thank the audience,
As Leon prepares himself at his glossy black piano,
The lovely Lenore blows a kiss
to a somewhat embarrassed Mr Brillows,
Who respectfully bows in return.

For precisely
Thirty minutes,
The duo performed.

And bow to the stage as the curtains draw.

They appear amongst the crowd soon after,
Carreau shaking hands and pecking cheeks.

Before the crowd gathers around them,
Mr Brillows appears with a silver tray,
Containing two tall crystal glasses
Filled with a mysterious purple elixir,
which releases a white fog
As though dry ice
Had been added.

With a bow he returns to the bar,
Under the watchful eye and smiling face
Of a delighted Ms Morrow.

The evening slowly settled
Into its familiar rhythm.

Laughter drifted.
Secrets were whispered.
Old friends embraced.
New acquaintances were made.
Books changed hands.
Artefacts found new custodians.
Glasses were emptied,
Then quietly refilled.

From his place behind the bar,
Edgar Brillows saw everything.

Who sat with whom.
Who arrived together
Who left alone.
Who laughed the loudest.
Who cried the hardest.
Who argued.
Who quietly purchased impossible curiosities,
Before disappearing into the mist.
Who lingered
Long after everyone else.
Who quietly said goodbye.
Who never returned.

Yet never once
Did he repeat a single word.

Stepping behind the bar beside Brillows,
Marcel Carreau smiled knowingly.
“You know everything,
Don’t you, Monsieur Brillows?”

The barman paused,
Polishing the rim of a crystal glass.

A faint smile touched his face.

“No, Monsieur.
I know only
What people choose to leave behind
In empty glasses.”

Carreau laughed softly
and returned to his position.

“The glass always remembers.”
He whispered to himself.

The music resumed.

Conversation drifted once more
Through velvet booths
And candlelight.

Outside,
Rain washed
The cobblestones
Of Selwyn Lane.

Inside,
Edgar Brillows
Quietly polished another crystal glass,
As though
Nothing remarkable
Had happened at all.

For that was the peculiar burden
Of a good barman.

He remembered everything.
And repeated
Nothing.