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I looked around the Lodge; it was surprisingly full and suspiciously quiet. This was the first
time I had been inside the hotel, and I was not sure whether I would be served by a waiter
or what the protocol was. Perhaps they don't drink in this place. I looked hastily about. No,
there was a used beer mug on the table over there with those two local guys. And there a
bottle of wine. No, I was in good company; they were drinking. Yet things were strangely
still, suppressed. All rather ominous I thought.
Suddenly one of the locals stood up, scraping his chair painfully in the stifling, pacific si-
lence. Everybody turned to look at him with undisguised annoyance. Good heavens, how
glad I was that that had not been me. The local slunk guiltily across to a dumb-waiter in
the wall and stood there waiting for (aha!) service. That was where the alcohol was sold.
There soon materialized a body at the other side of the glass partition. There was a brief
muffled order, and the man came away with a foaming mug of beer. He looked decidedly
smug.
That didn't look too bad, I thought, just ease out of this chair, quietly now! No scraping! I
made my way as naturally as I could across to the partition. Oh bother, it was drawn closed.
I would now have to tap on it and draw attention to myself. I looked around surreptitiously.
All eyes were on me, awaiting my next move. I tapped nonchalantly on the glass. It soun-
ded like I had hit it with a bottle. The partition shot open and an annoyed, middle-aged
Filipino lady with thick, ginger beer glasses peered out at me. “Yess, what you want?”
“Oh, I don't know, how about a fourteen year old Filipino nymphomaniac for starters!” I
wanted to yell, but instead said with restraint, “One draught beer please.”
With pursed lips, the beer was dumped irritably down on the counter followed by a curt,
“Two dollar!”
I returned with my prize, blushing obtuse red after walking the gauntlet across to my table.
I was almost tempted to sit down at a closer table to avoid more attention, but braved the
extra few feet. After this excitement, the room returned to staring at their drinks. The tick-
ing of the clock above the glass partition could clearly be heard back where I sat. There
was no other sound. I was frozen by shy demons in my mind, and I gulped a painfully cold
sip of beer. The room visibly relaxed. I was only going to have a drink. I wasn't going to
strip naked or pull out a machine gun or leap out of any window.
I was almost finished when there was the harsh motor sound of a car pulling up outside the
hotel, tires screeching. It sounded like a train pulling into a station. A group of rather drunk
young locals spilled noisily out and up the steps of the silent lodge. They were as unaware
of the painful silence as they were of my mother's maiden name. They crashed inside like
the grating of gears, braying out drunken, nonsensical jabber. They laughed coarsely and
thumped down at a table near mine. This time the scraping and banging of solid wooden
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