Lament of Joy

When Encore arrived at the Cracked Cask, the bar changed permanently. He returned night after night to the small bar, forcing the quiet patrons to their feet and forcing them to dance and sing. He taught them to play music and soon the bar had people coming from all over the city, overwhelming the small bar and forcing the owner Johnny to bust down the back wall just to fit the number of people that would come. This dirty bar in an almost forgotten corner of a capital city, filled with strangers and thieves from the dark alleyways that connected this dingy part of a great city, was filled with more joy and music than the great plazas that glimmered in the day. Everyone knew Encore. He had this habit of talking to everyone and anyone that he could get his hands on, memorizing every name and every story that came out of their mouth. The door would slam open, smashing against the wall as he kicked it open with all his strength but the noise would be drowned out by a roar that erupted from the patrons announcing Encore’s arrival. Even when the man did not come to the cask, the music and song would continue, echoing loudly into the night and sometimes into the early morning light. The truth of the matter is that Encore was beloved by the patrons of the bar, despite his best efforts to assure them that all he did was selfish. “Good Food. Good Drink. Good Company,” He would roar at the crowd, “That is all I need you to give me. I will provide the music. I will provide the show. You will give me everything else.” He never paid for a drink. He never paid for his food. He never paid for a place to sleep as he would cycle between the houses of the people he befriended. What he wanted he would steal. What he desired he would have. Two months after the arrival at the Cracked Cask, he vanished. Disappearing into the night. The Cask never faded back into the quiet shadow under the capital, resolutely pushing a single man’s passion for company despite his absence. The people continued to practice music, continued to sing into the night, and every night a toast would go up, echoing from every patron’s throat: “Good Food. Good Drink. Good Company.”

It was a dark, cold night when Encore returned. Six months had passed yet the musicians he had left behind still reached his ears many moments before he reached the door to the Cracked Cask. The door slammed open, crashing against the wall immediately making the head of every patron snap towards the door. Standing in the shadow of the street, a voice came through the doorframe, “Friends, I am back.” The roar that followed quickly fell to pure silence as Encore stepped into the light. Encore was missing an eye, his clothes in tatters with a hand missing two fingers wrapped around a cane that he heavily leaned on. Despite his ruined frame, a smile still split his face as he limped into the Cask.

“How dare you not roar louder,” he chided the silent crowd, “I thought you missed me.”

Instead of answering the questions that trickled from the crowd, he demanded a beer from Johnny which he quickly downed before making his way to the back corner of the room where the piano rested. Sitting down, before it his ruined hands rested over the keys for a moment and then he began to play.

“Piano Sonata number 14 is what this piece is called. It is more commonly known as the Moonlight Sonata. It was made by the most beloved composer in history over two hundred years ago. What confuses me about it is the fact that it was written at all. Ludwig van Beethoven was the most celebrated composer in his time. Heralded as a genius. Composer of masterpieces. All of this and still, he was deaf. He would feel the vibrations of his songs echo through his fingers as he played. When he would conduct an orchestra, the musicians would finish long before Beethoven, paying attention to another composer who stood in the crowd in order to keep rhythm. When the orchestra would finish, the crowd would remain in silence, waiting patiently for the genius to leave his own world and turn around where they would then rise to their feet in thunderous applause. What would force a man to write a piece such as this, so full of longing and grief. A man who has everything, who has everyone, playing a piece such as this. I myself have been everywhere. Moving from country to country, place to place, bar to bar. I have made friends in every continent. I have starred in festivals, met monarchs, and lived more than most do in a hundred lifetimes. There are even folk songs written of me in multiple corners of the world. In every sense of the word I have everything. But I had the gall to fall in love. Now I notice too much. The way a room echoes when I am the only one in it. The manner in which every bed I lie in will always be cold due to nobody waiting for me. I have never been happier and I have never hurt as much. I love who I am and the person I have become. I have succeeded in everything I have ever set my mind to. I have it all, so I hate what has become of me. Should I not deserve better?”

With that Encore abruptly stopped, raised his hands above the piano and began to bang out a rushing powerful beat.

“Good Food. Good Drink. Good Company.” He roared.

The song filled the silent room and he began to sing. He stayed on that piano that entire night and the mood slowly recovered. By the end, the mood had recovered yet the patrons never forgot Encore’s speech. The bar never forgot that mantra and that night Johnny went and changed his sign. The newly renamed Encore’s Cask remained a beacon of rhythm and melody for many years to come. Encore never returned to the bar, but this time he remembered to say goodbye.