"Cockale?"

"Coq Ale."

"...Cock ale?"

"Coq Ale."

She looked half over her shoulder, nearly bringing the sign into view that hung over the back of the bar. Then I understood, or nearly did. It depicted a pint glass filled with a dark heady liquid and a rooster standing near. The sign read "Coq Ale. Original Recipe." Some revelation sunk in along with some bewilderment. In a curious trance I nodded to indicate a pint was wanted. I must have accidentally smiled as I made eye contact, for she scowled particularly at that moment.

The woman had the exact look meaning she was the landlady in the establishment. In fact, so much so that I hoped she didn't think I wondered even for a moment what the arrangement was. She came back with a pint sleeve with a sickly brown liquid with a weak grey head on it that was fading fast. I did my best not to smile this time, and also not to look disappointed. I'm sure I failed on both counts. Her scowl returned as she left the glass in front of me, and came to a tighter focus than it had yet, and she demanded payment.

Her gaze challenged me and suddenly I felt as if I might not be able to pay. This thought was groundless but the fear she brought was sudden and intense. I reached into my pocket to pull out some cash, still holding the bizarre feeling that I might be short. Of course I was not, but my hand faltered anyway as I put a note on the bar in front of her. She looked at me with an accusation that visually assaulted me. I was starting to build my courage with her and so I stood fast as a stone. Internally my mind raced to calculate the change, and whether the change would be the right amount of a tip. Maybe not enough. Or too much. Or since she is the landlady, do I tip her? Or wait, is she really?

She didn't offer me the change and she didn't offer me anything else, just leaving me alone with my Coq Ale.

I stared briefly at the glass before bringing it to me. I was conscious of the fact that if I didn't take a sip right away then I would be donig this wrong. I saw myself as if having an out of body experience, watching as I behaved like a teenager ordering a beer. I muttered to myself "Don't take your guns to town." and put the glass to my lips.

It was as horrid as I could have guessed, plus 50%. I had come a little more to my senses about the landlady now, but still did not want to send the drink back. I was pretty sure that this was how it was supposed to taste.

I sat still on my stool at the bar and looked around. My thought now was to focus on who was here and why, so that I could make sure I was still safe. I took a longer draw from the glass and I nearly couldn't swallow it. I swore there was a chunk in it, but then it disappeared on my palate. Must be a bone. This was absurd. Chicken beer. Coq Ale. I couldn't wait to get somewhere safer in every sense.

I couldn't see anyone suspicious in the place, but yet I felt the weight of uncertainty pushing against my back, surely as if it had been a fat man making his way by to the outhouse. But nothing physically happened. I needed to turn around now and look. I needed to know. And yet I did not know who or what I would be looking for. Maybe all I would do by turning around is expose my face to the room. Maybe that was irrelevant anyway. Either nobody was there to recognize me, or somebody would recognize me eventually, or else someone already had. I felt the fat man grow heavier and push harder, more hurriedly. I wanted to slip out the back door, if there was one. But maybe it was too late. I was pushed with the weight of my greatest fear.

I fumbled my drink back onto the bar as I spun around, in a near panic by now. I saw a room full of strangers, but I was sure that I was being stared at. There was a group at a table right in front of me that seemed particularly interested. They laughed together, and a particularly jovial man at the table raised his glass to me and winked before he took a sip.

What was that. Was he just having a bit of fun at my expense? Was he sincerely just greeting a visitor in this place? Did he know why I was here?

I picked up my drink again, the glass wet inside and out by now. He raised his glass to me and waited. I replied in kind and we drank. He laughed and his friends did as well. He stood up with his drink in hand and walked his drunken smile over to me. I braced myself.

"You know what that is, right?"

"Coq Ale."

"Yeah. Made with real coq."

"Right." I was trying to play it cool, but this seemed impossible.

"They take a rooster and put it in a bag. Hit it with a hammer to mash it up and break all the bones, then they throw it in the brew. That gives it its unique flavour."

"Oh. I think I had a bone in mine." I was trying to decide whether this was in the least bit serious, but so far the story really did add up. The drink was foul and fowl. The landlady was fierce enough. This recipe seemed right up her alley.

He laughed. "Well welcome to Lucky Springs. None of us'll drink that stuff, so don't be shy about ordering something else instead."

Lucky Springs. That, I suppose is the name of this town. Coming in on the back road, I didn't see any signs as I came into town. A stroke of luck would sure come in handy right now.