The space was a complete disaster, but not in the physical sense. There were no overturned tables or even broken chairs. The disaster was auditory, it was human.
The commotion invaded everything the moment you crossed the threshold. Some people were celebrating loudly, banging their glasses on the table; others were arguing heatedly over debts or old grudges that alcohol had unearthed.
Some, already hopelessly drunk, babbled nonsense songs with glazed eyes, and in the darkest corners, several couples were doing couple things, though only within the bounds of the establishment's rules: nothing too scandalous, nothing that would force the bartender to intervene.
But make no mistake. The place wasn't a seedy dive bar. In fact, it was immaculate. The hydraulic tile floor, with its geometric patterns, gleamed faintly in the dim light, and on a small dais at the back, a trio of musicians played soft melodies with a violin, a double bass, and an out-of-tune piano.
It was a perfect contradiction: salon music floating over a sea of raised voices, as if trying, unsuccessfully, to remind people that this was still a semi-civilized place.
The smell of food —beef stew, freshly baked rye bread, some kind of stew with exotic spices brought from the colonies— invaded your senses without permission, whetting your appetite even in the midst of the chaos. And hanging from the ceiling, like tiny captive stars, dozens of magical bulbs encased in frosted glass globes illuminated the place in warm yellow tones. The bulbs floated gently, held by thin chains, and their light flickered at times, as if they were breathing.
The light danced on the walls paneled in dark wood, creating cozy shadows that invited you to stay. It was a strangely welcoming place for a spot where, at any moment, someone could end up with a black eye.
Boisterous laughter mingled with heated arguments and the sharp sound of cut crystal glasses hitting the table. The clinking was constant, like rain on a zinc roof.
At one of the central tables, a group of men celebrated with the enthusiasm of someone who has just escaped the guillotine.
—I heard your wife already gave birth. How do you feel after becoming a father? —said a grown man with a thick beard, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink—. Congrats on that, really.
—Oh, brother, I'm very... very happy! —exclaimed the new father. He was probably in his mid-twenties, but at that moment he looked like a kid with a new toy. His smile was so wide it threatened to split his face—. I couldn't wait for my wife to give birth to our beloved child. It's a boy! My firstborn!
—But don't you think you took too long to make us uncles, huh? —muttered another friend, a skinny, mischievous type, with one eyebrow raised—. You had us waiting like... how many years of marriage? We almost thought you didn't know how it was done!
—Ha, ha, ha! —the father's laugh was a bit forced, mixed with embarrassment. His face reddened, more from awkwardness than alcohol—. It's just that I didn't have much time. You know, work, trips... That's why I couldn't have a child before. But he's here now! And the boy is really strong!
—Ha, ha, ha! You were the only one missing. But now you're a father too! —shouted another, raising his mug—. Let's celebrate this great blessing! To the little one!
—A toast to our dear and great brother! —the bearded one spoke up, standing and raising his glass as if it were a sword.
Clink-clink. Clink-clink.
The liquor bottles clinked together, a chorus of crystals celebrating life.
—To our great brother! —all the friends around the table repeated in unison, and the wine went down their throats like a river of joy.
---
At a secluded table, in a corner where the light from the magical bulbs didn't reach as strongly, the atmosphere was very different.
—Are you not planning to pay me my money, huh? —growled a large man, a genuine bull in a shirt. His hand, the size of a shovel, gripped the neck of a much smaller man, who was kicking feebly.
—Br… brother… —stammered the debtor, a skinny guy with a frightened look, his face flushed—. I'll get the money for you… just have a little patience… please… I swear…
—Two days! —the loan shark snapped, bringing his face close to the debtor's. His breath stank of onion and threats—. I'm giving you just two more days. If you don't get my money, you know what's going to happen to you, right? Remember what happened to the cripple? I don't even have to repeat it.
And with a brutal shove, he let him go.
The debtor was thrown backward, crashing into an empty chair. The collar of his shirt was ruined, a clean tear that revealed the red marks of fingers on his skin.
—Shit… —he whispered to himself, as the loan shark returned to his table with the composure of a satisfied predator. From there, the big man signaled to him with his fingers: index and middle pointing to his own eyes, then turning his hand to point at the debtor. I'm watching you. Don't even think about running.
The debtor swallowed. The taste was bitter, metallic. He thought about the door, the dark night, freedom.
—I should get out of here, no… —he whispered, shaking his head—. If I do that, everything will be much worse. That animal has friends everywhere. He'd find me. And I don't want to die. Not like this.
—Shit, shit, shit —he muttered through his teeth as he sat down. He grabbed his glass, still half-full of cheap whiskey, and downed it in one gulp. The liquid burned his throat, a minor punishment compared to the one awaiting him.
Bang!
He slammed the empty glass on the table, a gesture of helpless frustration. Then he brought both hands to his head, sinking his fingers into his sweaty hair, while keeping it lowered. His elbows dug into the dark wood as if trying to anchor him to reality.
Every now and then, he would secretly look up, like a mouse stalked by a cat, and glance towards the table of the man who lent him the money. And every time he did that, the loan shark was already looking at him. With a smile. A smile that didn't reach his eyes, cold as the edge of a knife.
---
A few minutes passed. The tavern door, a solid oak slab with iron reinforcements, suddenly opened.
Not violently, but with a calm that was even more striking.
And then, it happened.