Verily, Verily, Life Is But A Dream

The water lapped quietly up against the side of The Serenity as it chugged along. The sun was going down well beyond the port side bank of the Danube. Hues of pink, grey, orange and yellow mixed wonderfully but the shore was beginning to be swallowed up in the twilight, with the twinkling streetlights beginning to compete with the darkening silhouettes of structures along the shoreline for the eyes attention. With evening upon him, Nigel retired to the comfort of the bar. It was mostly empty, which suited him perfectly. He touched his right cheek gingerly. The swelling around that eye and in the jaw had gone down considerably, and the only remaining sign of Ottos massive fist was a little yellowing around the orbital

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bone. Thankfully it was washed out in the soft lighting of the lounge. The staff were chatting quietly between themselves, while playing a card game that was foreign to Nigel. Lively music drifted down from the deck above where there was some sort of knees-up ongoing. It was a proper posh do, too. Hed overheard some of the passengers discussing the grand celebration of a recent victory, something about the European Cup. Some Magyar side had apparently won it for the tenth time. He frowned. Now, as when the group of revellers had first surrounded him up on deck, tooting their ridiculously nasal party favours, hed felt something wrong in that. Yet he was reluctant to mingle with

the party-goers to put his finger on just what troubled him. They were exactly the type he couldnt stand, Hooray Henries, born with silver spoons shoved so far down their pitiful throats they couldnt speak a word of sense. He was all for a life of luxury, but it had to be earned, had to be grafted for. This lot were as nasty a display of Nepotism as anything Albion had ever put out. Spend time with that lot? No, thank you. Hed learn more from some silent time alone with Wiki. Settling into a large, cushioned armchair, he ordered a glass of Padraigs Irish Malt and set up his laptop on a coffee table. Over his shoulder was a large, round porthole, opened to offer a bit of a cool breeze, although it also brought the faint sounds of the

still raucous celebration. Looking out one last time before getting down to business, he could see the ruins of a once great castle floating by on the crest of a hill. He smiled ruefully. What would Arthur have thought of the evolution of his Camelot? As he mulled over what had become of the world during his absence, he returned to browsing the Internet to continue his re-education. So much had changed in what, to him, was such a short time. Improved, according to many, but he was yet to be convinced. This war between East and West was a peculiar matter indeed. The two ends of the world had always had

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their differing philosophies, yet geography had usually kept people from each others throats. No longer, it seemed. Still, Otto had told him, before their little donnybrook, that this Cold War had been ended with the collapse of the Berlin Wall. Shouldnt it all have blown over, then? Well, the Europeans had gone all lovey-dovey with the advent of this bleedin European Union, but the ill feeling had not been contained to one continent. The murder of some fellow named Bin Laden by the Yanks had recently stoked things up again. Reminded him of Khartoum. Still, he was more interested in the local history and pulled up a file on Hungarys role in the Second War.

Engrossed in his studies, he almost didnt notice the newcomer. It was the sound of a steel-tipped cane on the wooden deck planks which alerted him to a presence. He glanced up and saw a silhouette approaching slowly from the other end of the bar. As the shadowy figure neared the light brought into focus a hunched over old man with an incredibly bushy white moustache, a feature that completely obscured not only his lips but the best part of his chin, too. His eyebrows were equally unkempt; they sprouted from his skin at all angles but were curiously coloured in neat stripes of white, grey and black. The old man slowed as he neared Nigel, who had returned his focus to the monitor in front of him, hoping

the interloper would continue on past. Instead, the character stopped, then addressed the disinterested god with a shake of the head and a mumbled, muffled word. Not wanting to be interrupted by one of the silver-spooners and hoping this fellow might take a hint, Nigel bent himself further over his laptop and feigned concentration, accompanied by a few token clicks. Unperturbed, the man crumpled into the seat opposite, exhaling loudly. Nigel gave in and looked up to see the man adjusting his hat a widebrimmed, patched-up black cloth specimen, of a type hed never seen before. What he could see of the mans face was more weather-beaten than wrinkled, and Nigel estimated

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he still had a few years before his wick was at its end. Protruding from his impressive whiskers came an unlit clay pipe, and as this was removed and placed into a breast pocket of his long, beige overcoat, Nigel caught a glimpse of three yellow, crooked teeth. With the pipe stored away, the man repeated his greeting, more clearly this time. Not being a native, Nigel didnt understand its literal meaning but assumed hello would be an adequate response. Ah. English. Long way from home, my friend. Nigel wasnt in the mood for friends; pest was a better word for his unwanted companion. He was still suf-

fering from the lingering effects of the massive headache Otto had gifted him. This getaway was supposed to be a calming experience, a bit of quiet time to sort out his thoughts and nurse his bruises before getting on with business. He was not here to be badgered. Perhaps the fellow would get the hint if Nigel gave him the monosyllabic treatment. Yes. Holidaying, perhaps? Nigel decided the boat was illnamed; he was apparently not going to get much peace on this trip. He grunted in the affirmative then turned his attentions back to his computer, hoping to kill the conversation without having to be too im-

polite. Like Dreher? He nodded towards the glass of Padraigs finest and then did a double-take. It was empty. He hadnt remembered finishing it. Well, if he wasnt going to be left in peace, a drink was a fair price to pay for the interruption. If this Dreher was the stuff theyd been brewing here a century or two ago, then yes, he did like it, as it happened. He nodded again, this time in acceptance of the offer. The stranger raised a hand to a passing member of staff, and within the minute there sat two large glass tankards containing a clear, golden liquid with a frothy

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head. Just the one drink, then hed be rid of this intruder. He nudged the computer lid down and took a long pull on the tankard. He couldnt help but smile. It really was good brew. He raised the mug to his lips again. Was born during that war, you know... The old fellow was livelier than he appeared. Somehow he had managed a peak at the screen before Nigel had lowered it. ...Lucky son of a gun I was. Papa was a soldier from somewhere or other. So, a son of a gun in more than one sense, eh my friend? His joke didnt even crack a smile on Nigels stony face. As though he hadnt noticed, the old man went on

with his story. We were a travelling family, most of us carted off to the camps, but we escaped so I was told, anyway. I was only a baba. Mother said she didnt know what had saved us. Divine intervention, I say. The eyebrows almost reached down to the bushy moustache as the old

man cocked his head and smiled at Nigel. Man plans, God executes, dont you think? Nigel took a closer look at the old man. That remark hit a bit too close to home for comfort. The eyes which smiled back were deep, impenetrable holes, well shielded by the bushy tufts of hair and craggy face. Nigel waited for his unwanted guest to go on. Sooner or later hed get around to whatever it was he wanted. You a football fan, friend? You could say that. Nigel didnt like the hints that were being dropped here but he had no recollec-

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tion of ever running across a fellow who even resembled this cagey gaffer in the slightest. Im here for the same reason as those up there. The man thrust a dismissive thumb towards the ceiling. Couldnt get a proper conversation out of them, though, if you held one down and rubbed smelling salts under his nose and, believe me, Ive tried. No, I won my ticket in a TV competition. Spent a fortune on phoning in. Nigel was slowly coming round to this fellow; it seemed hed misjudged him. If he was one of the upper-deckers, hed have been dressed much more elegantly and would probably trim his facial hair once in a blue moon. Yet, he wasnt

harmless. Whoever he was, it seemed he was here to deliver a message. Nigel wished hed just spit it out rather than playing this silly charade. Win a trip of a lifetime: a cruise down the river Danube to celebrate Honvds tenth European Cup victory, it said. Well its a bad trip, if you ask me, friend. There was a long pause after this remark, as though the old fellow was hoping something would sink in. Least, Ive finally found one sensible soul on board. Im as proud as the next chap, dont get me wrong its an impressive record we hold, now, but (added but)Im starting to wish Id stayed home and had a quiet

night in, watching videos of Sebes World Cup heroes of the sixties. Something flickered in the back of Nigels mind, but with another sip of Dreher it was gone as was the last drop of his drink. He waved towards the bar staff for a refill. Hed give this fellow the time of day then, if he was going to fill him in on the Game. Missed the start of the glory years, the fifties. Too young to know what was going on and it was hard to follow in those days, didnt have televisions, us peasants. Newspapers only any good if you could read. Too much politics around that time, almost ruined it all. Poor old Ferenc almost didnt make it back to Hungary, what with the Revolution. Your fellow lent a hand in that, and the American.

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Nigel had no idea what he was on about now. He wasnt helped by those bastards at UEFA, though, when he did get back. Theyd only been around for a couple of years and already theyd lost the players registration forms, so they werent allowed to play for a couple of months. The man tutted as he looked to the heavens. This UEFA bunch sounded as useless as the pussy-farts at the EU. Nigel guessed the Ferenc to whom he was referring was Ferenc Puskas, and enquired as such. Of course. The one and only. Nearly signed for Manchester United, did you know? After Munich, the old man made the sign of

the cross, they were left with half a team, but in the end Ferenc decided to stay put. Wouldnt have worked out anyway, he couldnt speak your language. Flirted with Spain too, but Madrid thought he was past it at 31. Turned out to be the worst decision they ever made and look whats happened to the buggers since. Nigel blinked. What had happened to them since? Hadnt they won a whole bunch of these so-called European Cups? There was that fellow named di Stefano, Argentine wasnt he? Hed been their captain. And hadnt Puskas gone there? He could have sworn he did. Wiki hadnt led him down the lane before. Recently, thered been a French fellow, too, with a funny name. Zim Zam, Ziba or something. Had a temper, hed

heard. And they didnt call them European Cups anymore did they? He was certain this tale the old man was spinning was wrong. But then, why was everyone upstairs halfway to the moon over this Honvd side? He looked up to question the old fellow, and the seat was empty. A dark shadow was drifting towards the door, with the tap of the steel-tipped cane faint now. Well. Apparently the message had been delivered. He re-opened the laptop to see what other incongruities this place held. Hed been crossing back and forth across the Ether for ages, so he knew that you could sometimes take a wrong turn. So, it hadnt been Wiki, but he had

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been led down the lane. Hed find out who was responsible, although he already had half a thought on that score. It wouldnt be a problem to get back, though. He just had to find where the split in reality had occurred.

ThisisanextractfromIssueOneofManandBall magazine:LetSleepingGodsLie. ThisissueintroducesNigelandfeaturesstories onGermanfootballsincereunification,African Arsenalfans,anunsungDutchlegend,and sevenotherintriguingarticles. ItcanbedownloadedinitsentiretyHERE>

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