One-dollar bills on the wall

The last dance-1

The man entered the bar with his head held high and proud. Though his huge shoulders radiated strength, their stoop showed that they carried a heavy burden. The air in the typical Irish pub froze. A soft cloud of smoke crept across the room, unaware that he should pause to pay profound homage to the grandeur of the moment. Everyone inside knew the person who had entered. Everyone moved back from the tables, respectfully giving way to him in stunned silence.

The pub was simple, as you would expect from a poor drinking establishment. It was furnished with the bare essentials: a few simple tables, creaky chairs, a few unpretentious wall decorations, and a few rusty flowers in ornate ceramic pots. The bar was made of simple splintered wood, which was only there to separate the customers from the barman. Yet there was something unique and intimate about the bar. It was a place of togetherness. It was a hidden corner of the small village, a place where people could relax in the evenings. The torment of oppression left a deep mark on all of their souls, but the hope of one day being free of it never faded.

At that moment, the secret leader of the resistance entered, whose name was never mentioned, to protect his life. Through their secrecy, they were able to contribute to the victory. Now, after a long time, he just appeared. Those in the pub were shocked to see his hands in handcuffs.

- Publican! Give me a beer! - said the leader, smiling.

The bubbling brown ale was immediately in front of him. He drank the last drop in measured sips, then looked around in satisfaction.

- Would anyone present an object to a dance?

The men were at a loss to understand how their leader had found the courage to amuse himself when the soldiers stood outside waiting for him. But they respected his wishes and surrounded him.

- "My friends!" he cried. "Help me!

- Barman! Give me a beer! - said the leader with a smile on his face.

The sparkling brown ale was immediately in front of him. He drank the last drop in measured sips, then looked around with satisfaction.

- Would anybody be bothered if I dance?

The folks were at a loss to understand why is their leader so brave to amuse himself when the soldiers stood outside waiting for him. But they respected his wishes and surrounded him.

- My friends! - he shouted. Help me!

With his bound hands clasped to his knees, his feet tapping the beat, he began to sing. The f*******n song made some people lose heart, and those caught in the act were immediately imprisoned. They didn"t move, just stared at their leader.

Then the barman started in his gravelly voice.

The barman"s courage was infectious, and slowly the whole pub joined in. The desire for freedom echoed within the walls. The sight of their daring leader was the triumph of faith over doubt. For a moment, they let the music and the dancing sweep them away into the illusion of freedom.

The tavern thundered, accompanied by the devil"s drum solo. The soldiers waiting outside could hear the riotous singing. The troop"s second ensign took a step towards the building to put an end to the riot but was stopped by a single wave of the commander"s hand.

- We gave him his chance," he said. - Every song must end sometime.

Inside, feet stamped and hands went up. The exhilarating feeling of alignment forged them into one. The last verse was played. Some were so carried away by the fervour that they were about to start another song when their leader raised his hand.

- It was over! - he said forcefully. - That was it. One song.

He turned to the barman:

- What do I owe you?

- "Be my guest and know that you"re always welcome.

The man nodded slowly:

- God bless you all!

Without looking at anyone, he stepped out into the darkness of the outside world. A small lamp was lit on the outside wall of the pub, illuminating the space in front of the white wall.

- Will this be all right? - he asked.

- All right. - The captain"s voice sounded detached. One by one the soldiers lined up opposite the leader.

The tavern was silent.

- Fire!

Legend has it that Irish dancers dance with their hands on their thighs in memory of this day.

In memory of my friend Ivan

Ivan sat in the room, staring at the two packages in his hands. Across from him, an authoritative but curious pair of eyes waited to see what he had to say about the items he had just handed over. Both were tastefully wrapped.

- Well, open it, Ivan! - said the producer of the Duma Theatre, without taking his eyes off the two gifts. He had recently wrapped them with his secretary so that he could see the excitement of opening them on the other"s face.

Ivan slowly and gingerly unwrapped them, one after the other.

- Say something! What do you think? Won"t you say a word? That"s not like you!

- Yes, it is.

That"s all Ivan could say, because at that moment his throat was tight and his eyes blurred. He was struggling to cry. He looked at the two parcels, then at the man who was trying to decipher the emotions that were raging inside him.

- Listen to me, Ivan! If someone had told me three months ago that I"d be so happy to see you cry, I"d have laughed! And yet now I have to say: I am happy! You know why?" he continued, smiling.

Six months earlier

They met on the terrace of a Mexican restaurant. Balázs and Tündi automatically went to the table where there was loud laughter.

They weren"t far wrong, where Ivan appeared, the storytelling started, and within five minutes the party was roaring with laughter. No one ever complained that he was impossible to talk to, and everyone, without exception, gave in. It always came to the point where they were wiping their tears with laughter. There was something special and endearing about the way he would lead the jokes with his slightly hoarse voice and amused coolness, and then always hit the punch line so masterfully. In a boyish way - despite his sixty years of age - he craned his neck like a teenager and said just that:

- Well! Did you ever think?

Ivan was still the center of attention. He was the life of the party. It kept him alive.

- Listen to me," Balázs began. Construction is not for you.

The company nodded enthusiastically, they knew what was coming. They chorused:

- You should be in stand-up comedy!

- "A little man with big plans?" said Ivan. I"d stand up on stage and they wouldn"t see the back of my head.

Ivan was fond of making fun of his height. You never knew if he was bothered or if he was making a joke about it.

- Anyway, what would I be in the limelight without a reason to live, right, Macsek? - he winked mischievously at his wife Marianne.

Everyone knew the tried and tested script: Marianna would lead off the story, Ivan would join in and then take over completely.

Balázs, however, did not budge.

- But seriously! Why don"t you want to go to an audition? What do you have to lose?

- Come on! At my age, what would I be doing among all those youngsters? It"s not for me anymore

- Ivan leaned closer to his friend. - Balázs, I"ll tell you a secret. When I"d go on stage, I"d wet my pants. You could read the barcode! And I must admit, I"ve already toyed with the idea...Anyway, never mind, I"ll never get the chance! - Ivan smiled.

Balázs was not satisfied with the last sentence, and the next day he called Marianna and presented his wild plan.

- You always did love to surprise Ivan, didn"t you? I have an idea of how he can make his debut as a comedian without embarrassing the audience.

- Oh, Balas, you"re sweet, but don"t bother. If she heard you had to go on stage, she"d probably freeze up. I don"t think we should push it.

- But why shouldn"t she do what she loves in front of a lot of people?

- Because he"ll be nervous. It could go wrong and I don"t want it to fail.

- But, Marianna, you know that one or two stories can knock the socks off the performances of many a comedian on the rise. They"re no match for Ivan! - Balázs insisted.

- That"s true.

- There, you see! I"ve found a way for him to perform without knowing it. Are you interested or not?

- Oh, good! Don"t get me excited.

- Here"s the plan. I invite you all to a live taping of stand-up. We"ll sit in the audience for the first part, and during the interval, we"ll go out into the lobby, where one of the studio doors will "accidentally" open. We get Ivan and the others to sneak in because we need to call in a few more laugh machines from the g**g. One of the heads of the Dumbass Theatre owes me a favour, he lets us into the professional studio, even recording us with cine cameras, and the technicians feed us back from the break. It is a cardinal question whether Ivan will be in form there and then, whether he will be able to get the spirit out of it. If he does, it"s a win, if he doesn"t, we lose big, but at least we tried.

- Wait a minute! - Marianna interjected.

- He"s quite a daring guy, he"s the producer and he owes me a favour. We just need your consent, we take a risk or we drop the whole thing and swear never to tell Ivan. I say we do it, but it"s your decision.

After a week of wrangling, Marianna agreed. They told no one but Tündi, Balázs"s wife, and she was given the facts because she would have talked them out of this madness.

On the big night, five couples came together, old friends who had known each other for a thousand years. After they had all taken their seats, Ivan cracked a few jokes in the auditorium, which even made some of the people in the next seat smile, which the conspirators took as a good sign.

- "I"m a nervous wreck," whispered Balázs to Marianne.

- Stop here!" she held up a finger. "Don"t start panicking! We"ve started, and now we"re going to do it!

As soon as the first part of the performance was over, Tündi and Marianna immediately stood up, following the crowd out. In the lobby, they found the studio door open, and neither of them minded sneaking in.

Meanwhile, Balázs had unnoticed sent a "We"re in!" text message to the producer.

The company looked around for a few minutes, but couldn"t help themselves. Being mature enough people, they didn"t touch the instruments, so Ivan urged them to leave:

- Well, now we"ve had our fun, let"s go back because I hear that everyone is heading back to the auditorium.

Everyone was already in their seats except them, and just at that moment, the producer informed the audience that they had an extra surprise for tonight: a cine-camera shot as one of the highlights of the performance. Meanwhile, the man stealthily kept an eye on the company in the studio, who, despite what had been discussed, was in dead silence.

Balázs"s idea was now pushing the evening towards an outright failure. The uninitiated friends could not understand why Marianne and her friends insisted on staying in the studio. In the audience, things were getting awkward. After a while, the wait became overwhelming, with the audience squirming in their seats, turning around, asking each other questions, not knowing what was happening. But the producer persisted, even though he had entered the picture in vain, the stand-up comedy of the supposedly super-talented Ivan did not start. Slowly, disaster struck.