Chapter 9: Old Bai's Art of Speaking

The bar was very empty; that was a fact.

Because this nameless small town didn't have many people either; the young ones had gone elsewhere to make a living, leaving only some old folks barely hanging on.

So the people who came to the bar were all local residents, all acquaintances.

Many times, Old John was busy with other things. Customers who came in would know the ropes, grab a glass for themselves, pour their own drinks; sometimes they'd just grab a can of beer and find a bottle opener themselves. Then they'd toss the money into the cash basket on the bar counter.

This was also why Old John could run a bar all by himself. He didn't forbid others from serving themselves. Of course, he couldn't help but mutter a few curses.

If one wanted a proper meal, there was another restaurant in town. Old John didn't try to steal business from them; he just focused on selling alcohol and some simple bar snacks.

The old folks in town were very old-school in their ways, so most only gathered at the tavern in the evening. They wouldn't come running to get drunk in broad daylight unless something particularly good had happened.

They drank with restraint too; mostly one can of beer or an alcoholic beverage of roughly that amount was enough.

Whoever showed up with an attitude of trying to drink themselves to death, if they were alone, no need to ask much; everyone could guess something sad had happened at home.

If two or more people were drinking like crazy, then it was a happy occasion.

Ask around a little bit; if help was needed and could be given, naturally they would help. If it couldn't be helped, everyone would tacitly give the other person some space to be alone.

Everyone was of an age now; they were long past being depressed teenagers who would want to commit suicide over sadness. Just give them some time to adjust.

If it was a happy occasion worth celebrating, no need to ask much; they would naturally want to find someone to share it with.

There was one situation that changed Henry's prejudice, which was the belief that white people didn't understand the art of cursing.

Actually, such a stereotype was wrong.

Perhaps those American teenagers deeply influenced by Black culture had become prone to restlessness. Rather than blabbering with their mouths, they preferred to settle things with guns.

But white people of the redneck culture were quite rich in their rhetoric for cursing. At least, for a country where stand-up comedy thrived, to say they couldn't mock people was a bit of self-deception.

Henry had heard more than once, things like:

"You finally showed up looking like a human again, instead of always hiding somewhere else. I was about to think the bar counter was my home, you despicable, shameless son of a bitch."

"Yeah, I'm surprised the hell you could still run up to me and say that. I thought you were already planted six feet under. Oh, that's what I hope happens, not what happens to you, that's right. Once you step through my door, speak like a human, damn it, instead of mumbling like a nigger."

"Forget it, give me a bottle of beer."

"Ten cents."

"What, ten cents! Oh my god, Old John, what are you, half Jewish or something? You keep raising that damn price."

"A can of beer going up to ten cents has been rising for ten years. You stubborn Scottish son of a bitch, if you have amnesia, you should go see a doctor."

"Yeah, keep your change; use it for medical bills later."

"I'll take your money, donate it to the church, and ask the priest to save you a plot in the cemetery."

Mutual mockery of this sort always played out in the bar, happening two or three dozen times a day. It had almost become the way Old John and the others greeted each other.

America in the nineties, although various political correctness movements were beginning to awaken, hadn't yet reached the point of opposing white traditions. So the Black jokes and racial jokes heard from these mouths came one after another; no one was spared.

Admittedly, some words, if spoken by people from different cultural backgrounds, wouldn't necessarily understand the punchlines. That was undeniable.

Even though these things couldn't be said in public in a few decades, it didn't stop Henry from learning how to integrate into this old-school society, living like an American white person, not like a street thug.

No matter what, his appearance was already confined to a certain range. Was there any benefit to making his words and deeds like a Black person's?

As for acting like a citizen of a nation of etiquette, as in his past life, actually living in a timid and submissive manner, bowing and scraping everywhere, in this world he would only be looked down upon.

The old white men in town wouldn't think this young man was gentle and refined, humble and polite; they would only think he was a wimp!

The old white women in town were even worse; they directly treated this big guy as a girl with a glass heart, outwardly male but inwardly female.

Being treated as a wimp was one thing; that fit his life principle of pretending to be stupid and slacking off. But being treated as a sissy, that was unbearable; especially being a sissy in the eyes of fujoshi. That meant he was a uke!

Although the term 'fujoshi' probably hadn't appeared in this era yet, that didn't mean such people didn't exist!

But to say it a third time, the bar was really empty. So most of the time, Henry passed the time watching an old CRT TV on the bar counter.

Old John hadn't subscribed to any pay channels, so besides free news channels, it was just TV channels constantly replaying old movies and old soap operas.

It was a color TV, yet it was broadcasting black-and-white movies, but it still made Henry watch in fascination.

He watched these old movies not to learn English or anything like that; he was simply bored out of his mind.

Locked in a research institute by the Soviets for nearly twenty years with no sunlight, let alone entertainment, he didn't even have the most basic human interaction.

For someone who was already used to solitude in his past life, having no one to talk to wasn't a big deal. But having no entertainment at all, that would truly drive a person crazy.

Having finally seen the light of day again and being taken in by Old John, Henry naturally didn't expect to live a life of red lights and green wine.

Even if he wanted to, this nameless small town didn't have the conditions for that. So the old TV channels on that broken TV set became the only salvation for him, this invisible shut-in.

If the fatty's happy water (internet slang for streaming services) was fully stocked, that would be truly wonderful. Unfortunately, Old John had already been magnanimous enough to provide ample food.

These things were like compensating for the deficit owed in the past, constantly being absorbed by the body.

Has anyone ever seen someone who only eats and never defecates, only drinks and never urinates? Henry was in exactly that situation now.

All food entering his mouth was converted by his body with one hundred percent efficiency. No feces or urine would be produced, so naturally he wouldn't poop or pee.

At the same time, his thin figure kept changing, becoming stronger and more burly.

The whole person was like a balloon being inflated, changing almost every day. Anyone paying attention could see it.

As for Old John's mindset, Henry could feel it to some extent. It was just that you bring nothing when you're born and take nothing when you die, so if someone could use it, he didn't mind at all.

Anyway, in this broken place called Alaska, saving money wouldn't turn him into a millionaire. No matter how much he lost, he wouldn't lose his entire fortune.

So for a young man who needed help, he didn't hesitate to lend a hand.

This had nothing to do with whether he was Black or white; it was just that the future belonged to the young, not to an old man like him with half a leg already in the coffin.

New book seeking follows, favorites, and recommendations; thank you~~

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(End of this chapter)