Unforbidden Fruit Toast: Part 1

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin.

Mina, my wife of just 24 hours, lightly touched my thigh – only to get my attention, but it was still more distracting than she relised… probably.

“That’s the place, really it’s quite easy to find with their directions.”

I just nodded reply. She stroked my thigh again and smiled,

“Hon, this was a wonderful idea. This place looks magical.”

“Uh-huh. Umm, your hand is quite distracting there, you know.”

“Really? Is it? Well, it’s lucky we’ll have this cottage all to ourselves for the weekend. It will give you time to… finish getting distracted.”

I steered the hire car to a somewhat wobbly stop in front of the cabin, got out and stretched and rolled my shoulders and neck to get the kinks out from the long drive. Mina came around my side and wrapped her arms around me before giving me a lingering kiss. I relaxed into it and pulled her tight against me.

“Mmmm,” she leaned in, “I’ve got some honeymoon underwear I need to try on. Let’s get inside.”

“Right,” I smiled, “I’ll go find the keys, they said they’d be round the back in a safe behind the garage – I’ve got the code in my phone.” Mina popped the boot as I walked around the back. The safe was where I’d been told and the code was right, but there was a marked lack of keys in the safe; there was just a note:

Safe not secure. I have the keys down in the village at the gift shop. Frieda.

Mina sighed and pouted briefly when I told her, but we climbed back in the sedan and drove the half mile to the village; we could have walked almost as quickly, with the state of the road, but the car heater was a deciding factor. This was just as well. The gift shop doubled as the post office and we drove past it three times before we spotted the excessively ornate sign declaiming: Geschenkenboutique. It was half hidden behind the much larger, demonstrably more functional and, it must be said, mildly terrifying sign of: DIE POST.

“There. There it is,” said Mina, “Geschenkenboutique.”

“Bless you.”

“Stop it. It wasn’t even funny the first time.”

“Says the person who didn’t think of it. Anyway we better get on and… shake our Geshenkin’ boot-ey.”

“No. Stop, stop it right now. Or I’ll get an annulment.”

“Pfft. Spoil sport.”

Frieda proved to be a stern looking older woman with glasses, blonde hair tied back in a rather severe bun, and a delightfully stereotypical Swiss accent to match.

“Ah Meester and Meeses Corby. Hello, hello, I see you hafve arrived.”

“Please, Simon and Mina,” I gestured to each of us.

“Ah thanking you. I see you are a leetle late, was the snow fvery bad on the road.”

“Somewhat yes, but we made it here ok.”

“Fvery good, fvery good, you have arrived just in time, I close the shop now. I must come up and giving you the key.”

“It’s fine, we’ll just grab it and take it from here.”

“Absolutely not. Eet is up at the cottage. I hafve hidden out the back to stop break ins.”

“Could… could I just… get it if you tell me where it’s hidden?”

She sniffed briefly and peered ominously at me over the top of her black-rimmed glasses. I suspected her gaze may have been used to etch the kitsch patterns onto the glassware cluttering the shelves of the Geschenkenboutique.

“No. No, I must keep it safely hidden.”

Mina and I shared a glance and I shrugged.

“Certainly Frieda. We’ll wait in the car ‘til you’re ready.”

“Car? You mean you did not walk down?”

“Uh, we didn’t relise it was this close.”

She peered out the window at the cottage, clearly visible in the near distance, and then glanced at me with a look of mild puzzlement.

“Of course, Simon. Eet is understandable. Naturally, I will walk up and meet you there,” then with a hint of disapproval, “the mountain air is only good if you breathe it.”

As we crawled the car back up the hill, Mina huffed slightly.

“I hope the old biddy doesn’t take too long.”

“By the sounds of it, she walks a lot. No doubt she’ll be up in ten minutes, we’ll have the keys and she’ll leave us to it.”

Mina giggled and side-eyed me, “Leave us to it, eh? I like the sound of that.”

I snorted, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh really,” she waggled her eye-brows, “Meester Corby?”

“I’ll give you Meester Corby.”

“That’s the plan,” and she giggled again.

We spent a very pleasant ten minutes in the car while we waited, and then another impatient half an hour. Eventually Frieda strode into view, huffing up the hill.

“So fvery sorry,” she said with no trace of apology in her voice at all, “a late customer needed fvery much to send a parcel. It took some time.”

Without waiting for a reply she strode around the back of the house and reappeared seconds later with a small key-ring.

“Where was that?” joked Mina, “under the doormat?”

Fireda looked affronted, “Haff you been snooping?”

“No no, no,” I said holding my hands up, “it was just a… a…” I had a premonition of the word ‘joke’ escaping my mouth and frolicking merrily into the path of Frieda’s acid glare, where it would melt into a gooey puddle and stick to my shoe. “…a guess. Because we sometimes put our key in the same place at home.”

Frieda looked far from convinced, but handed over the keys, one for the front door, she explained, the other for the back door and also the small garden shed. But we shouldn’t need to go into the garden shed at all, unless the power went out and we needed candles.

“And the power only goes out if there is a fvery big storm, which nefver happens.”

Then she insisted on showing us through the cottage, and although the cottage itself was not extensive, her explanations certainly were.

“I think we’ll manage,” Mina cut her off, half way through an explanation of the bathroom taps.

“If you’re certain then,” Frieda replied, somehow managing to look slightly affronted, without in any way changing her expression. “So what are you doing for dinner?”

“We were planning on going to the village, the travel guide notes several cafés and a restaurant.”

“Then you will need to hurry. The cafés already are closed. There is only left open the New Slanty Night.”

I glanced at my watch. She was right, the long twilight had, fooled me; it was already past six.

“Thanks, we’ll get going shortly.”

“I will wait and show you the way.”

“That’s really not necessary – ”

“Ah but it is, or you will not find it in time.” She glanced meaningfully back down at the, now obvious, DIE POST-Geschenkenboutique. “In our village, we always help each other out. In the small ways and the big. While you are here, you are more than just a guest. So I will show you the way.”

Naturally we had to walk.

The New Slanty Night turned out to actually be: The New Slainté Knight. I can’t recall ever visiting a Bavarian-Irish-Scottish fusion bar before, and it is certainly an experience that should be tried once. We threaded our way through to the surprisingly packed bar, and were greeted enthusiastically by the bar tender. He would have been a fine example of Bavarian manhood had he been four inches taller, 30 pounds heavier and able to grow a decent moustache. He did however have a beautifully Bavarian booming voice.

“Hello, hello, welcome to New Slainté Knight. I am Hans. What do you want?”

“Ah, we’re just after a drink and some dinner please. Is the kitchen open?”

“Certainly,” he flourished a menu at each of us, “and to drink?”

Noticing the range of beer taps arrayed at the bar, all with names in German, I pointed randomly at two.

“Verry good, verry good,” and he reached under the counter and produced two enormous beer steins, roughly the size of gumboots, and started pulling the beers. This would take some time.

“Sooo, you are here for zer festival, yes?”

“Uh festival? What festival?”

“Whaaat?” he almost roared, then turned and gesticulated to some of the other patrons, throwing his hands up in the universal signal of disbelief. There was a general chuckling and shaking of heads.

“Our famous festival of course, zer Festival… of Feet and Onions. It is all this week, you must know it, it is verry famous, verry famous, our feet and our onions.”

“Famous for what?” said Mina, starting to look a little wild around the eyes, although whether at the filling stein or the proposed festival I wasn’t sure.

“Why, for zer beauty of zer feet and fine onions, of course. They do - how you say… make zer feet most beautiful. Errr, here Zelda, come, come. Zelda!”

A roughly spherical woman appeared from the kitchen.

“What!? What do you want, you silly old man?”

“Tell them of zer feet of course.”

“What, my feet? Why would they want to know about my feet?”

“Not your feet dammit, zer festival, tell them about zer festival.”

“Aah the festival of feet and onions.” She turned to us, “Every year there is competition to see who can make best pedicure using onions.”

“Onions?”

“Yes, yes. Not only onions, now. Used to be only onions. Now they use files and paints and things, but still they must use at least one onion.”

“Because,” interjected Hans, “we grow zer amazing, most magnificent onions here.”

“And…” I shrugged, “they go with feet because…”

Hans chuckled and nodded his index finger at me, “I tell you zer story later of zer beautiful Rhine Maidens who came to our mountain, footsore and weary, and zer village had only zer onions.” He paused to finish pouring the second beer, “But first, if you are not here for zer festival, then why?”

“We’re here on our honeymoon.”

“Zer what? What is that?”

“Our honeymoon,” I repeated, “we’re newly weds.”

A look of joy slowly suffused Hans’ face, while a look of resignation suffused Zelda’s. Hans turned and called out something to the patrons in German and was greeted by a most enthusiastic cheer. He reached down two bottles of spirits.

“For new couple, we give free drink to all customers! And, is our famous sunshine schnaps and our onion whisky!”

He moved down the bar, whisky in one hand, schnaps in the other, quickly filling customers’ nip glasses. Finally he placed a glass before each of us. Mina’s drink was a faint gold colour. It shimmered softly, like silk in gentle sunlight. Mine was a dirty brown colour and smelled of onions.

“Before we drink, I make toast. What are you called?”

“Many things,” I just barely heard Mina mutter to herself, “right now hungry and horny spring to mind.”

I cleared my throat loudly and said, “I’m Simon, this is Mina.”

“Your last name please, for the toast.”

“Oh, ok. Corby.”

Ah, excellent. To zer new couple, I say zis: remember always, to treat your marriage well. Treat it like zer goat-herd does his favourite goat! When zer cold winter snows come, keep it warm. In zer happy spring time, let it play in zer sun. When Summer is full, give it cool water. And in zer long Autumn, let it feast on zer harvest and grow fat and content.”

He raised his glass higher and I lifted mine, but paused waiting for him to drink first.

“And,” he continued, “bathe it frequently, ozerwise, like zer untended goat, it starts to smell. Keep zer toenails clipped and horns polished and zer prickles from its coat. Make sure zer hungry ferrets do not steal its food and check it often for zer worms.”

Many wizened and bearded heads nodded agreement around the room. Kind yet serious faces gravely acknowledged the truth of his words, and paused in obvious contemplation to reflect on their import.

Finally Hans cleared his throat significantly and with an oratorical flourish exclaimed:

“Zer Two Corbys!”

He downed his drink in one swallow, as did the rest of the bar. Mina and I followed suit. The whisky hit my mouth with the gentle caress and subtle piquancy of a sock full of salt and rusty nails. Somehow I managed to swallow without actually retching. My eyes watered, and I gave a slight wheeze.

“Mmmmm,” purred Mina, “what’s in this, it’s fantastic.”

“Ah, our famous schnaps. Is zer secret recipe made by wise women. It will give you…” here he paused to think and made a lifting motion with his hands at chest height, “greatness of bosom.”

“Excuse me?” said Mina.

“Greatness of… your bosom,” he made the lifting motion again. “It will give you zer bosom to care for many, zer bosom to love many, zer bosom to feed many.”

“Er, it will make my… my bosom bigger? Like my uh.” She pointed at her chest with her index fingers and made a twirling motion.

“Yes, your bosom; your inside bosom, go ba-boom ba-boom.” He placed his hand against his left breast and tapped a heart-beat rhythm.

“Ooooh, my heart, right. It will make me big-hearted,” Mina’s face cleared and Hans nodded.

“And what does the whisky do?” I wheezed as my mouth slipped from pained to merely numb.

Hans nodded wisely and gravely said, “It will increase your manhood.”

I nodded back, “Makes me braver, wiser… kinder?”

“No, it just give you zer big dick.”

Then gave what he thought was a suggestive wink but was, in reality, a full-exposition-with-footnotes wink.

“Phew,” said Mina, “it sure packs a punch, I’m feeling a bit dizzy. And tingly.”

Hans frowned, “Tingle? Dizzy?”

I glanced across at my wife, red blotches were appearing around her mouth.

“Hans, what’s in this secret recipe, does it have any strawberries?”

“I think it might, yes.”

“Bugger,” I cursed quietly to myself, “come on hon, we’ll get you back to the cabin. And some antihistamines. Can you help me carry her up the hill?”

In the end Zelda helped us up the hill, made sure we were inside ok, and sat with my debilitated wife while I fumbled through her suitcase looking for medicine.

“I will be back soon with somet’ing to eat – you did not get to have dinner.”

When I thanked her profusely she merely said, “While you are here, you are more than guest. We help each other in the village in all ways.”

Mina was sound asleep by the time Zelda returned, and I knew the medication and reaction to strawberries would keep her out for over twelve hours. I sat up on the bed, and ate Zelda’s supper and kept an eye on my wife in case the reaction was stronger than expected, and stroked her beautiful hair and ignored the drool that pooled on the pillow. I put on some music to help stay awake, at least until I was sure she’d be ok.

All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die,

Says the man next to me, outta no-where…

Heh, fun eh. Some honeymoon so far.