The Short Story Of Clara Lazare

The Strange Tale Of Clara Lazare

Jim Doyle was sitting at the bar alone. He had rushed into the bar looking like a drowned rat to take shelter from the high wind and stinging heavy rain that had sprung up out of nowhere. He had been there for about three beers now. The rain outside was showing no sign of abating anytime soon; in fact, the weather forecasts were predicting a worsening of the weather. That was fine, it fit in perfectly with his sour mood. Doyle had no place to be right now, thanks to Roberts, the lowlife. Doyle figured he'd be here for a few beers more. The only other patrons in the bar were two elderly men sitting at a table at the far side of the room, talking quietly to each other. A strong gust of wind rattled the building, seeming to shake it to its very foundations, which only added more emphasis to Doyle's already dark mood.

McNamara's bar was sparingly lit; the light coming through the huge window was wan on this miserable day. The overhead bar lighting was doing its best to chase away the gloom from the rest of the room along with the Irish-green lights crisscrossing the window. The homely warmth in the bar came from two sizzling logs spitting smoldering embers past the fireguard in the fireplace, along the far wall. The warmth of the fire was very much appreciated by Doyle.

A sign on the polished rosewood bar promised:

"Well, two out of three isn't bad," Doyle had muttered humorlessly under his breath upon first seeing the sign.

The door to the bar was pushed open. An older lady entered the bar, and as she did so a sudden gust of wind snatched the door out of her hand and slammed it against its hinges amid a deluge of rain that accompanied her as she entered the bar.

"Damn wind," she muttered, loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. The two other patrons looked up at her entrance, then quickly got back to their muted conversation. She shook herself, as a dog would after a bath, ridding herself of the last vestiges of any rain. The old crone, bent almost double, walked using a wooden cane in her right hand to keep her upright. The tat-tat of the cane on the cold, tiled floor announced her slow approach to the bar. As she arrived at the bar she glanced at Jim. "Do you mind if I sit next to you, Mr. Doyle?" she asked in a wheezy voice.

"No, not at all, pull up a stool," Doyle replied, not recognizing that the old woman had used his name. He stood and eased a bar stool back for the old lady to ease herself onto. Eventually, after an eternity trying to get onto the high stool, she finally settled herself. Doyle pushed her and the stool closer to the bar before seating himself again.

"Thank you, young man," she acknowledged his assistance. The old lady leaned her wooden cane up at the bar next to her. She glanced at the barmaid and in a raspy voice, she croaked, "Francine, make it a double, it's happened again. Oh and make it the same for this kind gentleman here."

"Jim Doyle, and thank you."

"Clara Lazare. And I know who you are, Mr. Doyle." The old woman introduced herself and reached over and grasped Doyle's hand in hers, giving it a surprisingly firm shake.

Doyle was surprised at the strength in her handshake, but what stunned him the most was the coldness of her hand. Touching her hand was like grasping a block of ice. "You don't have to buy me a drink, Clara, but thank you." Doyle extracted his hand from hers pretty quickly.

Lazare didn't seem to notice this. "Oh, I insist, sir. For being such a gentleman." She hollered, "Francine, what about those two drinks?"

Francine responded with, "On their way." She finished pouring two shots of brandy into two tumblers, added ice and waddled over to the old lady with the drinks. She placed them in front of the two customers.

"I told you it happened again, didn't I? Him upstairs won't be very happy." She jerked her head skywards.

Francine leaned against the bar and reached out and gently stroked Lazare's arm. "Sounds like you need a good overhaul, old girl." The barmaid grinned a radiant grin that lit up her whole face.