The Bet

Raucous laughter echoed through the warm autumn air, accompanied by the constant clinking of glass and the blare of brass music in the background.

Hands drummed on the long wooden table, sagging beneath the sheer weight of burly arms and brimming beer steins.

“That is without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” a portly man finally rasped out, before taking a deep swig that was immediately followed by a loud belch.

“It was a joke! He can’t possibly be serious, can he?” claimed an equally corpulent man sitting right next to him, taking a hearty bite of his pretzel slathered with crackling lard.

At last, a third man rose to his feet.

His belly bumped against the edge of the table, and the resulting tremor sent a split second of panic flashing through the eyes of his fellow revelers.

“Friends, friends, friends!” he began, resting his fleshy hand on the shoulder of the man to his left.

“Max here is a respectable member of our community, and we really shouldn’t be making fun of him!” his voice boomed as he shot Max a smug grin.

The laughter ebbed as he went on:

“I think it’s happened to all of us before, whether drunk or sober, that in the pale light we thought we saw something that simply couldn’t be real. That our minds played a trick on us, and despite all our doubts, we fell for it!”

A collective, reverent nod rippled through the festive crowd.

But Max did not move.

His gaze was fixed on the half eaten pork knuckle in front of him, his hands clasped beneath the table, slick with sweat and trembling.

He ground his teeth as his supposed advocate finished his speech.

“So let’s stop picking on Max and forgive him for letting his imagination run away with him!”

“Hear, hear!” someone called back, quickly joined by others.

Before sitting back down, he straightened up once more, pulled a crumpled banknote from his Lederhosen, and held it theatrically aloft.

“And as a token of appreciation for our self-proclaimed cryptozoologist here, I suggest we all chip in now to finance his studies …”

A brief pause.

Expectant silence.

“… at the University of Cloud-Cuckoo-Land!”

Once again, thunderous laughter rolled through the crowd.

Meaty paws slapped Max on the back, more banknotes were tossed in his direction.

That was when the blood finally rushed to his head.

Without warning, he sprang, shoved the arms away and climbed onto the beer bench.

“M-MAKE ALL THE JOKES YOU WANT, I KNOW WHAT I SAW!”

But the crowd did not fall silent.

Instead, the laughter grew even louder.

“I take it all back, the little fellow’s completely mad!” gasped the pot-bellied man who had earlier assumed Max’s claims were a joke.

But Max’s pride could no longer stomach the humiliation.

“IT WAS A WOLPERTINGER! AND IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME, THEN YOU SURELY WOULDN’T OBJECT TO A LITTLE BET, WOULD YOU?!”

Max’s voice struggled to compete with the roaring laughter.

Yet the moment the word bet was spoken, the collective spirit of the crowd seemed to prick up its ears.

“What kind of bet?” a hoarse voice finally called out.

Max swallowed.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow.

There was no turning back now, he realized.

“W-well … i-if … if I present one to you. Right here! Before the final fireworks. Then you’ll have to pay for my proper university studies! Including lodging, fees and books!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd again, but this time it was quieter, tinged with pity.

“And what do we get if you don’t manage it?” someone shouted.

Max hesitated.

“If I don’t manage it … then … then … well …”

He groped for words, searching for something, anything, he could offer them.

But someone else was quicker.

“If you don’t manage it …” began the neighbor to his right, now looking up at Max with clasped hands and a mocking grin, “… then you forget about Resi. No engagement, no ‘I do,’ and no wedding!”

Max went pale.

“T-Theresia?” he blurted out in shock.

A murmur swept through the festive gathering.

“Isn’t that a bit harsh, Hans?” a man at the other end of the table tried to placate him.

But Hans shook his head solemnly.

“If Max here thinks he needs to make himself important with tall tales, especially ones as ridiculous as this, then he simply doesn’t deserve to marry a pure girl like her.”

“It’s not a tall tale!” Max shot back passionately.

“In that case,” Hans replied with an icy stare, “you surely won’t mind standing before the congregation at the mass and admitting that you’re a liar, and that Resi ought to find herself a better man, should you lose the bet.”

Approving nods passed through the crowd.

“That sounds fair!”

“If he still refuses to admit it, he really doesn’t deserve her!”

Max looked left and right. His hands clenched into fists.

“I ACCEPT!”

Silence.

Disbelieving faces.

Then a low murmur of whispers.

“Very well, Max,” Hans said calmly at last, extending his meaty hand. “Then we’ll see each other again on the last Sunday of the month, before the Kehraus Festival, and we’ll be expecting your Wolpertinger, dead or alive.”

Max was still standing on the beer bench, staring at the outstretched hand.

He hesitated for a moment, then jumped down and shook it.

“A bet’s a bet!” someone shouted, and a chorus of approval followed.

And by the time Max stepped away from the table, vanishing into the night, the feast went on without him.

“… what a fool,” Hans only muttered behind him.