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Horst passed him a bottle he had picked up in his rapid trip from there to here. Remarkably, it’s contents had survived the transit. “Drink this,” he said, unmoved by Cabal’s anger. “You need to save your voice for your next session.” Cabal took the bottle testily and swigged from it. there was a moments pause, just long enough for Cabal’s expression to change from testy to horrified revulsion. He spat the liquid violently onto the grass like a man who has got absent-minded with the concentrated nitric acid and a mouth pipette. He glared at Horst as he took off his spectacles and wiped his suddenly weeping eyes “Disinfectant? You give me disinfectant to drink?” Horst’s surprise was replaced with mild amusement. “It’s root beer, Johannes. Have you never had root beer?” Cabal looked suspiciously at him, then at the bottle “People drink this?” “Yes.” “For non-medical reasons?” “That’s right.” Cabal shook his head in open disbelief. “They must be insane.
