Phil W. Bayles

Serious ideas from a silly man.


Kalsarikännit

A Short Story About Beer.


The evening stretches before him like an ocean: wide, flat, and empty.

He kicks off his shoes and socks in the hallway, digs his bare toes into the sand-coloured carpet. He peels off his suit – which had clung to his body on the train as if afraid to touch the other, equally sweaty commuters – and lets it tumble to the floor. He’ll pick it up later.

He pads to the kitchen and opens the fridge. Cold air blasts onto his chest, his nipples standing to attention in chilly delight. He could stay in this artificial winter wonderland forever. But he also knows his wife will be home in a few short hours.

Carpe noctem, he thinks. Seize the night.

He reaches inside the vegetable drawer, past wilting lettuce leaves and a floppy cucumber, and wraps his fingers around his prize: a four-pack of lagers, hidden three days ago in anticipation of tonight.

He saunters back to the living room, beers dangling from one hand, and lowers himself into the armchair with a regal grace. His back and legs instantly stick to the leather, but he doesn’t worry. He’s not going anywhere.

The first can opens with a crack like a starting pistol. He lifts it to his lips and drinks deeply. Hops and barley and ice water dance on his tongue and tumble down his throat, turning the warm sludge in his veins back into blood.

He sighs. He sips. He sighs again.

His phone buzzes on the arm of the chair. It’s Rikesh from work.

Sorry you couldn’t make it out tonight, the message reads. Hope you’re feeling better soon!

He smiles to himself and drains the rest of the can in one long pull. One down. Three to go.

He’s feeling better already.


This was a short piece I wrote during my week in Nantes last year. Our prompt was to write something based on an untranslatable word from another language. I chose “Kalsarikännit” — the Finnish tradition of staying at home and getting drunk in your underpants (as demonstrated by this charming song).

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