Every Coalition citizen knew about the boxy German with a neck as wide as a barrel who’d taught Our All Father how to speak in dialect. Günther had shown him how to play dice too, and they’d spent countless evenings rolling six dice in a green felt dish: Günther winning and Our All Father practising counting in German. “There would have been no RACHEL without Günther,” Our All Father had proclaimed many times during his Coalition life.
There was a whole section of the Great Hall of Remembrance dedicated to Günther: they’d painstakingly reconstructed the bar, with the old band and 1968 political posters. They’d rebuilt the pinball machine, and visitors could smell the faint smell of tobacco smoke that had impregnated the wooden walls so thoroughly that it could still be smelt ten years after the smoking ban of 2007.
They had genetically engineered replicants of the locals, the bar staff and, of course, Günther, who had sadly died during the bombings. An old-fashioned television screen hung behind the bar, grey with synthetic dust and alternately showing archive footage of international snooker tournaments and Eintracht Frankfurt football matches.