He
arrived at the barber’s a half-hour before closing and it was quiet, going
straight to the proffered vacant chair. In the mirror his eyes were a little
quieter now, their redness diminished enough to be excused as consequent to the
October climate.
The
barber floated a sheet of grey nylon over him, tucking it in at the nape of his
neck.
cog
(pulling Skunk’s hair this way and that, lifting the longer strands
disapprovingly): God you’ve had the cowboys at this, haven’t you?
In
lieu of a proper response, Brother Skunk simply shook his head a little, a foul
exhalation escaping lips curled back upon dry teeth.
cog:
So uh...
Skunk
(tapping the grey nylon of his breast): It was me, I’m afraid.
cog:
Well it’s not beyond salvation, not by any means
still
examining the lengths of hair
cog:
I can tidy this up without too much difficulty, although there will be a
Skunk:
Oh no, I’d like it shaved ehm, I’d like it shaved off. The whole...
finding
his explanatory gesture restricted.
cog
(sliding the edge of his palm from the hair on Skunk’s neck up to the crown):
That’s a little drastic isn’t it? I can taper this in if you
Skunk:
No, no.
Aware
of a sudden core coldness he folded his arms beneath the cover.
ache1: Don’t you ever get
that? When you get that kind of cold that feels like it’s coming from ah, from,
as if you’re getting cold from the inside? And even if you stand at the
fire it doesn’t help?
In
the mirror he could see the barber looking at him with his head tipped slightly
forward, his eyebrows raised in the awaiting of response.
Skunk:
Just shave it all off. Down to the skull.
cog:
You’re absolutely sure? You know winter’s just around the corner?
Skunk
(smiling): It’s alright. I’ll get a hat.
and
then seeing how alien his mouth looked, how notional the creasing round his
eyes, he held the expression fixed until he could extricate a hand to touch his
face, running the tips of his fingers across these remembered features.
A
buzzing sounded in his right ear and he felt the cool metal guardplate of the
shears rise up the side of his head, a thick black oblong dropping to the floor
in its wake.
He
relaxed, yawned, smiled again as the floor and apron became littered with
fallen locks of hair until eventually the barber passed his palm across the
glabrous scalp, now only shaded with a fine stubble.
cog:
How’s that? That’s as close as I can get it.
Skunk:
That’s great
looking
in the reflected smaller mirror and seeing for the first time the curious
landscape of his own skull.
Skunk:
Mmhm, that’s fine.
On
his way home he could feel odd draughts of alternately warm and cold air pass
across the shorn flesh of his head, and he thought perhaps his body was somehow
struggling to regulate the temperature in accordance with the unexpected lack
of insulating hair, and happy now the shadow which slipped beneath him and each
streetlight passed was not his own.
