Softsoap...

A barber has to soothe an agitated customer with a tall tale. Adapted from a produced short film screenplay.

Texas, USA, mid-twentieth century. Weak sunlight filters through a Venetian style blind into a large utilitarian room.  The horizontal slats of the blind completely cover a storefront size window which takes up almost all of the righthand side wall and throws pale hazy stripes across the floor. On the ceiling, a pair of fluorescent fixtures are mounted on each side of a large fan. The lugubriously turning blades create a slight downward draft and an ever-moving shadow.

 

On a worktop attached to the back wall stands a large folding mirror, a hefty portable radio and a leather medical-style bag marked ‘Bernie's Barbers'. Next, to the bag, an array of barbers implements are neatly laid on a white towel.  A sad-looking narrow-faced man in his twenties is seated facing the mirror. He is draped in a candy-striped sheet which is tucked in around his neck but hitched up at the front where his hands hold a magazine. The cover features a Rockwellesque family proudly standing around a large American car of the sort popular in the nineteen-fifties. The young man, whose hair has been buzzed down to stubble, looks over the top of the magazine at his reflection.

 

Bernie the barber is adjusting the tuning dial on the radio. He is a big man, middle-aged with an air of prosperity. He wears grey suit trousers and white shirt whose sleeves are cinched in above the elbows by elasticated armbands. The radio finally produces some dance band music and Bernie keeps the volume low. He turns, "Almost done Ned," he states in a confident Texan drawl while he flicks some clipped hair from Ned's shoulders with a small brush.

 

Ned stares fixedly at his magazine, he is very uncomfortable. It is hot, the fan doesn't make much difference and both men sweat visibly. "Right here we go." Bernie starts lathering the top of Ned's stubbly head. When it is covered he selects a cut-throat razor, delicately angles Ned's head and raises the razor to start. But Ned is jittery, he trembles and swallows dramatically. Bernie, hovers a moment, considering, "Is it the music?" he gets no answer, "does it bother you?" Ned scowls, then grunts. The Barber rambles on, "I like a good tune. Makes the day spin along, somehow..." Ned doesn't reply. Now the Barber frowns, this is going to be awkward. He thinks maybe the music isn't helping and turns the radio off. Looking back to Ned he makes another painful attempt to continue the conversation. "…and the movies. I like movies. Though who'd have guessed that there was Commies in Hollywood...how do you like that? You pay ‘em your dime for a couple of movies and Joe MaCarthy's caught ‘em out feeding us commie propaganda," Bernie laughs, "and we woz paying to watch it!"

 

Ned isn't listening. His face is sweaty and he is getting restless. The Barber can't work on a moving target and he is getting irritated, shaving isn't supposed to be such hard work. He snaps, "Quit dancin' about will ya. I'm good. But you keep bobbin' and you'll get cut..." Ned just grunts and looks even more uncomfortable. Bernie goes on "You havta consider my reputation. I never as much as nick anyone." Ned nods then stares at the magazine with grim determination. But he can't even stop his hands trembling much less concentrate on reading. He sighs loudly and lowers the magazine. Bernie gently takes it from him and puts on the worktop. He suggests, "Maybe if you think about somethin' else. Think as hard you can but about somethin' else. That's the trick of it."

 

Ned gives a derisive snort. Both men settle into a silent moment. The young man seems to calm down, Bernie has the razor poised to make the first shaving sweep when Ned twitches his head. The razor is flipped away before it can do any harm. The barber is getting desperate, he's never going to finish at this rate. "Much more of this and I'm gonna start gettin' jittery." After a pause, an idea emerges, "Think of somewhere you've been. Somewhere real nice. The seashore, how about that? The boardwalk," Bernie smiles wistfully getting carried away with his own story, "the sands… I grew up in a town like that... near the ocean. Long hot summers, one summer I remember... I used to run with a pretty wild crowd... we piled driftwood under the hot dog stand and set fire to it... we was just kids, understand? Anyhow, we damn near damaged the guy who worked there. What with the smell of them dogs and the hot doughnut fat and the heat, he didn't know the place was on fire till his clothes caught light... he was across that sand and into the ocean like Haley's comet." Bernie grins broadly, enjoying the recollection, "And the girls... oh my, the beautiful girls..."

 

Ned sighs loudly and Bernie is brought down to earth. "Yeah, maybe not..." There is an awkward silence. Ned starts to fidget again, the barber struggles to think of something that'll divert him enough to finish the job. Then the barber nods seriously as if having made a decision. "Hey, look, this is a one time deal… I can tell you something that'll make your hair stand on end..." he grins broadly. "make my job easier! BUT it's a secret. A real secret. You gotta swear to me, here and now that'll never breathe a word of this - to no one. NEVER. You got that?" Ned glances up via the mirror and Bernie repeats, "Now you gotta swear. It's real important that you ain't gonna tell no one." Ned nods very slightly in agreement. He is trying not to look too interested but he is hooked.

 

"Ookaay..." Bernie sharpens the razor on a leather strop fixed to the chair back while he organises his thoughts. "I used to run a little business, barbering, store off main street, nothing fancy, but it was the only game in town. It wasn't ever gonna make me rich, but then I weren't gonna die of starvation neither." The cut-throat razor in the hands of an obvious craftsman begins to carefully shave the hair from Ned's head, finally, it is going well. The barber smiles to himself.

 

"I was gettin' ready to shut up one evening when two guys come in. Now they don't want haircuts cos' they've already got real beauts. I know right away they do government work, nobody cuts hair like Uncle Sam. They say they're from the military base that's a little way outta town. Ordinarily, I wouldn't see any of they're custom cos they got their own barber. Now, these two guys breeze in, they have a kind of, like authority. They are used to having people do what they say. And they say they want me to do some work on the base. ‘You got your own guy' I tell them. ‘Yeah' they say, but he's off sick or something and this is an emergency." Bernie stop for a moment to admire his work then continues, "I'd never heard of a barbering emergency before but I could tell that these guys weren't jokers. I was gonna get paid for my time as well as for the work, and I was closing up anyway, so I figured why not? I collected up some scissors, razors and soap. Walked out to their car and off we went."

 

Ned sits transfixed by the barbers' tale. The shaving is progressing well. The Barber with satisfaction observes that his story is calming the young man. "These military places have top of the line security. Have to have. But you know, I saw armed guards take one look at these guys' papers then shrink back like we was royalty. We got wisked through security checks like we had the President his self in that car." The barber pauses for dramatic effect, he is getting to the point of the yarn, "After we parked up these guys escort me, real close, into, like a small hospital but it's full of kids stuff. Big soft toys and a frame for climbing on. It's a research centre, they tell me and I get shown a room with three tables with what looks like kids laying on them under white sheets. Now I'm already getting not happy and then they face me with what I'm thinking is some kinda paediatric mortuary and I'm starting to think here I am sliding deeper and deeper into something hellish…" Bernie's face clouds at the memory, he glances around the room and licks his lips looking like a man who could do with a stiff drink. He looks down at Ned's head and returns to his task and his tale, "One of the guys, and he can see I'm getting skittish, he pulls back one of the sheets and says, see there's nothing to worry about. I look and it's a goddamn monkey. and it ain't dead, it's breathing."

 

The barber is shaken by his own recall, he struggles to compose himself and continues, "The guy explains that they got this plane… now, this is secret, but it's not the secret SECRET. Okay?" Ned grunts and Bernie nods, "This plane flies higher than any plane before, stratosphere they said. It takes photos of foreign parts without anyone who lives there knowing about it. The guys who fly these things have to wear special high altitude pressure suits and they got this new one that's being tested. But they don't wanna test on a real pilot cos they cost a lot to train - so what are they gonna do? Build a capsule, string it up to a balloon and send up the goddamn monkeys!" The barber stops working for a moment to resharpen his razor, he continues, "Then at the last minute some expert tells them the test will be worthless cos monkeys don't sweat like men, cos they're covered in hair. So what they gonna do now? Bernie excitedly proclaims his punchline, "Shave the goddamn monkeys, that's what."

 

Ned compresses his lips in good-natured disbelief. The barber grins, "No. No, true. They had already tried. They got the barber they keep on the base and he's lathering up this ape, who is eating the soap as fast as he can put it on, the ape starts vomiting, goes absolutely crazy, the barber gets so badly bitten that he's hospitalised." Bernie catches his breath, then, "Okay, so now they're getting the idea of it, they feed the monkeys knock out drops and fetch me in. So, like I said, I'm getting paid, it's legit work so I just get on with it. I shave these critters from head to toe." Bernie goes quiet as he reapplies lather to around Ned's ears. He surveys his work for a moment then picks up the razor and continues. "So, when the jobs all done and these things are totally bald they bring in real tailored little high altitude suits, dress them up. Load them into a pressurised capsule and shoot them up into the sky." The barber laughs at the memory of it, Ned joins in the laughter, now completely at ease. Bernie shakes his head at the foolishness of it all, "The whole stupid contraption got as far as New Mexico before it crashed. Killed two of the monkeys outright. Before the government men could get to the wreck it had been found and reported to the sheriff and his sidekicks from some dustbowl town. Course, as far as they were concerned these grey-skinned little critters with big brown eyes in high altitude suits couldn't be nothing but spacemen. Little men from Mars, or somewhere… Now, Uncle Sam is hardly going to admit having treated the poor dumb critters so badly so the sheriff and his men are never told the truth. They're still out there now blathering about alien some-thing-or-others. But everybody else, the ones that knew, including me and now you, is solemnly sworn to secrecy." Ned grins. The Barber wags a finger at him, "Remember, sworn to secrecy...  you're lucky it's just me telling you this, the government damn near made me sign in blood." With his work finished the barber gently towels the newly shaved bald head, "Not a scratch, not a nick..." Bernie whips the cover sheet off the chair. We now see that Ned's chest, upper arms and legs are restrained by broad leather straps, he sits in an electric chair! Two grim-looking uniformed guards enter the room carrying the frame and steel cap, which with a wet sponge will turn the chair lethal.

 

Bernie takes the leather strop off a hook on the chair and not looking back at Ned he gathers his implements together, rolls them into the towel and puts the lot into the bag.  The mirror he folds away and clips into its carry case. One of the guards raises the Venetian blinds revealing an observation room, already seated are a grim collection of prison and court officials, several jaunty looking press men stand. Narrow windows high in the back wall show the last red glow of sunlight.    

 

The Barber picks up his cased mirror, his radio and his bag. As he exits the place of execution he turns and gives Ned a broad wink, the young man grins at their shared secret. One of the guards straps down Ned's wrists while the other clamps a metal cap to his scalp that connects to a leather face strap with a wooden ball which is jammed between his teeth.

 

The cicadas chirp in the hot night outside. Bernie walks alone on a dusty track that parallels a tall wire prison fence. The sun has dipped far enough below the horizon for the track to be lit by the big work lights on curved steel stems that arch over the fence every ten feet or so. Moths flit about in the harsh beams.

 

The barber rounds the end of the fence and crosses to a parked car.

He opens the car door, throws in the bag he carries and stands a moment by the open door. Suddenly there is the sound of a growling electrical buzz, the work lights sputter and dim, the cicadas go quiet. The lights briefly return to brightness then flicker and dim a second time. Bernie grimaces. Finally, the lights come back up bright again and the cicadas resume. Bernie shakes his head slowly, "I sure hope he didn't tell no one..."

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is far & away the best story of yours I've read so far! This is the best story I've read at the cafe in weeks! I very much admire your total twist that won't quit . . . so many clever sidetracks but quickly returning to the main storyline & keeping the reader totally addicted to finding out where the hell all these twists & turns are headed?!?!? There were two really strong "AHA!" moments . . . when it's first revealed that monkeys needed to be completely shaved . . . and when Ned's situation is finally revealed as being in the death chamber. The earlier nervousness clicks into place. I love how your storytelling is slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect, while still adhering to the believable! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie