In a barbershop. Second time I had been there. Remembered having had a 9:00
appointment made for myself and my younger brother on the previous
day and that I had also had my hair cut at this time.
The shop was long and rectangular, the door central in a long glazed
wall. 3 comfy leather chairs sat to your left as you entered. Beyond
these was the seemingly obtusely small 'cutting zone', which took up
one short wall with a piece of counter returning and running a few
meters up the next, terminating next to a further 5 seats. These were
of a cheaper make than those to the side of the door, the last 2 of
which faced your typical barber's window. The opposite short wall had
2 seats to either side of a large antique radiator, a vast, cream
painted beast with thick bars creating a spacious, hollow centre.
Here too, as stood beside the door, was an old fashioned hatstand,
twisting this way and that at head and foot. The floor was tiled,
perhaps an artificial laminate replica, but seemingly inverted, the
grout forming perceptible ridges, the sunken tiles giving an
impression of carpet(?). When I arrived the place was very busy, even
of a morning, the floor already covered in clippings over towards the
3 chairs and the 'cutting zone'. I hoped to sit in a comfy chair, but
ended up covered in hair as I sat and was subsequently warned off. I
was directed instead to a seat opposite the door. As this older woman
who had scolded and reseated me turned to look back into the body of
the shop I looked at the rear of her head, thinking how poor her
hair was, a thinning, arid, worn-red sprouting, for someone who
worked in such a place-
A
man who resembled my Uncle Enn entered, but he looked much older than I remembered, exuding a lizard-like air, his body and features tight and wiry as if his skin had contracted over
his muscles. Behind him was Gee Haitch, trussed up as
of a wet morning's walk to work. We knew each other, obviously, but
did not show it. I was suddenly assailed by two girls brandishing
several pieces of clearly marbled timber and enquiring as to which of them matched. We agreed on which two were the same before they sniffed at my
opinion and decided upon a new pair. This process, which took place
very much in-my-face, was then repeated with several pieces of toast.
We concur that two light brown wholemeal slices constitute a twin
before I accept a pale piece of white toast, soaking in butter. I
fold this over and munch on it automatically, taking no pleasure in the
experience. Uncle Enn and Gee Haitch have taken up a seat to either side of
the dominating cream radiator. Uncle Enn, nearest the window wall,
complains about the heating and starts to fiddle with the valve/thermostat at his feet. He then says something I don't hear, but something
in my mind tells me it is Anti-Semetic. As the others recover from
this outburst, he follows up with another. The radiator wall
transforms momentarily here, becoming a black and white Maus-esque
cartoon, depicting a squat boy in WW2 evacuee attire, looking
distressed-
All returns to normal as Uncle Enn says he could fix the
radiator(s). In this interim I knew Uncle Enn had killed Gee Haitch. Turning
my head I see a small dog's dirt in the centre of the floor,
partially trodden into the tile/carpet. A woman across the room
sits there motionless. I see Uncle Enn, now half-rendered in a b/w David Lloyd art-style, as if of some half-remembered Warrior Comic strip, sinking
into the upstairs floor, the carpet softly swallowing him entirely
akin to a scene in the film The Money Pit. This occurred while he was examining the
radiator there. His wife turned up, a small, frumpy woman with a
shock of red hair. Despite the fact she was able to avoid the same
fate as he, by chance rather than by any skill, she too was
eventually swallowed by the floor. I knew somehow that she'd been
pushed in, able to picture the hands motioning at her back. My notion
was confirmed as I met Gee Haitch's ghost on the steps outside. He was a
pale blue apparition, little flames leaping around his head, but
dressed in the same jacket and rucksack. We talked, quite naturally,
about what he'd been up to, aware that he was due to disappear for
good. He was, I remember thinking, in high spirits-
