First Cycle - Spring

by Sarah Kassem

  “Are we done?” asked Viktor.

  “I think so,” replied Oded and blew the smoke perpendicular to the sky. “Then it’s on to Samuel’s.”

  Samuel was the family barber. He had his shop in D8, near the cinema, and had been cutting Viktor’s hair for as long as Viktor could remember. His father also had his hair cut there, as well as the entire staff of the studio, and even Helena went there for a trim or to have her hair massaged with a deep conditioner. Viktor liked it there. It was a small shop with four chairs, four mirrors, and a small couch with a coffee table before it, strewn with magazines and catalogues. Samuel was a white-haired, bearded, rotund man who was always cheerful and making jokes.

  Today, however, Viktor noted with horror that Samuel had a new employee at the store. Someone he had never seen before. A total stranger. He clung to Oded’s leg while Helena welcomed the stranger and told her how fantastic she looked. It turned out that the foreign person, Linda, was the daughter of Samuel and had recently returned to Hedera Helix to train as a hairdresser alongside her father. As it turned out it was to be she who would cut their hair that day, a revelation that caused Viktor to tug at Oded’s pants and whisper, alarmed: “I don’t want her”. Oded crouched down and whispered back: “Why not”. Viktor shook his head in horror. At that moment, Samuel came out of the back room, Helena greeted him loudly and Samuel hugged them all. Viktor thought that his ribs would break and his lungs would be crushed and he’d be suffocated from Samuel’s smell of tobacco, aftershave and ammonia.

  “So! What have we here?” asked Samuel. He ruffled Viktor’s hair and said, “Less”, tousled Oded’s hair and said “Less! With sideburns?” And just as he was about to turn to Helena, she waved her hand, sat down on the couch and began flipping through a hair-catalogue. She asked for a coffee and told Samuel that she wanted to discuss something with him.

  “Awesome!” proclaimed Samuel. “Linda is wonderful hair dresser so she shall take care of the men while we chat.” He went into the small kitchen, came back with a thermos and two cups and sat down next to Helena. Viktor tugged excitedly at Oded’s leg, but at that moment Linda came over, smiling widely and shaking out a cape like a torero holding the red cloth out to the bull. Viktor pinched Oded firmly on his thigh. When he winced and looked down at him, Viktor shook his head one last time in despair. “Oh come on, Viktor,” whispered Oded, “It’s no bother. Look how pretty she is. It’s Samuel’s daughter! She’s nice,” but Viktor pinched him again and whispered, “No!”

  Oded squatted down, held Viktor by the shoulders and said, “Ok, I’ll go first. You watch and if you think it’s ok, then she can cut your hair as well. If not, then we can ask if Samuel can, when he’s done with your mother.” Samuel and Helena sat on the couch eagerly discussing about something in the catalogue.

  “Ok,” whispered Viktor and stood at some distance from Oded, who headed over and took a seat in the barber chair. Linda was smiling and talking and had heavily made-up and sparkling eyes and very long blond hair. Oded was also blond, but Linda was very, very blonde, it seemed as if she had quite a lot of gold in her hair, the tresses sparkling and shimmering with a few small butterfly clips fluttering back and forth as she moved. Viktor noted with regret that Oded seemed quite happy, excitedly talking to Linda as she laughed at something, ran her fingers through his hair, held up the tips and snipped away. Oded chatted, Linda chatted too and Samuel and his mother added their own chatter and laughter to the mix.

  Viktor wanted to go home but he knew that he had nowhere to go as he couldn’t just walk out thanks to Helena and Samuel being sat right next to the front door. He knew as well that the bathroom had no window, the kitchen either. He went to his mother, waited until she finished her sentence, and whispered in her ear: “I don’t want a hair cut”. She looked at him confused and said only: “Look, Oded is ready, go on.”

  In fact, Linda had already taken off Oded’s cape and was brushing his shoulders and neck. When she was finished, she beamed at Viktor, curtsied and spread her hands in the direction of the chair, as if simply being seated there would offer some wonderful new experience.

  Viktor took a deep breath and walked slowly to the chair. He knew there was nothing else he could do and so he decided that he would accept his fate. He climbed onto the chair and sat still as Linda secured the cape around his neck.

  “Well, my sweet, let’s cut your hair shall we?” Linda ran her fingers through his hair and looked at his head from all sides. He looked up at her and she beamed at him as if he were the greatest person in the world.

  Then she sprayed his head with water, ruffled his hair, and combed it before beginning to cut. She talked all the time and asked him about his school and his friends, all of which Viktor found a bit invasive, but, as it was Samuel’s daughter, he didn’t want to be rude so he replied as politely as possible and as detailed as necessary to her questions. She told him she was 22 years old, and had moved recently from Salix Alba because she didn’t like it there and couldn’t cope with her mother. Now she lived with her father and wanted to learn the barber profession. She found Hedera Helix a little boring, but so far she had settled in well and when she finishes her training and has saved up some money, then she wants to go abroad, far away, perhaps to France or California. Viktor thought that was weird, but he was careful not to contradict her because, after all, she had a pair of scissors in her hand.

  He suspiciously and vigilantly watched Linda and her hand movements with the scissors, sceptically analysing in the mirror her every move. Eventually, he came to the reluctant conclusion that she would probably not kill him by ramming the scissors into his neck. She was nice, he had to admit. She told him about a scooter she wants to buy and promised to take him for a ride one day. As she bent over him, brushing her golden hair on his arm, he couldn’t help but notice how good her hair smelt, so different from Samuel. Although her hair also had an ammonia smell to it, there was also a perceptible floral and fresh scent. He continued to watch her hands with the scissors, but instead now focused on her long, pink-painted fingernails and the many rings on her fingers. Then he looked at her face, which he had been deliberately ignoring, as if he would shrivel and die upon looking in the face of such evil. She had very big eyes and a powdery colour on her eyelids, which looked very pretty. He looked then at her top, a white, buttoned shirt like those that Samuel wore, only hers was smaller and stretched in the upper body.

  Viktor analysed her breasts. He knew the breasts of his mother, Emilia, and the other women in the tailor’s shop. Once he’d come into the changing room because he’d wanted money from his mother. A woman had been standing on a pedestal in only her bra with Helena kneeling before her. Upon seeing Viktor’s gaze fastened on the woman’s bra, Helena had stood up and walked briskly up to him before throwing him out of the room. Linda had smaller breasts than his mother, and larger breasts than Emilia. As she bent over him, her right breast pressed against his right shoulder and her golden hair lay on his arm, tickling him. The flowery scent enveloped him and he decided that he only ever wanted his hair cut by Linda in the future. He looked in the mirror at Oded who winked at him. Viktor wanted to wink back, but he was afraid that Linda would see him, and that she then might think he had secrets and so wouldn’t like him anymore. When she was finished she said “Tadaaa!” and pulled off the cape. She held a round mirror behind him so that he could see the back of his head and he climbed down from the chair, shook her hand and said “thank you.” She made a small curtsy, and a few strands of her hair brushed against his cheek.

  Then Viktor went to the toilet with Oded, because Helena commanded them to do so. While they washed their hands, Oded kept talking in an excited whisper about Linda. He said that Viktor should invite her to his birthday. Viktor’s birthday was in two weeks and in a few days he would have to tell his mother who he wants to invite. The prospect of Linda coming, and possibly bringing him a gift he found exciting, even though the idea of asking her filled him with nerves. Od
ed gave him a couple of tips and they practiced a bit. Oded was Linda and Viktor was Viktor and he had say “Hey Linda, in two weeks it’s my birthday! Want to come?”. When he’d mastered the sentence without error and without mumbling they went out. Viktor stood in front of Linda, who was about to cut another man’s hair, and repeated the memorised sentence loud and clear. Linda went to her knees, embraced him and said: “Of course, darling! Sure I’d love to come. How old will you be?” Viktor said eight and she said “Oh my, you’re already such a big boy! I’m looking forward to it”. Oded remarked casually, “Hey, I’ll see you there then, cool!”

  When they were in the car, they had to re-close all the windows, but Viktor didn’t care. He looked at the passing scenery and dreamed of his birthday and of all the people who would come and maybe bring him gifts. Oded looked equally dreamy and grinned at the road. Meanwhile, Helena looked dismayed at a page in her thick notebook and wrote down a few numbers. They were on their way to Salix Alba to visit Grandpa Gideon. Grandpa, Helena’s father, lived in a small house next to a rapeseed field. Viktor did not know whether he liked Grandpa Gideon or not, but he was his mother’s father, so it was really a matter of course that he had to be liked.

  They sat on Grandpa’s terrace and drank lemonade. Oded and Grandpa smoked and Grandpa and Helena talked about something boring. Once Viktor tuned in however, especially when he heard the word ‘joke’. His grandpa loved to tell jokes.

  A young man moves to America to work there. His old father lives in Iraq. The son writes his father a postcard:

  “Hey Dad. Everything here is great and exciting! How are you?”

  The father writes a postcard back:

  “Hello son, everything is the same. I’m fine, I still have problems with my knees, they hurt and I can no longer work in the garden, even though I have to dig up all the bloody weeds and plough ready for reseeding.”

  The son then writes:

  “Hey Dad, go into the garden and dig at the point we discussed. There you can find the box of money and the bomb. You know what to do.”

  A few weeks later came a postcard from his father:

  “Son, I do not understand what’s going on. The CIA and Interpol were here and have dug up my entire garden! For God’s sake, what was that? What happened?”

  The son wrote back:

  “You’re welcome!”

  Microspore

  The next evening Cristobal came over with his backpack. He flew in slow and cumbersome, flopped down on the bed and lay there panting for a few minutes until he caught his breath again.

  “I’m still young, my muscles aren’t yet pronounced,” he justified himself. “Plus the backpack is very heavy. I was so excited that we’ll do our homework together that I brought all the books I have!”

  Viktor sat on the bed and spread his school books around them.

  “What do you have for homework?” Asked Viktor.

  Cristobal solemnly took out his homework book and examined it. “Summarise the Fourth Chapter of TFJ. Do the three tasks on page 57 of Anatomy of Reptiles. Summarise the 15th century history of birds. And weight training.” He took two dumbbells from his backpack. “I need to get to 100 before the next PC session!”

  “What is PC?” Asked Viktor.

  “Physical Condition.”

  “And TFJ?”

  “Theoretical Foundations of Jurisprudence.”

  “Is PC like sport?”

  “No, sport is for fun because you play football or something. PC is proper training and you get in trouble if you don’t manage the tasks. Those who fail PC have to stop going to school!”

  Viktor nodded.

  “I always do the written homework first and only then my PC training, because after the dumbbells I’m always so tired.”

  “How many can the best people do? How many do you have to do?” Asked Viktor.

  “In order to get your degree you must be able to do 3000. But the record is 4200, I think.”

  Viktor was impressed.

  After this bit of chitchat they got on with their homework. Viktor had no homework that night but, as he’d agreed to their Best Friends’ Deal and one part of that deal was to do homework together, he simply repeated some old homework he’d already finished. Cristobal wailed again and again. He had problems with the Theoretical Foundations of Jurisprudence, an area that Viktor could offer no help in at all owing to his inability, even after countless attempts by Cristobal to explain, to understand what jurisprudence actually is.

  Cristobal soon demanded something to eat, stating that he needed energy before weight training. Viktor proudly presented a packet of oatmeal, for he had read in his biology book that birds like to eat grains and oatmeal. Cristobal was so pleased that he sat down in the open bag and wallowed in it for a while. Viktor meanwhile made a jam sandwich. Bread and jam were Viktor’s favourite foods, he could eat them day and night. After trying all the available types of jam (Oded had scoured all the shops in the whole of Hedera Helix in search of new jams), Viktor was settled and focused on raspberry and plum. But, if at other times he had to settle for other varieties, that too was okay as he was not particularly picky. This intimate love relationship with jam would persist throughout his life.

  Cristobal managed only 78 dumbbell lifts, but he said PC-hour was in three days and so he still had plenty of time to catch up.

  “Besides homework, what else do you learn in school?” Asked Viktor.

  Cristobal took out his schedule:

  Monday: Biology, Agent Service, Navigation, Attack Technique

  Tuesday: PC, Self-Defence, Law, Diplomacy

  Wednesday: History, Navigation, Agent Service, Biology

  Thursday: Attack Technique, Governance, Law, PC

  Friday: Self-Defence, History, Agent Service, Tactics

  Saturday: Tactics, Law, Governance, Diplomacy

  Sunday: Agent Service, Biology, Attack Technique, PC

  “In the afternoon we always have an internship in various departments. And in the evening we always have a foreign visit, so we have to go visit our assigned people,” said Cristobal.

  Viktor inspected the timetable, comparing it with his own, “Why do you do so much attack and defence?”

  “Because...” Cristobal took a deep breath, “because... because without those I’d never get very far in life. There are only winners and losers in this world. The winners are attacking and can defend themselves. And the losers who can’t defend when attacked will lose and die.”

  Viktor nodded and was impressed. “So if I want to be the best, then I have to learn attack techniques and learn self-defence?”

  “If you don’t want to die early, then yes,” confirmed Cristobal.

  Viktor’s introduction to martial arts began, a pursuit that was much easier in terms of convincing his parents than his attempts to learn the harp had been, even if at first they would only let him learn Karate. He was later able to expand his knowledge with various Kendō sword and stick fighting art forms.

  To Cristobal’s statement: “If you don’t want to die early, then yes,” Viktor replied: “Then I’ll also learn attack and defence.”

  Cristobal rejoiced and clapped his wings and cried: “Then I won’t have to practice on my own! We can practice together, you’ll show me what you learn and I’ll show you what I learn!”

  Viktor rose into in the euphoria and shouted, “Yes! We’ll be the best!” Then he said: “Show me something to practice now.”

  Cristobal took a notebook out of his backpack. “The first lesson in attack technique is as follows,” he read the following steps:

  “Always watch the eyes of your opponent.

  They are prophecies about his future movements”

  Having clarified what ‘prophecy’ means and after the verdict was discussed in detail, they practiced a little. Viktor was the aggressor (because it was his first lesson) and Cristobal defended himself (because he’d already had a few lessons).

  It was an unfair fight howe
ver because Viktor had no idea about attacking techniques and was much too large, not to mention he allegedly cheated. Cristobal was much more experienced and able to fly, but was at a disadvantage because he was so small. They stopped the exercise but still, though it was his first lesson, it’d made an impression on Viktor.

  Cristobal flopped on the bed and complained: “I’m so hungry that I’m going to die!”

  “You’ve just eaten almost all the oatmeal pack!” Marvelled Viktor.

  “Yes... but I’m still young and I need food. Besides,” he added, “we hummingbirds have a very high metabolism.”

  “Why?” asked Viktor.

  Cristobal took his biology book from the backpack and opened it on the first page: “Hummingbirds fly with 80 wing beats per second, their heart beats 500 times per minute, and their respiratory rate is 250 breaths a minute.”

  Viktor did not understand what the numbers meant, but he nodded. Cristobal let his notebook fall and threw himself on the bed, whimpering so much that Viktor ran into the kitchen before returning to ask: “What do you want?”

  “Honey,” whispered a tortured Cristobal. “Or Snickers,” he cried excitedly.

  There were no Snickers so Viktor quickly pulled a jar of honey from the shelf and ran back into the room. For Viktor though it would prove to be a bad decision considering the fact that it was very expensive imported Spanish orange blossom honey and even worse luck in that Cristobal loved it. When Helena found the empty jar in Viktor’s room the next morning, she gave him quite a telling off, saying things like: “For such a jar of honey I have to sew and sell two dresses, have you any idea how much work that is?” and “There are four varieties of honey in the kitchen, why did you have to take this exact one?” and “Did you really eat the whole glass? If so then keep it up and all your teeth will fall out!”