Criss Cross, Double Cross

by Norma Charles

  Sophie sighed, too. Whether she liked it or not, she would be going to Monsieur le Curé’s new Frenchie school. And that was that.

  6

  A week or so later Sophie trailed after Maman to Dot’s Beauty Salon. It sure looked fancy, all right. It had stiff white lace curtains in the windows and its sign was painted in elegant gold letters. Maman shook out her umbrella and, holding it and her packages in one hand and Zephram’s hand in the other, nudged open the glass door with her elbow.

  Sophie followed her inside and was hit by an odour so strong that it made her eyes sting. “What’s that smell?” she whispered to Maman, rubbing her eyes.

  “It’s the stuff they use for permanents,” Maman told her.

  “Am I getting a permanent?” Sophie asked.

  “No, no,” Maman said, smiling “You certainly don’t need any more curls. Just a good haircut so you’ll look nice for your first day at the new school. And one for Zephram, too, while we’re here.”

  It would be Zephram’s first real haircut. His curly blond hair was so long that most people thought he was a little girl.

  They stood in front of a high counter, rain dripping from their boots onto the shiny floor, and waited for the hairdresser to notice them. She was twisting strips of an elderly woman’s thin hair onto steel rods, then snipping the ends of the hair with long, pointy scissors.

  Maman cleared her throat to get the hairdresser’s attention.

  “Yes, madame?” the hairdresser finally said, arching her narrow eyebrows and staring down her nose at them and the puddles on her shiny floor. Her eyebrows looked as if someone had drawn them on her forehead with a black pencil to make her look permanently surprised. Sophie wondered if she had drawn them herself.

  Maman cleared her throat again. “I’d like a nice haircut for my daughter for her first day back at school, and also one for my little boy. Will we have to wait long?”

  The woman flipped through an appointment book with the tips of her long scissors. “Hmm. And do you have an appointment with us, madame?” she asked, snipping her scissors in the air.

  “No, no, we don’t. Sorry.”

  “Hmm,” the hairdresser said again, bending over her book. Her nylon smock gaped at the buttons and her pink stomach showed. “Well, we’re very busy today, but I’ll try to squeeze you in. If you’ll have a seat please.” She pointed her scissors at a row of wooden chairs and went back to rolling the elderly woman’s hair and snipping off the ends.

  The woman sat on a shiny black chair facing a big mirror and a small table cluttered with combs, brushes, jars, and trays of curlers. There were four other women sitting in a row along the wall under big white domes. The women all looked the same: pale, grey, and shrunken. And they all had the same kind of pencilled eyebrows the hairdresser had. Thin black ones, drawn high on their foreheads.

  “Those are hair dryers,” Maman told Sophie when she asked her mother what the women were doing.

  “Will I have to sit under one, too?” Sophie thought if she did, she might be magically transformed into one of those grim-faced old women. Maybe the hairdresser would pluck all her eyebrows and draw new thin ones across her forehead, too.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Maman said. But she didn’t sound sure.

  The magazines on the low table in front of them were so old that they crackled when Sophie opened one. No Star Girl comics here. In fact, no comics at all. Only a pile of old lady magazines. Mostly True Romances.

  “Read me,” Zephram said, leaning against Sophie’s knee.

  Sophie flipped through one of the True Romances trying to find a picture she could make up a good adventure story about for him, but she only saw the kissy-kissy kind.

  The door opened and another woman came in out of the rain. As soon as the hairdresser saw her, she dropped her scissors and hurried over. “Mrs. Spencer! How lovely to see you!”

  “I didn’t have time to make an appointment this morning, but I was hoping for a wash and set.”

  “Certainly, certainly. Let me take your coat, Mrs. Spencer. Do come this way. I’ll take you right away.”

  Sophie wondered why that woman got to go before them and they had to wait. She glanced at her mother whose face was flushed. Maman was looking at a small sign beside the hairdresser’s counter. “Hoo!” she breathed, raising her eyebrows. “So much for just a haircut! My, my! I don’t think we can afford that. Come, Sophie, we’d better leave.”

  She hurriedly pulled Zephram’s coat and hat back on, gathered up her parcels and umbrella, and pushed him and Sophie toward the door.

  The hairdresser saw them leaving. “Madame has changed her mind?” she said loudly to their backs.

  “We’ll return when you have more time,” Maman sang out over her shoulder. “Thank you very much, madame.” Then she bustled Zephram and Sophie out of the beauty salon, onto the sidewalk, and down the street into the rain. “I can’t believe how rude that woman was!” Maman said, shaking out her umbrella. “And to charge so much, as well!”

  Sophie smiled up at her. “At least now I won’t end up looking like one of those old women under those hair dryers with all my eyebrows plucked out.”

  Maman laughed at her. “Let’s go across to Eaton’s and have some lunch.”

  Sophie followed Maman and Zephram across Columbia Street, avoiding the deeper puddles. They swished through Eaton’s revolving front doors and took the elevator downstairs. There they sat on high stools at the lunch counter and had hot dogs and cold orange drinks. For dessert they had the smoothest, yummiest chocolate malts Sophie had ever tasted.

  “This is lots better than a haircut,” Sophie said, smacking her lips.

  “We’ll have to think of something else to get you looking nice for your first day at your new school,” Maman said, sipping her tea.

  As they made their way back to the elevator, Maman stopped abruptly. Displayed on a counter was a Home Barber Kit with Super Clip Clippers and Six Super Attachments.

  “The very thing!” she said. “If I had one of those, I could cut your hair myself, Sophie. Look at this picture of the little girl. She looks just like you. And I could cut the boys’ hair, too. Even Papa’s. Think of all the money we’d save!”

  Sophie wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Maman cutting her hair with those big buzzing electric clippers, even if it did come with Six Super Attachments. She had a feeling it would take a lot more than Six Super Attachments to give someone a good haircut.

  Maman was really excited when they got home. “We can try out our Home Barber Kit right away. Please carry in the parcels from the car while I put Zephram down for his nap.” She lifted the sleeping little boy from the back seat. “Go into the bathroom and give your hair a good brushing, Sophie. Get all the tangles out. That’s a good girl. Then bring a big bath towel into the kitchen. I might as well cut your hair now before it’s time to start making supper.”

  Most of the parcels were for Sophie, so she put them in her bedroom and went into the bathroom where she found a stiff hairbrush. She gave her hair a brushing all over, even in the back. When she looked at herself in the mirror over the sink, her hair looked like a round brown bush. She grinned at herself. Her two upper front teeth still had a gap between them. She tried pinching them together and counting to sixty. Then she smiled at herself again. It hadn’t made any difference. The gap was still there.

  Sophie got the big blue bath towel from the towel rack, draped it over her shoulders, and went into the kitchen. The house was strangely quiet. Everyone else in the family was out. Papa and Joseph were at work. Arthur, she knew, would be delivering his newspapers. She remembered that Grand’maman had said she was going out to play cards with Madame Coté. Henri was probably down at Macan Park with his friends playing baseball, which he seemed to do every chance he got in spite of the weather.

  Maman bustled around the kitchen. She had turned on the big light that hung from the centre of the ceiling and she was plugging in a long extension cord over the c
ounter. “Bring the stool under the light and let’s see what we can do,” she instructed.

  Sophie got the tall wooden stool from the table and set it in the centre of the kitchen. Then she climbed on it nervously and pulled the towel closer around her neck.

  Maman opened the box and put the clippers on the table. “Now isn’t this just lovely. Look how shiny everything is. Super Clip Clippers and Six Super Attachments. They even give you a special comb.”

  Sophie shifted on the stool and swallowed hard. “Are you sure you know how to cut hair, Maman?”

  “Pshew! It can’t be that hard. Especially with these Super Clip Clippers. We’ll just plug this in here and turn it on.”

  The silver clippers burst into life, causing Maman’s hand to shake. “Where shall I start?” She had to raise her voice above the loud noise. “Maybe a bit in the back. Put your head down. There’s a good girl.”

  Sophie lowered her head and the little machine buzzed loudly. A sharp, metallic, oily smell came from the clippers. It felt like a small wild animal munching away at the back of her neck. She tried hard not to jerk her head away.

  “You must be still, Sophie,” Maman said.

  Sophie stared at the buttons on her blouse and concentrated hard on not moving.

  “Hmm,” Maman said, lifting Sophie’s chin. “The clippers are cutting a bit short. Maybe I’d better try one of these attachments.” She turned off the clippers and snapped on a brown plastic comblike part from the box and turned on the clippers again. “There, that’s better,” she said, going to the top of Sophie’s head. Bits of falling hair tickled Sophie’s nose. She sneezed, jerking her head.

  “Oh, no!” Maman cried. “I said don’t move!”

  “But I couldn’t help it.”

  “Well, no matter. I’ll just even it out on this side.” She was cutting away at the other side when the front doorbell rang. Her hand jerked at the noise, and Sophie felt the clippers dig into her scalp.

  “Oh, dear,” Maman said, patting Sophie’s head. “I wonder who that could be.”

  It was Monsieur Arseneau delivering their weekly block of ice for the icebox. “Bonjour, monsieur. Entrez, entrez.” She led him into the kitchen.

  He was a big man with a shiny round face. With an enormous pair of metal tongs, he carried a large rectangular block of ice that fitted into a tray in the top part of the icebox.

  “Aha!” he said. “My wife got a Home Barber Kit, too. On sale at Eaton’s, right?”

  Maman nodded. “Now I’ll be able to cut everyone’s hair.”

  Sophie tried to blink away the bits of hair from her face.

  “Now where were we?” Maman said when Monsieur Arseneau had gone. She turned on the clippers again and they buzzed near Sophie’s ear like a mob of angry bees. “I’ll just trim this part a bit. There, that’s better. Now a little off the top should do it.”

  The back door slammed and Arthur came in with an empty newspaper bag slung over his shoulder and his Jughead hat tilted back.

  He stared at Sophie through his glasses and grinned. “Ha!” he hooted. “A real live scarecrow!”

  “Laugh all you like, my boy,” Maman said, shaking her comb at him. “You’re next.”

  “No way!” Arthur’s face fell. He looked as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head. Raising his hands, he bolted upstairs to the safety of his room.

  “Are you almost done, Maman?” Sophie said.

  “Soon, soon, cherie. Let me check it.” She turned Sophie around and peered, her eyes a bit worried. “Hmm. This side might be a bit shorter, so I’ll just take a little more off this other side. And a bit more off the top.”

  Sophie heard the front door open again, and soon Grand’maman came into the kitchen leading Zephram by the hand. “He’s finished his nap. I’ll give him a glass of milk.” She stopped and stared at Sophie, her mouth open.

  “He could have a couple of crackers, too,” Maman said, snipping away at the top of Sophie’s head. “Oh-oh.”

  “What?” Sophie said.

  “Don’t worry.” More hair fell to the floor. “There now, what do you think?”

  “Well,” Grand’maman said, “short hairdos are definitely in fashion these days. You see them all over.”

  “My, yes,” Maman said. “You see lots of very stylish people with lovely short hairdos. Even movie stars. And it’s so easy to look after. Just wash and wear.”

  “Sophie hair all gone!” Zephram said, his blue eyes wide and staring. “Hair all gone!”

  “Oh, no!” Sophie cried. Her hands flew to her head. Instead of the usual thick, springy layer of bouncy curls, all she felt were prickly spikes!

  “My hair!” she shrieked. Knocking over the stool, she flew to the bathroom, a trail of shorn curls drifting after her. She stared in the mirror and she didn’t even recognize herself! Those were her round cheeks and her dark brown eyes staring out at her, but her hair! Brown spikes stuck up all over her head. Tears welled in her eyes. Arthur was right. She did look like a scarecrow.

  “Maman!” she wailed. “I can’t go to the new school looking like this!”

  Her mother followed her to the bathroom, sweeping up the bits of hair from the floor. “Of course you can, cherie. We’ll wash your hair and put in a few pin curls and it’ll look just fine. Quite fashionable. A cute little pixie cut. You’ll see.”

  But even though Maman let Sophie use her special shampoo and put some pin curls around the top, Sophie thought she still looked like a scarecrow.

  “Can I borrow your Jughead hat, Arthur?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t lend out my Jughead hat.”

  “But I need it!” she wailed.

  “What for?”

  “I can’t go to school like this, can I?”

  “Right,” he agreed. “You’ve got to do something. Maybe a hat’s your best bet. You can use my hockey toque if you want.”

  He ran upstairs and was soon back with his woollen hat. He tossed it to her. She pulled it over the prickly curls and went to look in the bathroom mirror.

  Two red-rimmed dark brown eyes stared at her from under the black toque. At least the ugly spikes didn’t show.

  “If anyone dares laugh at me,” she muttered, “I’ll plough them in the stomach.”

  7

  The next week, on the first day of school, Maman fussed over Sophie. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

  “Yes, Maman.”

  “Here, let me fluff up your hair a bit on top. There, that looks very cute.”

  Sophie stomped down the front steps. She was wearing her new school uniform: a navy blue tunic, white blouse, red tie, navy blue knee socks, and black oxfords.

  “It’s not fair,” she mumbled, tugging Arthur’s woollen toque over her spiky hair when she was out of sight. She didn’t care what Maman said. Her hair was ugly and she didn’t want any of the kids to see it. “It’s just not fair! No one in the whole wide world has to have such ugly, spiky hair on their first day at a new school.”

  As she marched across Blue Mountain Road, a shaggy yellow dog growled and barked at her from behind a wooden fence. She gave it her meanest Star Girl glare. It whimpered and scuttled away.

  Sophie walked down Alderson Avenue, kicking at the loose rocks on the gravel road. Her new black oxfords soon became brown with mud.

  Notre Dame de Fatima was across the road and down a short distance from her old school, Alderson Avenue. There was a new board fence painted brown in front of the playground at Alderson. She remembered playing there with Gwendolyn and Jake before the summer holidays. They always had a great time playing games like hopscotch and hide-and-seek together.

  She pulled the black toque down more firmly and kicked another rock. It rolled across the road, past a tree, and into the ditch beside the school’s new fence. As she passed the tree, a whole bunch of kids jumped out from behind it and yelled at her.

  “Ha, ha! Frenchie. Frenchie pea soup!” the kids chanted.

  They cau
ght her by surprise, and she tripped on a rock and fell, banging her knee.

  Most of the kids were little ones Sophie didn’t know. But one of the big kids she did know. Elizabeth Proctor. Sophie wasn’t sure if Elizabeth was calling her names or not, but she sure wasn’t stopping the little kids.

  Before Sophie could scramble up and get away from them, one of the boys jumped off the fence and snatched the toque from her head. Her spiky hair sprang up like coils all over her scalp. She tried to grab her hat back, but the boy threw it to a girl.

  “Hey, Frenchie, what did you use to cut your hair?” one of the kids shouted. “A lawn mower?”

  “Fuzzy-Wuzzy Frenchie!” another girl yelled. Then they were all jumping around her and yelling, “Fuzzy-Wuzzy Frenchie, Fuzzy-Wuzzy Frenchie!”

  Sophie tried standing there with her hands on her hips and giving them her angriest Star Girl stare, but it didn’t work. Her eyes were stinging too much so she yelled back in their faces, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me. So there!”

  “Fuzzy-Wuzzy Frenchie!” they yelled back at her.

  “You call me this, you call me that, you call yourself a dirty rat!” she shouted back.

  But they kept chanting “Fuzzy-Wuzzy Frenchie!” at her.

  “Just wait until I tell my big brothers on you. They’ll come and beat you all up. Just you wait.” She turned and limped away as dignified as she could.

  “Hey, you forgot something,” Elizabeth said, throwing her the black toque. It landed in the ditch beside Sophie’s feet.

  She picked it up and dusted it off. Then she jammed it back on her head. Sophie was mad now. Really mad. She picked up a rock and hurled it at the mob. It hit the wooden fence with a loud, hollow crash. Then it bounced off and hit Elizabeth in the shoulder. The other kids all screamed and ducked.