Sadness touched Jim’s face, as well. “It’s a damn shame what happened to you boys when you came home. No welcome home parade, people spitting on you and on the uniform, and calling you all baby killers. Disrespectful idiots! They have no idea what war is really like. No real man wants to be an inhuman monster, but when your back is against a wall, and it's you and your buddies or the enemy, you must be an inhuman monster to live another day. When them same numbskulls look back on WWII, they call it a moral war, that we stopped a madman, and we fought fair. Do you know what they call the army that fights fair in a war? The loser. Well, you know what I say to the likes of them? I say we did plenty of awful ugly things that no one wishes to talk about, but we did them. We filled pillboxes with that napalm. Burning men would come running out with fire covering them. Well, let me tell you, I put a few rounds into one burning man. No bastard deserves hellfire, so I did to him what I hope he would have done for me. No man wants to do those things, but we did them. Good luck to you, son.” Jim started wheeling for the door then stopped and turned around. “I want to tell you this. I lost my legs in WWII. Stepped on a mine on a nameless piece of ground in an unremembered battle. It was a miracle I didn’t die that day. My buddy, Dan, kept working on me even after some medic told him to give it up. He didn’t listen. He fixed me up good enough to be evacuated. The unlucky bastard bought it a few yards further in. Nearly cut in two by a damn machine gun. Well,” Jim sighed, “I’ve been carrying this scar,” he patted one of his stumps, “ever since that day. I think if I were to put both our wounds on a scale, yours, and the rest of you boys, would weigh the heaviest, and for that I’m sorry.” Jim wheeled back around and headed out the door. A moment of silence permeated the shop as each man contemplated.
The moment was over. The barber brushed off his chair and pronounced, “Next.” Lifting myself up, I made my way to the barber chair. As I walked to the chair, the Medal of Honor recipient interrupted.
“Excuse me. I’m wondering if you had any work for me today?”
The barber said, “Yes. The bathroom needs cleaning. You know where the stuff is.” The young man went about his task.
Before I sat down, I held out my hand to shake and said, “It was kind of you to do.”
“Little enough I could do for him. I could give him the money, but he wouldn’t take it. This way, he can keep a little bit of self-respect,” as he finished his statement, the barber grasped my hand and said, “Welcome to my shop. I’m Steve. It’s your first time here, right?”
“Hello, I’m Nathan, and it sure is my first time. In fact, I don’t remember ever getting a haircut in a barbershop.”
Steve said, “This is exciting. It has been a long time since I had a new head in my chair.” The barber put the cape around my neck and started to comb through my hair. “Don’t tell me. You get your cuts in one of those girlie salons.”
“No, my wife cuts it,” I proclaimed with a bit of indignance in my voice.
“No offense, friend. I can see she does a pretty decent job. Is she in the business?”
“No, but she’s had lots of practice. She has been cutting mine for years, and she has been cutting her father’s hair for years before that.”
“Well, I can’t earn a living with her cutting hair for free,” he chuckled a bit. “Okay, so how do you want it cut?”
“Well, my mother used to call it a Princeton but left full. She was in the business, and her shop was down the street.”
Steve walked around the chair and faced me. “Down this street?” I said, yes. “Was your mother’s name Anna, Annabelle?”
“All her life.”
“I knew her. Why, you’re Nathan Embers. A fine woman her and the best hairdresser in her day. You know this isn’t your first haircut in a barbershop. I guess you were about three when your mom brought you here and had me give you a cut while she took pictures.” I looked hard at this man. Based on my age, he would have to be in his nineties. It must be clean-living because if I had to guess, I would say he is no older than in his late fifties or early sixties. After a moment of awkward silence, he said, “It was a shame when she got the cancer. A good woman she was.”
“Thank you. Yes, she was.” Things grew quiet as Steve returned to cutting my hair. After a time of silence, I said, “Please make sure it’s a good cut. I’m going to an interview. I need the job in the worst way.”
“You’re in skilled, gentle hands. You know if you land the job, you owe me a big percentage of your first check.” Steve chuckled as he made this assertion. A few more minutes passed with the usual sounds of scissors cutting and clippers clipping. “That should do it.” Steve walked around to face me and handed me a mirror. I looked. Everything looked A-Okay. Steve removed the cape, and I started to stand. “Hold on there. I’m not quite done yet.” I settled back down. Suddenly, Steve reclined the chair. “Okay, relax.” I was staring at the ceiling and trying to relax as Steve put a hot towel over my face. It hurt at first, but it became relaxing. After a minute, he removed the towel and started putting hot lather on my face. He used a brush and cup. The brush made little scratchy circles on my face. After every few strokes with the brush, I heard it making a clinking sound as Steve whipped up more lather. When he finished, he placed the hot towel back on my face again with the lather still there. I lay there perhaps two more minutes all the while I could hear him stropping the blade. Next, he removed the towel and reapplied hot lather using the same process as before.
Steve turned my face to one side with a gentle but firm hand. Using sure strokes of the blade, he began to shave me. An old fashioned straight-blade shave. I had passed the pearly gates and entered heaven. It has always been a secret desire of mine to experience a hot lather shave but never could justify the indulgence with money being so tight. I could hear a scraping sound as the blade cut the stubble with each stroke. After twenty minutes, the shave was done. He raised the chair back up and held the mirror for me to appraise his handy work. I rubbed my face, and it was baby bottom smooth.
“Wow, it felt great!” I stood out of the chair and received a slight head rush. I took a moment to recover my bearings. I know I left them here somewhere.
Steve explained, “Every man needs a fresh shave when he goes for a new job. And without tooting my own horn too loud, I give the best shave.” Steve started cleaning his station.
“So, tell me. How much do I owe you?” I pulled out my wallet and started to hand over the greenbacks.
“No, Nathan. Your money is no good here.”
Steve showed a quizzical expression when I asked, “Karma?” I waited for a beat, “Never mind. It’s a long story. Thank you, but I can’t let you do that. Your time is valuable. Here take this.”
“I told you your money ain’t no good here. If it helps you, consider it a gift to your mother. She was an ethical neighbor. She never tried to steal my clients away. Oh, she had the looks to do it, and the men wouldn’t have needed me to fix their cut like they did when the other shop opened. It was one of them fancy shops with pretty girls with big,” Steve paused. Next, he held his hands out in the universally known, by all men, the gesture indicated these women had big lungs, “personalities. They had them ladies wearing lingerie and swimsuits,” he laughed, “They didn’t last long, but while they were open, I had more business than I have ever had what with fixing all the bad cuts. Served them fellas right not sticking to their regular barber.”
We said our goodbyes. As I stepped outside, I felt refreshed and renewed. There is something invigorating when you have a fresh cut and shave. I took a deep breath to fill my lungs. I heard running feet. A man went running by as fast as a streaker. I turned and look down the way he came, and chugging along, an overweight cop. The cop would have a coronary if he didn’t stop soon. There’s no way he could catch the perpetrator. Why am I doing this? I thought. As I took off after the runner, I called out to the cop, “I got this.”
Chapter Six
The runner rounded the corner as I
began my pursuit. He was fast, track star fast. I rounded the corner a few moments behind him. No more than three seconds past. He was not in sight. Listening to all the sounds around me, I couldn’t hear any running. “Oh, he’s smart too.” I spent many days growing up in this neighborhood. I know all the little hidey holes around. I looked down the first alley and called out. “You, the runner. Come on out of this alley. It is a dead-end, and there is no escape. After a long pause, the runner stepped out of the recess he had been hiding in. He is a big man. We locked eyes, and after a split-second, he ran straight at me. His image grew in my vision. Oh, he wasn’t large, he was huge.
I took a half-step back as he charged. As he got to me, I sidestepped and tripped him as he tried to run pass. “Olé!” He landed hard, and I heard him grunt as he had the wind knocked out of him. I put my foot in the small of his back. “Stay down. The police will catch up to us in a moment.”
The guy started to struggle, so I pressed down with more weight, but he rolled and grabbed hold of my foot. I was off balance when he jerked my foot out from under me. I fell, but we both regained our footing at the same time. Our eyes locked again. The four-note whistle followed by the “Wah Wah Wah” from the theme of The Good, The Bad And The Ugly played in my mind. Stop It! I commanded my mind. He made as if he would grapple me but turned and ran instead. Like a damn fool, I followed him. He turned down another alley. He made another mistake in choosing his escape route. There is a tall chain link fence with barbed wire across the alley’s end, at least there used to be. It has been some time since I was in the neighborhood, so I could be wrong.
I reached the entrance to the alley. Winded, my lungs heaved, and my side had a painful stitch. At the far end of the alley, my adversary was trying to fit a too big body frame through a too small opening between the gate and fence. He turned his head and looked straight at me. He frantically increased his efforts to squeeze through. “I’m sorry, my friend, it’s the end of the line. Sit down and wait for the cop to catch up.”
The punk stopped his futile efforts at escape and faced me. “Okay, I’m gonna hurt you! Run little man while you can.” As he walked toward me, he produced a knife. I could tell he didn’t know how to use one in a fight. Oh, he could stick me with it, but he wasn’t practiced at it.
How the hell do I know that? I thought. All this crap keeps getting weirder. I lifted my hands up with the palms out in a surrender-like motion, but I stood my ground. He kept drawing closer.
“You should have run, little man. So, you get this,” the thug said as he lunged at me. He made a sloppy attack. I batted his knife hand away, and his weapon went clinking away. In one smooth motion, I grabbed his arm and pulled him further off balance. My opponent stumbled but recovered his footing quickly. He charged at me again. With his shoulder hitting me full force, I went flying back. Retrieving his knife, he came at me again. As I started to stand, he kicked me back down. “I should run, but I want to give you this first.” Standing above me, he started to drive the knife down. The feeling of the world spinning overcame me, and I couldn’t hold my eyes on any one point. Three times I have faced my own death, but never had it felt like this. All three times involved the creature, who is my prisoner of the mind. The moment past. “Grandma? I don’t understand. Where did the jerk go, and why are you here?” The thug dropped the knife. “Grandma, I wouldn’t hurt you! Wait, you’re dead. You died last year. I saw you in the coffin.” I wondered what this guy’s been taking, but not for long. In a rush, I scrambled to my feet. Kicking the knife far down the alley as I stood, I made sure he couldn’t retrieve it. Next, as if on cue, the policeman giving chase arrived, sucking wind like no tomorrow.
“Okay, you! On the ground. Now!” In shocked compliance, the thug dropped to his knees. “Cross your legs behind you and put your hands on your head. Do It!” The evildoer obeyed without question, all the while mumbling incoherently. After placing handcuffs on his catch of the day, the cop turned to me and said, “Okay ma’am, I have him,” The police officer talked into his radio and was answered. “Ma’am, I thank you for the help, but it was too dangerous. You could have broken a hip or something. Please stick around. We will need a statement from you.”
The runner said, looking straight at me, “Grandma, why did you do it? Why did you protect that guy? I’m your little Jake Brake. The fat cop would never have caught me.”
After two police cars pulled up, a crowd started to form. The confusion the crowd provided made it a perfect time to make my exit. Besides, I needed to move on to my interview. My mental map gave me the proximity where it is being held, but I had never been to the precise address before. After a brief search, I arrived at my destination. I stood there for a moment looking at the box office of the Junipero Serra Theater. In the glass, my reflection showed me as being a bit dusty and rumpled. After I did my best to brush off and straighten up, I rapped on the glass and waited. Glancing around, I saw the marquee. It read Man of La Mancha. It is my favorite musical. My mother had taken me up to LA to see it when I was a boy. The production starred the original Broadway cast. Richard Kiley played the title role. He did it first, and he did it best. He won a Tony in 1966 for best performance by an actor in a leading role in a musical. Over the years, I had attended three different renditions with others playing Don Quixote. They were not the same.
I heard the staticky crackle of an intercom. “Yes?”
“She told me to come here for a job interview.”
“No interviews are being held today. Are you the guy the temp agency said they would send?” the voice on the intercom asked.
“I guess so. I thought I was supposed to show up for an interview,” I answered.
The disembodied voice asked, “Do you know how to use a mop?” I answered I did. “You passed the interview. Come on in.” I heard a buzzer go off. I started trying doors to no avail. “Do you know how to use a door?” came from the intercom.
I answered I did, but it took a herculean effort not to ask, Do you know how not to be an a-hole? but I sure thought it hard.
The intercom crackled and spoke out, “Try the far one on the left.” I pulled on it, and it swung open. “There you go. I knew you could do it.”
What a smart ass. I stood inside the door and waited. After a moment, a man came walking up. He stood average height and had brown hair with a side part. He wore slacks, matching vest, and white dress shirt. His sleeves were rolled up part way. On the tip of his nose was perched a set of half-frame reading glasses. He was holding a manila envelope in one hand. As he came walking up, I held out my hand, and he handed me the envelope. I switched it to my left hand and extended my right again.
Looking at my hand, he said, “Nice,” other than the comment, he ignored my offer to shake. “Follow me,” we wove through the theater to behind the stage. We went through a passageway with many doors, each with a set of three or four names written on them. They weren’t professionally printed nameplates, but masking tape with hurriedly written names. We came to one door with only one name on a professionally printed plate. It read “Isabella,” She must equate herself an equal to the likes of Cher, Beyoncé, and Adele to use only one name.
We marched in silence to our destination. I tried to strike up a casual conversation, but this man kept to himself. We reached a door at the end of the hallway. This door had a nameplate on it, and it read “Janitor.” The quiet man opened the door and flipped a light switch on. The room was cluttered and dirty. Well, I’ve seen worse; my daughter’s room comes to mind. Grabbing a clipboard pegged to the wall, my boss (I guess) handed it to me. “Here is a list of all the things that need to be done each day. It is all worked out for you. Just follow the list. About your work schedule, while a show is playing, you work every day. If there is no show, it is a one day a week job to clean the offices. Any questions?”
“I do have a few questions.” The interviewer exhaled loudly. “What is your name? I don’t know how to refer to you.”
“My name is Mr
. Roberts. You can refer to me as either Mr. Roberts or Boss.”
“Okay. What is in this envelope?”
“All the paperwork you need to get started here. It is all explained in a letter in the envelope. Is that all?” the boss-man asked.
“Only when do you want me to start?”
With another exhale, he said, “I thought it was clear. You start today. This very minute.”
“Oh, wow. Okay. I did not expect to start today. May I run home and get a change of clothes?”
“No time. This has taken too long, and you are behind as it is. There is a pair of coveralls over there,” the boss-man pointed at a pile of what looked like rags, “Feel free to use it if you don’t want to get your interview,” he made a humph sound, “clothes dirty. Is that it?” I nodded, “Very well. If you have any more questions, figure it out yourself. I am too busy trying to keep these theater seats full. Oh, one last thing. Are you afraid of ghosts?”
I chuckled to myself for a moment. “Nope. Ghosts don’t bother me. Why, is there a ghost running around here wearing a half mask and singing boring songs?” I never liked The Phantom of The Opera. I fell asleep both times I saw it. Tried to see it.
Mr. Roberts smiled and said, “No, he doesn’t sing,” he turned around and left me to my own devices.
I filled out all the employment paperwork. Next, I tackled the work schedule. I read through it, and I knew I would be hopping the rest of the day to get it all done in time. I texted Charlene and told her about the job and to expect me when she sees me. I better get started. No lunch today, I think. There is too much to get done before quitting time.
I finished all the work when the cast and crew began filing in for tonight’s performance. A friendly bunch with all of them saying hi or how are you doing. It’s heartwarming. As I hung up the mop, a man came up to me.
The Calling Page 6