Crown Vic to a Parallel World

14

Bookend Barbers

The bus stop sign was a very helpful sign.  Just like my ID, it had a spot to press that would change the legend on the sign from large-font ‘BUS STOP’ to smaller font instructions for riding and a schedule.  The sign explained that I wouldn’t have to present my ID like a credit card.  The system worked like one of those automated toll road passes.  The bus would sense the card when I got on and again when I got off, and it would charge my account without me doing anything.

I was busily reading the sign to figure out the schedule when a toneless voice called to me.  “Sir…will you be boarding?”  I swung around to see a plumb-purple plastic bus had slid silently up behind me.  It was waiting for me to step on or wave it away.  A pocket door stood open for me to pass through.  I stepped on and looked for the owner of the voice.

There was no driver.  The inside of the vehicle was cream colored, spotlessly clean, and had no signage or advertisements.  I figured it was twenty feet long, half the size of the city busses on Earth, and definitely narrower.  A chasing red display above the windshield showed the name of the next stop.  Middle-facing bench seats lined both sides of the vehicle from front to back.

I sat near the door, because I didn’t know what else to do.  As soon as I did, the pocket door shut automatically and the vehicle set silently off.  As we drove along, I noticed Shawn’s presence fading from my mind as the distance between us grew.

I forced myself to stop thinking about him.  I wanted to experience the city and I wouldn’t do that if my mind was on Shawn all day.  I looked around and thought about the vehicle I was in.  I assumed the bus was electric.  Whatever the power was that drove the thing made no noise at all.

The experience of riding a bus without the grumbling, vibrating diesel engine, hissing, squealing air brakes, advertising signage, graffiti, and the filth and stink of uncaring people was completely new to me.  The fact that the vehicle was driverless wasn’t too surprising given the other technology the world of Solum seemed to enjoy, but I still couldn’t figure out who had called to me.

A thin, ramrod straight, horse-faced woman sat opposite me.  She was prim, proper, and dressed in a pants suit that was not one, not two, but three shades of pink.  On her feet were electric-green high heels.  Her posture and build said ‘librarian’ but her outfit said…I have no idea what it said.  ‘Pole dancer with a day off,’ maybe.  She was absorbed in something she was reading on a tablet of black glass.

She didn’t seem to be the right one to ask, and the vehicle was nearly empty with the only other occupants down at the far end.  I didn’t want to shout down.  On Earth I wouldn’t have hesitated, but Solum culture seemed generally more polite than I was used to.  I found it roughly equal to the rural south, the Carolinas maybe.

An idea flitted through my mind.  As near as I could figure, I had Shawn’s entire life in my head.  Pieces of his experience had been guiding me for simple, everyday tasks, so it was logical to assume I could use his knowledge to guide me in more complex tasks as well.  I crossed my arms over my chest and shut my eyes to see what I could learn.

It was the first time I’d tried to explore the body of knowledge that had been forcibly imprinted on my mind like an encyclopedia download on a computer.  When I concentrated on Shawn’s memories, I found that his twenty-one years presented themselves in several different ways.  If I chose, I could watch his life chronologically, like a long movie, or I could select scenes, like a DVD menu.

The other, and more useful way that his knowledge offered itself to me was in the form of experiential information.  This came from his memories but didn’t require reliving his life to access it.  One example was the way I’d ordered breakfast without struggling.  The ordering process was such a mundane task that his knowledge helped me automatically.  I found that I could get help with more complex tasks simply by shifting to his knowledge in my mind.  It was like opening a reference book of his experiences to the exact right page.  I had to go to the book, but once I was there, the facts came readily.

I opened my eyes and turned them to the city that was passing out the windows.  Since I’d already opened my Shawn reference book, I found that I knew where I was because I was familiar with the buildings and scenery passing by the windows.  I also knew there was a shopping district in the next city-unit that had a barber shop where I could get a haircut and a shave.  There was also an outfitter that would do custom tailoring and a café that made an excellent club sandwich.  I even knew that getting the bus to stop for me required nothing more than muttering ‘stop’ or ‘next stop.’

Shawn’s experiential knowledge also told me that the voice that called to me at the bus stop, was the bus itself.  The vehicle had known that someone was waiting at the bus stop sign, and it knew that person hadn’t moved to get on or to dismiss the vehicle.  The bus didn’t use artificial intelligence, just some artful programming.  “This just got a lot easier.” I said to myself. “Been in town for three days, and I’m already at home.”

I got off the bus in the shopping district of City Residential Unit FP49.  The city was a grid, and the units were named and numbered like the column lines of a building.  Letters identified the east/west location of a unit and numbers identified the north/south.  I was a little north and east of the city center.

The sidewalks in the shopping district were busy with shoppers, but I wouldn’t say they bustled.  People moved in calm, orderly fashion from one place to the next.  If they met a friend or acquaintance, they exchanged greetings at conversational volume.  Everyone seemed to use their inside voice.

The vast sprawl of Epistylium didn’t qualify for my definition of a city.  It was more like a town that had gotten out of hand.  As such, it didn’t have much in common with cities as I knew them.  There were no tall buildings, no litter, no swarm of self-absorbed people.  Epistylium was also so much quieter than what I was used to.  There was no throb of rumbling traffic and shouting people and blaring radios and howling air conditioning units.  The atmosphere of the shopping area felt more like a town’s Main Street than a city’s Market Street.  I felt very relaxed.

I also felt like a giraffe who’d wandered into a zebra herd.  As I looked around, I noticed that everyone I saw was five-foot-eight or shorter.  Most people were between five-foot-even and five-six.  I was used to being tall, but not used to towering over everyone.  My stationary presence drew stares and double-takes from all sides.

I crossed the sidewalk to stand against the blank wall of a building while I got my bearings.  I hoped that by associating myself with something taller than me, I’d draw less attention.  It worked, a little.  As I tried to decide what to do first, my right hand that was lost for purpose without its formerly ever-present cigarette, rubbed my chin for lack of anything else to do.  The stubble that scratched my hand reminded me that I still needed a shave.  I pointed my steps toward the barber shop.

The Vis-Vit Barber Shop was on the lowest floor of a three-story blue-stone building.  The shop’s stone front had been removed and replaced with clear glass.  Inside, were two barbers in apricot-orange aprons, who worked over two patrons, who rested in gold-framed and black upholstered barber’s chairs.  One inside wall was a mirror, while the opposite one was plain white.  Against the white wall, four upright gold and black chairs were ranged in a row for people that cared to wait.  I cared to wait and wedged myself between the arms of the end chair.  No one else was waiting.

The barbers appeared to be late-middle-aged twins.  They were thin, slight men with fine, sharp features on their narrow faces.  They wielded gold scissors and clear combs deftly over one blond head and one black one.  They chattered absently with the patrons and asked and answered questions without listening to a word that was said to them.

“…and my daughter just turned four.” Remarked the blond patron from under a towel.

“Just so, just so.” The left-hand barber nodded to the man that couldn’t see him.

“Yes, cute as a button.  I can’t keep up with her, neither can her mother.”

“So, I’m told.” The barber said with the expression of a man who is trying to affect a thoughtful expression.

“What?” The patron asked.

The barber had been caught answering his patron’s statement with nonsense.  This brought him up short and he replied to the question with a question to cover. “What?” He said like he hadn’t heard the patron’s last comment correctly.

“I say we can’t keep up.” The patron explained.

“Just so, just so.” The barber said and the cycle continued, and no one was the wiser.

I enjoyed the disingenuous nature of the barbers as they combed and clipped their way around the heads they tended.  I guessed the men were in their late sixties or early seventies, though they were still spry and glowed with health.  I reasoned that if they had always been barbers, fifty years of small talk from innumerable patrons must have worn so thin, they adopted the absent chatter as a defense.

I dawned on me from what I knew of Solum lifespans, that if the barbers looked seventy, they could be two-hundred-and-fifty years old, or even more.  Fifty years of small talk would have worn thin.  Two-hundred-plus years were four or five times as many reasons to chatter without comprehension.

The barber on the left finished with the blond-head first and whipped the apricot-orange cloak from the patron with all the flourish of a show-offy matador.  The right-hand barber finished just behind and whipped the cloak from his patron with a mirror image movement.  The patrons inspected their respective cuts, thanked the barbers and departed, leaving me alone with the matching men.

The left-hand barber stood to the left of his chair with the freshly shaken cloak hung over his right arm which he held bent in front of him.  The right-hand barber stood to the right of his chair with the freshly shaken cloak hung over his left arm which he held bent in front of him.  I grinned at them like an idiot.  I couldn’t help it.  The left barber spoke first, and they alternated.

“I am Vis.” The left said.

“And I am Vit.” The right said.

“And we are Vis-Vit of the Vis-Vit Barber Shop.” They said in unison.

I almost laughed but I didn’t think that would be wise.  I didn’t know if their manner was supposed to be funny and I didn’t want to give offence.  I bit my tongue and waited for the barbers to make the next move.

“Who are you waiting for?” Vis asked.

“Yes, who are you waiting for?” Vit asked.

They each leaned slightly forward, over their crooked arms, like an enthusiastic maître d might when being asked about the availability of a table in a busy restaurant.  “I…uh…AHEM…I need a shave and a haircut.” I said to a spot between the two men.

“Obviously.” Vis said.

“Yes, obviously.” Vit said.

“But,” continued Vis, “do you wish them from me?”

“Or me?” Vit finished.

I hoped to spot a smirk or a crack in the routine of the matching barbers, but their act was flawless.  I had no inkling if they were serious or just putting on a great show.  A quick check of my Shawn reference book told me he didn’t know either.

I tried to steer a safe middle path.  “It’s my first time here.” I informed the men unnecessarily. “How about Vit takes care of me this time and Vis the next time I come?”

As soon as I said it, I realized I’d said something wrong.  Both men were visibly affronted.  Vis vented his indignance.  “I am Vis, and I am ALWAYS first.”

“And I am Vit and I am ALWAYS second.”

Vis drove the point home.  “I am Vis and I am ninety-seven seconds older.”  He pronounced the ‘T’ in ‘ninety’ with crisp precision.

Vit drove the point a little harder.  “And I am Vit and I am ninety-seven seconds younger.”  Vit’s ‘T’ was perhaps a little crisper than Vis’ had been.

I stuck my right hand up and waved at them in an awkward and meaningless gesture.  “And I am Church, and I need a haircut and shave from Vis.”

Vis snapped the cloak from his arm, stepped back from his chair, bowed, and beckoned me into the chair at his station.  I struggled out of the chair I’d been waiting in and struggled into the proffered barber’s chair.  Vit draped his cloak over his chair and came to stand in front of me while Vis tried to strangle me with his cloak.  Vis got it fastened around my fat neck without completely cutting off my air and moved to stand with his brother.  Each leaned a little away from the other and held their hands clasped in front of the shoulder that was furthest from the other.  They were like living bookends.

“What will you have?”  Vis asked.

I had no idea what I wanted or what style was appropriate for me.  I didn’t often notice hair and I was the only freakishly tall person I knew on Solum, so I had no point of reference for style.  I gave the barbers my few thoughts on the matter.  “I was hoping for some advice on style.  I would like to try to tone my height down, if that’s possible.  Can a hair style do that?”

Vis pulled in his chin.  “You wish a hair style to tone down your monstrous height?  Sir, I am a barber…”

“Not a magician.” Vit finished Vis’ statement.

“Please, gents.” I begged. “I’m going to the tailor next, and I plan to ask him for the same help.”

The barbers turned away from me and conferred in low tones and whispers.  They turned back and shot ideas at each other.  Vis started, as he is always first.

“Shaved bald!”

“With bangs!” Vit offered

“Short on top!” Vis insisted.

“And long in the back!”

“Parted on the left!”

“Parted on the right!”

“PARTED DOWN THE MIDDLE!” Vis shouted.

“YES!  AND…AND FRAME THE FACE!” Vit added, raising his intensity to match his brother’s.

“HE NEEDS…!”

“MORE LENGTH!” The men shouted together.

The barbers ran behind me, and I felt four sets of fingers press into my scalp.  The whole top of my head grew warm, like it had when Shawn fixed my hangover.  I felt that something was happening on top of my head, but I had no idea what it was.  A moment passed before anyone spoke.  “Enough.” Vis said.

“Yes, enough.” Vit concurred.

They removed their fingers and my head cooled.  Each barber seized an arm of my chair and spun me to face the mirror.  What I saw shocked me.  My hair had grown longer than I’d ever seen it in my life.  Shiny, healthy, brown hair with no grey in it hung well passed my shoulders.  “Fuck me.”  I muttered in my surprise at the sight.

“No.” Vis shook his head.

“Definitely no.” Vit agreed.

“Too much.” Vis added.

“Wouldn’t know what to do with it all.” Vit agreed.

I was confused but only for a moment.  I realized I’d unwittingly propositioned the barbers like I had the breakfast gawker.  I hurried to correct their misconception.  “No…I meant…it’s an expression where I’m from.  It means ‘wow.’  I didn’t mean I wanted to…you know.”

“Oh.” They said in unison.

“Confusing.” Vis said.

“Most confusing.” Vit agreed.

“I’ll work on it.” I added.

“TO BEGIN!” The barbers shouted in unison and turned me away from the mirror.

Vis trimmed my new hair to length and brushed and carefully arranged it.  He shaved me with a clear glass straight razor.  Vit watched the entire process and made sounds of approval or suggestions which Vis mostly ignored.  Neither barber spoke directly to me until Vis was finished.

Vis whipped the cloak off with perhaps more flourish than he’d used on the blond.  I struggled out of the low and too-narrow chair and turned to the mirror.  My face was framed with long brown hair that ended just above my shoulders.  My new hair style actually had the effect I wanted.  My head seemed more incorporated with the rest of me instead of floating high in the air.  I thanked both barbers.

They bowed stiff shallow bows at my thanks.  I figured that was it, but the show wasn’t over quite yet.

“Hair is a responsibility.” Vis said like the statement was a challenge.

“It requires care.” Vit added.

“You need PRODUCT!” They said in unison.

Vis produced a black bag with handles and a logo of interlocking letter ‘V’s.  He handed it to Vit who opened a door that appeared in the mirrored wall and stepped through, out of sight.  The sound of things being moved around on shelves followed while Vis waited placidly.  Vit came back through the door and presented the now-bulging black bag to Vis with a flourish.  Vis inspected the contents and presented the bag to me with even more flourish.  The rapid fire, back-and-forth speech started again.

“Shampoo.” Vis said.

“Conditioner.” Vit added.

“Brushes.”

“Combs.”

“Styling cream.”

“A razor.”

“Shaving soap.”

“Shaving brush.”

“And…”

“HAIR TIES!” They said in unison.

A small beep sounded in my pocket.  I drew my wallet from it to see where the beep had come from.  I found that the beep came from my ID.  The back of it was lit with red text that was the Vis-Vit invoice for one-hundred credits.  I approved it and added a twenty-five-credit tip.  The barbers had done a great job, and had amused the hell out of me, and I wanted to show my appreciation.  As I touched the final approval, the card beeped several more times.

“Generous.” Vis said.

“Ample.” Vit agreed.

I presumed the beeps somehow indicated the amount of the tip.  I made a mental note to count them next time.

I thanked the men again and left.