World Made by Hand (27 page)

The more I thought about it, the more pissed off it made me. Now I'd have to go all over town alerting everybody to check and see if any of their belongings had been stolen, and make up some kind of inventory of missing articles, and in any case, sooner or later, I would have to go up to Karptown and have a discussion with Wayne about the whole deal, and about him barging into my house and manhandling Britney, and probably have him arrested-meaning Loren would have to be involved, and that suddenly didn't seem like a very good idea, since Loren was not exactly a tough guy-and apart from any of this I, at least, would not get back to the job at Larry's house after all, meaning another day robbed of normality and a day's pay.

I headed over to the rectory on Salem Street to lay all of this on Loren and see if I could enlist him in going around town and talking to people too. To get there from Larry's the quickest route was down Main Street. On the corner of Main and Van Buren, there was a nineteenth-century brick building that had not been occupied for years. It had last been an art gallery, back in the old days when the chain stores were still going strong out in the strip malls and the only other commerce left down on Main Street was real estate offices. The art that the gallery had sold was embarrassing-pictures of covered bridges and other nostalgic scenes totally at odds with the reality of the time. Anyway, Brother Jobe was down there on Main and Van Buren this morning with a crew of New Faith men putting the finishing touches on a brand-new barbershop, of all things.

"Morning, Mr. Mayor," Jobe said. "Heck of a fandango last night, huh?"

"Mr. Bullock can put on the dog, all right."

"And very nice fiddling too, sir. How's your old noggin today?"

"Not a hundred percent," I said. "Yours?"

"Earlier on it felt like it was filled with weevils and hornets, but the good Lord has come through and blew them clean out and filled up the space with fresh air, sunshine, and love of fellow man."

"That's nice. I wish he'd do the same for me."

"Try prayer. It works."

"Maybe later. What's going on here?"

"What's it look like?"

"Looks like an old-fashioned barbershop."

"It ain't nothing old about it," he said. "It's the latest and most up-to-date."

"I hope you're not looking for a profit center here."

"More like a public service."

"You buy this building too?"

"Heck no. Renting it from Mr. Murray."

"Does he own it?"

"Holds it in receivership, I believe."

"That figures," I said. "Most folks get their hair cut at home these days."

"Well, that's country, don't you think? We aim to civilize them up. Get a town look going. Come on in. You can be our very first customer."

We stepped inside. They had done a nice job of cleaning it up. Two brothers were still painting the wainscot. Another brother painted black lettering backward on the window up in the shop front: FREE SHAVES AND HAIRCUTS. A fourth was sweeping the hardwood floor. The room seemed especially large because so little was in it: one authentic barber chair, a sink, a counter, a few old bentwood chairs for the theoretical customers to wait in, and a mirror on the wall in front of the barber seat. He even had a motley assortment of old magazines on hand: National Geograpbics from the 1980s, a 1967 Life, a Popular Science with a cover story on-what else?-flying cars!

"Where'd you find these?"

"The high school basement," he said. "You wouldn't believe what's down there. The barber chair we got up in Fort Edward. Five hundred bucks. Cheap. Have a seat. Brother Judah, come hither and attend!"

A tall, funereal, wading bird of a young man with a beaklike nose leaned his broom against the wall and came over.

"Shave?" he said.

"Huh? No, I don't want to shave off my beard."

"Why not?" Brother Jobe said.

"I just don't. I'm used to it."

"Well, at least let Brother Judah trim it up."

"Okay. But just a trim."

"Do you object if he trims your hair as well?"

"He can trim my hair."

"Go to, son," Brother Jobe said.

Judah lit a double spirit lamp under a kind of oblong kettle on the shelf above the sink, apparently a small water heater. He tied a smock around my throat and began trimming my hair, which I admit had gotten shaggy. I watched him closely in the mirror. He had all the moves of an experienced barber.

"Where'd you get your training?" I said.

"New Faith," he said.

Stupid question on my part, I guess. Once in a while, Jane Ann cut my hair, but otherwise it was not something I put a lot of effort into. Judah trimmed around my ears and down around the back of my neck. By the time he was done with my hair, steam was coming out of the kettle. He adjusted the chair into a reclining position, put a stopper in the sink, poured some of the boiling water in, and tempered it off with a splash of cold from the tap. Then he dropped in a small white towel, wrung it out, and draped it over my face. The steamy towel felt absolutely wonderful. I closed my eyes and let the heat penetrate. Judah banged around for a minute, and then I heard the whup, whup, whup of him stropping a razor. He took the towel off, dropped it back in the sink. He had whipped up some fresh lather in a bowl and stood with a shaving brush in his left hand and a straight razor in his right.

"Can I trust you with that thing?" I said.

"I never seen a man killed yet with a shaving brush," Brother Jobe said.

"What are you aiming to do with that razor?" I said to Judah.

"I'm just gon' clean up the whiskers on your throat and cheekbones," Judah said. His voice was almost comically high for such a tall, grave-looking fellow.

"Oh, all right," I said.

No one besides me had ever held a razor to my neck before. I didn't like the idea, but I let go of my petty fears and lay back. The warm lather felt comforting, and Judah had a sure hand with the razor. He scraped my neck clean and made a few passes along my upper cheeks. Then I heard him go to the beard itself with his scissors, clickity-click. Finally, he cleaned up the lather and whisker bits with another hot towel, jacked the chair back up, and stepped aside so I could admire myself in the mirror. I must say I looked polished up in a way I hadn't been for years. I saw a glimmer of the old corporate executive there. I couldn't help smiling.

"You see," Brother Jobe said. "What a salubrious effect it has."

"I feel improved, all right."

"And improved for the better! That's what New Faith is all about. You town folks have come to be a scrufty-looking bunch. It's demoralizing. You know, I'm thinking of opening up a men's haberdash right next door."

"Where would you get the goods?"

"Why, we'd turn'em out ourself, just like we do now for our own."

"You want us all to dress up like you?"

"Well, what's wrong with that? The New Faith look is clean and upright."

"So, none of us townies would have to sign on with your outfit officially. You just get us all looking the same and soon it's a fait accompli."

"What kind of fate is that?"

"Never mind."

"It don't sound like a bad fate," Brother Jobe said. "Anyways, I want to present you with this. Brother Judah, gimme that there razor."

Judah wiped it down and handed it to Brother Jobe.

"Im'a give this to you so you can tidy yourself up at home on the days that we closed down here," Brother Jobe said. "The mayor of a town ought to set the tone for others, don't you think? Here. We got a half a gross of'em down in Pennsylvania. Good German steel. With my compliments."

He slapped the razor into my hand.

"Thanks."

"And lookit, the blade locks up just so, and then you can't hurt yourself."

"I always was a slow and careful shaver."

"Sure, but in a fight you want it so's you don't cut your own goshdurn fingers off."

"A fight! We don't have many razor fights up here."

"No? It's common practice down home."

"Can I have a word with you outside?" I said.

We stepped outside. The heat was rising again. Buddy Haseltine was washing the dust off Terry Einhorn's store window with a rag in an unsteady hand. A couple of women carrying baskets lingered outside Russo's bakery.

"Care for some instruction in the finer points of razor fighting, old son?"

"Can you be serious for a moment?"

"I'm always serious. Even my funnin' is serious. Don't you know that yet?"

"Well, that's good because I have a serious problem. Do you know who Wayne Karp is?"

"I haven't met the gentleman, but I'm aware of his, uh, position in the community."

"It appears he was down here burglarizing houses last night when all the people were over at Bullock's."

"You don't say. That ain't right."

"Anything turn up missing at the school?"

"Not so's I know. But we had five of the women watching all them kids and several brothers making reg'lar watch rounds."

"I'm going to have to go see him."

"I understand he's got some kind of village up there, near the old landfill."

"An old trailer park."

"Hmmph. Trailer trash. Ain't that old-timey! I gather you'd like some backup. You can have Joseph and them."

"For the moment I would like you to send a courier over to Bullock to get some warrants."

"Can do."

"Then, tomorrow the Reverend Holder and I will figure out how to proceed with this."

"Why him?"

"He's our constable now."

"He ain't exactly the rough and ready sort."

"I'm not looking to start a war."

There was no one at home in the rectory.

Katie Zucker, Todd's wife, was next door at the church in her capacity as deacon, up on a stepladder hanging the hymn numbers for Sunday's service on the hymn board beside the pulpit. She told me that Loren and Jane Ann had gone out berry picking.

"You've certainly come out of your shell lately, Robert."

"It's just circumstances," I said.

"I hear that Britney Watling has joined your household."

"That's more or less the truth, Katie," I said.

"Don't you think it looks funny?"

"I'm sure it does," I said. "But so does an American town with no cars or electric lights and people like us who don't have regular jobs to go to anymore, and folks dying before their time from all kinds of things."

Katie made a face up there on her ladder. At the University of Vermont in the old days, she was a nationally ranked speed skater who almost made the U.S. Olympic team. Afterward, before marrying Todd, she worked as a northeast regional sales rep for Nike, earning large commissions and bonuses. Now she was a farmer's wife and church caretaker. Her hair was turning silver though she still had an athlete's body, even after two children. We had a little bit of history. A year after Sandy passed away, Katie had too much to drink at the Harvest Ball up in Hebron and made a pass at me in a way that was a little too demonstrative. Todd was right across the room. It was embarrassing.

"Hey, did you lose weight or something?" she said, conspicuously changing the subject.

"I just got my hair cut."

"Oh? You look like one of those Civil War generals."

I knew where to find Loren and Jane Ann if they were picking wild blackberries. They'd be up on the railroad tracks along the Battenkill. A particular stretch where one side of the cut faced due south was especially rich with fruit, and I headed out that way. It was nice to be rambling out in the countryside by myself for a change, free of other people's demands. On the steel bridge where the tracks cross the river a half mile outside town, I stopped for a while to watch the river, knowing Loren and Jane Ann would have to come back that way. A few dun-colored caddis flies were coming off the water. I watched an osprey rise off the stream with a good twelve-inch trout in his talons. When he was gone with his prize, plenty more trout were visible finning in the feeding lanes in the shadow of the bridge's trusses and girders. I was sorry I hadn't brought a rod. I sat there with my legs dangling off the edge of the deck, feeling the guilty pleasure of letting my obligations slide for a while. I wasn't concerned about trains coming by, because they didn't run anymore. Perhaps a half hour later I heard human voices down the way and looked up to see Loren and Jane Ann at the far end of the bridge.

"That you, Robert?" Loren said.

"I'm looking for you," I said.

When they came up on me sitting there, Loren gave me a slight shove like he wanted to push me over the edge into the river. Of course, he was just clowning around. But it was enough to give my heart a flutter. The stream was a good forty feet down from the deck of the bridge, and the water probably wasn't more than four feet deep, so if you fell, you'd probably break your neck. Then Loren put his arm under my chin and held my head as he rubbed his knuckles into my scalp: a noogie. I endured it stoically until he stopped. Then they sat down next to me, Jane Ann on my left and Loren on my right. Each had a plastic pail half full of blackberries.

"Can I try some?" I said.

"No," Loren said. "Jane Ann's making jam for me."

"You can have some of mine," Jane Ann said.

"Don't give him any of yours either," Loren said.

"Here, just taste a couple," Jane Ann said.

"Hey, what'd I say?" Loren said. "Go pick your own."

"Okay, old Mr. Cranky Puss," Jane Ann said.

"Fuck you," Loren said to her.

"Nice talk-"

"And fuck you too," Loren said to me.

"-for a man of the cloth."

"And fuck the cloth, as a matter of fact."

We sat there, the three of us in a row, watching the swallows and the fish and the caddis flies and the yellow irises blooming along a sandbank below. Jane Ann said they had seen a bear up the tracks. It ran away when it saw them.

"Did you ever eat bear?" Loren said.

"No. You?" I said.

"Sure."

"What's it like?"

"It's not like chicken," Loren said. "More like pork meets roadkill."

"Don't see much roadkill anymore."

"Amen to that," Jane Ann said.

"Except for us," Loren said. "We're history's roadkill."

We fell into silence for another while.

"Looks like somebody gave you a haircut," Jane Ann said eventually. "Your new houseguest? Or should I say roommate?"

I wondered if my discomfort was visible. I hastened to explain how the New Faithers had opened the barbershop on Main.

"What's next?" Jane Ann said, "a salon for us ladies?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe if they're really ambitious they'll get the railroad going again."

"Don't hold your breath on that one," Loren said. "Did you come out here to show us your haircut? It's darn fetching. Don't you think Robert looks fetching, dear?"

Jane Ann didn't go for the bait.

"We've got a problem," I said and explained how Wayne Karp and his boys had been prowling around the night before while everyone was over at Bullock's, and how I wanted Loren, in his capacity as constable, to go around and help me ascertain if people discovered anything stolen from their houses and barns."

"And what if they did steal stuff?"

"Then we'll have to do something about it," I said. "If you want me to find another constable, I'd understand."

"You don't think I have what it takes?" Loren said.

"You're a clergyman."

"So was Savonarola."

"I don't see you leading a crusade."

"He didn't lead a crusade. He cleaned up a town."

"I don't see us cleaning up Karptown," I said.

"Whatever it is you intend to do, don't you dare count me out of it," Loren said.

"My hero," Jane Ann said. "This gives me goose bumps."

For a moment, Loren looked like he wanted to throw Jane Ann off the bridge. I was beginning to worry what he was capable of, what he might do.