Eric Longhairbarber
I was in high spirits. At last, someone had responded to my advert seeking domestic help for half a day a week. The time had now come for us to meet, and the doorbell rang right on the agreed time. I was pleasantly surprised when I opened the door. Jolande, as she was called, was a twenty-two-year-old student. I’d already noted down those basic details. It turned out she was a looker as well. A tall girl, one metre seventy, not too thin but slender with lovely curves, a friendly face and a long ponytail reaching halfway down her back. Her hair was blonde, full and had a lovely wave to it.
After the obligatory introduction over coffee, Jolande set to work. I went to my study. Every now and then I popped in to check whether she was finding her way around. I didn’t need to worry about her, though. She worked quickly and skilfully. Whilst she was working, I caught a glimpse of her long ponytail, which swayed with the movements of her body as she went about her work. It intrigued me. How I’d love to feel it in my hands. I had to be patient, though. I didn’t want to force anything or come across as strange. I decided to wait a few weeks – in the hope that she wouldn’t go to the hairdresser in the meantime.
When she came in for the fourth week, I plucked up the courage. Our little chats in between had helped us get to know each other a bit. Whilst she was taking a short break with a glass of water and a cigarette, I brought up her beautiful hair. ‘By the way, you’ve got gorgeous hair – has anyone ever told you that?’ Jolande blushed slightly and said, ‘Thank you. I don’t think it’s anything special myself. But I do hear it quite often.’ ‘Well, rightly so,’ I said. ‘Would you mind if I had a feel of it? It must be a special sensation.’ ‘Ha ha, no problem at all!’ And she turned round. I stretched out my right hand and let the remarkably heavy ponytail slide through my hand a few times. The silky hair felt wonderfully soft and cool to the touch.
‘This might be a strange question: but might I have a go at brushing it?’ I asked. Jolande turned round and looked at me somewhat suspiciously. ‘Well, I gave you a finger and now you take the whole hand?’ For a moment I didn’t know what to say and feared I’d overstepped the mark. But I didn’t have much left to lose now, so I followed a hunch: ‘What if I paid for it?’ I waited a moment to see how she’d react. She didn’t reject the idea outright; she looked at me thoughtfully, waiting for me to be a bit more specific. ‘Let’s say: twenty euros for a quarter of an hour?’ She relaxed. ‘Ha ha, that’s fine by me. That’s easy money. Right now?’
The deal was done. I left Jolande sitting at the table, asked her to wait a moment, and fetched my brush set from the bathroom – one I’d bought ages ago in the hope that something like this might happen one day. It was sitting next to my hairdressing kit, which I used every now and then to do my own hair and that of my friends. When I came back, she was just taking the hair tie out of her hair. Her hair fell smoothly down the full width of her back. Rarely had I seen such a luxuriant head of hair. I pulled up a chair for myself, sat down behind her and first ran my hands through it. Then I began to brush it, gently untangling the knots at first. I moved the brush rhythmically in long strokes from top to bottom. Her hair felt soft and smelled wonderful. I secretly took a quick sniff and felt the soft silk against my cheeks.
***
It became a habit. The weekly grooming session was supplemented by a quarter of an hour, sometimes half an hour, of brushing. On one occasion, the conversation took a strange turn whilst I was brushing her hair. We were talking about Jolande’s personal situation and, in fits and starts, it emerged that she was currently in rather tight financial straits. She eventually opened up about her problem and began to cry. I said, ‘Perhaps I can help you. How much would help you right now?’ It turned out she needed no less than five hundred euros to get out of her difficulties. ‘But I don’t want to beg,’ she said, sobbing.
‘Well, we could agree on something in return,’ I replied. I ran my fingers through her long locks. ‘I suggest you sell me your hair. You know I’m rather fond of it.’ My heart was pounding in my throat. I was prepared for anything. But without batting an eyelid, Jolande replied: ‘Perhaps that’s a good plan. Then we won’t owe each other anything. But how much will I have to give up?’ I thought for a moment and held my hands up to her chin. ‘Well, if I cut it off at chin level, five hundred euros… And a thousand if I’m allowed to cut it as short as possible.’
There was a brief silence, and then Jolande nodded decisively: ‘I’ll go for the top prize!’ I decided to let her sleep on it for a night after all. ‘That’s not necessary,’ she brushed it off: ‘But perhaps it’s best if I get used to the idea. I’ll come first thing tomorrow morning, OK?’ She turned to face me and I nodded. ‘And I’ll ask my friend Destiny to come along. That way I’ll have some support if it gets too much for me.’ ‘OK, then I’ll make sure I’ve got the cash ready at home.’ Amidst a palpable tension, we said our goodbyes that afternoon.
***
No sooner said than done. The next morning, Jolande was at the door, accompanied by her friend Destiny. She didn’t want any coffee, so I took her to my office, where I’d set up the office chair as a hairdresser’s chair. I’d placed a mirror on my desk and laid out combs, brushes, scissors and a clipper. Jolande swallowed hard but took her seat. Her friend put an arm around her in a reassuring gesture, kissed her on the head and sat down in a corner.
I draped the white cape over Jolande’s shoulders, fastened it at the nape of her neck and played with her long, full ponytail for a moment. Then I pulled out the hair tie and, with a rustling sound, the incomparable silky fabric fell over her back. I began to brush it. As always, the brush glided through her supple hair. Actually, I thought it was a shame, because now it would be a very long time before I could enjoy brushing it again. However, this was a unique opportunity.
I walked over to my desk and slipped a pair of extra-strong scissors into my breast pocket. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, looking at her intently through the mirror. Jolande glanced briefly at Destiny, who gave her an encouraging nod, and nodded silently in agreement. ‘And are you going for the thousand?’ She nodded again. Destiny asked seriously, ‘Are you sure, girl?’ ‘Yes,’ came the firm reply. ‘Right,’ I said, ‘Here we go!’
I gave her hair a thorough brush-through, then used my left hand to section off a large tuft of hair at the back of Jolande’s head and cut it off close to the scalp. I carefully placed the long, thick lock on the desk. And so we carried on until all the hair lay on the desk in the form of an impressive tuft measuring fifty centimetres. Not a word had been spoken during that time. Then I took the clippers and trimmed the uneven short haircut to a uniform length of half a centimetre. Only then did Jolanda look up and see herself in the mirror. Through her tears, she smiled. It was a beautiful sight. ‘See,’ said Destiny, ‘I was right. You should have done this much sooner!’ I was momentarily speechless with surprise. Destiny’s role turned out to be different after all from what I’d thought.
To be continued.
