Chapter 12 calm

I was getting a haircut at the time.I was sitting in the barber chair and there were three men sitting across from me along the wall. ①There are two men waiting for a haircut that I have never seen before.But I recognized one of them, though I couldn't recall exactly where I'd seen him.I watched the barber as he worked on my head.The man moved a toothpick around in his mouth.He was a well built man with short curly hair.Then I remembered seeing him dressed in a uniform and hat that day, in the lobby of a bank, with his small eyes wary. The other two, one was quite old, with curly gray hair.He is smoking.The third man, guessing not very old, was almost bald, with hair hanging over his ears on the sides.He wore logging shoes and his trousers were shiny with motor oil.

The barber put one hand on the top of my head and turned me around for a closer look.Then he said to the doorman, "Did you catch a deer, Charles?" I like this barber.We don't know each other very well, and we can't call each other's names.But when I came in for a haircut, he recognized me.He knows I go fishing a lot, so we'll talk about fishing.I don't think he has hunted before.But he can talk about anything.At this point, he's a good barber. "That's an interesting story, Bill. It's a terrible one," said the doorman.He took out the toothpick and put it in the ashtray, shaking his head. "I both hit and didn't hit, so yes or no to your question."

I don't like the voice of this man.For a doorman, this sound is not suitable.It's not the sound you're expecting. The other two men looked up.The older man was flipping through a magazine and smoking a cigarette, and the other young man was holding a newspaper.They put down what they were looking at and turned their heads to listen to the guard. "Go on, Charles," said the barber, "let us hear." The barber turned my head again and continued with the scissors. "We went up the Magic Ridge. The old man, me, and the little guy. We went to shoot the deer. The old man was on the other side of the hill, and my son and I were on this side. The kid was drunk all night and looked terrible. He Blue in the face, drank all day, mine and his. It was afternoon,

We came out at dawn.But we were still hoping, hoping that the hunters down the ridge would drive some deer to our side.So we sat behind a log and watched the game when we heard the gunshots at the bottom of the valley. " "There are several orchards down the valley," said the boy with the newspaper.He was a little restless, put one leg on his back, shook his boots for a while, and put on the other leg. "Those deer are always walking around those orchards." "That's right," said the doorman. "They walk into the garden at night, these bastards, they eat those little unripe apples. Oh, yes, and then we heard gunshots, and a big old buck came from a dwarf not a hundred feet away. The bushes came out and we sat there and waited. The boy and I saw it at the same time. Of course, he immediately dropped to the ground and started shooting. This log lump. The old deer was all right, and my boy didn't scare him at all. But It couldn't tell which direction the gunshots were coming from, and it didn't know which side to run to. Then, I fired a shot, but in a panic, I just knocked it out."

"Knocked it out?" said the barber. "You know, knock it out," said the doorman. "A shot in the stomach. It's like the shot knocked him out. So he hung his head down and started shaking like this, his whole body was shaking. The kid was still shooting. I, I felt like I was back in North Korea. So I fired another shot and missed. And then the old Mr. Buck moved back into the bushes. But now, God behold, he was exhausted and dying. The kid beat the hell out of it and took the damn bullet It's over. But I did hit it. I put a bullet in its stomach. That's what I mean by knocking him out."

"And then?" said the boy with the newspaper, rolling it up and tapping his knee lightly. "What happened later? You must have chased them, they always find a hard-to-find place to die." "But you chased it?" asked the older man, though it wasn't really a question. "I chased. Me and the child, we chased together. But the child was useless, he was uncomfortable in the chase, and we had to slow down. That idiot." The doorman couldn't help laughing now thinking of the situation at that time . "Drinking beer all night, cleaning the shotgun, and saying he can hunt. God, he'll see by now. We did, though. And it was easy. Blood on the ground and leaves, everywhere. Still Never seen a buck bleed so much. I don't know how that hapless bastard got all the way."

"Sometimes they keep going," said the boy with the newspaper. "They find a hard-to-find place to die each time." "I yelled at the kid because he kept firing empty guns. When he refused to answer, I slapped him hard, right here." The doorman pointed to the side of his head and grinned. "I slapped myself, the damn guy, he's not sophisticated enough, he needs this. But the problem is, it's starting to get dark and there's no way to chase anymore, and the kid throws up and doesn't want to chase anymore." "Well, now those wolves will eat that deer," said the boy with the newspaper, "them and the crows, and the vultures."

He unfolded the newspaper, straightened it all the way, and set it aside.He crossed another leg, looked around us, and shook his head. The older man turned in his chair and looked out the window as he lit a cigarette. "I reckon so," said the doorman, "and poor old son of a bitch. So, Bill, for your question, I hit a deer and I didn't. But anyway we have Venison, for at last the old man caught a fawn and had brought it back to camp, hoisted it up, and gutted it neatly. Liver, heart, kidney all wrapped up in a piece of waxed paper and put in the freezer. A fawn, just a little bastard, but my father was fine with it."

The doorman looked around the barbershop as if remembering something, then picked up his toothpick and stuffed it into his mouth again. The older man snuffed out his cigarette and turned to the doorman.He took a breath and said, "You should go out and find that deer now instead of waiting here for a haircut." "You can't talk like that," said the doorman. "You bastard, I've seen you somewhere." "I've seen you too," said the old man. "That's enough, guys, this is my barbershop," said the barber. "I should slap you a few times," said the elder.

"You should try it," said the doorman. "Charles," said the barber. The barber put the comb and scissors on the counter and put his hand on my shoulder, as if he felt that I was about to leap from the chair and into the middle. "Abbott, I have been cutting Charles and his children's hair for many years now, and I hope you will stop arguing." The barber looked from one to the other, keeping his hand on my shoulder. "Go outside and talk about it," said the young man with the newspaper, excited and blushing, hoping for something to happen. "That's enough, really," said the barber. "Charles, I don't want to hear anything more on the subject. Abbott, you'll be the next one. Hello," the barber turned to the boy with the newspaper. , "Sir, we've never met, but I'd be grateful if you didn't intervene."

The doorman stood up, and he said, "I guess I'll come back later for a haircut, something's not right in the shop right now." When the guard went out, he closed the door heavily. The older man sits and smokes a cigarette.He looked out the window, and then looked carefully at something on the back of his hand.Then he stood up and put on his hat. "I'm sorry, Bill," said the older man, "but I can take a few more days." "All right, Albert," said the barber. When the old man went out, the barber stepped to the window to watch him go. "Abert's dying of emphysema," said the barber from the window. "We used to fish together, and he taught me all about salmon fishing. Those women, they used to crawl on this old Make a nest on his body. But he got angry later. But to be honest, sometimes he was forced out." The man with the newspaper couldn't sit still, he got up and walked around, sometimes stopping to look at things like the hat stand, the picture of Bill and his friends, the calendar from the hardware store with the views of each month of the year.He turned every page.He even stood there looking at Bill's business license in a framed picture on the wall.Then he turned around and said, "I'm leaving too." He said so, and he did. "So, do you want me to finish this haircut?" the barber said to me, as if I was the cause of all this. The barber turned me around in the chair to face the mirror, and he put his hands on either side of my head, poised my head one last time, then he lowered his head next to mine. We looked in the mirror together, his hands still styling my hair. I looked at myself, and he looked at me.But even if he saw something, he wouldn't comment. He ran his fingers through my hair, and he did it slowly, as if he was thinking of something else.He ran his fingers through my hair, and he did it gently, as a lover would do. It was in Crescent City, California, not far from the Oregon border.I left shortly after.But now I think of that place again, of the Crescent City, of how my wife and I were trying to live a new life there, and how that morning in the barber's chair I made up my mind to leave.Now, I think of the peace I felt when I closed my eyes and let the barber's fingers run through my hair, the warmth of those fingers, the hair that had begun to grow. ① According to American customs, customers usually turn their backs to the large mirror and face the back wall, so they can directly see the people at the bottom of the wall.