The Barber's Pole

The Mayfair was as halcyon as the dulcet sounds she made. Navigating all her grandness onwards and outwards to New York. However, there could be heard a less melodic sound emanating from E-deck. A violent groan, from one Mr Cormac Martin. Throttling his body in his underwhelming bunk bed. He was a disturbed sleeper. He always seemed somewhat unhappy. As though something was missing. Only changing his expression when he seemed to be mocking an imaginary opponent in his sleep. As his nose twitched and his eyelids fluttered in R.E.M, a weak sort of gasping was also coming from outside cabin 44's porthole. Cormac had just begun to enjoy this tempestuous tirade involving belittling the galley maid's daughter. His nostrils flared and twitched tossing his head back and fro. His eyelids snapped open. His countenance was one of rage. Holding his breath he pawed for his pocket watch from his meagre bedside table. The top bunks did not offer such luxuries. The men had to keep their goods under their mattresses. Not I thought Cormac. Hardship was for the plebs. He always made sure to look after number one. As the watch face slipped he snatched for the leather fob. He still had the reflexes of a star-nosed mole and he was as shrewd as a fox but he was in no mood to bask in his superpowers. The time was 1420 and he began duty at 1600 hours. He felt the swell underneath him. Interrupted again by a series of three klee's - klee, klee, klee. Barely audible but enough to have interrupted his sleep. This bird call sounded raspier than it should be. He sat upright rubbing his face and clearing his trachea. He smoothed down his wiry hair managing to catch his fingernail. "Oh, you Bastard!" He shook his hand as if to shake away the pain. On investigation he had torn the nail off and was exposing a salmon coloured cuticle. He winced. Out his porthole, he could see, of all things, a kestrel. The kestrel was perched ominously on the handrails. A strange sight to behold. He thought about the logistics of that bird landing on this very ship. He smiled and turned back to undertake the task of dressing himself. Wearing his uniform made him feel the man that he really was. He had managed to cast aside his relatives years ago. They were as poor and stupid church mice. He had detested his family for as long as he could remember. Instead making a pact with himself to do whatever it took to get out of Greystones. When he was 15 his neighbour's cousin was visiting for the summer break. As they fished on the docks as a necessity rather than for recreation. The cousin divulged to Cormac how he was going to sit an entry exam in three days time at the Merchant college of Dublin to land a job in the navy. Callum - that young boy drowned the next day. Cause of death was drowning but it never made sense to his mum and dad because he was like a fish. A very experienced and strong swimmer. Cormac explained to the Mum and Dad that port is illusory and actually the current there is arduous and how he had done his best to warn Callum. But Callum didn't seem to want to listen. His parents were touched at this young boy's empathy. They made him a pole bearer and still write to him to him this day. The neighbour stopped playing with him but that didn't bother Cormac as he was outta there anyway. He passed the exams and began his internship that same year. Cormac realized he has them and Callum to thank for sitting those exams that summer. By the way, not everyone can pass those entry exams you know? They're not for simpletons. You have to be purrity smart, nodding his head. Cormac slipped his nightshirt over his head and admired his shoulders and then in a very orderly fashion he laid all of his night garb out onto his bed. He donned his fish tail woolen uniform pants. Put on his under shirt, cuffs, collar and tightened his braces. He kept his undergarments on. There was very little fresh water on board Titanic. Washing clothes was just not a thing. Although first class had the privelege of course of having their servants or stewards press and clean their attire. He slid his oxford shoes on and his double breasted coat came down, fastening his brass buttons. Last but not least, his favourite piece of uniform- his visor hat. Worn ever so proudly with the golden oak leaf. He secured his pocket watch to his vest. Picked up his tobaccy stash, pipe and his silver match tin. The only tangable memento to his father. To this day he never knew what became of him. People had their theories. The memory he had of him was his Daddy walking down the lane, away from their humble dwelling. Cormac smirked and said aloud "clever prick really."

When he left the cabin he always made sure to slam the steel door in case any of those cretons he shared a berth with happened to be in a deep slumber. He was always impeccably punctual. He picked up the pace somewhat which seemed to create a feeling of tightness in the already narrow corridors. The dwarfed width emphasized his chest and shoulders, he thought. He breathed deaply into his diaphram - puffing himself up. On his port side there was another door. He jimmied it open and he felt the woooosh of the North Atlantic ocean. Aaah.With closed eyes he sucked it aaalll down. One is always drawn to the edge of a ship - the ship railing. Then there is almost a compulsion to look down. All so powerful. If you toppled you would your neck would snap before the fatal, force and beneath the icey water is 12.......tttthousand feet of pure hyperthermia and suffocation. It has always amazed me that only this fine delicate railing alone is the buffer between us and the frightening vortex, below. Something caught the eye of the 4th engineer. It was the movement of a bird opening and closing its beak. As though gasping for air. The bird behaved in a confused manner. Cormac smiled and approached the bird gently. The kestrel's eyes were closed but they were framed with wrinkles. He had seen this as a child. The bird was dehydrated. He took his silver flask from his coat pocket and put some drops of fresh water on the ship rail next to it. It was a bloomen miracle that this bird had made it this far. We were thousands of miles from New Foundland and here it was. Must have made a navigational error of judgement. The strong northerly wind flattened out the feathers. Showing the winged stow away's malnourished and minute frame. The kestrel tried to move away from this human but was too exhausted. Cormac slowly comforted the bird with a gentle stroke from his pointer finger and the bird obsequiously obliged. An unlikely bond was occuring. Cormac gently stroked the bird and the bird accepted this. Maybe even began to like it a little? I don't know. Quite remarkable really. The wind blew his feathers down exposing a malnourished tiny frame and then Cormac's finger forcefully plunged the little bird into the fierce sea. Cormac lit his pipe and continued on. He was hungry. On his way to the crew's mess. He was humming a rag time tune. He came upon a barber's pole twirling. He remembered his finger. Aware of the time he hastily and stuck his head in the shop and asked in a very bombastic tone" how much for a trim?"

"Well Monsieur "said the barber " come in, come in". "No" said Cormac sternly " simply the cost?" There were other customers Already engaged in hair cuts but it seemed as though this engineer could not see this. So to mollify everybody. He first apologised and asked the existing customers if to please excuse him. He wont be long. Then he smiled broadly and humbly asked " Sorry your name Monsier?" said the barber.

" Mr Martin. Look, I really dont have time for this. I'm back on duty at 1600 hours."

" I see. I wont take much of your time but please have a seat."

Cormac stiffly obliged. Maurice selected the finest comb from his vanity table. He then carefully came from behind Cormac's chair. He began to wet his hair with a spray bottle and softly comb his hair forward. Cormac did not like this at all. He felt as though he was being mocked. But then Maurice began to sweep all of his thick hair back and twine the side hair under his ears. He squatted behind him again leaving Cormac slightly uncomfortable. As he slowly rose Maurice's mouth was a little agape. To Cormac he seemed as though he was looking straight at him but when Cormac attempted to discover if he was or wasnt Maurice seemed focused only on his hair. An opticle illusion. Maurice slowly stood up again. This time he held Cormac with his hands around his shoulders like he was realigning his back. In a very pleasant voice. Maurice said "I want you to be happy so come back tomorrow and I can focus just on your hair. It is 3 L just for the trim or 5 L with a Gentleman's shave. If you come by tomorrow"

"Fine I'll see you then, 2000 hours. Daylight robbery if you ask me but you have me over a barrel". But before Maurice could apologize Cormac's back was diminishing through a passage way.

Cormac arrived sharply the following day. This time there were no other customers. Cormac felt a little easier and slumped into the koken barber chair. Maurice reclined the headrest for him and their eyes and mouths met when spontaneously Maurice spun Cormac in his chair. As Cormac stood to put an end to this nonsense Maurice pressed him back into his seat and overpowered him and then Cormac froze but tingled. Strangely Cormac knew he should be going fisty cuffs at this strange barber but he didnt want to. He knew it was wrong but he wanted this more than anything else. He was hungry now. Licking his lips and in a state of awe. Maurice firmly pressed his lips onto Cormac's soft mouth and held his face. Maurice kicked the barber door shut and they devoured eachother. Cormac cried for the first time he can remember. Maurice kissed his tears. Cormac went to run but tripped on the foot rest. Maurice looked deeply into him, inches from each other's face. Tasting the others sweet smell. Magic happened that night. Cormac had never been alive from the inside like that. This man-made him feel alive. He felt happy and loved for the first time in his life. He stopped running. Instead he offered Maurice some cabin biscuits he had hoarded. Maurice opened some champagne a loyal customer had brought and that night they lay on the linoleum floor and laughed and giggled. Laughed and gushed and Maurice did finally cut Cormac's hair. He gave him a softer more distinguished style with some loose curls peaking just above his eyebrow.

Maurice had begun a very erotic shave when from nowhere there was a loud bang and when he looked down the blade had jolted and sliced into Cormac's jugular. Severing his artery. Although Cormac went into a frenzy just before he took his last breath he placed his hands with Maurices to his heart and said "now I have found what I was looking for." Maurice in vain tried to hug and love the man back to life but there was no point. He slumped forward and was lifeless. Maurice screamed and wailed. Distraught he lay on the little shop floor holding his love. He heard commotion and the lights went out but then back on. Porters were knocking but he pretended nobody was there. It was too late and he didn't care about the fire drill or even how he was going to explain what happened. Let alone ever get another client. How would he explain this? Unfortunately, he never got to contemplate those problems because by 1 am he was knee-deep in his own nightmare. By the time he realized he should get out, he could no longer push the shop door open and realized it was hopeless. Instead, he made the decision to breathe love into the terror he felt throughout the best and the worst evening he had ever had in his entire life. It took 27 minutes for the shop to fill with the ocean and two minutes for Maurice to die.