Dead Voices, page 23
Now, however, Vito was older, with a paunch under his white top, some of his hair gone, his skin mottled by too many years of cutting hair and dispensing counsel.
“As you can see, there aren’t many customers to talk to anymore, Mr. Z.”
“What happened?”
“I can ask the same with you, Mr. Z. The last I remember, you gave it all up down here to live up north in the bush. You said you had to get away to find something.”
“You always had good ears, Vito.”
“A barber without good ears isn’t a barber. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Let’s say I found out what I had lost. But I can’t be sure.”
“Who of us can be sure of anything, tell me that?” Vito said, giving him a little smile while looking at him through the mirror.
“I see we’ve come to the same fork in the road, right? Do we take the road of certainty or uncertainty?”
“I’m always uncertain of my certainty, Mr. Z.”
“Spoken like a true barber, Vito.”
“Are you going to get your old job back at the university?”
“No, I don’t think so. I have other work to do now.”
“Like what?”
Z looked out at the street. “Well, I’m not exactly sure. But I think I’ve been given a mission. A new job, so to speak. One that doesn’t pay a salary, though. Call it a commission, if you will.”
“You get paid by commission?”
“No, Vito. A commission as a call to service.”
“A call from who?”
“Ah, that’s a complicated matter. Let’s just say a call from within.”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Mr. Z. You have to speak plain to an ignorant guy like me.”
In the large mirror, Z could see Vito’s wry grin, as if he were revelling again in his role as the Barber of the Will, just as he, Z, was playing at being the solitary sage come from the bush to share his wisdom. And they were looking at each other through the mirror and seeing the other in each other’s eyes in ever receding feedback.
“It’s like reading the signs of the times,” he said. “And feeling compelled to do something about them.”
“I still don’t understand.”
He asked Vito to give him some of the most common complaints and issues he had heard from his customers in the last few years.
“Ah, now you’re talking my language,” Vito said.
Vito went through his litany of barber-shop poop and scoop. Personal and family issues. Problems at work. The rising tide of terrorism. Rising prices. The cost of living. Immigration. Conspiracy theories. Political scandals. The failure of the city’s sports teams. And all manner of other confidences the guys voiced in his barber’s chair. As a barber, he knew how to coax things out, never be judgmental, and give them free rein. Whatever was said in the shop stayed in the shop, Vito said. Some of his customers spoke freely, as if they were on a psychiatrist’s couch. Some confessed their sins, hoping for absolution. Some got belligerent. In all his years standing at the chair, he had heard everything.
“Barbers and cabbies have their fingers on the pulse of the nation,” Z said.
“I’m just a sounding board. Everyone needs a sympathetic ear. It’s part of my job.”
“Right, and then you cut their hair and offer temporary relief.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I’ve seen the signs of the times and feel I have to do some hair-cutting myself to offer temporary relief.”
“You going to be a barber, Mr. Z?”
“A Barber of the Mall.”
Vito shook his head. “A barber of them all? I don’t follow. And offer relief from what?”
“Shopping.”
Vito did a double-take in the mirror. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Depends on what you’re hearing.”
Vito laughed at their old shtick.
“But everyone needs to shop,” Vito said with a big grin. “My place is a shop. Shopping is good. It’s good for business and keeps the economy going. What’s wrong with shopping?”
“Well, it was good once, an important requirement for the necessities of life, but now it’s no more than a plague that has killed off the last vestiges of our noble nature.”
“Put it in simple words, Mr. Z. What do I know?”
“God hasn’t died, Vito. Honour has died. Nobility has died. Nobility earned by merit, of course, not by blood. Excellence has died. Knowledge has died. Greatness has died. The Spirit has died. Our God-Self has died.”
“I still don’t get you.”
“You wanna know how low we’ve sunk? We idolize movie stars and pop stars and wealthy entrepreneurs.”
Sitting back on the barber’s chair, Z could see Vito’s face in the mirror trying to digest the words.
“Do you want my honest opinion, Mr. Z? I only know hair and mirrors and what I hear and what I see. I know la bella figura, what looks good. And maybe a little of the haute couture, or the Alta Moda. I know what people like and don’t like. I know that business is bad for me these days, sure. Some of the old guys still mention some of those words like honour. But most people just don’t give a shit about those things, Mr. Z. They’re not real. And as long as people are shopping, life’s good, not bad.”
“Yeah, so it seems.”
They discussed the matter further and could come to no working agreement. Vito was more concerned about his failing business. He was thinking of either re-locating or selling his shop. His kids were grown up. He had a bit of a nest-egg. Maybe he’d go into real-estate. Maybe he and his wife might go back to Italy for a while.
“Listen, Vito,” Z said. “I have to go to the mall to buy some stuff for my new apartment. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. I dread going to the mall. It’ll be like Daniel in the lion’s den. Maybe you can help me out getting my things and you can scope the mall if you wanted to relocate there.”
It took a little more persuading, but Vito agreed. Mondays he was closed, but Tuesdays and Wednesdays were very slow days. He could leave the shop for a few hours and not even be noticed. Maybe he could, indeed, see if the mall and he were a good fit.
The following week, on a Tuesday, he picked Vito up and they drove the two blocks west and parked in the north parking lot in the sea of vehicles. It was a warm June day, the sun peeking through dense clouds. He wore a new pair of walking shorts and sandals and a good T-shirt, so as to blend in as much as possible, although he felt entirely naked without his mop of hair and beard. Vito had dressed up a bit, in dress slacks, pointy Italian shoes, and dark polo shirt, smelling of hair oil.
“It’s so big,” he told Vito as they walked to the entrance.
“It’s one of the largest in North America, Mr. Z.”
“Cut the Mister stuff, OK. Call me Z.”
They found a floor plan just inside the entrance. Z saw it was much the same as when he was here last years ago. Many of the stores had changed names, of course, but he could still recognize what was what.
It was two floors of hundreds of retail outlets and services and restaurants and food courts, built around towering skylights and encircled by a sea of parking that included multi-level structures. It had both high-end and low-end stores, home furnishings, house wares, men’s and ladies’ fashions, boutiques and dollar stores, entertainment and electronics, banks and food services, designer outlets, enough shoe stores to stock a small country, sporting goods and accessories, and speciality shops to cater to every need.
As they walked down one of the main concourses, he felt disoriented by the bright lights, the shops and boutiques ablaze in colour and merchandise, the thick crowds walking and talking, the treacly odour that seemed to seep into his brain. He saw slews of teens in groups and in pairs. Large families of kids and grandparents and babies in strollers. Smaller kids running around and playing. And people of all colours and religions, some in their native turbans and saris and head scarves, most in modern casual attire, some dressed to the nines, like a United Nations of shoppers. Many of them were using their smartphones, talking or texting as they strolled, some were seated and playing video games. Every so often they came upon an open area with escalators and they could see down to the floor below. In the background to the babble was the music, a soft modern beat that came from the concourse and individual outlets. What bothered Z the most, however, was a sort of electrical hum that short-circuited his head.
“What’s that hum?” he asked Vito.
“The controlled air system, I guess.”
“And that odour in the air. Is that perfume?”
“I guess so.”
“It could be a drug that hypnotizes people into the buying mood.”
“You sound like one of my customers, Z.”
“If you relocated here you’d get plenty of customers.”
“Yeah, but the rent would be so high. I don’t know, Z. I don’t think this is the place for a barber shop. I’m too old-school like you.”
As they strolled towards the low-end superstore, Z took notice of various coffee shops that had people sitting at tables in the middle of the concourse.
The megastore — two floors that sold everything from groceries to pharmaceuticals to hardware and vision and travel services — had signs everywhere rolling back its low prices.
Z saw aisles of food, clothing, furniture, home appliances, electronics, sports equipment, toys, jewellery, beauty supplies, gardening, stationery, shoes, and everything in between. Vito, however, kept shaking his head and making disapproving noises. This wasn’t his type of store, he said. It was so low-end it was disgraceful. Any self-respecting Italian who knew anything about la bella figura wouldn’t be found dead in this store, he said.
With some searching, they found everything Z needed for now and packed two carts and wheeled them to the SUV. The larger items, like furniture, they’d have to get another day.
After they loaded the SUV, they wheeled their carts to the cart-bay.
“Let’s get a coffee before going back,” Z said.
They found a chain coffee shop not far from the boxstore. It had the tables inside an enclosed space separated by a wooden parapet in the middle of the concourse so people could see in and out without being interrupted by the strollers. After they got their coffees in the kiosk outside, they sat down at the only open table left and rested their weary bones.
“The mall has gone global,” Z said.
“We’re all shoppers at heart,” Vito said, smiling and sipping his coffee. “I still don’t see how shopping is bad for us.”
“At one time the marketplace was outside the temple. Now it is the temple.”
“C’mon, aren’t you exaggerating a little? This is no temple.”
“Once upon a time people worshipped the gods of the sky, the gods of the earth, and made sacrifices and bent their knees. Now we worship brand names and swipe our plastic.”
“You can’t talk like that, Z. These people work hard during the week to come here and shop. That’s their power, their joy. To give their kids things they never had.”
“I rest my case.”
“That’s no worship. It’s dedication to their families. It’s progress. We can’t go back to worshipping gods of the sky and earth, Z.”
Z laughed. “I guess I’d be tilting at bank buildings.”
“Listen,” Vito said, putting his head closer. “You can’t speak like that to shoppers. They won’t understand what you’re saying. You have to speak about sales and low prices, about upscale and lowscale. To speak to shoppers you have to be a shopper, Z.”
Close by, Z saw a few young couples in jeans and designer tops, families with young kids, an older middle-aged couple, some teens, young girls and some with young guys checking the girls out. They were brown and white, for the most part. Some were checking their smartphones. All had a certain life-less expression, bland and apathetic, as if wired into themselves and indifferent to the outside space.
The re-cycled air and odd odour were giving him a headache.
“I understand, Vito. But sometimes one has to use extreme measures to get one’s point across. These shoppers don’t realize the danger they’re in.”
“What danger?”
“When I was a little kid we had a confectionary store in our neighbourhood and I’d drop in every so often and look at all the candy and all the stuff I couldn’t buy. And I’d imagine what it would be like to eat all the chocolate bars I could . . . every day.”
“That’s not the same, Z. We live in a great country. We have freedom, peace, and prosperity. Why shouldn’t we enjoy the fruits of our labour?”
“Quite right, Vito,” he said, loud enough to be heard by the people close by. “But not if our only goal in life is to be a shopper.”
Vito laughed. “C’mon, that’s not the only goal. You’re insulting these people.”
“Well, we should ask them.”
“We can’t ask them. We have to keep it down, Z. Or we’ll get booted out.”
“It wouldn’t matter anyway, Vito. Nobody would listen to me. They’re all believers of the god of the mall. They wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”
“That’s crazy talk,” Vito said, visibly uncomfortable as he regarded the other patrons of the coffee shop.
“It’s been a long time since I lectured at the school.”
“That’s the last thing these people wanna hear,” Vito said.
Nevertheless, he gave it a shot. Like the old prophets in the marketplace. He spoke in a low tone, not loud enough to draw too much attention to himself, but to be heard by the shoppers sitting closest to their table. He spoke about the old pagan gods of the earth and sky, then the Hebrew God of the Law, then the triune God of Christianity — all supplanted by the god of retail. He told them the gnosis and the pneuma were dead. And there’d be no second coming.
No one gave the slightest indication that they were listening, however. They seemed totally engrossed in what they were doing.
Z drained his coffee mug, then banged it against the table top, creating a loud stir. Everyone turned their heads and looked at him with annoyance. Some got up to leave.
“You see, Vito,” he said. “They listen to stupid noise, but don’t hear the words of the gnosis and the pneuma. Long live the flesh and the god of the mall.”
One of the kids manning the coffee dispensing kiosk came over and told them they had to leave. If they didn’t leave, they’ve have to call Security.
“Let’s get outta here, Z,” Vito said. “You made your point. We’re chasing all the customers away. We’re not good for business, I’ll tell you that.”
They got up and walked away.
“If I may offer a suggestion,” Vito said, as they walked down the concourse, “you’ll never get the shoppers to listen to you, Z, unless you dress the part.”
“How should I be dressed?”
“You’re low-end. Nobody listens to a low-end guy in shorts and T-shirt. You gotta dress better than any shopper here, Z. You gotta put on the robes. Then they’ll take notice and listen.”
“What robes?”
“The robes of Alta Moda. I may be a simple barber, but I’ve been to Italy and seen the world of Alta Moda. I know what it means to step into a room and turn everyone’s head with an outfit that vanquishes everyone’s eye. And if you’re going to mix with the mall crowd and try to get their ear, you have to catch their eye.”
“You may have a point there, Vito.”
“Good duds aren’t cheap, though.”
Vito took him to a fashionable high-end men’s clothing store. Z stood still as the tailor made all the measurements for a ready-to-wear suit.
“I want nothing but the best for my man here,” Vito told the tailor, an old fastidious guy who couldn’t hide his displeasure at what Z was wearing.
They also got two silk shirts, a few ties, and Italian shoes so soft Z couldn’t believe his feet were inside.
When he saw the total price, his head spun. Vito had to use his credit card. He told Vito he had enough in the bank to cover it.
The following week, dressed in his new attire, he picked Vito up at his shop for another round of shopping. Vito whistled when he saw him.
“I gotta say, Z, you have the robes now. And the look.”
“What look?”
“The look that screams, It’s me. With the short hair, the stubble, the lean and cut face, the good threads, you look like a mafia dude in fine linen. Like a spiritual gangster.”
“It’s not the real me in these clothes, Vito. I’m just in disguise.”
“It takes time, Z.”
He had Z sit in the barber chair and gave him a little added grooming. He put some gel in his hair and mussed it up. He patted his cheeks with a little lotion.
“The mirror never lies, right?” Vito said.
At the mega-mall instead of going to the low-end superstore, they went to a few higher-end outlets to get the furniture and small appliances. Z noticed right away the clerks treated him with deference. They smiled. They almost bowed in homage to his attire. This time he brought enough cash with him and had the merchandise delivered. Afterwards, they sat at another coffee place close to the food court.
With the added people, it was noisier as well, with all the mundane chatter of the world he had tried to escape from. Z noticed a number of older men, retired guys by the look of them, who were strolling around the area and chatting at various rest areas with benches and comfortable sofas. Some of them were in the food court that protruded onto the atrium of the concourse, where it was brighter from the skylights.
By raising his voice, Z could talk to Vito and the shoppers at the same time. A few of the older guys took notice. They came over and stood near their table as Z went into his shtick. Vito fed him his lines with a big smile, as if they were holding discourse in a barber shop.
“What’s so wrong with shopping?” Vito said.
“It’s become the highest value of our lives.”
