Losing Face, page 21
‘And we never cry or try to run away or ask for help from the neighbour who see everything. And you know why?’
The question wasn’t rhetorical. ‘Because you were scared?’
She laughed maniacally. ‘Scared? Scared? You think we scared? No. We shut up because we know same thing happening to women everywhere. We know that man’s hand gonna take thousand of years to take off our throat. So we keep quiet, stay waiting. If we yell in the village, nothing gonna change. You thinking men are not so bad anymore, they don’t think like this anymore, but I tell you something, Joey. Deep in the mind, any man from all time, no matter what they like to fuck – women, other men, goats – deep in the mind, they still believe woman is weaker than man.’
She stood up. Joey was empty.
She walked towards the garden and kicked with her slipper at a weed growing from a crack in the concrete until it dislodged. ‘And this is why that shit happen to the young girl in the car park with you and them kleb.’ She sounded like she was swallowing her tears. She bent over, picked up the weed and flung it into the garden. ‘And this is why, all around the world, men always doing shit to women in car parks.’
Joey’s anxiety had indeed lifted like magic earlier, and it returned like magic too.
The cash-only barber shop in the decomposing arcade in Bankstown was so small and busy that guys waiting their turn hung out near the dumpsters behind the reception hall or outside the shoe repair shop.
It was always busy. Even in the middle of the day when people were supposed to be at work, there was a disorderly queue. Customers would pop their heads in, greet the barbers in English, in Arabic, in grunts, decide to wait, or promise to return in a few hours. It was an arduous process, but the two brother-barbers cut the best fade, so the wait to spruce up before weekend shenanigans was worth it.
Most of the men had their hair cut weekly, got their beards trimmed, had their ears and nostrils waxed, eyebrows shaped. Older men usually had a hot shave. Everyone seemed to know about each other’s cars, had wives who were friends, subcontracted construction work from one another.
Joey had recommended the shop to Alex but apparently, on his initial voyage, after waiting an hour in the queue, the barbers let three new customers sit in the chair before him, so he stormed out and went to Just Cuts at Centro.
One of the brother-barbers was quiet and one was loud. To Joey the haircuts were identical, but still some of the men preferred one over the other. Joey favoured the quiet one purely because he could avoid conversation. Many of the customers were brazen enough to say they’d wait for their preferred barber to free up. Joey had tried to do the same once and ended up confusing the whole shop. Since then he decided to never talk in there again.
‘Cuz, you’re up.’
It was the talkative one for the third time in a row.
Joey shuffled over to the chair and removed his cap, which he had taken to wearing quite low on his forehead.
‘Ay, you’re that bloke! You and your mates got done for getting blowies off that chick in the car park.’
Joey’s blood evaporated. Everyone in the shop looked at him. If they couldn’t see him directly, they stared at his reflection in the mirror. The music momentarily paused as the track switched.
‘Fuck. You guys got done, bro. Ayri fiya. She must have been a sharmouta. What did she expect was gonna happen, hangin out with five blokes in the middle of the night?’
He extended his fist for Joey to bump and he obliged, shaking.
‘So did you get off or what?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Lucky, bro. Hopefully the others get off too. You know that Haz guy grew up on the same street as my missus? She reckons he was rough as guts, but apparently his family was next-level hammered, so what do you expect? He’s come into the shop a few times actually.’
As he spoke, the barber fastened the cape around Joey’s neck. He flicked the clippers on and pushed the blade into Joey’s temple. They were usually very fast at haircutting, but he worried the interest in him would keep him trapped in the chair longer. He gripped the worn-out plastic on the arms tightly underneath the cape. Most of the other men in the shop resumed looking at their phones or talking to each other but some were still fixated on Joey.
The barber was doing a good job of having the conversation on his own. Taking drawn-out pauses to think. Speaking with such a slow drawl that Joey was convinced he was stoned.
‘You know what the problem is with this country? They don’t take everything into consideration, bro.’
He switched the clippers off and turned to the men in the waiting chairs, opening his arms out wide as he spoke, pulling his neck back.
‘Don’t get me wrong. If someone did that to my sister, I would slit their throats, but my sister would never be in that situation in the first place, you know what I mean?’
One of the men nodded at him and the clippers came back on. Joey was a knot, pulled so tight he thought he would never come undone again.
‘Obviously I don’t know the ins and outs but is the woman not to blame too, ya khayi?’
Joey was glad the questions weren’t meant to be answered.
No-one spoke for around five minutes and then the sound of sirens approached. The guys looked around at each other. One of them pushed his chair back, curling his neck around the door like an emu to see into the laneway. The sirens stopped moving, close by. The quiet brother grabbed a fresh razor from the counter in front of Joey and they locked eyes in the mirror.
The other one fired up again. ‘No, the government now wants to take into consideration what the sluts and thieves and faggots have to say.’ He made a sarcastic sound with his nose as he switched the clippers off again and turned to address his indulging customers. ‘The hard-working bloke like me, like you, like him – the bloke that does his job, goes home, prays, avoids stepping on an ant – we mean nothing, cuz. Nothing, kess ekhta.’ His words commandeered his arms, fingers, chest, eyebrows. He was preaching.
A response miraculously came together in Joey’s gut, probed his throat, tested him.
‘Trim on top?’ the barber asked.
‘Huh?’
‘Do you want the top trimmed?’
Even though Joey did, he said, ‘Nah.’
The barber switched the hair dryer on and blew away the cut hair from Joey’s face and neck. He raised his voice over the hot air. ‘Sometimes, boys, sometimes I reckon we’re all better off getting the fuck out of here. Back to our roots, you know what I mean? Our parents came here for money, alright, but the way I see it the money has pretty much dried up and, with it, human fucking decency. I don’t want my kids around all this tempting shit.’
The power in the arcade went off. The hair dryer wheezed, fell silent. The lights and music wound down like it was all just a cartoon. Eyes bounced around the shop walls. The sirens trilled, closer.
Joey ripped the cape off him and leapt out of the chair. He threw thirty dollars onto the counter and bolted.
The number still wasn’t saved in his phone, but it was there. His thumb hovered over the dial button. Maybe he didn’t need to know exactly what to say.
There was an answer after two rings.
‘Hey, buddy.’ His father’s voice was bouncy. Like he’d won something.
‘Ay.’
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Joey’s voice cracked, the panic from the barber shop still coursing through him. ‘Nothing … was gonna say thanks for coming and stuff.’
‘Mate, I’m your father. No need to thank me. I’m just glad we are back in each other’s lives.’
Joey wasn’t really bothered for the cutesy shit. ‘You arrived home alright?’
‘Yeah, got in about an hour ago. Sorry I left straight away. I’ll come down soon, though.’
‘What’s it like over there?’
‘The weather? It’s ace. I’m about to go for a swim.’
‘Nah, I meant, like, in general.’
‘The Gold Coast is laidback, beaches. No drama. How come?’
‘Just wondering. It’s pretty shit here. I’m over all the heads in the area.’
‘Maybe it’s time you got out of Sydney. Went on an adventure or something.’ His father had forgotten how to read people.
‘With what money?’
‘I could try to help you out.’
‘Nah, thanks.’
‘Joe, I know it’s a shit time but, mate, you gotta stay positive. Things could have been a lot worse.’
They paused for a moment and Joey heard the ocean through the phone.
‘Do you ever think about the guy you ran over?’ Joey asked.
‘Very often.’
‘What would you say to him if you had the chance?’
‘There’d be too much to say. But I’d start with an apology and with taking ownership of what I did.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘I gotta get out of here. Do you think I could … actually, don’t worry about it.’
‘Joe, I know how you feel. You can talk to me.’
‘I wish I could be a fly on the wall or something and see that she’s okay. That she’s going to work, seeing her friends, living her life, is happy and shit.’
Another pause and Joey heard teenagers laughing on the other end. He could tell they were teenagers because he had laughed like that too. He pictured them: tanned, blue eyes, taut bodies, arms around each other. Like a Coca-Cola ad.
‘I hate to be the one to tell ya this, Joey, but I know from experience that’s a dangerous thought.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, because it makes the victim’s experience about you. You want to know that they’re okay so that you feel okay. It’s something my therapist spoke a lot about when I was inside.’
Joey was an idiot. And now the father he never knew was telling him that he was an idiot. ‘Alright, I gotta go, anyway.’
‘Chin up, buddy. I’ll call ya soon.’
Joey looked up at the sky to stop the tears from falling out of his eyes. His existence had no rhythm. It was a drop of oil in water. When he looked back down it started to drizzle and the parents standing on the sidelines of the play equipment in Paul Keating Park called out for their children. The park was too manicured. He longed for somewhere wild. Something wild.
‘Hey.’
The call came from behind, but he didn’t care to turn. If it was legitimate, they could come around to face him. He was sitting, knees crossed, his cheeks resting in his hands, staring at the grass. A pair of black Chuck Taylors appeared in front of him.
‘Hey,’ the person said again.
Joey looked up the body slowly. It was the quiet brother-barber.
‘What’s up?’ Joey asked.
‘Don’t worry about my brother. He talks a lot of shit. Here.’ The barber dropped Joey’s cash in his lap.
‘Nah, man, I don’t want it. I got a haircut, I paid for it.’
‘It’s actually not finished. The back isn’t blended in.’
‘All good. I’ll get my brother to fix it at home.’
Joey held the cash up towards the guy’s waist, but his hands were firmly in his pockets. The little cut hairs on Joey’s neck prickled. He needed a shower and he was sweaty and now the rain was making it worse. The notes flapped in his hand until he tired and gave up.
The guy stood there like Joey had something else to offer.
‘Did you leave the shop just to find me and give my money back?’
‘Nah. We had to close up. There was a fire in the building so the power isn’t coming back on. Some bloke ended up with a quarter of a haircut.’
Joey tried to laugh.
‘Anyway, what are you doing? You’re gonna get wet. Get up,’ the barber said.
He offered his hand to help lift Joey up. The hand was slender. As they walked to the edge of the park, the rain pelted down and they had to raise their voices over it.
‘How are you getting home?’ the barber asked.
‘I don’t know. Was gonna walk.’
‘You wanna come over and I’ll finish your hair off with my clippers? I live up the road.’
There was nothing else to do. ‘Yeah, alright.’
‘I’m parked at Aldi.’
‘Why there?’
‘Because there’s nowhere else to park all day, and I’m mates with the security guy.’
The barber’s shoes slapped against the puddles as they jogged to the car. The cool cats who used to scoff at TNs were now wearing them around Newtown and the guys from the area had swapped to Chuck Taylors.
The barber drove a Mazda, and the drive was less than four minutes to one of those aluminium-clad apartment blocks that cast ugly shapes on the landscape. In the lift, Joey prayed the guy had some weed, even though he didn’t look the type.
The apartment stank like a sweet candle and there was an oddness to the way it was styled – too many cushions on the baby blue couch, a white throw over the armchair, a large frame with a black-and-white photo of the Eiffel Tower.
The quiet brother-barber transformed in his trendy space. His hips seemed wider, his movements longer, more liquid. And he wasn’t quiet anymore. He spoke about the apartment, explained some of the knick-knacks on the kitchen bar, offered Joey a glass of white wine and when he sat on the armchair, he crossed his legs. Joey gulped the wine and looked up at the air-conditioning unit willing it to come on. The rain hammered the tiny balcony overlooking the busy road.
Joey pointed at the Eiffel Tower. ‘You ever been there?’
‘Nah.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty-three. You?’
‘I’m twenty next month.’
‘Shit, you’re a baby. Come to the bathroom. I’ll do your hair.’
The vanity was covered in what looked like expensive products. Joey sat on the edge of the bathtub.
‘Take your top off. The hair will get stuck to it. You can have a shower after, anyway,’ the barber said.
‘All good. I can shower at home.’
‘Why? It’s no biggie. I’ve got plenty of towels.’
As if the number of towels was the reason Joey didn’t want to shower in the barber’s apartment. ‘Alright.’
He felt hungry, or nervous. Far from home. He removed his hoodie and T-shirt and hoped it would be done quick. It was only the back that needed to be touched up, after all, but it took forever, and his legs shivered.
When he was done the barber left the bathroom to get a towel and Joey slipped his jeans off and stood waiting in his undies.
The towel was thick and rolled into a neat cylinder.
‘The hot water takes a minute to kick in.’
The barber left the door open and for some reason Joey thought it would be impolite to shut it. He lathered himself in the classy shower gel, washed quickly and put his damp clothes back on. The plan was to say thanks and head off but the barber, from behind his phone on the couch, told Joey to relax and wait for the rain to die down.
‘Do you have any weed?’ Joey asked.
‘Nah, I don’t smoke, man. Tried it once but it put me to sleep. I’m into other stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘You ever done G?’
‘Nah.’
‘You wanna?’
‘When?’
‘Now. I got some.’
Being sober was different from not taking drugs. Joey would have some G, fake a text from someone, and say he had to go. That way he could ride the high on his own. He wanted to be alone. And he had decided to never go to the barber shop again. He’d just go back to shaving his hair off. The thought reminded him of Ivan. Of his big hands rubbing Joey’s shaved head in his car. Ivan was worlds apart from the barber – he had been shameless, disarming. Arabs were the opposite. His tayta’s shame, his shame, it was multi-generational, multi-dimensional, and it multiplied in the presence of other Arabs.
Aussies had shame too. Deep colonial and convict shame. And Joey was somewhere between the two.
The barber told Joey to stop drinking the wine and he went to the bedroom and came back holding a small bottle with an eyedropper. He poured a can of coke between two glasses and added some of the G to each.
As they sipped on the concoction, the barber harped on about his watch that counted his steps, counted his heartbeats, his calories, missed calls. The watch should really have a function that calculated and counted down a person’s living days, Joey thought. That would be more useful.
He felt warm. The rain was unrelenting, and it was now dark. He checked his phone and feigned surprise. ‘Crap, man. I gotta go. My brother is locked out of the house and needs me to let him in.’
‘Oh, but you’re gonna be high as real soon.’
‘It’s alright. I’m just gonna chill at home anyway. Thanks for, ah, fixing my hair and stuff.’
He stood up, sculled the drink and extended his arm out to shake hands, but the guy looked outside to the balcony quickly and turned back to him.
‘I’ll drive you. You can let your brother in and then we can come back here.’
The proposal was unexpected. And awkward. Joey dropped his hand to his side.
‘I’m gonna call an Uber. It’s all good.’
‘Are you sure? Would be good to hang out and shit.’
‘Sorry, man. I can’t.’
The barber stood up and he suddenly seemed shorter, older. He walked Joey to the door and stared too long into his eyes as they shook hands.
‘What’s your name again?’ he asked.
‘Joe.’
‘Joe. Alright. I’ll see ya around, yeah?’
Joey’s throat was locked. He smiled and walked towards the lift, being sure not to look back. It wasn’t until the lift pinged on arrival that the door to the barber’s apartment thudded shut. As he descended, Joey breathed out, checked his pockets for his wallet and phone and keys. Even if he had forgotten something, he would have left it there forever.
