The Alpaca Shearer
Short Fiction by Jon Christian- Part 1 of 2
Authors Note:
There must be something about the transition from summer to fall where my mind starts to wander into the darker side of fiction. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Little known fact about me- my first official book report in junior high was Cujo… and there really isn’t much more to say about that.
It’s been a little while since I threw some fiction out there for you. If you haven’t read or listened to Fisher Berry, I think it’s worth checking out that four-part series. Here’s a link to part 1: Fisher Berry Part 1 of 4
This week begins a two-part series of a tale called The Alpaca Shearer. I’ve had this concept in my mind for several years now. I wrote a few sentences and then put it down for quite some time. But there was something that kept bringing me back to it. Over the past few weeks, I’ve worked my demons out, and I guess in a weird way the story itself (perhaps ironically) is a reflection of those struggles.
Before you get to the good stuff, now more than ever would be a good time to share my work with friends, family and everyone you can think of. Just one share or subscription can really make a difference, so click that share button below.
I have some really exciting things in the pipeline for this Substack, and some things will be released to paid subscribers only. So, it feels like the right time to upgrade your plan to a paid subscription. It’s a modest monthly fee for you, but it really helps me out. Here’s how you do it: Open up the Substack app or go directly to Substack on your PC. Locate “Manage Subscription” and choose Timberline. On the top right (on your PC) it says upgrade to paid. Click there, enter your payment option and you are off and running. It’s that simple.
Okay, enough of that. Scroll down to read or listen to me read part 1 of…
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It’s late afternoon on a cool spring Wednesday in Akron, Colorado when this kid enters my barber shop. He pushes the hoodie off his head and looks me in the eye. He paces the floor for a moment, examines the waiting room, and then walks to the register. He looks to be 16 or 17 years old. He taps his fingers on the counter, then puts his hands in his jacket pocket. All this distraction and I take my eye off Joey, my current customer, and nick his ear with my straight razor. He winces and I wipe the blood up with my towel. I try to concentrate but for some reason this kid has all my attention.
I don’t want to hurt Joe any more than I have already, so I call from behind the chair. “Can I help you?”
“Is there a wait for a haircut?”
The kid’s hair is already the length of a two guard at least. “You need a buzz?”
He rubs his head. “Yeah. That’s all.”
I nod. “I can squeeze you in next. It’s twenty for the cut. Plus a tip—cash.”
He reaches into his pocket and shows me thirty bucks. It appears we have an agreement.
Joey wipes fresh blood off his ear and looks at his finger. “You got me good, Eli.”
Joey’s a long-time customer of mine. I’ve known him since before he became somewhat of a local celebrity when he was elected Mayor. He even held a campaign rally right outside my store. Drove a lot of business that day. Before the idea of running for mayor was even considered, he told me a lot more than he would want the public to know. Back in his cocaine days he had a business partner named Wayne from New York. When their business started to falter, Wayne disappeared and Joey was able to sell it off for a few million as the sole proprietor. Wayne’s still missing—but I know where the body is. As Joey’s barber, I swear an oath of secrecy.
“I’m so sorry, Joey,” I say and hold a rag against the wound for a minute. The blood seeps through my white rag. Any deeper and I would have taken his freaking earlobe right off. “This one’s on me.” Joey leaves in a flash holding his ear, but I know he’ll be back in four weeks; by then it’ll all be bygones.
The kid stands up and walks towards the chair. I raise my finger. “I gotta sweep up, just a minute.”
He hovers like some kind of human hawk. It’s been a long day, and my energy just isn’t what it used to be. For the hundredth time today, I think about retirement. I always thought I would spend my retirement days with my wife, Jeannie, but I guess God had different plans for her. I just want to get this haircut done so I can go home for the day and tend to my alpaca herd. I wouldn’t have survived Jeannie’s passing without them. Honestly, they saved me from my own hands. I sweep Joey’s hair and leave it in a pile in the corner. I tap the seat and motion for the kid.
He looks me in the eye as he walks to his seat. He sits and I face him toward the mirror. “A buzz-cut, right?”
The kid rubs his head, “Will you shave my head?”
I exhale and check the time. The clippers would be faster. “Ten extra.” I clean the blade that cut Joey’s ear, and reach for some cream. “What’s your name?”
He pulls his hoodie off his body and settles into the seat. “My name is Shawn.”
I apply warm shaving cream to the top of Shawn’s head and rub it into his scalp. I steady my hands and work the blade from front to back until his head is smooth.
I spin the chair and hand him a mirror so he can examine my work. “That okay?”
He holds the mirror in such a way that I can only see his mouth. “I need an alpaca sheared.”
My heart pounds hard. I hadn’t heard that particular phrase mumbled in my chair for years. It is something I usually only do for my best clients. I’m not sure he’d even have the money and it isn’t worth the risk. “You must have the wrong person,” I say.
Shawn offers a smirk. “You’re the alpaca shearer, and I need an alpaca sheared.”
I spin the chair around rapidly and swipe the barber’s apron from his body. Sweat beads on my forehead. “I have no idea what you are talking about, kid. I gotta close shop now.”
Shawn stands and faces me before he exits. His brown eyes narrow; his stare could cut glass. “I thought you’d say that. Don’t worry. I know the protocol.” He rubs his shaved head and exits my store.
I lock the front door and watch his slow walk down the street. He rounds the corner and disappears. If he follows protocol, I’ll see him in three days with his alpaca.
Ω
The wheels on my red Ford F-150 bounce against my long dirt driveway. The sun rests between a pink cloud and the horizon. Rays of sun stretch as if to touch every budding flower across my two-hundred-acre property. It is just enough land to bury my regrets and to build anew.
I drop my Ford into park and crank the emergency brake. Otto, my favorite alpaca, paces the fence line. I can tell he’s hungry, but he’s also happy to see me. His coat is heavy and full from the winter, and he needs to be sheared. “Saturday, Otto,” I say. “We’ll take care of that on Saturday.”
The rest of my flock look on from behind Otto, in full respect of the pecking order. I walk to the enclosure and rub Otto’s head. He dances and hums. Hearing his voice makes a hard day better. Otto’s coat is thicker than the others and I suspect it’s because I give him extra attention. Since Jeannie’s death, I’ve come to realize Otto not only understands love, but offers what he can in return.
The best partners love indiscriminately and Jeannie was my everything. My mind brings forward a macabre carousel of the frail final days of her illness. It’s as if all the years of her youth and vitality never happened. If I could see her again for five minutes, I would tell her how sorry I am for putting her through the challenges of my job. She said she understood, but I often wonder if it was I who made her so ill. I can’t seem to shake these horrible images, so I try not to think of Jeannie anymore.
I enter the barn, pull some flakes of hay, and distribute them amongst the flock. Otto lets the others eat as his big eyes watch my every move. His head tilts and he nuzzles my shoulder with his wet nose. “You okay, Otto?” I know he’s asking the same of me. I pat his head. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m not going to do it, ya know. I only shear alpaca for my best clients. Honestly, I wouldn’t do it for them either. I was wrong to ever start that business.”
I pick up some hay and Otto eats from my hand. I toss it to the ground and wait for Otto to peck at the pile. I walk to the barn where a line of sheep shears wait for the weekend. I look at them all and make sure the teeth are clean and sharp. I don’t want any unnecessary knicks or cuts.
Later that evening, I tinker with my dinner and try to relax my mind. I read from the novel I’m tackling, but I can’t concentrate on any more than one page. I walk outside and watch alpacas play without a care. Otto walks to my side and cocks his head. To the east, stars twinkle in the absence of any light pollution. A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, keeping guard over my flock.
Ω
Saturday morning fog shrouds the valley of my ranch in secrecy. It’s supposed to linger all day, which is fine by me; it’ll be that much cooler when it’s time to shear my herd. I check my appointment calendar. Charlie McCovey, my oldest client, is scheduled for 8:00 am. The rest of my day is open. I think I’ll just close the doors after Charlie departs.
I arrive at the barber shop and fish my pocket for keys. I always carry a pair of barber shears in my pocket, and the keys are nestled underneath the blade. Charlie McCovey arrives and greets me with a handshake. I see him every two or three weeks for a beard trim. It’s the only hair on his head, and he likes to keep it neat and organized. Charlie married at the age of twenty-five, divorced at twenty-six, remarried at twenty-seven, and divorced again at twenty-eight. His ex’s hated living in Akron, and both ended up cheating on him. His first was during a business trip to New York, and the second with his neighbor, Hank. Charlie walked in on them in the kitchen. His second wife moved to South Dakota, and Charlie, like me, prefers to live alone with a few faithful animals. As for Hank, no one in the town is really certain what happened to him, but barbers know everything.
Charlie takes a seat on the chair. “Morning, Eli. How’r things?”
I reach for the trimmers and face him. “Not bad, my old friend. The usual trim?”
Charlie nods. “You got any plans for the day?”
“Nothing crazy, just shearing my herd of alpacas later.”
“Wait—you have actual alpacas?”
“Of course I do, where did you think I got my nickname?”
Charlie chuckles. “I guess I don’t really know much about you after all these years.”
The trimmers vibrate in my hand. “My job is to listen.”
“You’re good at your job.” Charlie smiles. “I’ve been thinking lately, Eli. I should have never told you about Hank, ya know.”
I shrug my shoulders, spin his chair around and trim hair from his beard. “I probably should never have helped you. But you’re my friend, Charlie. I listen to my friends.”
The shop door opens with a whoosh and Shawn enters with another person. He nods at me and the two sit on open chairs. My hands tremble. “You all right?” Charlie asks.
I steady my hands and continue the trim. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”
I take my time with Charlie. When I finish, he admires my work in the mirror. “Best trim yet, Eli.” He hands me thirty dollars and walks towards the exit. I notice him glance at Shawn and the middle-aged man he came in with. He turns and looks at me before exiting the shop.
END PART 1