The Alpaca Shearer
Part 2 of 2 Short Fiction by Jon Christian
Author’s Note:
I wrote the Alpaca Shearer because I believe that everyone has an alpaca to shear.
If you haven’t read part 1 (or need to read it again) here is the link: The Alpaca Shearer Part 1
Summary of Part 1:
Eli Henderson, the proprietor of a barber shop in Akron, Colorado, is in the middle of giving the mayor a trim when a teen named Shawn walks into his shop. Shawn tells Eli that he has an alpaca that needs shearing. Eli dismisses the kid, because this is a service her reserves for his best clients, like the Mayor and Charlie McCovey. Eli knows, however, that if Shawn is serious about his alpaca, he will return on Saturday with his alpaca.
Saturday arrives and before Eli heads to his shop, he tends to his herd of alpacas on his 200-acre farm. Otto, Eli’s favorite alpaca, follows him about. They have a special bond, especially after his wife, Jeannie, passed away a few years ago.
At the shop, Eli finishes with Charlie McCovey when Shawn returns to the barber shop with another, his alpaca…
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Read Below:
Shawn and the man rise from their seats. “We’re next,” Shawn says.
I crumble my fists into a ball and exhale. The man walks to the barber seat and sits down. Shawn stands behind him; his eyes never drift from mine.
The man Shawn is with looks to be in his mid-fifties, and has no idea why he’s really here. “What’ll it be?” I ask.
“My son tells me you’re the best barber in Akron. He insisted I come to you.”
“Your son, huh?” I notice Shawn break his stare.
“Yeah. That’s my boy. I haven’t had a cut in a few months. Maybe you could just tidy things up a bit.”
I take my clippers and move to the back of the chair. “How about a two-guard along the sides?” I use a comb to pull some hair from the top of his head. “Maybe an inch and a half off the top, then I can finish with a warm shave.”
The man nods. “I like the way that sounds; especially the warm shave.” His eyes shift to Shawn. “You were right, son. He is the best in Akron.”
Shawn offers the briefest of smirks, but otherwise remains silent. The trimmers buzz and I get to work. “What’s your name?”
“Andy Clark.”
Shawn huffs as if to interject. I could tell he didn’t want anyone to know his last name. “It’s nice to meet you, Andy Clark.” I emphasize his name with intent, and position my body between Shawn and his father. Shawn moves within a foot of my back and exhales loudly.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I do tax work for farmers and ranchers locally. You know, most aren’t all that great with numbers.”
I chuckle. “I get that.”
Behind me, Shawn cracks his knuckles; his eyes burn imprints in the mirror. His feet shift back and forth, but Andy doesn’t seem to notice this behavior at all.
“I think I have all the taxes and extensions wrapped up for the year. I’ve been thinking about showing Shawn how the business works. He’s a natural at numbers.”
I step to the other side of the chair and continue with the clipper work. “Is he? I bet he makes you proud.”
Andy Clark tilts his head to the side and looks at Shawn. “Yeah. He does.”
Shawn clinches his lip as I put the trimmers away and reach for the scissors. I wipe stray hairs off Andy’s neck with a rag and start the scissor work. “I figure he could intern with me as he goes through college. He’s applying now.”
Shawn taps his feet and licks his lips. He mouths the words ‘do it’ and casually flashes cash in his pocket. I nod and watch excitement grow in his eyes. He’s blood thirsty that’s for certain.
“I hope he stays local. I’d miss him if he chooses a college out of state.”
I finish with the scissors and make sure the length is to his liking. “He seems like a good kid. I’m sure he’ll make good decisions,” I say.
Andy Clark’s smile is wide and natural. “He always does.” He checks the length of the back with his fingers. “This looks great.”
I take up a warm cloth and place it around the back of his neck. “I can tell you two have a special relationship.”
“He means the world to me.”
I look at Shawn, his brows are low and his bottom lip hangs down a bit. I don’t think he was ready to hear his father say anything nice about him. I take a second warm cloth and dab Andy’s face. “You ready for that shave?”
Andy’s smile could warm the room. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
I wonder what he must be like at home. It’s hard for me to picture his smile turning into rage. Maybe he’s an abuser. Maybe he’s a bully. Maybe he’s plain bad. I’ll leave the judgement to a higher power. For now, I have a job to do.
The scent of calm, warm soap wafts from my hands as I apply shaving cream to Andy’s neck and reach for my straight razor. The steel feels cool in my hands. I start with the back of his neck and scrape him down to the bare skin. I move my blade to the right; his aorta pulsates as I bring the edge to his neck.
Shawn steps forward. His breath is heavy and his eyes bulge with unspoken anticipation. I make a stroke with my razor. Goosebumps form on Andy’s neck and I swipe cleanly down. “How’s that feel?”
“Oh yeah. I haven’t had this kind of treatment in a while,” Andy says.
Shawn’s face turns red and he furrows his brow. He paces around the chair. His father takes notice. “You okay, son?”
Shawn licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says abruptly. “Everything’s fine.”
I make another clean stroke; only a few more to go.
Andy turns towards his boy. “You seem nervous. Are we late for something?”
I reposition Andy’s head forward. “Careful,” I say with a laugh. “Try not to turn your head while I’m shaving.”
Andy’s body goes rigid as he grips the arm rest. “Oh right.”
Shawn squeezes his lips together and his eyes dart all over my shop. I raise my blade, make the final stroke, and wipe the warm lather from the edge with a towel. I fold the straight razor and tuck it into my right pocket. I treat Andy to a fresh moist towel and remove the apron. “We’re all set.”
Andy reaches into his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
Shawn huffs and shuffles to the front of the store. I wave my hand at Andy’s money. “You have no idea… so this one’s on me.”
“Well, that’s kind of you,” Andy hands me ten dollars. “Take this as a tip,” he says and exits.
Shawn moves within inches of my ear. “You’re done,” he whispers.
I am not certain if his statement was a question. “Maybe you missed something, kid,” I say. “I only shear alpacas for my best clients and you aren’t one. Go home and make amends. I don’t want to see you here ever again.”
Andy opens the door. “Shawn, you coming?”
Shawn nods and exits with his father. Andy jumps into the passenger seat of a box shaped, green 1997 Jeep Cherokee. As Shawn rummages for something in the trunk space, I lock the deadbolt, switch the open sign off and drop the blinds.
Outside the shop, the sun fights the fog for a piece of the sky. It’s oddly bright and I fumble in the glove box of my Ford for a pair of sunglasses. I roll the window down and make my way home. Most of the streets are empty; it’s as if the town collectively called in sick. The light ahead of me switches to red and although there isn’t a single car crossing, I patiently wait for a green to proceed. I can see into The Myers diner. Edgar, the owner, mans the counter while the short order chef flips his spatula over a barren griddle. There’s not a single customer inside. I notice Edgar’s hair is looking trimmed, but he hasn’t been into my shop for a while. I wonder where he’s getting his cuts done.
The light is still red. I tap on the steering wheel and shift my position. In my rearview, I notice a car pull up a little too close to by bumper. I shake my head. It’s not like there isn’t plenty of space on this empty road.
When the light turns green, I press the gas. The Ford isn’t breaking any speed records, but it’ll take care of you when you need it to. The car behind me stays on my bumper. In the rear view I can see a young driver with a ballcap pulled down to their eyes. He’s yelling something, but I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or a passenger that appears to be in the back seat. Maybe it’s his kid. I don’t know. What should I care anyhow? I slow to make a righthand turn. The car behind me whizzes by. I notice that it’s a Jeep Cherokee. It looks like the same one Shawn and his father had entered a short time ago. I exhale and concentrate on the road. That kid is in my head. I realize I can’t live this life anymore. I make the decision to close the barber shop for good so I can concentrate on my alpacas instead.
Ω
Otto is at the gate, his ears perked forward as if waiting for some words of wisdom to spill from my mouth. I pat him on the head. “I’m gonna close the shop now. I think it best to move past the things I’ve done.” I extend my arms out to the pasture. “It’s time to concentrate on the farm.”
A cool wind howls across my skin. The fog stirs and carries with it the scent of aging pine trees and the residual moisture of rain. A dust devil spins in the open pasture. Colored flags that dot my property wave in the relentless wind. There’s a flag for each body so as not to accidentally dig them up. The purple flag closest to me is Charlie McCovey’s wife. She’s buried in the far corner, while the man Charlie caught her with is on the opposite end marked by a green flag. As I said, barbers know everything.
I drape a halter over Otto’s muzzle. “Hope you’re ready to be sheared.”
I bring him to the barn and prop him on the table. I know he understands that relief from his heavy coat is on the way. I reach for the silver shears and turn them on. Otto, positioned on his side on the shearing table, stares at them and hums. I swear he’s the only alpaca that likes to be sheared. I bring the vibrating clippers to the small of his back and work my way up. Underneath his tender pale skin are hundreds of interconnected blood vessels forming a woven pattern of intent and design. Each hair-thin vein harmoniously flows to the next. One slip with the shears could rupture his faith forever. How beautifully fragile existence is; and even with this knowledge, we cannot recover from who we are.
I lean over Otto’s body and position myself carefully in the event he kicks out. I focus on making a clean path with the clippers. I need to do this quickly and efficiently so Otto can get back to his business. I catch movement in the field outside the barn door. It’s probably just a curious alpaca. I steady my hands and make another pass along Ottos’ belly. There’s more movement and a shuffling noise. It sounds like an alpaca made its way into the barn. I thought I had locked the gate.
The wind blows fog into the barn. It sweeps along the ground, curls its way upwards and lingers around a dim light overhead. Otto squirms on the table and moves his legs outward. I lean down and calm him with some gentle strokes. The light above me flickers. I see the outline of a person walking through the fog into the barn. The figure is tall and its movements are slow and deliberate. Otto stops humming and stares into my eyes. He is looking for reassurance, but I can offer nothing of the sort.
My heart thumps against my chest and my breathing becomes rapid. Only my precious wife has ever stepped foot into this barn. “Jeannie? Is that you?” Dear God, I hope it is.
A slender body emerges from the fog and stands mere feet from me. I recognize him immediately. Shawn’s arms and clothes are drenched in fresh blood, and he is holding a knife in his quivering hands. “You,” Shawn says, his voice strong but quiet. “Now I had to go and do it.”
There’s a crazed look in Shawn’s eyes and his chest is heaving with adrenaline. “You didn’t have to do anything. Your father loved you.”
Shawn laughs. “That’s why he had to go.” His voice is a new level of darkness, as if from a secret chamber within the heart even I had yet to explore.
I touch my right pocket and feel for my straight razor. My heart rate slows as I search for the place Shawn has already found. I feel the need to understand it.
Shawn inches closer and raises his knife. His brown eyes lock on mine and I see through them. A residue of tears stains his pupils, and I recognize vulnerability within the underbelly of his soul. I am the same as he is, but he doesn’t know that yet. I have only a singular moment left before he achieves his ultimate potential. I reach for my blade and raise it to the throbbing heartbeat of Shawn’s neck.
I am the alpaca shearer. I will shear your alpaca.
END