The Barber Surgeon's Hairshirt (Barney Thomson series) by Douglas Lindsay Page A

the Rose . Or Brother Cadfael for that matter.
    Steven ran his hand across his chin.
    ‘Think I’ll go for a Mike McShane ( Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves ). What d’you think? Think that’ll suit me?’
    Barney stared at the top of Steven’s head. Had never heard of Mike McShane. Presumed, correctly, that it couldn’t be too different from any other haircut he’d given that day.
    ‘Perfect,’ he said.
    ‘Great. I’ll go for that then.’
    Steven settled back, that look of satisfied contentment on his chops. The look of someone who knew that life was a bowl of curried lamb keich, but who was quite content with the fact. At one with his own, and other’s, foibles.
    Barney lifted his comb and scissors and set about his business. A contented customer and a contented barber, the perfect combo. He was about to launch into a discussion of the casuistic fundamentals of Morton’s Fork when he remembered his earlier edict to keep his thoughts to himself. So he stuck to his business, as the light faded and the candles flickered.
    Brother Steven’s tongue could never be still, however.
    ‘Incensed with indignation Satan stood unterrified, and like a comet burned that fires the length of Ophiuchus huge in the Arctic sky, and from his horrid hair shakes pestilence and war,’ said Brother Steven. Let the words mingle with the flickering shadows and the dim orange light.
    ‘Aye, right,’ said Barney. Paused. No reason for not talking now; he was being invited. ‘What was that exactly?’
    ‘Milton,’ said Brother Steven. ‘I always dug that line about hair. You know, shaking out pestilence and war. Must have seen some hair like that in your time, eh?’
    Barney nodded, wondering what to say. As out of his depth as he used to be when discussing football.
    ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen some amount of shite come out of hair right enough. Ach, shit, sorry, I did it again. Ach, bugger, there I go, I mean…’
    ‘No problem, Jacob, I know where you’re coming from. It’s not easy coming here. Got the same problems myself. You think the Abbot wants to hear his monks quoting Milton? Not a chance. Swearing in its own way, too. You’ve just got to come to terms with the new way of life. But don’t sweat it, my friend, we’ve all been there. I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide. That’s what I always say.’
    ‘Aye, very good,’ said Barney. ‘I’ll do that ‘n all, then.’
    He lapsed into silence. Considered that sometimes silence was best. Brother Steven, however, was a talker.
    ‘So, you know what you’re doing with all the hair clippings, Jacob?’
    ‘Putting them out, I suppose,’ said Barney.
    Steven shook his head; Barney narrowly avoided penetrating deep into the flesh of his neck with the icy steel of the scissors. Barber Accidentally Murders New Best Friend – God Miffed , thought Barney. Yet he knew that any headline he saw himself in would not be anything like as overwrought as the one or two he’d seen from the real press before dropping out of life. Barber Surgeon Ate My Cat, Claims Housewife ; Killer Barber On Run, Eats Human Flesh ; Depraved Sex Secrets of Barber-Pervert .
    ‘Oh, aye,’ said Barney. ‘What is it I do with them, then?’
    ‘This is a poor place, Brother, as you’ll have seen. We need to use everything we can get our hands on. There’s very little which is not recycled. The hair that’s cut from our heads will go into the making of pillows and cushions. The whole comfort bag. It’s that what goes around comes around kind of thing. I know some of them think it’s a bit out there, but I like it. I mean, the traditionalists, Brother Herman and all that lot, well, they’re peeing in their cloaks about it. You can’t worship God without suffering, all that kind of rubbish. But, you know, I always think that God must enjoy His little comforts too. There’s got to be some nights when the Big Fella just kicks off His