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von Zimner's skull emerged from the topping of foam as the razor did it's work. His twice daily routine
was just being completed, the shaving of his head. Baldness to him, was his mark of individuality, and
a symbol of honour. In his opinion von Zimner was a superior being for the stark fashion he had adopted.
Morning and early evening von Zimner was in the barber's chair, thoroughly relaxed as his head was shaven
anew.
Friend and rival, Gillbert Burke, was awaiting patiently while the barber pared the last vestige
of almost invisible hair from the young German trader.
"Why do you not try it Gill? Have your head
shaved like me, like a real man. Show us what you are made of," advised and teased von Zimner, knowing
full well that Burke would do nothing of the sort. The barber sprayed the naked scalp with special TELAGE.
None of the hair on the top or sides of Burke's head was ever cut. Actually, if the fringe fell forward
it would be more than some foot long, and the sides were the same; the hair from his forehead combed
all the way straight back to the base of his neck.
In the classic brushback style flattened and
smoothed without a ripple, crease or wave, to follow the contours of the head, from the forehead and
temples in continuous growth to the nape of the neck, all hair was barbered only at the very edge of
the hairline. Sharp edges were razored all around the parameters slightly high over the ears, with the
sideburns sliced right off at the top front of the ear, though all the hair to the razored edge was still
long, so that the glossed thick brushback lay straight along the border in a solid step from the temple
curving up and back over the ears.
At the bottom of the neck the hair was cropped close about a
half an inch high with a tight taper into the long hair. With fine-head clippers and skillful scissor-work,
the bottom hair was ended in a severe line, closely graded into a final clean shaved ending in a version
of the Jazz Cut from Soho.
"No power would convince me to look like you. I simply cannot imagine what
pleasure you gain from deliberate baldness," replied Burke, though he kept to himself the two occasions
when he almost gave up his hair voluntarily, the last only the previous evening. Removing his Panama
hat to take his place in the barber's chair, his long hair fell over his ears and forehead.
"What's
this? Not oiled? I'm surprised to see you actually have real hair under your usual grease cap."
"Perhaps
you could show me what one of those new Tropical Trims would look like this time Lucky. Do you think
it would suit me?" Gill ignored his friend and addressed himself to the barber. "Must keep up with the
new," he joked somewhat insincerely.
Obviously, Burke was vain with his hair, kept neatly barbered,
though really far too long for the tropics. Like von Zimner did before being shaved bald, he had his
hair trimmed each week in The Empire Hotel Barber's Enclosure, when he was not up-country. But it was
only the very edges which were snipped and razored into place.
von Zimner's barber had been there
for years, since he jumped ship and came to The Empire Hotel looking for work as a kitchen-hand or such.
Being a Lascar, an East Indian sailor, Lakshman, a name from the Indian saga Ramayama, he spoke to the
head porter, also from Goa. Lascar Lakshman, it turned out, was also a proficient barber, and the management
had recently decided to open the Barber's Enclosure in the Long Bar. Lascar Lakshman, eventually and
naturally nicknamed Lucky, remained ever since, even when von Zimner took over The Enclosure, the name
dedicated to the Royal at Ascot.
"That right? Sahib asked for Tropical Trim? Trapper Burke want
real haircut?" queried the incredulous barber as he handed Burke a handful of well thumbed glossy photos
featuring the new wave Tropical Trim.
"Give him a No.1 Rig Lakshman. Don't let him shirk. Mind you,
if I had my way Herr Gillbert Burke should be shaved bald. Go ahead Lucky shave his hair off. I'll be
responsible", again teased von Zimner. "At least a No.1 Rig Tropical Trim."
"What you say Gill Sahib?
All hair short, short, Tropical Number 1? I use new clippers up your head? Sahib would like short shear?"
Lucky could cut any style his clients desired, and cut it well, but nothing gave him the pleasure
like short haircuts did since the installation of the first mechanical clippers in the East, an electric
motor attached to the ceiling and connected to the clippers in a series of shafts and elbow joints.
The device, developed from the Australian sheep shearing machinery, took some skill to handle, but was
far superior to and faster than the old hand-worked clippers. Invariably Lakshman Lucky took his electrical
clipping apparatus in hand to execute a short shear.
But Burke never had been shorn. Until now?
"Now just a minute Lucky. You keep that infernal machine away from me. Take no notice of my supposed
mate. Let me look at these snaps. I might just keep my brushback after all."
He had gone to The Empire
Hotel expressly that day of The Hairloom Challenge with the knowledge that he may have to abandon his
gleaming brushback. It was only the previous evening on his return from a stint up-country that this
startling conclusion had been reached, and it was not entirely his own. Dinner, served immediately on
his arrival, was finished; the night was balmy and he and Lady Ireene Sanders ensured they were free,
free totally to enjoy each other's company.
As Burke's treasured house boy was clearing the last
of the eating accrument and serving the strong Bali kopi, Burke and his lady repaired to their bower,
a spectacular love making haven, with decor prepared by the talented and artistic Lady Sanders, designed
as a sensual haven to isolate the harshness of the tropics, yet using artifacts that were distinctly
tropical in origin. Mirrors abounded, set in bamboo, ebony and inlaid with shells; walls draped with
batik from the Spice Islands and rainbow silk from Siam.
But the bed..... the bed! It was an enormous
field covered with the largest tiger skin that anyone had ever seen, Over this was a coverlet of the
sheerest Indian muslin to prevent hot tropical bodied clinging to the pelt.
"God, I've missed you.
Two months in the jungle without my Reeney is almost more than a man can bare," confessed the tough trapper
with an expectant leer.
"I hate to tell you sweetie, but you still smell like that jungle. Dinner
was an aromatic trial." Ireene loosened her already free-flowing dinner gown and dropped it to the floor.
The skimpy sheer silk undergarments still remained for the time being clinging to her form. She lit a
Black Sobrane gold tipped cigarette and inserted it into her ivory holder, rolling over on her stomach
as she watched Gill undress down to his cotton underpants and opened shirt, seeing his taut muscled body
tanned by the tropical sun glowing with perspiration and fine sun bleached body hair.
"Are you telling
me to shower, at this stage?" pleaded Burke.
"'Fraid so darling. You're a wreck. It's the bathroom
for you. Let's do have a clean start after all this time. Just look at yourself."
Placing his abandoned
clothes on a cane arm chair he could not help spying himself in one of the many exotic mirrors also showing
the slinky lady in the background draped seductivally over the tiger skin. Glancing at her reflection
and then back to himself, he had to agree with Ireene about his persona. But another factor as well gave
him pause.
"Do you realise it's months since I've had a haircut? That's the first job for the morning.
Sorry I can't stay here with you. Tell you what, meet you and Margarette in the Tiffin Room for ' elevenses'."
"Carl should be there I suppose. After tiffin we can go to the races. But I did think I could have
you to myself a little longer Gilly," pouted the Lady.
"Business calls darling. I must go down to
the godown," he jested about his warehouse. "Then straight into the barber's chair. I just can't stand
this scruffiness any longer."
In fact his hair was still a shining well groomed brushback, except
that the sharp shaved edges favoured by Burke, especially at the base of his neck, had grown to nearly
an inch long. He fingered the oiled overgrowth touching onto his collar and tossed off his bush jacket
leaving only his loose draws. "And the last of the Spruso in the travelling kit ran out yesterday. Wild
Dyaks have nothing on me at the moment. I wonder if Jahan has restocked?" referring to his houseboy.
Turning away from the mirror where he was really watching Ireene settle herself on the tiger skin, he
raced across the room and launched himself on the bed beside her.
"Goodness Gill. Do go and wash
off that eau d'swamp. We'll both feel fresher then."
"What now? Reeney, have a heart," pleaded Burke.
"Hurry up Gillbert. We don't have time to waste. Cleanliness is next to loveliness." She smoothed
back the long hair around the back of his neck which he had been pulling at. "You know darling, while
you've been away most of the men in the Colony are having their hair cut quite short, some Tropical Trim
thing. It's all the rage. How do you think that would suite you?"
"Not for me Reeney." He sat up
on the bed, rejected by his lover for the moment. "I'll just have it shaped around the edges as usual."
He stretched to see himself in one of the mirrors. "Short, you say? How do you mean?", subtly enquired
Burke again fingering the excess curling around his neck.
"Well, sort of shorn off around the sides
and the back. That would be a sensation for you Gilly, having Lackshman Lucky's new electric clippers
running up and down your head."
"I'll stick to what I've got. 'When you're on a good thing' -. What's
that about Lucky's new electric clippers? You mean to say they've arrived at last?"
"There was a
big party at The Enclosure to celebrate. We all went. Carl served champagne. That was when this Tropical
Trim first made its appearance. Soon after you left."
"Trust von Zimner to wait till I've gone. They
won't get at my hair with their newfangled shearing machine though". Burke smoothed back and flattened
his hair once more in a distant mirror. "You always tell me how much you like my brushback." He moved
to the side of his paramore. "Anyway forget that Reeney. Time for fun and games."
"No one is wearing
a brushback ... for simply ages," Lady Ireene Sanders advised, gently pushing him away once more with
a wrinkle of her nose. "I could rather fancy my Gillbert with his hair cut off. At least then I could
run my fingers all over those funny little springy bristles, and through and through the longer bits,
which is more than I can do now with your Spruso. Wouldn't you like that dear?"
"Well yes I suppose
I would. But you're beginning to sound like CvZ. 'Shave it off', he keeps saying. Is that what you want
me to do Ireene? Do you want me to be bald as Carl?" exaggerated the hunter, slightly annoyed at the
criticism of his brushback. CvZ, pronounced See Vee Zee, was a nickname given to von Zimner by an American
barnstorming pilot.
"Don't be silly darling. No, I just think it is about time you went in for something
new. Though I must say I do love to pat Carl on the head. It's so smooth," confessed Ireene.
"And
how often do you do that, may I ask?" snapped Burke with a sudden pang of jealousy and jumped off the
couch to tower over his tormentor.
"Oh! all the time sweety. Only when you're not looking of course.
It's so beautifully tingling darling, caressing his wonderfully polished head. But you wouldn't understand
Gillbert, not with all that hair your wear yourself," continued to tease Ireene, knowing from experience
that Burke made a much better lover when he was fired up.
"Well that's it then," exploded Burke.
"Tomorrow I'll go to Lucky and have it all shaved off. Will that make you happy? Bald as a badger. I'll
do it now in fact." Burke's irritation surfaced after so long away from civilisation. "Jahan", he yelled
at the top of his voice. "Jahan. Where are you? Bring a razor. Lady Ireene insists I shave off my hair.
Jahan come and shave me bald."
"Tuan?" The door of the boudior flew open as the houseboy stood there
with a cut-throat razor in his hand. "You say You want me to shave your head, like shaolin, buddist priest?
Now? Where you want to do it Tuan? I fix up light on varandah same where I shave you face every morning?"
"Yes that's right Jahan. And Hurry up about it. Lady Ireene cannot wait to have me hairless."
"Same
your very good friend Tuan Zimner? No hair ever. You want me to shave your head every morning like that
Tuan?"
"Yes. Just like Carl von Zimner. Will that make you happy then Reeney? Would you like me to
shave anything else while I'm about it?" Jahan snickered at Burke's guarded erotic reference.
"Now
you stop that Gillbert. That will be all Jahan." The servant checked his master who nodded assent and
gently closed the door. "Now you come over here and sit with me a moment. You're just frustrated being
away so long."
Burke did as he was bid and sat beside his Lady. She sensually brushed back a long
lock onto his forehead that had somehow come lose in the heat of the moment. "Now you go and have that
shower. You're twice as sweaty as before. Though I'm sure you'll work up another glow before the night
is out," she breathed cocettisly, "I really do want to run my fingers through your lovely hair. Off you
go, and don't be too long."
"You can rely on that". Gill was like putty in Reene's hands while he
continued to sit there, feeling her bare legs up to the hem of the silk panties. She ran her long fingernails
over the moist blond curls of his chest and lightly touched his plastered down hair. His cotton underpants
swelled.
"I'll shower later" His arms reached out for her but she waved her cigarette at him in a
smokey exorcism and held her nose in a comedy gesture with the other. Gill, knowing that he was defeated
for the moment, he bounded from the tiger covered couch and into the adjoining bathroom, stripping off
his draws as he went, not without a little difficulty due to his projecting manhood.
The cool shower
calmed him down as he soaped his body all over, including his heavily oiled hair. Slowly it released
its thick pomade after several vigorous lathers and rinses. Burke's hair was longer than it had ever
been, months overdue for cutting, which only added to the overall length of his usual brushback. It flopped
down over his eyes and face around his ears with the weight of the water, now free from hair oil. With
pleasure he flicked his head around and around in circles, backwards and forwards, after the manner of
a wild animal exiting a jungle pool, his overlong locks spraying water all around the bathroom.
"Never
mind," he thought to himself, "Soon as I have a haircut tomorrow and get on a fresh lot of Spruso, it'll
be Jake. Might even surprise Reeney and have, what did she call it, a Tropical Trim?" he mused to himself.
Perhaps Ireene was right. It probably was time for a change, especially since he and the Lady were in
the van of the Colony's social scene. He couldn't have rivals taking the lead. But still, he reasoned,
his brushback transcended the fashion barriers. Again he smoothed his hair under the falling water.
"Get rid of the old moustache as well, that's what I'll do". So saying he ducked from under the cascade
and stood in front of the mirror, taking up his new Rolls Razor, gave it a couple of self-strops to shave
his upper lip, paused for a moment to recall his first ship voyage to his new tropical home, smiled to
himself with a little embarrassment, then without another thought sliced off his carefully shaped moustache.
"There, that's better. I'll give Reeney 'something new'. She can't complain about that, I hope" Replacing
the razor in the bathroom cabinet, he noticed that his giant jar of Spruso always kept there was also
empty. He would have to speak to Jahan about that.
One more rinse under the shower and he was ready
for the evenings pleasures. He brushed his sopping hair back with his hands, and without drying himself,
sprinkled himself liberally with TELAGE, loosely wrapped a rare hand-woven kamben gringsing sarong around
his middle and stepped back into the bedroom. This evening was for Lady Sanders. Tomorrow he would worry
about hair and missing Spruso. Still he would check in at his godown warehouse and pick up jar himself
first thing.
The Colony was out of Spruso and all other types of gentlemens' hair preparations, ironically
the fault of Burke himself. Like von Zimner, he was also a successful trader and one of his import lines
was the pomades and lotions used by the men of the town and plantations. While Burke had been on an extended
jungle expedition seeking orang-outangs, a shipment had been missed, and now there was not a drop of
hair oil to be had outside of Singapore until the next steamer from Sydney. Coconut was the preferred
preparation of the locals, but Burke preferred to drink the milk with his rum, not wear the oil on his
head. Yesterday he had squeezed the last of the Spruso from the jar, not worth putting it on his head.
"You sure you haven't a drop of Spruso Lucky? Or anything else like it? Not even some in the bottom
of a jar?" pleaded Gill Burke as he eyed the advertisment transferred onto The Enclosure's mirror, 'Spruce
up on Spruso'." I can't imagine myself with a short-back-and-sides haircut somehow after all this time."
He fingered the long hair in front of his ears.
"One small jar Sahib Burke. Not enough for you till
next steamer. You use much. But you hair easier to cut without Spruso. Now we cut short?"
Lucky would
attack his hair with alacrity given half a chance, and Gill Burke was almost ready to take that chance.
For this reason he had arrived at The Empire Hotel Barber's Enclosure with freshly washed hair, the first
time he had appeared in public with his hair lose and flowing, not glistening and plastered down in the
severe brushback style, knowing that Lucky could cut it off more readily without the constraints of the
Spruso.
Really, Gill was a little weary of this brushback style he had realised last night with
the promptings of Ireene, even though he enjoyed its ministrations, the oiling and the brushing, and
bedsides, he had never seen another style he preferred that was as dramatic as his own. Burke had convinced
himself that he had good reason for his overlong hair.
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