I look at my watch and see again that it is too early to go to the station. In a mirror I see that the skin of my neck shows a lot of red spots. I shake my head and see, to my satisfaction, that the short bob which I sport since yesterday is much better than the long hair which was admired by some of my friends. I feel with my fingers at my nape and feel the stubble left there by clippers; how many times did I study the back of my head since yesterday?
Moving my hand over those minute bristles I experience the sensation which Tess experienced and described long ago in her diary.
The clipper shaving of my nape surprised me but I liked the feeling and was very curious to see the result when the hairdresser showed me the final result of his work.
Usually I am not as impulsive as yesterday and I surprised myself entering the hairdressing salon. No, that is not honest, I thought that Jack might like me much more if I had my hair very short and hoped that he might fall in love with me, seeing a nice short-haired woman. But entering the salon I lost almost all my self-confidence and started to stammer when the hairdresser asked me what I wished. In the end it was clear that I wanted my hair much shorter, but that I was afraid of a disaster. The compromise was a bob, in which case the outgrowth seemed to be rather easy if I did not like the result.
My very long hair was cut strand after strand and collected to be saved; it meant that I could take it home and eventually a wig could be made of it. Of course the first impression of the rest of the hairs was very strange when I looked in the mirror, but it felt quite nice and I was happy that after so many years I had the courage.
I always had the feeling that very short hair might be the wrong imitation of my sister even though I knew for sure that I might look extremely beautiful with even the very shortest haircut.
The boy had a free hand and during the haircut he forgot the intention to keep the hair at one length and when he suggested that it might be nice to clipper shave the nape I did not realize that the clippers might shave away half of the hair at the back. The result was in fact not a bob but something that he indicated as a bowlcut. It looked like a sculptor had been busy with my hair and even though this haircut was at least extravagant I felt happy with it.
I realized that after this drastic makeover a real short haircut is nothing to worry about. Shaking my head I admired my beautiful very thick hair and found that I could be used as a model for one of those new brands of shampoo.
It was of course crazy that I spent so much time on my hair, forgetting that the main purpose of Jack's visit was to show him the diary of Tess, which I had kept secret for more than twenty-four years.
For two years there has been a nice show on the television, in which much attention is paid to literature, music etc. Sometimes they invite a writer and often a forum of reviewers has an extensive discussion about some new books or old ones of which a new edition appears.
I saw in my TV guide that Jack had been invited, probably because of a nice essay which had been published in one of the literary magazines. It was interesting because Jack reviewed a novel by a young promising writer, in which the love of two young people during one summer is described. Jack compared the book with many others and I realized that he used his own experience of his love with my sister as a kind of standard to evaluate the authenticity of the book. I realized again that the sudden death of my sister only two months after that long beautiful holiday must have been an enormous shock and that up till now he had been too busy to cope with that terrible loss. Reading his essay I had the feeling that one of his subconscious motivations to write it was to come to terms with a part of his past.
For a long time I had the feeling that sometime I might send him Tess' diary, but after keeping it such a long time it was difficult and usually I postponed and postponed...
It is time to go to the station; outside one of my neighbours sees my new haircut and wants to talk about it, but I make it clear that I have no time. Of course it is nonsense, because I am much too early and study my face in a reflecting window of a shop at the station. I seem to forget the whole world, because I suddenly realize that I am looking into the grinning face of one of my school colleagues, who asks, how I am. For some months, after the death of my mother, I am not working, because of, as my doctor defines it, a nervous stress. It is much better now and probably I will start working again after the summer holidays. The colleague admires my newly sculptured head and wishes me all the best, while I give all my best wishes for the others at school, but to be honest I am not interested in school for the time being, certainly because I have permission for a very long and as I hope very nice holiday, camping a very long time in Spain and Portugal.
The train arrives and I see Jack, who seems to recognize me at once; he is still a nice man and brings a nice bouquet of flowers and gives me, seemingly to his own and my surprise, a small kiss on my forehead and I feel how he touches, without comment, my nape with his fingers.
Three days ago, rather late in the evening, there was a telephone call and I heard the voice of a Viola, asking in a shy way if she could disturb me. I was listening to a new CD with music of Bonporti and thought for a moment that it was one or another pupil of a secondary school, who needed to interview somebody as part of her practical work for her final examination. I was annoyed that somebody disturbed me listening to that beautiful music and just wanted to ask if she could call me again tomorrow, when the Viola asked me if the music that she heard was Bonporti's. Suddenly I realized that the Viola must be the very musical sister of Tess.
Viola excused herself and told me that for some days after that TV programme she felt the need to show me something. She told me that she had been touched very much by my appearance and that it reminded her of the diaries of Tess that she had kept secret from the time of Tess' early death.
She said in short that she had the feeling as a seventeen-year-old child that her parents might be shocked by the frank way in which Tess described her experiences with me.
"As you will understand, I had even less courage to approach you at that time. I was too busy with my own sorrow and anyway I was too shy to tell you that I read her diaries, which seemed so impertinent at that time. I even thought that it was better to destroy them, but somehow I had the feeling that in the far future I could hand them over to you. I can send them to you but there is something that I want to tell you myself and I hope that you have the courage to come to me one of these days. Anyway it will be nice to speak with someone who has known my dear sister."
I agreed to visit her at the weekend and she said that for some months she was living in the old very nice house of her parents after the death of her mother.
I had a terrible night, in my dreams I was mixing the past and present, walking along the beach with Tess, floating close together in the cool seawater and then crying at that funeral....
In the middle of the night I left my bed and went to the kitchen and started to clean things that I had left there dirty. Years ago a colleague told me that it was an excellent way to overcome sleeplessness. Much better than reading a good book. You will be surprised how fast you will go back to your nice warm bed. And indeed soon I was fed up with washing my dishes and had a good sleep for the rest of the night.
Travelling to the south by train I remembered the same journey, twenty-five years ago, on my way to Tess' funeral. It was a very nice day, the leaves of the deciduous trees started to show all those nuances of yellow to brown. The plan was that I would travel to that village only one week later and that Tess would introduce me to her parents.
I had met her younger and also very lovely sister Viola some weeks before, during one weekend when she came to visit Tess. Together we went to a small concert hall where some old music of Biber was played and I still remember how the sisters enjoyed that wonderful music, that had not lost its attraction after several centuries.
Only two times before I had been to a funeral and I still could not believe what had happened some days before.
I was happy that it was not possible to see her anymore, because I had the strong feeling that it was much better to keep the memory of that cheerful girl, with whom I shared so much during the nicest summer of my life.
The funeral service was in a small protestant church, crazy for me, because I knew far too well that Tess lost her faith and did not want to go there anymore with or without her parents. My position was curious, because Tess' parents hardly realized how close I had been with their daughter and of course their own grief was so strong that they hardly noticed my presence.
The only one who knew me and my love for Tess was Viola and I was happy that she paid at least some attention to me. The funeral service was an horror, because the stupid vicar did not know to give any consolation and still I hear him saying: "It pleased the Lord to take Tess..." and I remember that I almost cried: "Idiot, how can you say that nonsense!"
Only much later I heard that this funeral service was the end of the faith of Tess' parents and that they ended their membership of that small protestant community.
I remember the reception after the service and even spent some painful hours at the home of Tess' parents and early in the evening I walked with Viola to the station, where we just cried.
A year later Viola started her studies of music and incidentally we wrote each other and then after some years it stopped and only with the early death of her father and the recent death of her mother I received those "official" letters announcing their death. I wrote, as a reaction, some small letters, but I had no courage to ask about the personal life of Viola, even though I regretted that at the same time. The publication of the novel of a young promising female writer reminded me that I still experienced difficulties to cope with that terrible loss and that caused me to write an extensive essay, which seemed to help me to express those hidden feelings. I knew that Tess' parents did not live anymore and that was also why I felt more free to speak and write about it.
Some weeks after the publication of my essay I was invited as a participant of the literary TV forum, a.o. in connection with the publication of that new book. I was not surprised, as I am regularly present on that programme. I expected that I had to give some comments about the book and did not realize, or did not want to realize, that I had been rather explicit in my essay about my own experiences.
After a small introduction the interviewer asked my opinion about the book and indicated that in her opinion my personal experiences seemed to play an important role. She started to ask about it and usually I evade questions like that, because I find them an intrusion of my personal life. I often wonder how easily people forget that hundreds of thousands are looking when they openly talk about their private life and usually I condemn the interviewers who don't respect the privacy of their victims. In this case I forgot the world around me and started to talk about my own experiences as an 18-year-old boy during that long wonderful holiday at one of those beautiful islands in the northern part of my country. I talked about my meeting with that nice long-haired girl and how our love developed in those nice surroundings.
I even talked about my hair fetish and how we went to the mainland to visit a barber in the nearby town and how we came back with identical crewcuts, not caring about nasty remarks of persons who found us a strange couple. We just enjoyed playing with each other, roaming all parts of the island from the wide beach and the dunes till the mudflats at the other side of the island, where hundreds of thousands of migratory birds draw our attention by their spectacular flights in enormous flocks. We loved nature and each other and learned to express our feelings about it. The summer ended and we returned to start our study of biology and then that terrible moment came when I got the message that Tess died... and my world seemed to be destroyed.
The interviewer who clearly had nothing like this in mind did not stop me, but even promoted my utterance of those long hidden emotions, realizing that there was enough material for two broadcasts instead of the one that she had in mind.
Later when I saw the result I was surprised, but not ashamed about the frankness with which I had expressed my feelings of luck and the horrible pain which concluded that period of my life. I received many reactions, most of them very positive, often from people who had those same feelings, without knowing how to express them. My own sister was surprised and even shocked that she hardly knew anything about that painful period in my life.
A crazy reaction came from a girl with whom I lived for some years. She reproached me that I never told her about it, although I knew far too well that once I started telling her about it and she only reacted telling me that she was not interested in my past, because we must live in the present and the future. She hurt my feelings very much and soon we stopped living together. And she reproached me now, the bitch....
My frankness about my love for short-haired women brought me, don't laugh about it, more than twenty letters of women who declared that they preferred a very short haircut themselves and were eager to meet such a smart soft man who was not ashamed to express his feelings with such tenderness. I will not deny that those reactions were very flattering and tickled my vanity, but I could not imagine that my memories of Tess could be a good base to start relationships with short-haired women. But I must be honest and confess that there was an enormous temptation to write to some of the women to explore my hair fetish. But at the same time I had bad feelings about it and happily I did not give in to that almost insuppressible need, and I was angry when I started to fantasize about meetings with women, who I took in my dreams to barbers for the most extravagant crewcuts.
I felt terribly guilty and was happy that there is probably nothing like a heaven from where Tess could notice all my "dirty" dreams. Or is it not dirty and normal that a lonesome man has those daydreams?
I see that Viola has been to a hairdresser and wonder if she has done this for me. Her face is suntanned, but her clipper shaved nape is pale white and I wonder how much longer her hair was till maybe yesterday.
I cannot suppress my curiosity about it and say: "I hardly recognized you, the last time I saw you your hair was extremely long; to have your hair cut in this style demands a lot of courage."
Viola blushes very much and I realize, without saying it, that she must have done this for me. Suddenly she confesses that till yesterday she had very long hair, pointing somewhere at the middle of her back.
I think that it will be better for the time being to speak about other things, now that I find her, after all those years, still a very attractive woman. Again I have the feeling that it is not right to have this kind of feelings. On the other hand I know that I cannot stay forever in the past and if indeed Viola feels a certain attraction to me it would be crazy to suppress those feelings. But I have to be careful not to hurt her feelings, because I still have a strong recollection of that nice girl who realized my terrible position on that horrible day.
I wonder what she is thinking. Does she have that same strange mixture of the sad past and the almost indecent attraction to me?
I lay my hand on her shoulder when we walk to her car and instinctively - whatever that may be - I know that it is good and with a soft smile she answers my clumsy attempt to express my feelings.
I am moved to tears with the soft gentle way in which he walks with me to my car and say:
"It was good that you wrote that nice essay and talked about your past in that programme. It helped me as well. I wished that I had the courage to call you in an earlier stage of my life. You can hardly imagine how jealous I was when I saw you and Tess during that nice weekend when you took me to that wonderful concert with Biber's rosary sonatas. You will not believe how often I still hear that music."
Jack simply answers: "I cannot imagine many things, but it still belongs to my favorite music"
And then, we are just still at the parking near the station, I tell him that I found it crazy that he disappeared out of my life, just because it seemed indecent to start a relationship with the friend of the sister who died much too early.
Maybe it is the same, as with Jack at that TV appearance, I just tell him without any shame that sometimes I wondered how it might be if he were to appear again in my life.
"Oh heavens! Maybe, even though you said that you are single at the moment, you have a hidden girlfriend and I make an idiot of myself. But even worse, my first motivation to invite you was to show you that diary and in fact it is crazy to talk about it, while I read all those things about your intimate relationship with Tess."
Jack expresses a soft smile and says: "Don't worry, you know that I told an important part of the population of this country about my adventures. How can I reproach you anything about this?"
He continues: "I am only happy that you are so extremely open about your feelings and don't worry, I like you very, very much and it feels extremely good that you invited me."
"I think that it is right that we meet each other now. Handing over that diary will be good for you as well. Moreover if we really like each other it will be nice. We will never forget that disaster, but we have also the right to enjoy the rest of our lives; I certainly have no objection to give it a try, to discover how much we like each other."
We are still at the parking place near the station and I suggest that we will go to my house where we have a nice view from the garden at the hills which surround my village. At ease we drive through the nice valley and from time to time we smile at each other.
I worry about the moment that he will start to read the diary and will discover that Tess was pregnant at the moment that she died. The reason that I did not show those diaries to my parents was that I did not want to disturb the grief about their daughter by all those descriptions of her love for Jack, but most of all I feared that they might unable to cope with that pregnancy.
The seventeen-year-old girl that I was at that time thought that Jack was already unhappy enough and maybe I even feared for a suicide if he should hear that Tess had been pregnant. Why she was pregnant I could not imagine, because, as far as I knew, my mother always had been clear about her idea that a pregnancy at that age was the most awful thing that could happen. And that was why Tess, as far as I knew, was using those contraception pills. Did she forget them sometimes?
It was in strange contrast with the notes of Tess indicating at the age of eighteen that she was happy and knew for sure that Jack would be a good father. Suddenly I realized that he was still childless and I wondered how he might react, reading these facts after many, many years.
Would he reproach me that I had hidden the notebooks from him, but I knew already that he was not the person to have those strong negative judgements. Certainly he would realize my dilemma, knowing far too well how long and strong that death of Tess must have influenced my life.
It is a dangerous business to drive with all those thoughts and I almost forget to stop at my own house.
We enter the house and Jack at once indicates how good it is that I changed the whole interior according to my own taste, only leaving the things that I really like myself, such as the beautiful paintings, more or less 100 years old and made by well-known impressionists and early expressionists, most of them museum pieces. If I really don't want to go back to my work as a teacher it will be enough to sell one of them to give me a lot of freedom and the money to insure the rest of them.
I make some tea and we are sitting in that nice garden near the brook and not to my surprise Jack sees the kingfisher that often sits on a branch of one of the alders above the water. He never worked as a biologist, but I know that he still loves nature and regularly writes articles about his visits to all kind of places.
We talk somewhat about the death of my mother and the preceding very long sickness. It took almost one year and in the end I was really exhausted, but I was happy that I had the opportunity to do all these things not sending her to a hospital.
I tell Jack about the very long holiday that I have in mind and he has several suggestions about small campsites in the mountains between France and Spain and mentions the nice terraces from where you see all kinds of birds of prey. "You will wish that you can hover like they do, looking in those magnificent mountain valleys."
Better to go with you, but... not such a bad idea. But he stops speaking about it knowing that this is somewhat premature, but you never know.
I leave Jack in the garden and go to the kitchen to prepare our evening meal, but soon he joins me asking if he can help me and starts to prepare a nice salad. It seems quite natural that this nice man with his very short but already very grey hair is present in my house.
We have our meal again in the garden and speak about Jack's work as a journalist and all kinds of freelance work and it is clear that it might be possible that he joins me during that holiday, writing articles about nature etc.
Later we walk along the brook and in the beautiful forest that is quite near and Jack mentions how beautiful it must be here in spring when millions of white anemones are covering the forest floor. We walk for rather a long time and enjoy the flight of the first bats coming from nearby caves.
It is dark when we return, but it is still warm enough to sit outside with some candlelight and a good glass of wine. And then I take courage and start to tell him about the pregnancy of Tess.
Up till now I feel almost happy to be here with Viola. First I found her almost too serious, but seeing those red spots at her neck, I realized that she must have been very stressed about this meeting. Probably as much as I was, but usually my emotions are more hidden, but I know enough, when I feel a vague pain in my right arm.
I was happy that she expressed her feelings for me and it almost ashames me that she cut her hair for me; it is nice, but a shorter crewcut will be more natural and more flattering. Of course I did not tell her that, but I have no doubt that she knows that herself.
Almost stammering, Viola tells me how a week after the death of Tess she discovered some notebooks and read in one of them. It was clear that she described some days of her last, very long, summer holiday.
"There were nice descriptions of the island, but also the contacts with you and then even indications of your first sexual contacts, making love in the dunes. I stopped reading and put the notebooks away, not telling my parents about them. Some weeks later I read again, stopped again, but again weeks later I read the whole thing and then somewhere at the end she mentioned that she was pregnant and wondered how to tell you about it. But Tess mentioned that she was happy and surely wanted it."
Viola says: "I could not believe it, because I knew that she used those contraception pills. Did she forget to use them?"
She looks for my reaction, but for some time I don't say anything. I go back in time and all those memories of the time before and after her death come back.
Was she pregnant? I cannot imagine it, she was far too careful to forget to take these pills. Tess pregnant and wanting that child? Something is wrong, but what? And then I know that it was not true.
I ask Viola: "Do you remember when you visited us?"
"Of course," is her reaction. "Two weeks before…"
Suddenly I see it quite clearly: Tess and I in one bed and early in the morning Tess complaining that her menstruation started as strong as usual and that the sheets of our bed were dirty. I remember how she complained that we men were lucky not to have all that trouble. We took the sheet from the bed and I remember washing it, hanging it outside, in which case it might be dry for the next night.
How did she come up with that pregnancy story?
I almost forget Viola, but realize that she expects one or another reaction.
"Hmm, strange," is what I say.
I suddenly realize that this is terrible, thinking about the young girl hiding this diary, not willing to shock me and now it is not true. Do I have to keep my mouth shut about it? Does it help her?
But no, what if really a new relation between Viola and me develops?
No, we are mature people now.
I look for Jack's reactions. He seems to be far away. Is he angry, is he sad? I cannot press him to speak. I see him hesitating and he takes my hand and I feel a soft caress.
I hear myself saying: "Let us not forget that this diary was in fact only for Tess and I think that it was never her idea that somebody read it.
"Listen carefully to what I say: this is not a reproach about your reading it, but there is something else. I am just aware again about the fact that those notebooks were not only a diary, but that she used them also to write some fiction. Sometimes we were talking about the question, if writers used their personal experience in their books and I mentioned a famous writer who lived quite near us and almost literally described our street, the shops and the people, mixing it up with his fiction. And now I remember that Tess told me that she was doing that sometimes in her diaries in cases, where she wondered how life might be if her decisions had been different.
"What might have happened if she had not met me?
"I have to be honest now that I don't believe, or I can say it even stronger I am sure, that she was not pregnant. I will explain why I am that sure about it."
I realize that my remarks are an enormous shock for Viola, certainly because she kept that secret for herself unable to share it even with me.
I cannot believe what Jack says, but he seems to be sure and for some moments I feel that I am extremely angry. Why did Tess do that to me? She caused all that sorrow, pain for me, dad and mum and Jack - WHY?
I feel how Jack presses me against his body; he senses my anger and that terrible grief and I start to cry and cry and cry. I feel my own body shaking.
I hear Jack saying: "Please never forget, that Tess did not realize that her fantasy should be read in this way. If she had known that that might happen she would not have written this or she would have destroyed those notebooks."
I know that he is right and soon I am feeling better, while Jack explains how he could be that sure about the impossibility of the supposed pregnancy. I can even smile when he describes the story of the washing of the bedsheet.
I had expected all kind of things when I thought about this meeting, but I never dreamt that this might happen, even before Jack had read one word in the diary.
It is late and suddenly a fresh wind comes through the valley and we go inside. I look for Schubert's string quartet: "Death and the Maiden" and we sit there close together, each of us with his own memories of a time that seems to be far away, but at the same time we only have to close our eyes to see Tess.
I give Jack the notebooks and show him the bedroom where he will sleep, or not, during the night that will come. He can take a shower first, while I close the windows and the doors of my house. Coming from the bathroom he gives me a soft kiss on my forehead, playing again for some seconds with the stubble covering the back of my head. Goodnight is the last thing I hear.
I look around in the small bedroom and see that I can read at ease with the light of a nice lamp and happily there are some pillows, which I can use to read in a nice comfortable position. I hear Viola leaving the bathroom and for a moment she looks in my room to see if things are all right and now she is the one giving me a small kiss and caressing my head. She finds it difficult to go, but we know that I need the time to read at least some parts of the diaries.
I stare at the beautiful old ceiling and think about all the things that happened since I arrived here, and to my surprise I hardly feel any unrest. No, that is not true, the essay and my TV appearance had quite a therapeutic effect and I am sure that's why I am now feeling very well.
I take one of the notebooks and see for the first time for many years that regular handwriting and it is easy to find the parts which are of most interest, as the dates are mentioned everywhere. I am capable to read extremely fast, seeing with one or two glances the content of a page. And that is why I discover within a very short time that I was right an hour ago when I indicated to Viola that I supposed that the notebooks contained a mixture of fact and fiction.
It was curious to see how Tess sometimes was afraid how good all things were going without any quarreling and how she even mentioned and described how life had been during three days that we were supposed to be alone. She described how lonesome she had been and how she hoped that I might not be angry anymore.
I grinned, because I knew that we had been inseparable from our first kisses till the last day of that holiday.
It was nice to see how she described how the two young shy children, who we were at that time, changed and how, within a short time, we learned to give and to take in that developing relationship.
I go for a while to the end and read the pages with the supposed pregnancy and for me it is clear that this "pregnancy" is a metaphor relating to the question if we were not too young to live together as our plan was at that time. She must have been worrying about the question if we were able to share our lives already and had imagined the extreme situation where she was suddenly pregnant and she probably had been wondering how we might solve such a problem.
It is hard to imagine how we might have coped with those problems and suddenly I realize that in that case I could have had a 24-year-old son or daughter, or maybe we might have realized that an abortion would have been a more realistic solution. I have a vague recollection that we had been speaking about such problems during one of those weekends after our holiday, but not in relation with a real pregnancy.
I look around in the room and see the back of a big painting that stands against one of the walls. I see several very old labels and then - I am almost shocked - I see, written with chalk, the name Nolde. This cannot be possible. I almost jump from my bed, turn the picture, and see one of the most beautiful seascapes, that I ever saw. It must be a reproduction, but seeing some of the labels at the back in more detail, I know that this must be original.
Last year, after an exposition of German expressionists, I wrote an article about Nolde for my newspaper and probably Viola must have read it and wanted to show me this painting.
It is a crazy situation that Viola is the owner of one of the most impressive private collections of this country. I wonder if she really knows how valuable these paintings are nowadays. Suddenly I am almost ashamed that I forgot the diaries and soon I am leafing again through them and often I close my eyes and see those images of the sea, the dunes the birds and our brown bodies.
I sit somewhere at the beach quite near the sea and observe a group of Arctic Terns. Quite near there seems to be a shoal and the whole flock of those graceful birds is quite near. I never saw them like this and dream about their crazy life flying from pole to pole.
And then I hear the voice of the girl behind me. At first I am almost frightened, because I thought that I was quite alone there, but seemingly I forgot the world around me.
It is the nice girl who I saw on the boat when I arrived here yesterday and who has her tent at the same camping. She is alone and at ease she seats herself with me and whispers, "How beautiful, those birds." She starts to study them with her own binoculars. "Are they arctic terns?" she asks.
But at once she adds that the name is not important and, hardly speaking, we continue to observe the birds. Suddenly the whole flock disappears and there I sit with that nice long-haired girl. I take my flask of water and offer her a drink, but it is not necessary, because she brought her own.
She asks if I will go the far end of the island, but I confess that I hardly had any plan this day and that maybe I might cross the island to the other side having a look at the dunes and the mudflats, as far as they will be visible with the high tide.
The girl says: "I saw you yesterday on the boat and later at the dance. Did you like it there? I found it rather smoky"
Indeed I had been at the dance; on the boat I had seen a group of girls and one of the girls had very short hair and I found her attractive, even though I found that she used too much make-up. Hoping to see her again I visited the dance, but the girl was not there. But I saw another short-haired girl that looked attractive with her suntanned face. I asked her for a dance and even offered her a drink, but soon I discovered that I disliked her more than I expected.
Soon I left the dance, vaguely realizing that I saw the long-haired girl who had been studying birds with her binoculars on the boat and who seemed to be at the same camping.
I walked to the sea and staring at the moonlit sea I had been asking myself how strange my attraction to short-haired girls was at a time that most of them had long hair. Up till now I never met a girl with short hair, who seemed to be interested in me.
With a shock I heard the girl saying: "You seem to be interested in girls with short hair, don't you? I saw you on the boat looking at that girl and yesterday at the dance, the same." I felt myself blushing, but felt at ease when I confessed that it was true. "Strange," was her reaction, "I always thought that long hair was the ultimate dream of each boy and here I sit with one who dislikes my hair."
I blushed again and said, "I don't dislike you and your hair. The only thing is that I think that you might be even more beautiful with very short hair. But be sure, short hair is not the only thing. Yesterday I met that girl, but within a short time I discovered that we had nothing in common, whereas with you I have the feeling that I know you very well and have the idea that you could be a good friend, with a lot of common interests."
Never before had I told a girl, within such a short time, that I liked her that much. Now it was the girl, whose name was Tess, as I learned later, who blushed.
We did not know what to say, but the problem was solved by a seal, who emerged quite near, then disappeared again. We could easily observe that curious face with the long hairs. Maybe ten minutes or longer we could see the nice animal, emerging again and again and then he seemed to disappear.
"Good idea to have a swim as well," I suggested, "But the only thing is that I like to swim in the nude. That means that one of us will have to look for another place, if he has an objection to that obscene behaviour or maybe you don't trust me with that strange preference for short hair." Tess grinned and said that she trusted me and that one of the reasons to go to this isolated part of the beach had been her wish too for sunbathing and swimming without any clothes.
We entered the water, which felt rather cold, but soon we were used to it and amused ourselves diving in the breakers. Suddenly I saw the seal again and indicating where the animal was, our naked bodies touched and without any sign we just embraced each other, in a most natural way. We smiled and kissed each other several times, the seal disappeared and we returned to our clothes and were sitting there, staring at the sea.
"Now that long, wet hair is terrible," I heard Tess say. "You are right, short hair is much better. Do you really think that short hair is nice for me?"
I uncovered her ears and saw that they were very nice and lying close to her head. With my hand I felt the perfect round bones of her skull and declared that as a specialist I was sure that a nice crewcut might be the perfect solution and the ultimate form of seduction. "But to be honest, even with long very wet and lank hair you seduce me."
Tess started to laugh and said, "If I fulfill your wishes, you must promise that you cut your hair as short as I will do."
My own hair was more or less 4-5cm long and I had the intention to go to a barber, to have it rather short. Tess started to caress my hair with her fingers and whispered, "It will be nice if it will be very, very short, everywhere short bristles."
We were kissing each other and then we decided to walk somewhat farther, having a look in the herring gull colony. We had a nice afternoon and later we returned to the camping, where we prepared our first meal together. Early in the evening we walked again to the sea, to enjoy one of those terrific sunsets and enjoyed the magnificent seascape, sitting close together. When the sun disappeared Tess asked smiling if I was going again to the dance to hunt for shorthaired girls. And then she came up with that crazy proposal for the next day. It was her own idea that we should take the early morning boat to the mainland and the bus to the nearby town, where there were of course barbers. If we had luck we could return with the boat of one o'clock and then we still could spend the whole afternoon on the beach or wherever we should like to be.
It shocked me that this girl wanted to sacrifice that long beautiful hair for me.
When I told her what I thought, she started to laugh and said that it was not necessary to worry, the more because the idea of extremely short hair attracted her increasingly. We even spent a short time at the dance and Tess, pointing at some short-haired girls, declared that their hair would be long compared with the crewcut that she had in mind.
Early next morning we took our bikes to the boat and I wondered what would happen in the hours to come. I mentioned that it might be possible that the barbers would refuse to cut her hair and it seemed the best that I should be the first one and that Tess should take a seat as soon as a following customer, might be asked to come for his haircut.
We took the bus and soon we were walking around in the old town looking for a barber. We asked one of the locals and he showed us a nice old-fashioned barbershop, with the classic barberpole outside. Looking inside we saw three older barbers working, but no other customers waiting to be helped.
We just entered the shop and looked how the barbers made a quick job using electric clippers. We did not speak very much and waited, while Tess looked fascinated how the barbers removed all that hair at that speed.
Much earlier than we expected I heard "Next!" and saw a barber looking in my direction. I explained the barber my (Tess') wishes and the barber looked somewhat surprised, because, as he said, such wishes for short hair were rare nowadays.
While the barber wrapped the white sheet around my neck, I heard again: "Next one," and saw in the mirror Tess walking to the chair. The barber did not look very happy and cried: "Another boy that wants to lose his ponytail!"
I waited and heard Tess say: "I am not a boy, but I want to lose my ponytail for sure."
I heard the barber saying, "We are not cutting the hair of ladies."
The reaction of Tess was simple: "I am not a lady, but I want my hair very short, like a boy, and I think that you have more experience with very short hair than hairdressers in a hairdressing salon. I want it just like my friend," and she pointed to me. At that moment my barber was already moving the clippers upwards leaving a white lane of short bristles.
Tess' barber moaned somewhat and declared that the extreme haircut would be her own responsibility.
I read in the diary: When I saw the nice boy looking at that short-haired girl on the boat and later at another girl with even shorter hair at the dance I realized that he must have a very strong preference for short hair. From the very moment that I saw him with his binoculars at the boat I found him attractive and wondered how I could approach such a nice boy. Coming back from the dance I developed that crazy fantasy, that I would go to a hairdresser and next time that we met he should be attracted by me. Early next morning, I really looked around in the village, but the only hairdresser seemed to be an old woman specialising in perms for grey-haired women.
The only barbershop was closed, with a sign: "I am ill."
That would mean a visit to a hairdresser on the mainland. For some years I sometimes had the idea to have shorter hair, but all my friends had long hair and a longing for very short hair never developed. The more I thought about, it the more I became excited by the idea and soon I tried to imagine how my head might feel when I touched very short bristles. No problems washing my very long hair and each time that I would swim it would be dry almost at once.
I tried to imagine how a barber would cut my ponytail at once, quite near my head and how short my bangs might be cut. Now they were reaching my eyes, but soon my whole forehead might be exposed. Maybe when I had it short like that the next stage would be to shave it....
I shivered, but even that crazy idea started to excite me and I wondered how that might feel.
Later that morning I saw the boy preparing sandwiches and taking a flask of water with him and I was sure that he would have a long walk along the beach or in the dunes. I prepared myself for the same kind of walk and from a far distance I followed him. An hour later I saw him sitting staring with his binoculars at a flock of terns.
I waited for some time and then I approached him and even frightened him when I started to talk. I found him even much nicer than I expected and soon we were talking about all kind of things and he was very frank about his interest for short-haired girls.
Later that day I came with the ultimate seducing proposal to cut my hair. I found it strange to do something like this, but within a short time I had the feeling that if I might do it, I might go for a really extreme short haircut and then I proposed that my hair should be as short as Jack's. He agreed to it telling me that he planned already to have it cut at the local barber who seemed to be ill as I knew already. I told that it seemed nice to me that his hair should be very short: short bristles all over.
The next morning we took the early morning boat and during the whole way my heart beat much stronger than usual. In fact it was my idea that I should be the first one to have the haircut, but just before we entered the old-time barbershop Jack said that maybe the barbers would refuse to cut my hair. It seemed better that he go first and that I followed. To look like a boy I had an old baseball cap on my head and so I was sitting there and looked how the barbers were clipper-shaving the sides of their customers' heads. It looked very old-fashioned and I remembered how once a schoolmate of mine had his hair like that and how all the others had their jibes about it.
Maybe 10 minutes later Jack was invited to the chair and mentioned that he wanted to have a very short bebob (something like a crewcut). In between, another boy entered the shop. I did not hear what the barber said about Jack's haircut and walked at once to the chair when another barber called: "Next one."
The barber made a joke about my ponytail and when he discovered that I was a girl he refused at first to cut my hair, saying that he was not capable to do that. But one of his colleagues said, when I told him that I wanted it short like a boy, that the barber was not honest, because, as it seemed, his own daughter had her hair regularly cut very short in the shop.
The barber still moaned a little bit, but said, "Okay, as long you don't complain later in case the result is not the one you expected or hoped for. Well, how do you want to have it?" he asked and I said very short.
"What is short?" the barber said. "Let's be more exact."
I told him that the idea was that my hair should be the same as Jack's. The other barber who just started his work told him how short Jack's hair would be cut.
And then my barber said: "I don't do that." Seeing my disappointed face he said, "I will cut it very short, maybe 1-2 cm at the sides and a little bit longer on top. I think that will be beautiful, because you have the ideal face and ears for such short hair. And if you are not yet satisfied I will cut it as short as you like."
Shaking his head he wrapped the cape around my neck and took the baseball cap which still covered my head. He took my very long ponytail, held it partly in front of me and asked, "Are you sure? Yes?" and then with some snips of a big scissors he cut the tail quite near my head. With the tail in his head he said, "Too late." The rest of my hair, at least in front, still reached halfway down my neck.
For the first time I glanced sideways and saw that Jack's barber was clipper shaving the sides of his head, but I had no time to look what happened there, because my barber started his work. He pushed my head slightly forward and I felt the comb quite near my head and heard the scissors clicking at high speed, while the comb was slowly moved upwards.
A short time later the same procedure was repeated a little bit to the side and soon the back of my head felt rather free of hair. With my hand I moved over the short hairs and the barber asked how long ago I had it as short as this. I could not remember having it short at all but told him that now I was passing my examinations, I wanted something quite different. The barber, who in fact was a kind man, said that his daughter had done the same and that he had been almost angry about it, but now he was used to it and realized how feminine short hair could be.
Soon my head was put in a more upright position, giving me the opportunity to look around, seeing that Jack's head was totally bald at the sides and now his barber started to use the clippers on top of his head, leaving short bristles and of course I saw that Jack hardly noticed what happened with his own head, but glanced in the mirrors to see what happened with my hair.
Soon the barber started to cut my hair at the sides and my left ear was exposed, leaving a short, slantwise cut, sideburn. "Nice ears," was the only remark of the barber, continuing the same work at the other side. He combed all my hair, also that at the sides of my head, forwards with those ridiculous bangs covering my eyes. I expected him to cut my bangs, but first he cut most of the hair on top also rather short.
Then, at last, he started to expose my face. Starting near one of the sideburns, he cut upwards, leaving very short bangs, ending at the other sideburn. I found that the cut was too blunt, but did not need to tell him that, because the barber started to make it much more irregular and wispy. In fact it was beautifully done and my hair was probably hardly longer than 3 cm.
I think that Jack would have been extremely satisfied if he should have met me yesterday like this. It surprised me that I found this short hair at once very nice and I had the feeling that I saw nothing abnormal in the mirror, even though hardly 10 minutes ago I still had very long hair. I realized that I had no courage at all to ask the barber to make my hair still much shorter after this perfect haircut.
But then to my surprise I heard him say: "I think that you really can have your hair still much shorter and even then it will look as feminine as possible. 10 minutes ago, I thought that you were crazy to ask for that bebob. What do you think, because you were not the one that asked for this haircut, although I admire my own work."
I saw that Jack's haircut had been finished and that his head was only covered with very short bristles on top. I remembered that I proposed to have the same haircut and said: "Okay, just like my friend."
This time the barber used no comb and no scissors, but electric clippers as I expected and I looked how the pale white skin at the sides of my head appeared. I grinned in the mirror at Jack whose haircut had been finished and who was sitting behind me.
It was surprising how soon all the hair disappeared and I shivered when I felt and saw that even my sideburns were totally removed. The most curious feelings came when the barber moved the clippers on top of my head leaving those cute small bristles. Only the short hairs of my fringe seemed a little bit longer, but it was true that, even though I had the feeling to see again another girl, it was extremely nice.
Seeing the result the barber even dared to mention that a total clipper shave could be nice as well, but I found it short enough for the time being. We paid and left the shop and walked somewhat through the old town till we returned with the one o'clock boat. Later that afternoon we walked along the beach and somewhere in the dunes we made love for the first, but certainly not the last, time, during that nice holiday. I was happy that I used those contraception pills, because condoms seemed to be far from comfortable with all that sand.
It is hard to believe how nice it was to feel the seawater streaming over my almost bald head and Jack kissing the sides and back of that clipper-shaved head, moving with his tongue over the stubble. It was strange feeling the sand grains sticking to the skin of my head, but heavens I liked it so very much, when Jack was running with his fingers over my head removing those grains or just caressing me. I realize how simple it was at that time, not worrying about Aids and all kind of other troubling diseases.
I scan some other pages and see about 3 weeks later, that we go again to the mainland and to my surprise I see that Tess describes a real headshave, and that's a complete fantasy, as we had that same very short haircut. She must have been thinking about it, but in reality she did not have the courage to do it.
Leafing through the notebook I see some more mixtures of facts and fiction, but most of all it is a moving description of her feelings and impressions. It is late and I read still somewhat about the first weeks of our study and our plans to look for a place where we can live together. Most of it is concise, a brief description of what happened, except for that curious pregnancy.
It is four o'clock and I hear someone walking. I close my eyes and wonder if Viola will enter to see how I am and indeed I hear the door opening, and she approaches thinking that I sleep. I feel how she covers me with the sheets and hesitates to give me a small kiss. I immediately answer the kiss and we look at each other's grinning face.
Is it possible to leave the love for Tess behind me and start the new one for Viola?
I think that it will be nice if we sleep together for the rest of the night, not making love, but just being close together. It is not difficult to explain, because Viola exactly knows what I mean and soon I lie there very close with my stomach against her back, fitting like two spoons. Hours later I awake, still in that same comfortable position.
We talk somewhat about the notebooks and about the question of what's fact and what's fiction. I have to smile when Viola asks about the headshave, but have to deny it.
"Maybe something for you," I say.
"Maybe yes, maybe no," is her answer.
That is a complete lie because I know very well that during my holiday I will, with or without Jack, visit a barber's somewhere in France or Spain and in the end my head will be covered by....
I awake and for some seconds I am totally confused about where I am and ask myself why I lie in this bed. The door opens and I see the grinning face of Jack, who invites me for breakfast in the garden of my own house. I must have been extremely tired, not feeling that he left this small bed, which we shared from the middle of the night when I entered his room, thinking that he had fallen asleep.
Jack points at the painting and asks if I put it there to show him. "Or is it because you have to store it somewhere, not knowing where to leave all those paintings?"
Of course he realizes that I read that article about Nolde and wanted to show him this painting. The painting covered one of the few open spaces between the bookcases in my father's study and I was still wondering where to hang it myself. I never realized that Nolde was an important painter, used as I was to all those paintings which covered the walls of our house, not to speak about the others in the attic rooms and the cellar.
I knew that my father had been buying hundreds of paintings in the fifties and sixties, not to speak about piles of watercolors and graphic work that was stored in the special cupboards in the old study, which I had tried to change in something that was more characteristic for my own person.
Jack asks how I feel after this strange night, but just like him, I slept well after I entered his bed. He jokes that he must be a dull, unattractive guy, causing that intense sleep, but that's in strong contrast to the feelings which I have.
But Jack cannot hide his curiosity about the Nolde and asks if more paintings of that man are present in the house. I must confess that I have no idea, explaining that for many years I hardly came in this house, not very much interested in my father's hobby.
I hear myself say: "Can you imagine that for a long time my parents suggested that they were too poor. And as I understand now he sometimes sold some paintings, as he hardly had any pension rights. It is only one and a half years ago that I started to see my mother, after a long time of quarrels, starting when I married that Israeli violinist. When I divorced two years ago I came back to the Netherlands and only then I heard how unhappy my mother had been in her own marriage with my father. It seems that all those works of art seemed much more important to the old man than his relationship with mum. That's perhaps why I am almost indifferent about all that art. I know that they have the value of a small fortune, but only recently I started to explore what's present. Crazy, isn't it"
Jack shakes his head in disbelief and asks if I have any idea about the value of the Nolde and I say, "Something like 10000 guilders. If you like it, you can have it."
Jack says: "I like you very much, but I think that I will have to tell you that you are a little bit green, not to say naïve, about this matter. Only a painting of this quality would be a sensation if it were for sale. I have the feeling that the value must be maybe 1or 2 million, if not much more.
"I hope that nobody knows about this collection, because within a short time all the art thieves of Western Europe would be present for some shopping. Oh oh, If you see the locks of this house. The best I can do is to help this multi-millionaire to save her things. I believe that you make a fool of me telling that you don't know about it. I hope that I may have a look at the things later, to have an idea what is present here and I promise that I will not write about it unless you give permission for it.
"But let's have the breakfast that I prepared. Oh, oh oh!"
He bends and gives me a kiss while he covers with one hand the back of my head.
Just casually he mentions that my head will be much more valuable if I ask my hairdresser to cut the hair at the sides of my head also very short, just exposing those nice small ears. He grins and says: "Leave the rest of that somewhat curly hair on top as long as it is now, at least for the time being."
I frown, and admit that it was my original plan to have my hair like that, but that I lost all self-confidence at the very moment that I entered the hair salon. I tease him and say: "Be careful about what you say and propose, because we are not yet married, even though you spend the whole night making love with me in one small three-quarter bed."
Suddenly I know that nothing can prevent me falling in love with Jack, even though he finds me crazy that I hardly know how rich I am and, to be honest, it hardly interests me after that difficult year. But maybe it will be nice to look through all those things together with him and hopefully I will like more of it as soon as I am thinking not too much about my crazy father.
I ask Jack if he likes to join me to a hairdresser and that is something that a real hair fetishist will not refuse.
After breakfast we take a coffee and more carefully than usual I close all the doors and windows and there we go to the nearby town. I don't want to go to the same hairdresser and for some time we walk around till I remember that there is a new one near the market, but it is terribly crowded. Looking at other places Jack discovers an old-time barbershop and mentions that a real barber can cut the rest of my hair within some minutes.
Inside the shop one barber is busy and another one is reading a newspaper. We enter and the barber asks Jack to sit down, but Jack explains my problem, suggesting that it would be a piece of cake to cut the rest of my hair with electric clippers. The barber starts to laugh when Jack declares that the reason for my haircut is that he likes to see how good the barber is. If all right, he wants to have a haircut as well.
The barber asks me to sit down and together with Jack he studies my hair, declaring that my hairdresser has done a good job, but he can imagine that I want it to be changed into a wedge cut as he calls it. With scissors he removes a lot of hair at the sides and then he takes the clippers and, moving the clippers over the comb, he shaves the sides, making my hair extremely short at the hairline and around the ears and gradually longer till the exact boundary with the longer hair at the top. The line of the bangs continues in the boundary line between the long and the short hair and the result is still a nice geometrical haircut, but it looks much more natural than the one I had a short moment ago. It takes more time than expected, because the barber is not easily satisfied, but the result is very nice and I see that also Jack seems to like what he sees.
The barber asks: "And what do you think about my work, Mister?"
Jack must confess that it is excellent and that means that he is also asked for a haircut. The barber asks what Jack wants, but to my surprise he refers to me, telling the barber that his wife is the one to decide. I see a hardly visible grin and say, without much hesitation, a very short crewcut. It does not surprise the barber, who says that during the last few years this haircut has become more and more popular, even a lot of women seem to come here for it.
Turning to me, he adds: "It would be great, even for you."
I see a vague grin from Jack when he says: "Oh, no, never. That might be far too masculine. I found it already extreme when my wife cut her hair yesterday and I was happy that you could make something nice of it."
The telephone rings and we stick out our tongues and I am happy that the barber does not see our childish behaviour.
Coming back, Jack says that he thought about the barber's remarks and that maybe next time I might try such a haircut.
I react very serious and pseudo-angry, saying that I am a quite emancipated woman and that if I like such a haircut I don't need his permission. In between the barber starts the crewcut and that seems to be an easy job with the clippers. The sides and back of Jack's head are almost clipper shaved and then the barber takes a very big comb and shaves away all the hair above it.
And within some minutes a so-called flattop appears. But Jack and the barber agree that although the haircut itself is perfect, it does not look good and then Jack asks to make all the hair that is left equally long, except for a somewhat longer forelock and indeed that looks much, much better.
Soon the barber completes the job and asks me if I am already in for the crewcut, but I say that it has been enough for today and that to pay for another haircut is too expensive. The barber says that the change is free, but I say that it is okay like this and we leave the barber.
Outside we burst out laughing and walk to the market where we take a coffee and I suggest that I will visit a barber during my holiday to try how a crewcut will be. Immediately Jack says that as a husband he will have to join me, also to control if the hair is short enough.
Somewhat later we return to the village and after some shopping we go home and I am happy when Jack brings all the goods from the supermarket inside. It is almost a dream. Later it is much less difficult to speak about Tess' notebooks, realizing that Tess is no longer that difficult barrier between Jack and me. Most of the afternoon we sit in the garden near the brook and Jack is happy that the kingfisher gives again a fishing show.
Alas, the sun disappears and soon it starts lightning, with the result that we have to enter the still very warm house. Close to Jack, I look through a window to see how dark clouds enter the valley at high speed and then there is a pour of rain and enormous hailstones cover the garden within a short time. It is totally dark and everywhere but also quite near flashes of lightning are visible, followed by heavy thunder.
Jack puts his arm around me and I kiss him, happy that he is with me and that I am not alone in this big house. With his other hand he caresses the very short hairs around my ears and I feel his tongue moving over the short bristles. I answer his caresses, running with my hand over his clipper-shaved head. For a moment I am reminded of the diaries of Tess, describing the excitement which she felt when she did things like this with Jack in that far past.
But again I realize that I want to enjoy what I feel now and that there is nothing to be ashamed about.
After an hour the thunderstorm disappears, but it is much cooler now and we have to stay inside. A nice opportunity to study my art collection and Jack is more than eager to have a look at the things. I remember that, during the last weeks, I have seen a file with information about the collection, with information about the artists and the works that are present in the house. Jack has a look at the files and shakes his head again and tells me again how crazy it seems.
He sees the name of one of his favorites, Käthe Kollwitz, and tells me how he bought one of her prints some months ago for 3000 guilders, something he did never before and here, if the list is true, there should be 87 of her prints. He just stammers: "Where are all those things?"
It seems that they are in one of the cupboards upstairs in one of the attic rooms. The cupboards contain piles of prints, but also watercolors. It seems that the old man was collecting quite systematically and I wonder that I almost never had seen these things.
Now I remember that sometimes my father invited me to have a look at these things, but that I preferred my music. How disappointed the man must have been that his daughter was not interested at all in those beautiful works of art.
Jack finds the Kollwitz prints and tells me about her life and the tragic death of her son during the First World War. He mentions that once or twice a year he visits the Kollwitz museum in Köln to share a little bit of her concern in social matters.
I feel ashamed that all those treasures are hidden in all those cupboards, not to speak about the hundreds of paintings that stand everywhere. Jack proposes that a good friend, who is director of a museum will take a look at the collection, with the possibility that the main part of the collection will be stored in a much safer place, in exchange for the right to show some or even a lot of them in the museum. I hear a lot of "oh, oh, oh," but regularly he is kissing me, joking that he must treat a multi-millionaire very well.
In fact he feels uneasy, almost unhappy, that the collection seems to be more important than Tess, but I can assure him that I am only happy that he helps me with it, not knowing myself how to handle this.
We go down to the kitchen and together we prepare our evening meal and we speak about the holiday that I have in mind. In fact I wanted to start next week and Jack asks if I really want him to join me. Suddenly I start to cry and it is more than clear what I want. He says that it will be possible to accompany me, if I can and want to wait for 10-14 days.
He has to meet several obligations and he repeats once more: "If you want me to start a relationship with you, I want that this collection is stored away during our absence. I am certainly not the owner, but I find it irresponsible if we are away for some months and nobody takes care of it."
Later that evening we even speak about our sexual past and we both agree that we have a mutual responsibility, regretting that nowadays AIDS is spoiling so much of the sexual pleasure. It means that we will ask for a HIV-test and that for the time being we will use condoms.
"As far as I like to share my bed with you," I say jokingly and add: "By the way I am very tired and I want to sleep very early this evening."
Jack answers: "That means that we will not sleep together and in that case I'd better go home, because there is no place in that small bed."
I invite him to my own bedroom where I use an old, almost antique, bed that has a lot of space and Jack agrees that the bed is good enough for a sound sleep, without any mutual disturbance.
That night I make love with Jack and I enjoy the way in which Jack explores my own hidden hairfetish and soon we have all kind of fantasies about visits to barbers and when I even suggest a headshave Jack is strongly aroused, but at the same time he says that it will be a nice experiment, but that he assumes that a very short crewcut, with a slightly longer fringe will be nicest. He even tells me that he saw on the internet a picture of a beautiful woman, who showed a strong resemblance with me, sporting such beautiful short hair.
I hear him say: "Can you imagine that also this hair," and he takes the longer hair on top, "will be clipper shaved," and he moves his hand, imitating the humming sound of clippers, over my head.
Next morning we are looking on the internet to see some sites with haircuts and when I see the before and after pictures at a French site called Presentation, I even wonder if we can visit that hairdresser, when we pass the town where he works, on our way to the south. Jack agrees that it could be possible, but he does not like the extreme colours that the hairdresser applies. He thinks that such a haircut, with almost totally clipper-shaved sides and nape, and with hair on top still 1-2cm long, will be very nice, but again not those colours. In that case it will be also possible to have the real crewcut somewhere in Spain in a real old-fashioned barbershop and he tells me about a nice old shop where he usually goes when he is in north-west Spain.
In the afternoon we go to the museum in the nearby town and the director is more than interested and promises that he will come with one of his colleagues during one of the following days. Jack goes home to organize all kind of things and even finds time to buy a bigger two-person tent for our holiday.
The contacts with the museum people are very pleasant and we select some paintings that will be sold anyway at an auction house and the rest will be stored during our absence, whereas some of the paintings and prints will be shown as soon as possible. Those 2 weeks are something like a dream and I am happy that the handsome Jacks helps me this much, because he is used to thinking about all kind of practical things.
And then 15 days after my first meeting with Jack we leave very early in the morning for our holiday in France, Spain and maybe even Portugal. A visit to the hairdresser of "Presentation" seems to be less practical and moreover Jacks thinks that I will not like it if my pictures will appear on internet, although he likes it that other girls did not have that objection. But anyway I have 2 pictures with me, one of a haircut with very short clipper-shaved sides and nape and the somewhat longer hair on top and one of the perfect buzzcut of the girl with the indeed striking resemblance to me. A picture of a headshave seems to be unnecessary as we can explain that easily, as long as a barber wants to understand those extravagant wishes.
Around 10 o'clock we pass Paris and we promise each other that we will spend there some days on the way back, as long as we are still together. We are happy that we can change drivers every 2 hours and in the afternoon we look south of Bordeaux for a nice camping municipal near a small town. It is easy that Jacks knows this camping already and even more nice that he knows a nice barber (coiffeur) in the town.
The coiffeur, an older potbellied man even seems to recognize Jack from other visits in the past and invites him to sit down, a good idea, because his crewcut needs to be re-cut very regularly. Soon Jack's hair is cut even shorter than last time and my "husband" seems almost bald when he is allowed to leave the stool. The barber wants to settle the bill, but Jack explains, in far better French than I expected, that my hair should be cut as well.
"Aussi en brosse?" (Also a brush cut?) the barber says, but Jack asks me to show the picture and the barber exclaims: "à la garçonne!" (Like a boy!) and fastens a cape quite tight around my neck.
Curious, for the second time in slightly more than two weeks, I am sitting on a barber stool and I am feeling not uneasy at all. I am delighted when I feel the clippers against the skin of my nape. The barber will leave only 2-3mm long hair at the sides and the back and I feel the clippers moving over my skin.
I have the feeling that he is shaving me totally bald and for a moment I doubt if I will ask him to remove even the #1 attachment to have it shaved as close as Jack, but I realize that, for the time being, it will be already short and extreme enough. I feel the clippers going higher and higher and wonder where it will stop. I cannot see anything about it, because the barber has pressed my head forwards, with my chin tight against my breasts.
I hear Jack's "Wow, that is short!" The barber repeats the movements with the clippers again and again, carefully checking if no longer hairs are left behind. For a while he stops to greet a new customer who enters and it gives me the opportunity to feel my head at the back and at the same time I see the extremely short almost bald part in the mirror behind me. I hear Jack say: "Afraid?"
I only answer: "No, strangely, but a very nice sexy feeling."
The barber starts now at the right side and I see the sideburn almost totally disappearing and the clippers, close to my skin going upward. Last time only the lowest parts were as short as this, but the rest was left longer in a transition to the very long hair on top. But now the whole side is clipper shaved leaving only a few millimetres of hair. The barber bends my ear aside and presses the clippers upwards and a whole area of maybe 4cm above my ear is freed of hair. The barber makes some more moves with the clippers around and behind my ear.
And then the other side is cleaned as well. What is left of my hair is a cap of very long hairs and the long bangs.
The clippers are switched off and the barber takes scissors and starts cutting the rest of my hair. Each time he takes strands of hair close to my head between his fingers and cuts all the hair that is sticking out. It is a time-consuming business, but after some minutes almost all my hair on top is maybe 1.5-2cm long and also the length of the bangs has been reduced.
The rest of my hair is combed forwards and using thinning scissors over a comb the transition between the clipper-shaved sides and the somewhat longer, but very short, hair above is made. The fringe is made also extremely short, but using the thinning scissors it is not a straight line, but it gets the wispy appearance which I hoped for. The haircut is almost finished and soon the barber scrapes some hairs at the nape away with a straight razor and then he wants to apply a kind of awful smelling lotion, but that can be prevented just in time.
We thank the barber for his perfect work and feeling with my hand at the nape and sides of my head I walk back to the camping. Minute hairs give an itchy feeling and I want to take a shower, but even better, there is a swimming pool quite near the camping and soon I feel the water on my close-cut hair. No problem to dry it as soon as I come out of the swimming pool.
For half an hour we still lie in the sun, but then we are hungry and walk to a small restaurant in the town. We are the only foreigners and a lot of older locals take a beer or something stronger. Some minutes later the coiffeur enters, greets us and offers us a drink of his just-earned money.
We have a simple meal, with a nice onion soup and then we go back to the camping, where we stay only one night, because tomorrow we want to reach the Pyrenean mountains where Jack knows a small nice camping on the French side. It is really a very nice place and wonderful to walk around in the mountains or just sit in front of the tent enjoying all those birds of prey hovering there, sometimes just in front of our tent.
In the toilet rooms there is a mirror and I can study my very short hair, happy that the severe helmet style has been changed in this more boyish but still feminine haircut. I wonder how the next haircut will be, but that is still far away, because we want to spend at least two weeks in the mountains.
Some wonderful weeks follow, busy days with long walks high in the mountains, but also days of laziness, just reading or dreaming or Jack writing for several newspapers and weeklies. He has brought a laptop computer and in a nearby village he has found an address where he can send his e-mails. We talk a lot about the past and gradually we discover more about the past of the other. Sometimes with many painful experiences, but it is clear that Jack knows how to listen and I feel at ease to tell him much about of my lonely experiences in Israel and I feel very, very happy with this quiet man. The walks in the mountains are fascinating, the more because Jack is a very keen observer and he knows a lot about the flora and fauna.
We brought an enormous amount of classical CDs and often I sit there staring at those beautiful mountains and listening to the music, which I like. Gradually I am recovering from those difficult years and I am even wondering if I will start to play fagot again as I did a long time ago, before I married. Maybe I can start to study again and maybe it will be even nice to have some private students as well. The more I think about it, the less need I feel to return to the secondary school where half of the pupils were not interested at all in my lessons, although the other half could be very pleasant.
Then the weather changes and it seems that for some days it will be less nice. We decide to travel to Spain and even though the weather is not very good it is good enough for that long journey. We stay some days in Pamplona, but of course we don't like to visit the bullfights, but we enjoy the old town and then we go on to the north-western part of Spain near the Atlantic ocean. It is still June and the campings are not yet crowded.
One of the next places where we want to stay is a camping quite near the cliffs with a nice view on the sea. There are some beaches, but the seawater is still rather cool. More inland there are mountains and beautiful old isolated villages, where life seems to be like a hundred years ago and there is much to enjoy.
It is already two weeks ago since our last visit to the French coiffeur and now it is time to look for a peluqueria as a hairdresser seems to be called here. After lunch I want to go to town to visit the barber, but Jack reminds me that it is siesta, meaning that most shops and perhaps the barbers are closed as well. It means that we will have to wait till four or five o'clock, but at four I decide that we will go and Jack, grinning about my enthusiasm asks if I brought the picture of the perfect buzzcut, all the hair only 2-3mm long with a slightly longer very wispy fringe.
Entering the small harbour town, we see that most shops are still closed and no barbers to see. But Jack, who has a special sense for barbers knows where to find them and I am lucky: the barbershops are open already. The first shop we see seems to be owned by a young man who sits near the door, but for an obscure reason I dislike him and want to go on. Jack, however, remembers that 8 years ago he has been here in an old shop, but he is wondering if the old barber did not retire. He is looking for the street where the shop was and then after some minutes he exclaims that he sees the well-known barber poles.
We approach the shop. An older man sits in the barber's chair and seems to sleep. The door is open and Jack coughs to indicate that we are present. The barber awakes from a heavy sleep, wondering for a while where he is and then a vague grin appears, realizing that he has a customer. The man does not speak French, but Jack knows some Spanish words and explains, pointing at my and his own head that we want a haircut. The man looks somewhat disapproving, but maybe I am wrong and he is only still sleepy.
I ask if Jack is going for a real headshave and he asks if I would agree if he tried it. Jack takes his seat and he utters some sentences concerning the headshave that is wished. From a cupboard hand clippers are taken and for an obscure reason the barber puts his scissors and combs in the cupboard.
Jack whispers, "The whole shop is really antique. Look at that radio, which is maybe 50 or more years old."
The barber decides that it would be better to have some music and then we hear a lot of bagpipe music and it seems that the barber awakes and even a first smile appears. He places the clippers on top of Jack's head, looks for approval and starts to move, while he pinches in the clippers at high speed. Gradually a white path develops and I see all Jack's more or less grey hair falling down, leaving a grey stubble. It takes maybe five minutes, but then all the hair is removed. I think that it is nice enough, but the barber decides that the haircut must be finished with a real shave and starts to cover Jack's head with white soap cream.
With a straight razor, which he regularly sharpens on a leather belt, he expertly cleans Jack's head and within some minutes he is totally bald, not even the slightest stubble is visible. As soon as Jack's shave is finished it is my turn and the barber seems to ask if I want the same. I see that Jack hesitates and for a moment I wonder if I will agree, but then I show the picture and the barber thinks for some moment how to solve the problem.
To my surprise he takes other hand clippers from the cupboard, applies some oil and tries to explain that with these clippers some millimetres of hair are left. He wants to start the clipping also at my fringe, but I explain that that hair should be left a little bit longer and try to indicate that it will have to be wispy as well. At first he does not seem to understand me, but at last it is clear and he places the clippers some centimetres behind the fringe and there it goes.
Just like with Jack a white path becomes visible. In my case there is still a cover of minute blonde bristles, but I clearly see the white skin of my head. Hair with a length of about 2.5cm is tumbling down. The barber starts to grin and asks probably if I want to become a monk. His big belly is shaking with this joke, but I wonder how the result will be, although I like the feeling of the clippers on my head. During my last two visits the contrast between the much longer hair on top and the very short hair at the sides seemed to be crazy. But now the almost bald part at the top is even more strange compared with the 1cm long hair at the sides.
With a brush the hairs on top are removed and the barber continues his work at the left side. I am happy when I see that almost all the hair at the side is shaved away, leaving a stubble of maybe 1-2mm, as I realize, the same length as above.
Soon the whole left side is cleaned and turning my head I see that it is great, the only thing to be feared is that my fringe will be spoiled. I can hardly believe that my head is almost bald, but it becomes the more clear when also the rest of my hair on the other side is clipper shaved.
I expect the work to be finished, but the barber decides to my surprise that the hair at the sides is too long and he takes again the clippers, with which Jack had been clipper shaved.
He seems to forget about the picture and just follows his own ideas. For a moment I wonder if I will ask him to halt, but at the same time I feel my strange need to be almost bald and hope that he will make my hair as short as possible. He starts the whole procedure again and I feel and see how really all the hair at the sides and back is reduced to nothing. I am really happy that he does it like this and find it extremely nice when I feel that the clippers are also going higher and higher at the back. Higher and higher and I feel the clippers moving over my crown, also shaving that part. Only some hair is left on top.
The barber takes a comb and reduces most of the fringe and with the thinning scissors he makes the rest more irregular and wispy.
I hear Jack saying: "Why not ask him to clipper shave the rest and only leave that cute minute forelock?"
The barber probably understands it, because he is not surprised when I ask to remove the rest except for that minute fringe in front. And then I sit there almost totally bald, knowing that it is nice like this, but not needing the headshave which will make it more unnatural. To be honest I will be happy if tomorrow or the day after tomorrow Jack's head will be covered again with a short stubble as well. For the time being I know that my clipper shaved head is perfect.
With the experiences of the last weeks I know that in the future my hair will be never long again and probably never longer than a few centimetres.
We return to the camping to take a shower and sit there together and I wonder how we will play with each other during the night that will come. During the night we have a lot of fun and I still don't know what to think when I feel the very smooth skin of Jack's head. He moves my hand over his and my own head. And I know that at least one time in the future I will try it myself, but at the same time I know that in the end I will prefer the very short buzzcut with that cute wispy fringe. The nice thing however is that we can try all kind of haircuts without nasty remarks of people who we know.
Of course we cannot understand most of the remarks of the local people, who, certainly in the smalller villages, find us a strange couple.
Some weeks later we are, our heads again covered by a short crewcut, at a camping in the extreme north-western parts of Spain. We are lucky with the weather and spend a lot of time on the beach, but also on the more rocky parts of the seashore. We spend hours near the tidal zone, where Jack shows me all the fascinating adaptations of the seaweeds and animals. I can sit there for hours staring and sometimes we see dolphins or even larger whales.
One of the days, when the weather is not as good as usual, I take the car to some of the old towns. Jack will stay in or near the tent to finish some articles and I suggested to do some shopping and will look for a place where we can send e-mails. Moreover I promised him to look for a barber where we can go together as soon as his articles are finished. It takes a lot of time to go there, because a small circus is on the same way and I think that it will be nice to see the circus together with Jack. But anyway half an hour later I arrive at the nice old town, lying on the slope of a hill.
Soon I walk around, looking for a barber, but for the time being I only see a modern hairdressing salon and I fear already that there is no real barber and that maybe the last real barber was not competitive any more with the competition of the new one. At a square I drink a cappuccino and a local boy tries to communicate with me. Usually I don't like it, but now it is an opportunity to ask him if there is still a real barber, where only men are going for their haircut or to have their weekly shave.
I see the boy looking at my head, probably wondering for whom I ask this, not seeing any husband. But anyway he explains me that there is such a barber and after finishing and paying my coffee, the boy accompanies me to show me the shop.
A door is open and I see a customer lying on the barber's chair for the shave of his beard. Suddenly I see the face of the barber quite near and he looks at me, wondering who I am and what I want. He winks to come inside, but I remember the plan to come here together with Jack. I go on and thank the boy who disappears in one of the streets. I walk to the outskirts of the small town and sit for a moment near a small river, thinking about the winking of the barber and wonder if I will have the courage to go alone to that barber. How short will I ask to cut my hair and then I decide to go back and do my shopping.
I see again the barbershop and walk much slower and feel my heart beating much stronger. I glance sideways and see that a man is leaving the shop. What to do, no courage, is there already another customer in the shop? Maybe fifty meters farther I halt, doubt, walk some meters, go on, stop and then I walk back to the barber and just enter the shop.
Nobody seems to be there until a man in a blue coat, with a cup of coffee in his hand, appears and starts to speak in a language that I don't understand. I make a movement with my fingers near my head, suggesting a haircut and fearing that the barber will not accept a woman as a customer. I just take a seat in the barber's chair, staring in the mirror. I feel uneasy and have the feeling that it takes minutes before the man takes a cape, a white piece of cotton sheet, wraps it around my neck and fastens it quite tight.
I sigh, relieved that he does not send me away. He takes a comb and tries to comb my hair, but that has no sense, because my hair is still only 7-8mm or at most 1cm long (short). He asks something still wondering what to do and I help him, suggesting the movements with hand clippers, like the barber made some weeks ago.
He smiles and with a proud gesture he takes electric clippers, indicating that he is a man of modern times and shaking his head he indicates that he is not that old-fashioned anymore to use hand clippers. Between his fingers he indicates the length that can be left and I fear already that hardly any length will disappear. With some difficulty I explain how short my hair must be made, suggesting the use of a number 1 attachment.
He shakes his head in disbelief, shrugs his shoulders and then I hear the sound of the electric clippers and I feel the joy when he places the clippers at my left sideburn and I see the hair falling. This time the skin is not as white as last time, because we have been outside most of the time. Suddenly I know that I want it really shorter and indicate the barber to stop for a moment. He fears that I find it too short, but taking the clippers in my own hand I remove the attachment and with some movements which leave no doubt anymore I indicate that he may shave it all.
I forget to indicate to leave that small fringe, no to be honest I don't forget it, because it will be shaved anyway. I know exactly what I will suggest when he barber has finished the clipper shave.
The barber continues his work by placing the clippers quite near my fringe and then I see that all my hair is disappearing and again that perfectly shaped bald head appears. I am very satisfied about it and the barber repeats again and again the shaving movement to make my head as bald as possible with the clippers.
The barber halts for a moment and I see the boy who showed me the place where I am shaved. In the mirror I see that I am almost bald, the removal of the small fringe makes an enormous difference, but I still like my own face and know that the total headshave is still a matter of some minutes away. But still I doubt also, because the smooth headshave might be strange even suggesting that I had chemotherapy, because of cancer. At the same time I know that my brown suntanned face shows no signs at all of disease and I am sure that I really can have the most extreme of all haircuts.
The barber stops the clipper shaving and takes the straight razor to take away the hairs at my nape and I wonder if I want him to continue to shave my whole head with that blade. The barber works very slowly now and we both know what he and I are thinking. We stare at each other and he softly rubs my head. He does not say anything, but makes a slow movement with his razor quite near my head and the suggestion is very clear. There are no words and I feel with my own fingers how rough the skin of my head feels and then I go very slow with my fingers over the smooth skin of my cheek.
It is very, very silent, how different it would have been with Jack. I hear the boy, who stands in the door entrance, coughing and then I nod to confirm that my head might be shaved as smooth as possible.
The barber starts to prepare the cream that will be applied to my head with the shaving brush. He uses slightly hot water and the barber applies the cream, at ease massaging my head and I wait for the shave. The baber sharpens his razor and starts to shave, scraping downwards and I feel how he constantly checks how smooth it is.
Just when I have the idea that he has finished the back of my head, he takes again the brush and then he starts again scraping again and again in the opposite direction. I wonder how it feels and take one hand from under the cape and feel that strange smooth skin. Rubbing up and down I feel that no sign of hair seems to be present and I know that it will take some days before it will feel rough again and only after some more days a real stubble will be visible, the more because my hair is blonde.
The barber continues at the right side. Again first that downward scraping and then moving upwards and then I see my ear in that totally open space, but I am already used to that effect. The most dramatic will be the total shave of the hair on top, removing all signs of the presence of hair and the smooth skin of my forehead will continue without any boundary into the smooth skin of the rest of my head. I feel my heart beating stronger and stronger and know that the total smooth headshave is even much more dramatic, because with the clipper shave there is still that border formed by the visible stubble.
Some more minutes and I will know. The barber continues and then he starts with the top of my head, but first again the parts, more at the back and turning my head sometimes a little bit more downwards. I see more and more smooth skin appearing and then the last hairs in front are removed and even the barber stops for a moment to see how I react.
It takes time to realize that I am the one there with that face and with that beautiful smile and even the barber shares that smile. For some moments the baldness disappears again, because my head is covered again with cream, but then after endless checking the job is finished.
I feel my head and then the barber applies a lot of talcum powder and for a minute my head has a curious dusty appearance. It is cleaned again and then the barber applies a kind of cream and gives my head a massage. At the end a kind of fat is applied and to my surprise my head is really polished in a way that reminds me of my crazy father when he polished those black shoes.
The job is finished and totally bald I leave and go on my way to the local supermarket and it is nice that I have the boy as my first fan, declaring how beautiful I look. I almost forget to look for the internet club, but the boy knows one and then I can really leave.
Returning home, I ask myself what Jack will say and I wonder how long it will take before I see this barber again, but then with Jack. Near the tent I approach Jack from behind and cover his eyes and ask him to admire my new haircut with those sensitive fingers. I tell him that I feel no regret about his absence, but he easily accepts that it was my own decision.
Looking for a very long time in the mirror I start to doubt if I really like it, but there is no doubt how much I like it when the seawater drips from the bald skin and when I feel the soft wind blowing over my head. Heavens....
Looking in the photo album after that wonderful holiday I touch the short bristles of the cute crewcut that I sport during the winter. After the many haircuts during that long summer holiday we know that we can easily do the job ourselves and that is why each two weeks we spend some time in our bathroom clipper shaving each other's head.
During the last few months the whole art business has been solved and I have time enough to play again bassoon and still good enough to be asked even as a substitute player in the local symphony orchestra.
Tomorrow we will leave for Egypt and I feel already the very smooth skin of...
Jack enters and asks: "What are you dreaming about?"
I pull his head close against my head, take his hand and move it over our heads and....
I was happy to receive some more positive remarks about my stories and that is why I finished this second part of "Tess and Viola"
I still try to imagine which role haircut fetishism plays in the life of other people and maybe some of your own experiences can play a role in new stories
The adress:barberjos@lycos.com.
Moving my hand over those minute bristles I experience the sensation which Tess experienced and described long ago in her diary.
The clipper shaving of my nape surprised me but I liked the feeling and was very curious to see the result when the hairdresser showed me the final result of his work.
Usually I am not as impulsive as yesterday and I surprised myself entering the hairdressing salon. No, that is not honest, I thought that Jack might like me much more if I had my hair very short and hoped that he might fall in love with me, seeing a nice short-haired woman. But entering the salon I lost almost all my self-confidence and started to stammer when the hairdresser asked me what I wished. In the end it was clear that I wanted my hair much shorter, but that I was afraid of a disaster. The compromise was a bob, in which case the outgrowth seemed to be rather easy if I did not like the result.
My very long hair was cut strand after strand and collected to be saved; it meant that I could take it home and eventually a wig could be made of it. Of course the first impression of the rest of the hairs was very strange when I looked in the mirror, but it felt quite nice and I was happy that after so many years I had the courage.
I always had the feeling that very short hair might be the wrong imitation of my sister even though I knew for sure that I might look extremely beautiful with even the very shortest haircut.
The boy had a free hand and during the haircut he forgot the intention to keep the hair at one length and when he suggested that it might be nice to clipper shave the nape I did not realize that the clippers might shave away half of the hair at the back. The result was in fact not a bob but something that he indicated as a bowlcut. It looked like a sculptor had been busy with my hair and even though this haircut was at least extravagant I felt happy with it.
I realized that after this drastic makeover a real short haircut is nothing to worry about. Shaking my head I admired my beautiful very thick hair and found that I could be used as a model for one of those new brands of shampoo.
It was of course crazy that I spent so much time on my hair, forgetting that the main purpose of Jack's visit was to show him the diary of Tess, which I had kept secret for more than twenty-four years.
For two years there has been a nice show on the television, in which much attention is paid to literature, music etc. Sometimes they invite a writer and often a forum of reviewers has an extensive discussion about some new books or old ones of which a new edition appears.
I saw in my TV guide that Jack had been invited, probably because of a nice essay which had been published in one of the literary magazines. It was interesting because Jack reviewed a novel by a young promising writer, in which the love of two young people during one summer is described. Jack compared the book with many others and I realized that he used his own experience of his love with my sister as a kind of standard to evaluate the authenticity of the book. I realized again that the sudden death of my sister only two months after that long beautiful holiday must have been an enormous shock and that up till now he had been too busy to cope with that terrible loss. Reading his essay I had the feeling that one of his subconscious motivations to write it was to come to terms with a part of his past.
For a long time I had the feeling that sometime I might send him Tess' diary, but after keeping it such a long time it was difficult and usually I postponed and postponed...
It is time to go to the station; outside one of my neighbours sees my new haircut and wants to talk about it, but I make it clear that I have no time. Of course it is nonsense, because I am much too early and study my face in a reflecting window of a shop at the station. I seem to forget the whole world, because I suddenly realize that I am looking into the grinning face of one of my school colleagues, who asks, how I am. For some months, after the death of my mother, I am not working, because of, as my doctor defines it, a nervous stress. It is much better now and probably I will start working again after the summer holidays. The colleague admires my newly sculptured head and wishes me all the best, while I give all my best wishes for the others at school, but to be honest I am not interested in school for the time being, certainly because I have permission for a very long and as I hope very nice holiday, camping a very long time in Spain and Portugal.
The train arrives and I see Jack, who seems to recognize me at once; he is still a nice man and brings a nice bouquet of flowers and gives me, seemingly to his own and my surprise, a small kiss on my forehead and I feel how he touches, without comment, my nape with his fingers.
Three days ago, rather late in the evening, there was a telephone call and I heard the voice of a Viola, asking in a shy way if she could disturb me. I was listening to a new CD with music of Bonporti and thought for a moment that it was one or another pupil of a secondary school, who needed to interview somebody as part of her practical work for her final examination. I was annoyed that somebody disturbed me listening to that beautiful music and just wanted to ask if she could call me again tomorrow, when the Viola asked me if the music that she heard was Bonporti's. Suddenly I realized that the Viola must be the very musical sister of Tess.
Viola excused herself and told me that for some days after that TV programme she felt the need to show me something. She told me that she had been touched very much by my appearance and that it reminded her of the diaries of Tess that she had kept secret from the time of Tess' early death.
She said in short that she had the feeling as a seventeen-year-old child that her parents might be shocked by the frank way in which Tess described her experiences with me.
"As you will understand, I had even less courage to approach you at that time. I was too busy with my own sorrow and anyway I was too shy to tell you that I read her diaries, which seemed so impertinent at that time. I even thought that it was better to destroy them, but somehow I had the feeling that in the far future I could hand them over to you. I can send them to you but there is something that I want to tell you myself and I hope that you have the courage to come to me one of these days. Anyway it will be nice to speak with someone who has known my dear sister."
I agreed to visit her at the weekend and she said that for some months she was living in the old very nice house of her parents after the death of her mother.
I had a terrible night, in my dreams I was mixing the past and present, walking along the beach with Tess, floating close together in the cool seawater and then crying at that funeral....
In the middle of the night I left my bed and went to the kitchen and started to clean things that I had left there dirty. Years ago a colleague told me that it was an excellent way to overcome sleeplessness. Much better than reading a good book. You will be surprised how fast you will go back to your nice warm bed. And indeed soon I was fed up with washing my dishes and had a good sleep for the rest of the night.
Travelling to the south by train I remembered the same journey, twenty-five years ago, on my way to Tess' funeral. It was a very nice day, the leaves of the deciduous trees started to show all those nuances of yellow to brown. The plan was that I would travel to that village only one week later and that Tess would introduce me to her parents.
I had met her younger and also very lovely sister Viola some weeks before, during one weekend when she came to visit Tess. Together we went to a small concert hall where some old music of Biber was played and I still remember how the sisters enjoyed that wonderful music, that had not lost its attraction after several centuries.
Only two times before I had been to a funeral and I still could not believe what had happened some days before.
I was happy that it was not possible to see her anymore, because I had the strong feeling that it was much better to keep the memory of that cheerful girl, with whom I shared so much during the nicest summer of my life.
The funeral service was in a small protestant church, crazy for me, because I knew far too well that Tess lost her faith and did not want to go there anymore with or without her parents. My position was curious, because Tess' parents hardly realized how close I had been with their daughter and of course their own grief was so strong that they hardly noticed my presence.
The only one who knew me and my love for Tess was Viola and I was happy that she paid at least some attention to me. The funeral service was an horror, because the stupid vicar did not know to give any consolation and still I hear him saying: "It pleased the Lord to take Tess..." and I remember that I almost cried: "Idiot, how can you say that nonsense!"
Only much later I heard that this funeral service was the end of the faith of Tess' parents and that they ended their membership of that small protestant community.
I remember the reception after the service and even spent some painful hours at the home of Tess' parents and early in the evening I walked with Viola to the station, where we just cried.
A year later Viola started her studies of music and incidentally we wrote each other and then after some years it stopped and only with the early death of her father and the recent death of her mother I received those "official" letters announcing their death. I wrote, as a reaction, some small letters, but I had no courage to ask about the personal life of Viola, even though I regretted that at the same time. The publication of the novel of a young promising female writer reminded me that I still experienced difficulties to cope with that terrible loss and that caused me to write an extensive essay, which seemed to help me to express those hidden feelings. I knew that Tess' parents did not live anymore and that was also why I felt more free to speak and write about it.
Some weeks after the publication of my essay I was invited as a participant of the literary TV forum, a.o. in connection with the publication of that new book. I was not surprised, as I am regularly present on that programme. I expected that I had to give some comments about the book and did not realize, or did not want to realize, that I had been rather explicit in my essay about my own experiences.
After a small introduction the interviewer asked my opinion about the book and indicated that in her opinion my personal experiences seemed to play an important role. She started to ask about it and usually I evade questions like that, because I find them an intrusion of my personal life. I often wonder how easily people forget that hundreds of thousands are looking when they openly talk about their private life and usually I condemn the interviewers who don't respect the privacy of their victims. In this case I forgot the world around me and started to talk about my own experiences as an 18-year-old boy during that long wonderful holiday at one of those beautiful islands in the northern part of my country. I talked about my meeting with that nice long-haired girl and how our love developed in those nice surroundings.
I even talked about my hair fetish and how we went to the mainland to visit a barber in the nearby town and how we came back with identical crewcuts, not caring about nasty remarks of persons who found us a strange couple. We just enjoyed playing with each other, roaming all parts of the island from the wide beach and the dunes till the mudflats at the other side of the island, where hundreds of thousands of migratory birds draw our attention by their spectacular flights in enormous flocks. We loved nature and each other and learned to express our feelings about it. The summer ended and we returned to start our study of biology and then that terrible moment came when I got the message that Tess died... and my world seemed to be destroyed.
The interviewer who clearly had nothing like this in mind did not stop me, but even promoted my utterance of those long hidden emotions, realizing that there was enough material for two broadcasts instead of the one that she had in mind.
Later when I saw the result I was surprised, but not ashamed about the frankness with which I had expressed my feelings of luck and the horrible pain which concluded that period of my life. I received many reactions, most of them very positive, often from people who had those same feelings, without knowing how to express them. My own sister was surprised and even shocked that she hardly knew anything about that painful period in my life.
A crazy reaction came from a girl with whom I lived for some years. She reproached me that I never told her about it, although I knew far too well that once I started telling her about it and she only reacted telling me that she was not interested in my past, because we must live in the present and the future. She hurt my feelings very much and soon we stopped living together. And she reproached me now, the bitch....
My frankness about my love for short-haired women brought me, don't laugh about it, more than twenty letters of women who declared that they preferred a very short haircut themselves and were eager to meet such a smart soft man who was not ashamed to express his feelings with such tenderness. I will not deny that those reactions were very flattering and tickled my vanity, but I could not imagine that my memories of Tess could be a good base to start relationships with short-haired women. But I must be honest and confess that there was an enormous temptation to write to some of the women to explore my hair fetish. But at the same time I had bad feelings about it and happily I did not give in to that almost insuppressible need, and I was angry when I started to fantasize about meetings with women, who I took in my dreams to barbers for the most extravagant crewcuts.
I felt terribly guilty and was happy that there is probably nothing like a heaven from where Tess could notice all my "dirty" dreams. Or is it not dirty and normal that a lonesome man has those daydreams?
I see that Viola has been to a hairdresser and wonder if she has done this for me. Her face is suntanned, but her clipper shaved nape is pale white and I wonder how much longer her hair was till maybe yesterday.
I cannot suppress my curiosity about it and say: "I hardly recognized you, the last time I saw you your hair was extremely long; to have your hair cut in this style demands a lot of courage."
Viola blushes very much and I realize, without saying it, that she must have done this for me. Suddenly she confesses that till yesterday she had very long hair, pointing somewhere at the middle of her back.
I think that it will be better for the time being to speak about other things, now that I find her, after all those years, still a very attractive woman. Again I have the feeling that it is not right to have this kind of feelings. On the other hand I know that I cannot stay forever in the past and if indeed Viola feels a certain attraction to me it would be crazy to suppress those feelings. But I have to be careful not to hurt her feelings, because I still have a strong recollection of that nice girl who realized my terrible position on that horrible day.
I wonder what she is thinking. Does she have that same strange mixture of the sad past and the almost indecent attraction to me?
I lay my hand on her shoulder when we walk to her car and instinctively - whatever that may be - I know that it is good and with a soft smile she answers my clumsy attempt to express my feelings.
I am moved to tears with the soft gentle way in which he walks with me to my car and say:
"It was good that you wrote that nice essay and talked about your past in that programme. It helped me as well. I wished that I had the courage to call you in an earlier stage of my life. You can hardly imagine how jealous I was when I saw you and Tess during that nice weekend when you took me to that wonderful concert with Biber's rosary sonatas. You will not believe how often I still hear that music."
Jack simply answers: "I cannot imagine many things, but it still belongs to my favorite music"
And then, we are just still at the parking near the station, I tell him that I found it crazy that he disappeared out of my life, just because it seemed indecent to start a relationship with the friend of the sister who died much too early.
Maybe it is the same, as with Jack at that TV appearance, I just tell him without any shame that sometimes I wondered how it might be if he were to appear again in my life.
"Oh heavens! Maybe, even though you said that you are single at the moment, you have a hidden girlfriend and I make an idiot of myself. But even worse, my first motivation to invite you was to show you that diary and in fact it is crazy to talk about it, while I read all those things about your intimate relationship with Tess."
Jack expresses a soft smile and says: "Don't worry, you know that I told an important part of the population of this country about my adventures. How can I reproach you anything about this?"
He continues: "I am only happy that you are so extremely open about your feelings and don't worry, I like you very, very much and it feels extremely good that you invited me."
"I think that it is right that we meet each other now. Handing over that diary will be good for you as well. Moreover if we really like each other it will be nice. We will never forget that disaster, but we have also the right to enjoy the rest of our lives; I certainly have no objection to give it a try, to discover how much we like each other."
We are still at the parking place near the station and I suggest that we will go to my house where we have a nice view from the garden at the hills which surround my village. At ease we drive through the nice valley and from time to time we smile at each other.
I worry about the moment that he will start to read the diary and will discover that Tess was pregnant at the moment that she died. The reason that I did not show those diaries to my parents was that I did not want to disturb the grief about their daughter by all those descriptions of her love for Jack, but most of all I feared that they might unable to cope with that pregnancy.
The seventeen-year-old girl that I was at that time thought that Jack was already unhappy enough and maybe I even feared for a suicide if he should hear that Tess had been pregnant. Why she was pregnant I could not imagine, because, as far as I knew, my mother always had been clear about her idea that a pregnancy at that age was the most awful thing that could happen. And that was why Tess, as far as I knew, was using those contraception pills. Did she forget them sometimes?
It was in strange contrast with the notes of Tess indicating at the age of eighteen that she was happy and knew for sure that Jack would be a good father. Suddenly I realized that he was still childless and I wondered how he might react, reading these facts after many, many years.
Would he reproach me that I had hidden the notebooks from him, but I knew already that he was not the person to have those strong negative judgements. Certainly he would realize my dilemma, knowing far too well how long and strong that death of Tess must have influenced my life.
It is a dangerous business to drive with all those thoughts and I almost forget to stop at my own house.
We enter the house and Jack at once indicates how good it is that I changed the whole interior according to my own taste, only leaving the things that I really like myself, such as the beautiful paintings, more or less 100 years old and made by well-known impressionists and early expressionists, most of them museum pieces. If I really don't want to go back to my work as a teacher it will be enough to sell one of them to give me a lot of freedom and the money to insure the rest of them.
I make some tea and we are sitting in that nice garden near the brook and not to my surprise Jack sees the kingfisher that often sits on a branch of one of the alders above the water. He never worked as a biologist, but I know that he still loves nature and regularly writes articles about his visits to all kind of places.
We talk somewhat about the death of my mother and the preceding very long sickness. It took almost one year and in the end I was really exhausted, but I was happy that I had the opportunity to do all these things not sending her to a hospital.
I tell Jack about the very long holiday that I have in mind and he has several suggestions about small campsites in the mountains between France and Spain and mentions the nice terraces from where you see all kinds of birds of prey. "You will wish that you can hover like they do, looking in those magnificent mountain valleys."
Better to go with you, but... not such a bad idea. But he stops speaking about it knowing that this is somewhat premature, but you never know.
I leave Jack in the garden and go to the kitchen to prepare our evening meal, but soon he joins me asking if he can help me and starts to prepare a nice salad. It seems quite natural that this nice man with his very short but already very grey hair is present in my house.
We have our meal again in the garden and speak about Jack's work as a journalist and all kinds of freelance work and it is clear that it might be possible that he joins me during that holiday, writing articles about nature etc.
Later we walk along the brook and in the beautiful forest that is quite near and Jack mentions how beautiful it must be here in spring when millions of white anemones are covering the forest floor. We walk for rather a long time and enjoy the flight of the first bats coming from nearby caves.
It is dark when we return, but it is still warm enough to sit outside with some candlelight and a good glass of wine. And then I take courage and start to tell him about the pregnancy of Tess.
Up till now I feel almost happy to be here with Viola. First I found her almost too serious, but seeing those red spots at her neck, I realized that she must have been very stressed about this meeting. Probably as much as I was, but usually my emotions are more hidden, but I know enough, when I feel a vague pain in my right arm.
I was happy that she expressed her feelings for me and it almost ashames me that she cut her hair for me; it is nice, but a shorter crewcut will be more natural and more flattering. Of course I did not tell her that, but I have no doubt that she knows that herself.
Almost stammering, Viola tells me how a week after the death of Tess she discovered some notebooks and read in one of them. It was clear that she described some days of her last, very long, summer holiday.
"There were nice descriptions of the island, but also the contacts with you and then even indications of your first sexual contacts, making love in the dunes. I stopped reading and put the notebooks away, not telling my parents about them. Some weeks later I read again, stopped again, but again weeks later I read the whole thing and then somewhere at the end she mentioned that she was pregnant and wondered how to tell you about it. But Tess mentioned that she was happy and surely wanted it."
Viola says: "I could not believe it, because I knew that she used those contraception pills. Did she forget to use them?"
She looks for my reaction, but for some time I don't say anything. I go back in time and all those memories of the time before and after her death come back.
Was she pregnant? I cannot imagine it, she was far too careful to forget to take these pills. Tess pregnant and wanting that child? Something is wrong, but what? And then I know that it was not true.
I ask Viola: "Do you remember when you visited us?"
"Of course," is her reaction. "Two weeks before…"
Suddenly I see it quite clearly: Tess and I in one bed and early in the morning Tess complaining that her menstruation started as strong as usual and that the sheets of our bed were dirty. I remember how she complained that we men were lucky not to have all that trouble. We took the sheet from the bed and I remember washing it, hanging it outside, in which case it might be dry for the next night.
How did she come up with that pregnancy story?
I almost forget Viola, but realize that she expects one or another reaction.
"Hmm, strange," is what I say.
I suddenly realize that this is terrible, thinking about the young girl hiding this diary, not willing to shock me and now it is not true. Do I have to keep my mouth shut about it? Does it help her?
But no, what if really a new relation between Viola and me develops?
No, we are mature people now.
I look for Jack's reactions. He seems to be far away. Is he angry, is he sad? I cannot press him to speak. I see him hesitating and he takes my hand and I feel a soft caress.
I hear myself saying: "Let us not forget that this diary was in fact only for Tess and I think that it was never her idea that somebody read it.
"Listen carefully to what I say: this is not a reproach about your reading it, but there is something else. I am just aware again about the fact that those notebooks were not only a diary, but that she used them also to write some fiction. Sometimes we were talking about the question, if writers used their personal experience in their books and I mentioned a famous writer who lived quite near us and almost literally described our street, the shops and the people, mixing it up with his fiction. And now I remember that Tess told me that she was doing that sometimes in her diaries in cases, where she wondered how life might be if her decisions had been different.
"What might have happened if she had not met me?
"I have to be honest now that I don't believe, or I can say it even stronger I am sure, that she was not pregnant. I will explain why I am that sure about it."
I realize that my remarks are an enormous shock for Viola, certainly because she kept that secret for herself unable to share it even with me.
I cannot believe what Jack says, but he seems to be sure and for some moments I feel that I am extremely angry. Why did Tess do that to me? She caused all that sorrow, pain for me, dad and mum and Jack - WHY?
I feel how Jack presses me against his body; he senses my anger and that terrible grief and I start to cry and cry and cry. I feel my own body shaking.
I hear Jack saying: "Please never forget, that Tess did not realize that her fantasy should be read in this way. If she had known that that might happen she would not have written this or she would have destroyed those notebooks."
I know that he is right and soon I am feeling better, while Jack explains how he could be that sure about the impossibility of the supposed pregnancy. I can even smile when he describes the story of the washing of the bedsheet.
I had expected all kind of things when I thought about this meeting, but I never dreamt that this might happen, even before Jack had read one word in the diary.
It is late and suddenly a fresh wind comes through the valley and we go inside. I look for Schubert's string quartet: "Death and the Maiden" and we sit there close together, each of us with his own memories of a time that seems to be far away, but at the same time we only have to close our eyes to see Tess.
I give Jack the notebooks and show him the bedroom where he will sleep, or not, during the night that will come. He can take a shower first, while I close the windows and the doors of my house. Coming from the bathroom he gives me a soft kiss on my forehead, playing again for some seconds with the stubble covering the back of my head. Goodnight is the last thing I hear.
I look around in the small bedroom and see that I can read at ease with the light of a nice lamp and happily there are some pillows, which I can use to read in a nice comfortable position. I hear Viola leaving the bathroom and for a moment she looks in my room to see if things are all right and now she is the one giving me a small kiss and caressing my head. She finds it difficult to go, but we know that I need the time to read at least some parts of the diaries.
I stare at the beautiful old ceiling and think about all the things that happened since I arrived here, and to my surprise I hardly feel any unrest. No, that is not true, the essay and my TV appearance had quite a therapeutic effect and I am sure that's why I am now feeling very well.
I take one of the notebooks and see for the first time for many years that regular handwriting and it is easy to find the parts which are of most interest, as the dates are mentioned everywhere. I am capable to read extremely fast, seeing with one or two glances the content of a page. And that is why I discover within a very short time that I was right an hour ago when I indicated to Viola that I supposed that the notebooks contained a mixture of fact and fiction.
It was curious to see how Tess sometimes was afraid how good all things were going without any quarreling and how she even mentioned and described how life had been during three days that we were supposed to be alone. She described how lonesome she had been and how she hoped that I might not be angry anymore.
I grinned, because I knew that we had been inseparable from our first kisses till the last day of that holiday.
It was nice to see how she described how the two young shy children, who we were at that time, changed and how, within a short time, we learned to give and to take in that developing relationship.
I go for a while to the end and read the pages with the supposed pregnancy and for me it is clear that this "pregnancy" is a metaphor relating to the question if we were not too young to live together as our plan was at that time. She must have been worrying about the question if we were able to share our lives already and had imagined the extreme situation where she was suddenly pregnant and she probably had been wondering how we might solve such a problem.
It is hard to imagine how we might have coped with those problems and suddenly I realize that in that case I could have had a 24-year-old son or daughter, or maybe we might have realized that an abortion would have been a more realistic solution. I have a vague recollection that we had been speaking about such problems during one of those weekends after our holiday, but not in relation with a real pregnancy.
I look around in the room and see the back of a big painting that stands against one of the walls. I see several very old labels and then - I am almost shocked - I see, written with chalk, the name Nolde. This cannot be possible. I almost jump from my bed, turn the picture, and see one of the most beautiful seascapes, that I ever saw. It must be a reproduction, but seeing some of the labels at the back in more detail, I know that this must be original.
Last year, after an exposition of German expressionists, I wrote an article about Nolde for my newspaper and probably Viola must have read it and wanted to show me this painting.
It is a crazy situation that Viola is the owner of one of the most impressive private collections of this country. I wonder if she really knows how valuable these paintings are nowadays. Suddenly I am almost ashamed that I forgot the diaries and soon I am leafing again through them and often I close my eyes and see those images of the sea, the dunes the birds and our brown bodies.
I sit somewhere at the beach quite near the sea and observe a group of Arctic Terns. Quite near there seems to be a shoal and the whole flock of those graceful birds is quite near. I never saw them like this and dream about their crazy life flying from pole to pole.
And then I hear the voice of the girl behind me. At first I am almost frightened, because I thought that I was quite alone there, but seemingly I forgot the world around me.
It is the nice girl who I saw on the boat when I arrived here yesterday and who has her tent at the same camping. She is alone and at ease she seats herself with me and whispers, "How beautiful, those birds." She starts to study them with her own binoculars. "Are they arctic terns?" she asks.
But at once she adds that the name is not important and, hardly speaking, we continue to observe the birds. Suddenly the whole flock disappears and there I sit with that nice long-haired girl. I take my flask of water and offer her a drink, but it is not necessary, because she brought her own.
She asks if I will go the far end of the island, but I confess that I hardly had any plan this day and that maybe I might cross the island to the other side having a look at the dunes and the mudflats, as far as they will be visible with the high tide.
The girl says: "I saw you yesterday on the boat and later at the dance. Did you like it there? I found it rather smoky"
Indeed I had been at the dance; on the boat I had seen a group of girls and one of the girls had very short hair and I found her attractive, even though I found that she used too much make-up. Hoping to see her again I visited the dance, but the girl was not there. But I saw another short-haired girl that looked attractive with her suntanned face. I asked her for a dance and even offered her a drink, but soon I discovered that I disliked her more than I expected.
Soon I left the dance, vaguely realizing that I saw the long-haired girl who had been studying birds with her binoculars on the boat and who seemed to be at the same camping.
I walked to the sea and staring at the moonlit sea I had been asking myself how strange my attraction to short-haired girls was at a time that most of them had long hair. Up till now I never met a girl with short hair, who seemed to be interested in me.
With a shock I heard the girl saying: "You seem to be interested in girls with short hair, don't you? I saw you on the boat looking at that girl and yesterday at the dance, the same." I felt myself blushing, but felt at ease when I confessed that it was true. "Strange," was her reaction, "I always thought that long hair was the ultimate dream of each boy and here I sit with one who dislikes my hair."
I blushed again and said, "I don't dislike you and your hair. The only thing is that I think that you might be even more beautiful with very short hair. But be sure, short hair is not the only thing. Yesterday I met that girl, but within a short time I discovered that we had nothing in common, whereas with you I have the feeling that I know you very well and have the idea that you could be a good friend, with a lot of common interests."
Never before had I told a girl, within such a short time, that I liked her that much. Now it was the girl, whose name was Tess, as I learned later, who blushed.
We did not know what to say, but the problem was solved by a seal, who emerged quite near, then disappeared again. We could easily observe that curious face with the long hairs. Maybe ten minutes or longer we could see the nice animal, emerging again and again and then he seemed to disappear.
"Good idea to have a swim as well," I suggested, "But the only thing is that I like to swim in the nude. That means that one of us will have to look for another place, if he has an objection to that obscene behaviour or maybe you don't trust me with that strange preference for short hair." Tess grinned and said that she trusted me and that one of the reasons to go to this isolated part of the beach had been her wish too for sunbathing and swimming without any clothes.
We entered the water, which felt rather cold, but soon we were used to it and amused ourselves diving in the breakers. Suddenly I saw the seal again and indicating where the animal was, our naked bodies touched and without any sign we just embraced each other, in a most natural way. We smiled and kissed each other several times, the seal disappeared and we returned to our clothes and were sitting there, staring at the sea.
"Now that long, wet hair is terrible," I heard Tess say. "You are right, short hair is much better. Do you really think that short hair is nice for me?"
I uncovered her ears and saw that they were very nice and lying close to her head. With my hand I felt the perfect round bones of her skull and declared that as a specialist I was sure that a nice crewcut might be the perfect solution and the ultimate form of seduction. "But to be honest, even with long very wet and lank hair you seduce me."
Tess started to laugh and said, "If I fulfill your wishes, you must promise that you cut your hair as short as I will do."
My own hair was more or less 4-5cm long and I had the intention to go to a barber, to have it rather short. Tess started to caress my hair with her fingers and whispered, "It will be nice if it will be very, very short, everywhere short bristles."
We were kissing each other and then we decided to walk somewhat farther, having a look in the herring gull colony. We had a nice afternoon and later we returned to the camping, where we prepared our first meal together. Early in the evening we walked again to the sea, to enjoy one of those terrific sunsets and enjoyed the magnificent seascape, sitting close together. When the sun disappeared Tess asked smiling if I was going again to the dance to hunt for shorthaired girls. And then she came up with that crazy proposal for the next day. It was her own idea that we should take the early morning boat to the mainland and the bus to the nearby town, where there were of course barbers. If we had luck we could return with the boat of one o'clock and then we still could spend the whole afternoon on the beach or wherever we should like to be.
It shocked me that this girl wanted to sacrifice that long beautiful hair for me.
When I told her what I thought, she started to laugh and said that it was not necessary to worry, the more because the idea of extremely short hair attracted her increasingly. We even spent a short time at the dance and Tess, pointing at some short-haired girls, declared that their hair would be long compared with the crewcut that she had in mind.
Early next morning we took our bikes to the boat and I wondered what would happen in the hours to come. I mentioned that it might be possible that the barbers would refuse to cut her hair and it seemed the best that I should be the first one and that Tess should take a seat as soon as a following customer, might be asked to come for his haircut.
We took the bus and soon we were walking around in the old town looking for a barber. We asked one of the locals and he showed us a nice old-fashioned barbershop, with the classic barberpole outside. Looking inside we saw three older barbers working, but no other customers waiting to be helped.
We just entered the shop and looked how the barbers made a quick job using electric clippers. We did not speak very much and waited, while Tess looked fascinated how the barbers removed all that hair at that speed.
Much earlier than we expected I heard "Next!" and saw a barber looking in my direction. I explained the barber my (Tess') wishes and the barber looked somewhat surprised, because, as he said, such wishes for short hair were rare nowadays.
While the barber wrapped the white sheet around my neck, I heard again: "Next one," and saw in the mirror Tess walking to the chair. The barber did not look very happy and cried: "Another boy that wants to lose his ponytail!"
I waited and heard Tess say: "I am not a boy, but I want to lose my ponytail for sure."
I heard the barber saying, "We are not cutting the hair of ladies."
The reaction of Tess was simple: "I am not a lady, but I want my hair very short, like a boy, and I think that you have more experience with very short hair than hairdressers in a hairdressing salon. I want it just like my friend," and she pointed to me. At that moment my barber was already moving the clippers upwards leaving a white lane of short bristles.
Tess' barber moaned somewhat and declared that the extreme haircut would be her own responsibility.
I read in the diary: When I saw the nice boy looking at that short-haired girl on the boat and later at another girl with even shorter hair at the dance I realized that he must have a very strong preference for short hair. From the very moment that I saw him with his binoculars at the boat I found him attractive and wondered how I could approach such a nice boy. Coming back from the dance I developed that crazy fantasy, that I would go to a hairdresser and next time that we met he should be attracted by me. Early next morning, I really looked around in the village, but the only hairdresser seemed to be an old woman specialising in perms for grey-haired women.
The only barbershop was closed, with a sign: "I am ill."
That would mean a visit to a hairdresser on the mainland. For some years I sometimes had the idea to have shorter hair, but all my friends had long hair and a longing for very short hair never developed. The more I thought about, it the more I became excited by the idea and soon I tried to imagine how my head might feel when I touched very short bristles. No problems washing my very long hair and each time that I would swim it would be dry almost at once.
I tried to imagine how a barber would cut my ponytail at once, quite near my head and how short my bangs might be cut. Now they were reaching my eyes, but soon my whole forehead might be exposed. Maybe when I had it short like that the next stage would be to shave it....
I shivered, but even that crazy idea started to excite me and I wondered how that might feel.
Later that morning I saw the boy preparing sandwiches and taking a flask of water with him and I was sure that he would have a long walk along the beach or in the dunes. I prepared myself for the same kind of walk and from a far distance I followed him. An hour later I saw him sitting staring with his binoculars at a flock of terns.
I waited for some time and then I approached him and even frightened him when I started to talk. I found him even much nicer than I expected and soon we were talking about all kind of things and he was very frank about his interest for short-haired girls.
Later that day I came with the ultimate seducing proposal to cut my hair. I found it strange to do something like this, but within a short time I had the feeling that if I might do it, I might go for a really extreme short haircut and then I proposed that my hair should be as short as Jack's. He agreed to it telling me that he planned already to have it cut at the local barber who seemed to be ill as I knew already. I told that it seemed nice to me that his hair should be very short: short bristles all over.
The next morning we took the early morning boat and during the whole way my heart beat much stronger than usual. In fact it was my idea that I should be the first one to have the haircut, but just before we entered the old-time barbershop Jack said that maybe the barbers would refuse to cut my hair. It seemed better that he go first and that I followed. To look like a boy I had an old baseball cap on my head and so I was sitting there and looked how the barbers were clipper-shaving the sides of their customers' heads. It looked very old-fashioned and I remembered how once a schoolmate of mine had his hair like that and how all the others had their jibes about it.
Maybe 10 minutes later Jack was invited to the chair and mentioned that he wanted to have a very short bebob (something like a crewcut). In between, another boy entered the shop. I did not hear what the barber said about Jack's haircut and walked at once to the chair when another barber called: "Next one."
The barber made a joke about my ponytail and when he discovered that I was a girl he refused at first to cut my hair, saying that he was not capable to do that. But one of his colleagues said, when I told him that I wanted it short like a boy, that the barber was not honest, because, as it seemed, his own daughter had her hair regularly cut very short in the shop.
The barber still moaned a little bit, but said, "Okay, as long you don't complain later in case the result is not the one you expected or hoped for. Well, how do you want to have it?" he asked and I said very short.
"What is short?" the barber said. "Let's be more exact."
I told him that the idea was that my hair should be the same as Jack's. The other barber who just started his work told him how short Jack's hair would be cut.
And then my barber said: "I don't do that." Seeing my disappointed face he said, "I will cut it very short, maybe 1-2 cm at the sides and a little bit longer on top. I think that will be beautiful, because you have the ideal face and ears for such short hair. And if you are not yet satisfied I will cut it as short as you like."
Shaking his head he wrapped the cape around my neck and took the baseball cap which still covered my head. He took my very long ponytail, held it partly in front of me and asked, "Are you sure? Yes?" and then with some snips of a big scissors he cut the tail quite near my head. With the tail in his head he said, "Too late." The rest of my hair, at least in front, still reached halfway down my neck.
For the first time I glanced sideways and saw that Jack's barber was clipper shaving the sides of his head, but I had no time to look what happened there, because my barber started his work. He pushed my head slightly forward and I felt the comb quite near my head and heard the scissors clicking at high speed, while the comb was slowly moved upwards.
A short time later the same procedure was repeated a little bit to the side and soon the back of my head felt rather free of hair. With my hand I moved over the short hairs and the barber asked how long ago I had it as short as this. I could not remember having it short at all but told him that now I was passing my examinations, I wanted something quite different. The barber, who in fact was a kind man, said that his daughter had done the same and that he had been almost angry about it, but now he was used to it and realized how feminine short hair could be.
Soon my head was put in a more upright position, giving me the opportunity to look around, seeing that Jack's head was totally bald at the sides and now his barber started to use the clippers on top of his head, leaving short bristles and of course I saw that Jack hardly noticed what happened with his own head, but glanced in the mirrors to see what happened with my hair.
Soon the barber started to cut my hair at the sides and my left ear was exposed, leaving a short, slantwise cut, sideburn. "Nice ears," was the only remark of the barber, continuing the same work at the other side. He combed all my hair, also that at the sides of my head, forwards with those ridiculous bangs covering my eyes. I expected him to cut my bangs, but first he cut most of the hair on top also rather short.
Then, at last, he started to expose my face. Starting near one of the sideburns, he cut upwards, leaving very short bangs, ending at the other sideburn. I found that the cut was too blunt, but did not need to tell him that, because the barber started to make it much more irregular and wispy. In fact it was beautifully done and my hair was probably hardly longer than 3 cm.
I think that Jack would have been extremely satisfied if he should have met me yesterday like this. It surprised me that I found this short hair at once very nice and I had the feeling that I saw nothing abnormal in the mirror, even though hardly 10 minutes ago I still had very long hair. I realized that I had no courage at all to ask the barber to make my hair still much shorter after this perfect haircut.
But then to my surprise I heard him say: "I think that you really can have your hair still much shorter and even then it will look as feminine as possible. 10 minutes ago, I thought that you were crazy to ask for that bebob. What do you think, because you were not the one that asked for this haircut, although I admire my own work."
I saw that Jack's haircut had been finished and that his head was only covered with very short bristles on top. I remembered that I proposed to have the same haircut and said: "Okay, just like my friend."
This time the barber used no comb and no scissors, but electric clippers as I expected and I looked how the pale white skin at the sides of my head appeared. I grinned in the mirror at Jack whose haircut had been finished and who was sitting behind me.
It was surprising how soon all the hair disappeared and I shivered when I felt and saw that even my sideburns were totally removed. The most curious feelings came when the barber moved the clippers on top of my head leaving those cute small bristles. Only the short hairs of my fringe seemed a little bit longer, but it was true that, even though I had the feeling to see again another girl, it was extremely nice.
Seeing the result the barber even dared to mention that a total clipper shave could be nice as well, but I found it short enough for the time being. We paid and left the shop and walked somewhat through the old town till we returned with the one o'clock boat. Later that afternoon we walked along the beach and somewhere in the dunes we made love for the first, but certainly not the last, time, during that nice holiday. I was happy that I used those contraception pills, because condoms seemed to be far from comfortable with all that sand.
It is hard to believe how nice it was to feel the seawater streaming over my almost bald head and Jack kissing the sides and back of that clipper-shaved head, moving with his tongue over the stubble. It was strange feeling the sand grains sticking to the skin of my head, but heavens I liked it so very much, when Jack was running with his fingers over my head removing those grains or just caressing me. I realize how simple it was at that time, not worrying about Aids and all kind of other troubling diseases.
I scan some other pages and see about 3 weeks later, that we go again to the mainland and to my surprise I see that Tess describes a real headshave, and that's a complete fantasy, as we had that same very short haircut. She must have been thinking about it, but in reality she did not have the courage to do it.
Leafing through the notebook I see some more mixtures of facts and fiction, but most of all it is a moving description of her feelings and impressions. It is late and I read still somewhat about the first weeks of our study and our plans to look for a place where we can live together. Most of it is concise, a brief description of what happened, except for that curious pregnancy.
It is four o'clock and I hear someone walking. I close my eyes and wonder if Viola will enter to see how I am and indeed I hear the door opening, and she approaches thinking that I sleep. I feel how she covers me with the sheets and hesitates to give me a small kiss. I immediately answer the kiss and we look at each other's grinning face.
Is it possible to leave the love for Tess behind me and start the new one for Viola?
I think that it will be nice if we sleep together for the rest of the night, not making love, but just being close together. It is not difficult to explain, because Viola exactly knows what I mean and soon I lie there very close with my stomach against her back, fitting like two spoons. Hours later I awake, still in that same comfortable position.
We talk somewhat about the notebooks and about the question of what's fact and what's fiction. I have to smile when Viola asks about the headshave, but have to deny it.
"Maybe something for you," I say.
"Maybe yes, maybe no," is her answer.
That is a complete lie because I know very well that during my holiday I will, with or without Jack, visit a barber's somewhere in France or Spain and in the end my head will be covered by....
I awake and for some seconds I am totally confused about where I am and ask myself why I lie in this bed. The door opens and I see the grinning face of Jack, who invites me for breakfast in the garden of my own house. I must have been extremely tired, not feeling that he left this small bed, which we shared from the middle of the night when I entered his room, thinking that he had fallen asleep.
Jack points at the painting and asks if I put it there to show him. "Or is it because you have to store it somewhere, not knowing where to leave all those paintings?"
Of course he realizes that I read that article about Nolde and wanted to show him this painting. The painting covered one of the few open spaces between the bookcases in my father's study and I was still wondering where to hang it myself. I never realized that Nolde was an important painter, used as I was to all those paintings which covered the walls of our house, not to speak about the others in the attic rooms and the cellar.
I knew that my father had been buying hundreds of paintings in the fifties and sixties, not to speak about piles of watercolors and graphic work that was stored in the special cupboards in the old study, which I had tried to change in something that was more characteristic for my own person.
Jack asks how I feel after this strange night, but just like him, I slept well after I entered his bed. He jokes that he must be a dull, unattractive guy, causing that intense sleep, but that's in strong contrast to the feelings which I have.
But Jack cannot hide his curiosity about the Nolde and asks if more paintings of that man are present in the house. I must confess that I have no idea, explaining that for many years I hardly came in this house, not very much interested in my father's hobby.
I hear myself say: "Can you imagine that for a long time my parents suggested that they were too poor. And as I understand now he sometimes sold some paintings, as he hardly had any pension rights. It is only one and a half years ago that I started to see my mother, after a long time of quarrels, starting when I married that Israeli violinist. When I divorced two years ago I came back to the Netherlands and only then I heard how unhappy my mother had been in her own marriage with my father. It seems that all those works of art seemed much more important to the old man than his relationship with mum. That's perhaps why I am almost indifferent about all that art. I know that they have the value of a small fortune, but only recently I started to explore what's present. Crazy, isn't it"
Jack shakes his head in disbelief and asks if I have any idea about the value of the Nolde and I say, "Something like 10000 guilders. If you like it, you can have it."
Jack says: "I like you very much, but I think that I will have to tell you that you are a little bit green, not to say naïve, about this matter. Only a painting of this quality would be a sensation if it were for sale. I have the feeling that the value must be maybe 1or 2 million, if not much more.
"I hope that nobody knows about this collection, because within a short time all the art thieves of Western Europe would be present for some shopping. Oh oh, If you see the locks of this house. The best I can do is to help this multi-millionaire to save her things. I believe that you make a fool of me telling that you don't know about it. I hope that I may have a look at the things later, to have an idea what is present here and I promise that I will not write about it unless you give permission for it.
"But let's have the breakfast that I prepared. Oh, oh oh!"
He bends and gives me a kiss while he covers with one hand the back of my head.
Just casually he mentions that my head will be much more valuable if I ask my hairdresser to cut the hair at the sides of my head also very short, just exposing those nice small ears. He grins and says: "Leave the rest of that somewhat curly hair on top as long as it is now, at least for the time being."
I frown, and admit that it was my original plan to have my hair like that, but that I lost all self-confidence at the very moment that I entered the hair salon. I tease him and say: "Be careful about what you say and propose, because we are not yet married, even though you spend the whole night making love with me in one small three-quarter bed."
Suddenly I know that nothing can prevent me falling in love with Jack, even though he finds me crazy that I hardly know how rich I am and, to be honest, it hardly interests me after that difficult year. But maybe it will be nice to look through all those things together with him and hopefully I will like more of it as soon as I am thinking not too much about my crazy father.
I ask Jack if he likes to join me to a hairdresser and that is something that a real hair fetishist will not refuse.
After breakfast we take a coffee and more carefully than usual I close all the doors and windows and there we go to the nearby town. I don't want to go to the same hairdresser and for some time we walk around till I remember that there is a new one near the market, but it is terribly crowded. Looking at other places Jack discovers an old-time barbershop and mentions that a real barber can cut the rest of my hair within some minutes.
Inside the shop one barber is busy and another one is reading a newspaper. We enter and the barber asks Jack to sit down, but Jack explains my problem, suggesting that it would be a piece of cake to cut the rest of my hair with electric clippers. The barber starts to laugh when Jack declares that the reason for my haircut is that he likes to see how good the barber is. If all right, he wants to have a haircut as well.
The barber asks me to sit down and together with Jack he studies my hair, declaring that my hairdresser has done a good job, but he can imagine that I want it to be changed into a wedge cut as he calls it. With scissors he removes a lot of hair at the sides and then he takes the clippers and, moving the clippers over the comb, he shaves the sides, making my hair extremely short at the hairline and around the ears and gradually longer till the exact boundary with the longer hair at the top. The line of the bangs continues in the boundary line between the long and the short hair and the result is still a nice geometrical haircut, but it looks much more natural than the one I had a short moment ago. It takes more time than expected, because the barber is not easily satisfied, but the result is very nice and I see that also Jack seems to like what he sees.
The barber asks: "And what do you think about my work, Mister?"
Jack must confess that it is excellent and that means that he is also asked for a haircut. The barber asks what Jack wants, but to my surprise he refers to me, telling the barber that his wife is the one to decide. I see a hardly visible grin and say, without much hesitation, a very short crewcut. It does not surprise the barber, who says that during the last few years this haircut has become more and more popular, even a lot of women seem to come here for it.
Turning to me, he adds: "It would be great, even for you."
I see a vague grin from Jack when he says: "Oh, no, never. That might be far too masculine. I found it already extreme when my wife cut her hair yesterday and I was happy that you could make something nice of it."
The telephone rings and we stick out our tongues and I am happy that the barber does not see our childish behaviour.
Coming back, Jack says that he thought about the barber's remarks and that maybe next time I might try such a haircut.
I react very serious and pseudo-angry, saying that I am a quite emancipated woman and that if I like such a haircut I don't need his permission. In between the barber starts the crewcut and that seems to be an easy job with the clippers. The sides and back of Jack's head are almost clipper shaved and then the barber takes a very big comb and shaves away all the hair above it.
And within some minutes a so-called flattop appears. But Jack and the barber agree that although the haircut itself is perfect, it does not look good and then Jack asks to make all the hair that is left equally long, except for a somewhat longer forelock and indeed that looks much, much better.
Soon the barber completes the job and asks me if I am already in for the crewcut, but I say that it has been enough for today and that to pay for another haircut is too expensive. The barber says that the change is free, but I say that it is okay like this and we leave the barber.
Outside we burst out laughing and walk to the market where we take a coffee and I suggest that I will visit a barber during my holiday to try how a crewcut will be. Immediately Jack says that as a husband he will have to join me, also to control if the hair is short enough.
Somewhat later we return to the village and after some shopping we go home and I am happy when Jack brings all the goods from the supermarket inside. It is almost a dream. Later it is much less difficult to speak about Tess' notebooks, realizing that Tess is no longer that difficult barrier between Jack and me. Most of the afternoon we sit in the garden near the brook and Jack is happy that the kingfisher gives again a fishing show.
Alas, the sun disappears and soon it starts lightning, with the result that we have to enter the still very warm house. Close to Jack, I look through a window to see how dark clouds enter the valley at high speed and then there is a pour of rain and enormous hailstones cover the garden within a short time. It is totally dark and everywhere but also quite near flashes of lightning are visible, followed by heavy thunder.
Jack puts his arm around me and I kiss him, happy that he is with me and that I am not alone in this big house. With his other hand he caresses the very short hairs around my ears and I feel his tongue moving over the short bristles. I answer his caresses, running with my hand over his clipper-shaved head. For a moment I am reminded of the diaries of Tess, describing the excitement which she felt when she did things like this with Jack in that far past.
But again I realize that I want to enjoy what I feel now and that there is nothing to be ashamed about.
After an hour the thunderstorm disappears, but it is much cooler now and we have to stay inside. A nice opportunity to study my art collection and Jack is more than eager to have a look at the things. I remember that, during the last weeks, I have seen a file with information about the collection, with information about the artists and the works that are present in the house. Jack has a look at the files and shakes his head again and tells me again how crazy it seems.
He sees the name of one of his favorites, Käthe Kollwitz, and tells me how he bought one of her prints some months ago for 3000 guilders, something he did never before and here, if the list is true, there should be 87 of her prints. He just stammers: "Where are all those things?"
It seems that they are in one of the cupboards upstairs in one of the attic rooms. The cupboards contain piles of prints, but also watercolors. It seems that the old man was collecting quite systematically and I wonder that I almost never had seen these things.
Now I remember that sometimes my father invited me to have a look at these things, but that I preferred my music. How disappointed the man must have been that his daughter was not interested at all in those beautiful works of art.
Jack finds the Kollwitz prints and tells me about her life and the tragic death of her son during the First World War. He mentions that once or twice a year he visits the Kollwitz museum in Köln to share a little bit of her concern in social matters.
I feel ashamed that all those treasures are hidden in all those cupboards, not to speak about the hundreds of paintings that stand everywhere. Jack proposes that a good friend, who is director of a museum will take a look at the collection, with the possibility that the main part of the collection will be stored in a much safer place, in exchange for the right to show some or even a lot of them in the museum. I hear a lot of "oh, oh, oh," but regularly he is kissing me, joking that he must treat a multi-millionaire very well.
In fact he feels uneasy, almost unhappy, that the collection seems to be more important than Tess, but I can assure him that I am only happy that he helps me with it, not knowing myself how to handle this.
We go down to the kitchen and together we prepare our evening meal and we speak about the holiday that I have in mind. In fact I wanted to start next week and Jack asks if I really want him to join me. Suddenly I start to cry and it is more than clear what I want. He says that it will be possible to accompany me, if I can and want to wait for 10-14 days.
He has to meet several obligations and he repeats once more: "If you want me to start a relationship with you, I want that this collection is stored away during our absence. I am certainly not the owner, but I find it irresponsible if we are away for some months and nobody takes care of it."
Later that evening we even speak about our sexual past and we both agree that we have a mutual responsibility, regretting that nowadays AIDS is spoiling so much of the sexual pleasure. It means that we will ask for a HIV-test and that for the time being we will use condoms.
"As far as I like to share my bed with you," I say jokingly and add: "By the way I am very tired and I want to sleep very early this evening."
Jack answers: "That means that we will not sleep together and in that case I'd better go home, because there is no place in that small bed."
I invite him to my own bedroom where I use an old, almost antique, bed that has a lot of space and Jack agrees that the bed is good enough for a sound sleep, without any mutual disturbance.
That night I make love with Jack and I enjoy the way in which Jack explores my own hidden hairfetish and soon we have all kind of fantasies about visits to barbers and when I even suggest a headshave Jack is strongly aroused, but at the same time he says that it will be a nice experiment, but that he assumes that a very short crewcut, with a slightly longer fringe will be nicest. He even tells me that he saw on the internet a picture of a beautiful woman, who showed a strong resemblance with me, sporting such beautiful short hair.
I hear him say: "Can you imagine that also this hair," and he takes the longer hair on top, "will be clipper shaved," and he moves his hand, imitating the humming sound of clippers, over my head.
Next morning we are looking on the internet to see some sites with haircuts and when I see the before and after pictures at a French site called Presentation, I even wonder if we can visit that hairdresser, when we pass the town where he works, on our way to the south. Jack agrees that it could be possible, but he does not like the extreme colours that the hairdresser applies. He thinks that such a haircut, with almost totally clipper-shaved sides and nape, and with hair on top still 1-2cm long, will be very nice, but again not those colours. In that case it will be also possible to have the real crewcut somewhere in Spain in a real old-fashioned barbershop and he tells me about a nice old shop where he usually goes when he is in north-west Spain.
In the afternoon we go to the museum in the nearby town and the director is more than interested and promises that he will come with one of his colleagues during one of the following days. Jack goes home to organize all kind of things and even finds time to buy a bigger two-person tent for our holiday.
The contacts with the museum people are very pleasant and we select some paintings that will be sold anyway at an auction house and the rest will be stored during our absence, whereas some of the paintings and prints will be shown as soon as possible. Those 2 weeks are something like a dream and I am happy that the handsome Jacks helps me this much, because he is used to thinking about all kind of practical things.
And then 15 days after my first meeting with Jack we leave very early in the morning for our holiday in France, Spain and maybe even Portugal. A visit to the hairdresser of "Presentation" seems to be less practical and moreover Jacks thinks that I will not like it if my pictures will appear on internet, although he likes it that other girls did not have that objection. But anyway I have 2 pictures with me, one of a haircut with very short clipper-shaved sides and nape and the somewhat longer hair on top and one of the perfect buzzcut of the girl with the indeed striking resemblance to me. A picture of a headshave seems to be unnecessary as we can explain that easily, as long as a barber wants to understand those extravagant wishes.
Around 10 o'clock we pass Paris and we promise each other that we will spend there some days on the way back, as long as we are still together. We are happy that we can change drivers every 2 hours and in the afternoon we look south of Bordeaux for a nice camping municipal near a small town. It is easy that Jacks knows this camping already and even more nice that he knows a nice barber (coiffeur) in the town.
The coiffeur, an older potbellied man even seems to recognize Jack from other visits in the past and invites him to sit down, a good idea, because his crewcut needs to be re-cut very regularly. Soon Jack's hair is cut even shorter than last time and my "husband" seems almost bald when he is allowed to leave the stool. The barber wants to settle the bill, but Jack explains, in far better French than I expected, that my hair should be cut as well.
"Aussi en brosse?" (Also a brush cut?) the barber says, but Jack asks me to show the picture and the barber exclaims: "à la garçonne!" (Like a boy!) and fastens a cape quite tight around my neck.
Curious, for the second time in slightly more than two weeks, I am sitting on a barber stool and I am feeling not uneasy at all. I am delighted when I feel the clippers against the skin of my nape. The barber will leave only 2-3mm long hair at the sides and the back and I feel the clippers moving over my skin.
I have the feeling that he is shaving me totally bald and for a moment I doubt if I will ask him to remove even the #1 attachment to have it shaved as close as Jack, but I realize that, for the time being, it will be already short and extreme enough. I feel the clippers going higher and higher and wonder where it will stop. I cannot see anything about it, because the barber has pressed my head forwards, with my chin tight against my breasts.
I hear Jack's "Wow, that is short!" The barber repeats the movements with the clippers again and again, carefully checking if no longer hairs are left behind. For a while he stops to greet a new customer who enters and it gives me the opportunity to feel my head at the back and at the same time I see the extremely short almost bald part in the mirror behind me. I hear Jack say: "Afraid?"
I only answer: "No, strangely, but a very nice sexy feeling."
The barber starts now at the right side and I see the sideburn almost totally disappearing and the clippers, close to my skin going upward. Last time only the lowest parts were as short as this, but the rest was left longer in a transition to the very long hair on top. But now the whole side is clipper shaved leaving only a few millimetres of hair. The barber bends my ear aside and presses the clippers upwards and a whole area of maybe 4cm above my ear is freed of hair. The barber makes some more moves with the clippers around and behind my ear.
And then the other side is cleaned as well. What is left of my hair is a cap of very long hairs and the long bangs.
The clippers are switched off and the barber takes scissors and starts cutting the rest of my hair. Each time he takes strands of hair close to my head between his fingers and cuts all the hair that is sticking out. It is a time-consuming business, but after some minutes almost all my hair on top is maybe 1.5-2cm long and also the length of the bangs has been reduced.
The rest of my hair is combed forwards and using thinning scissors over a comb the transition between the clipper-shaved sides and the somewhat longer, but very short, hair above is made. The fringe is made also extremely short, but using the thinning scissors it is not a straight line, but it gets the wispy appearance which I hoped for. The haircut is almost finished and soon the barber scrapes some hairs at the nape away with a straight razor and then he wants to apply a kind of awful smelling lotion, but that can be prevented just in time.
We thank the barber for his perfect work and feeling with my hand at the nape and sides of my head I walk back to the camping. Minute hairs give an itchy feeling and I want to take a shower, but even better, there is a swimming pool quite near the camping and soon I feel the water on my close-cut hair. No problem to dry it as soon as I come out of the swimming pool.
For half an hour we still lie in the sun, but then we are hungry and walk to a small restaurant in the town. We are the only foreigners and a lot of older locals take a beer or something stronger. Some minutes later the coiffeur enters, greets us and offers us a drink of his just-earned money.
We have a simple meal, with a nice onion soup and then we go back to the camping, where we stay only one night, because tomorrow we want to reach the Pyrenean mountains where Jack knows a small nice camping on the French side. It is really a very nice place and wonderful to walk around in the mountains or just sit in front of the tent enjoying all those birds of prey hovering there, sometimes just in front of our tent.
In the toilet rooms there is a mirror and I can study my very short hair, happy that the severe helmet style has been changed in this more boyish but still feminine haircut. I wonder how the next haircut will be, but that is still far away, because we want to spend at least two weeks in the mountains.
Some wonderful weeks follow, busy days with long walks high in the mountains, but also days of laziness, just reading or dreaming or Jack writing for several newspapers and weeklies. He has brought a laptop computer and in a nearby village he has found an address where he can send his e-mails. We talk a lot about the past and gradually we discover more about the past of the other. Sometimes with many painful experiences, but it is clear that Jack knows how to listen and I feel at ease to tell him much about of my lonely experiences in Israel and I feel very, very happy with this quiet man. The walks in the mountains are fascinating, the more because Jack is a very keen observer and he knows a lot about the flora and fauna.
We brought an enormous amount of classical CDs and often I sit there staring at those beautiful mountains and listening to the music, which I like. Gradually I am recovering from those difficult years and I am even wondering if I will start to play fagot again as I did a long time ago, before I married. Maybe I can start to study again and maybe it will be even nice to have some private students as well. The more I think about it, the less need I feel to return to the secondary school where half of the pupils were not interested at all in my lessons, although the other half could be very pleasant.
Then the weather changes and it seems that for some days it will be less nice. We decide to travel to Spain and even though the weather is not very good it is good enough for that long journey. We stay some days in Pamplona, but of course we don't like to visit the bullfights, but we enjoy the old town and then we go on to the north-western part of Spain near the Atlantic ocean. It is still June and the campings are not yet crowded.
One of the next places where we want to stay is a camping quite near the cliffs with a nice view on the sea. There are some beaches, but the seawater is still rather cool. More inland there are mountains and beautiful old isolated villages, where life seems to be like a hundred years ago and there is much to enjoy.
It is already two weeks ago since our last visit to the French coiffeur and now it is time to look for a peluqueria as a hairdresser seems to be called here. After lunch I want to go to town to visit the barber, but Jack reminds me that it is siesta, meaning that most shops and perhaps the barbers are closed as well. It means that we will have to wait till four or five o'clock, but at four I decide that we will go and Jack, grinning about my enthusiasm asks if I brought the picture of the perfect buzzcut, all the hair only 2-3mm long with a slightly longer very wispy fringe.
Entering the small harbour town, we see that most shops are still closed and no barbers to see. But Jack, who has a special sense for barbers knows where to find them and I am lucky: the barbershops are open already. The first shop we see seems to be owned by a young man who sits near the door, but for an obscure reason I dislike him and want to go on. Jack, however, remembers that 8 years ago he has been here in an old shop, but he is wondering if the old barber did not retire. He is looking for the street where the shop was and then after some minutes he exclaims that he sees the well-known barber poles.
We approach the shop. An older man sits in the barber's chair and seems to sleep. The door is open and Jack coughs to indicate that we are present. The barber awakes from a heavy sleep, wondering for a while where he is and then a vague grin appears, realizing that he has a customer. The man does not speak French, but Jack knows some Spanish words and explains, pointing at my and his own head that we want a haircut. The man looks somewhat disapproving, but maybe I am wrong and he is only still sleepy.
I ask if Jack is going for a real headshave and he asks if I would agree if he tried it. Jack takes his seat and he utters some sentences concerning the headshave that is wished. From a cupboard hand clippers are taken and for an obscure reason the barber puts his scissors and combs in the cupboard.
Jack whispers, "The whole shop is really antique. Look at that radio, which is maybe 50 or more years old."
The barber decides that it would be better to have some music and then we hear a lot of bagpipe music and it seems that the barber awakes and even a first smile appears. He places the clippers on top of Jack's head, looks for approval and starts to move, while he pinches in the clippers at high speed. Gradually a white path develops and I see all Jack's more or less grey hair falling down, leaving a grey stubble. It takes maybe five minutes, but then all the hair is removed. I think that it is nice enough, but the barber decides that the haircut must be finished with a real shave and starts to cover Jack's head with white soap cream.
With a straight razor, which he regularly sharpens on a leather belt, he expertly cleans Jack's head and within some minutes he is totally bald, not even the slightest stubble is visible. As soon as Jack's shave is finished it is my turn and the barber seems to ask if I want the same. I see that Jack hesitates and for a moment I wonder if I will agree, but then I show the picture and the barber thinks for some moment how to solve the problem.
To my surprise he takes other hand clippers from the cupboard, applies some oil and tries to explain that with these clippers some millimetres of hair are left. He wants to start the clipping also at my fringe, but I explain that that hair should be left a little bit longer and try to indicate that it will have to be wispy as well. At first he does not seem to understand me, but at last it is clear and he places the clippers some centimetres behind the fringe and there it goes.
Just like with Jack a white path becomes visible. In my case there is still a cover of minute blonde bristles, but I clearly see the white skin of my head. Hair with a length of about 2.5cm is tumbling down. The barber starts to grin and asks probably if I want to become a monk. His big belly is shaking with this joke, but I wonder how the result will be, although I like the feeling of the clippers on my head. During my last two visits the contrast between the much longer hair on top and the very short hair at the sides seemed to be crazy. But now the almost bald part at the top is even more strange compared with the 1cm long hair at the sides.
With a brush the hairs on top are removed and the barber continues his work at the left side. I am happy when I see that almost all the hair at the side is shaved away, leaving a stubble of maybe 1-2mm, as I realize, the same length as above.
Soon the whole left side is cleaned and turning my head I see that it is great, the only thing to be feared is that my fringe will be spoiled. I can hardly believe that my head is almost bald, but it becomes the more clear when also the rest of my hair on the other side is clipper shaved.
I expect the work to be finished, but the barber decides to my surprise that the hair at the sides is too long and he takes again the clippers, with which Jack had been clipper shaved.
He seems to forget about the picture and just follows his own ideas. For a moment I wonder if I will ask him to halt, but at the same time I feel my strange need to be almost bald and hope that he will make my hair as short as possible. He starts the whole procedure again and I feel and see how really all the hair at the sides and back is reduced to nothing. I am really happy that he does it like this and find it extremely nice when I feel that the clippers are also going higher and higher at the back. Higher and higher and I feel the clippers moving over my crown, also shaving that part. Only some hair is left on top.
The barber takes a comb and reduces most of the fringe and with the thinning scissors he makes the rest more irregular and wispy.
I hear Jack saying: "Why not ask him to clipper shave the rest and only leave that cute minute forelock?"
The barber probably understands it, because he is not surprised when I ask to remove the rest except for that minute fringe in front. And then I sit there almost totally bald, knowing that it is nice like this, but not needing the headshave which will make it more unnatural. To be honest I will be happy if tomorrow or the day after tomorrow Jack's head will be covered again with a short stubble as well. For the time being I know that my clipper shaved head is perfect.
With the experiences of the last weeks I know that in the future my hair will be never long again and probably never longer than a few centimetres.
We return to the camping to take a shower and sit there together and I wonder how we will play with each other during the night that will come. During the night we have a lot of fun and I still don't know what to think when I feel the very smooth skin of Jack's head. He moves my hand over his and my own head. And I know that at least one time in the future I will try it myself, but at the same time I know that in the end I will prefer the very short buzzcut with that cute wispy fringe. The nice thing however is that we can try all kind of haircuts without nasty remarks of people who we know.
Of course we cannot understand most of the remarks of the local people, who, certainly in the smalller villages, find us a strange couple.
Some weeks later we are, our heads again covered by a short crewcut, at a camping in the extreme north-western parts of Spain. We are lucky with the weather and spend a lot of time on the beach, but also on the more rocky parts of the seashore. We spend hours near the tidal zone, where Jack shows me all the fascinating adaptations of the seaweeds and animals. I can sit there for hours staring and sometimes we see dolphins or even larger whales.
One of the days, when the weather is not as good as usual, I take the car to some of the old towns. Jack will stay in or near the tent to finish some articles and I suggested to do some shopping and will look for a place where we can send e-mails. Moreover I promised him to look for a barber where we can go together as soon as his articles are finished. It takes a lot of time to go there, because a small circus is on the same way and I think that it will be nice to see the circus together with Jack. But anyway half an hour later I arrive at the nice old town, lying on the slope of a hill.
Soon I walk around, looking for a barber, but for the time being I only see a modern hairdressing salon and I fear already that there is no real barber and that maybe the last real barber was not competitive any more with the competition of the new one. At a square I drink a cappuccino and a local boy tries to communicate with me. Usually I don't like it, but now it is an opportunity to ask him if there is still a real barber, where only men are going for their haircut or to have their weekly shave.
I see the boy looking at my head, probably wondering for whom I ask this, not seeing any husband. But anyway he explains me that there is such a barber and after finishing and paying my coffee, the boy accompanies me to show me the shop.
A door is open and I see a customer lying on the barber's chair for the shave of his beard. Suddenly I see the face of the barber quite near and he looks at me, wondering who I am and what I want. He winks to come inside, but I remember the plan to come here together with Jack. I go on and thank the boy who disappears in one of the streets. I walk to the outskirts of the small town and sit for a moment near a small river, thinking about the winking of the barber and wonder if I will have the courage to go alone to that barber. How short will I ask to cut my hair and then I decide to go back and do my shopping.
I see again the barbershop and walk much slower and feel my heart beating much stronger. I glance sideways and see that a man is leaving the shop. What to do, no courage, is there already another customer in the shop? Maybe fifty meters farther I halt, doubt, walk some meters, go on, stop and then I walk back to the barber and just enter the shop.
Nobody seems to be there until a man in a blue coat, with a cup of coffee in his hand, appears and starts to speak in a language that I don't understand. I make a movement with my fingers near my head, suggesting a haircut and fearing that the barber will not accept a woman as a customer. I just take a seat in the barber's chair, staring in the mirror. I feel uneasy and have the feeling that it takes minutes before the man takes a cape, a white piece of cotton sheet, wraps it around my neck and fastens it quite tight.
I sigh, relieved that he does not send me away. He takes a comb and tries to comb my hair, but that has no sense, because my hair is still only 7-8mm or at most 1cm long (short). He asks something still wondering what to do and I help him, suggesting the movements with hand clippers, like the barber made some weeks ago.
He smiles and with a proud gesture he takes electric clippers, indicating that he is a man of modern times and shaking his head he indicates that he is not that old-fashioned anymore to use hand clippers. Between his fingers he indicates the length that can be left and I fear already that hardly any length will disappear. With some difficulty I explain how short my hair must be made, suggesting the use of a number 1 attachment.
He shakes his head in disbelief, shrugs his shoulders and then I hear the sound of the electric clippers and I feel the joy when he places the clippers at my left sideburn and I see the hair falling. This time the skin is not as white as last time, because we have been outside most of the time. Suddenly I know that I want it really shorter and indicate the barber to stop for a moment. He fears that I find it too short, but taking the clippers in my own hand I remove the attachment and with some movements which leave no doubt anymore I indicate that he may shave it all.
I forget to indicate to leave that small fringe, no to be honest I don't forget it, because it will be shaved anyway. I know exactly what I will suggest when he barber has finished the clipper shave.
The barber continues his work by placing the clippers quite near my fringe and then I see that all my hair is disappearing and again that perfectly shaped bald head appears. I am very satisfied about it and the barber repeats again and again the shaving movement to make my head as bald as possible with the clippers.
The barber halts for a moment and I see the boy who showed me the place where I am shaved. In the mirror I see that I am almost bald, the removal of the small fringe makes an enormous difference, but I still like my own face and know that the total headshave is still a matter of some minutes away. But still I doubt also, because the smooth headshave might be strange even suggesting that I had chemotherapy, because of cancer. At the same time I know that my brown suntanned face shows no signs at all of disease and I am sure that I really can have the most extreme of all haircuts.
The barber stops the clipper shaving and takes the straight razor to take away the hairs at my nape and I wonder if I want him to continue to shave my whole head with that blade. The barber works very slowly now and we both know what he and I are thinking. We stare at each other and he softly rubs my head. He does not say anything, but makes a slow movement with his razor quite near my head and the suggestion is very clear. There are no words and I feel with my own fingers how rough the skin of my head feels and then I go very slow with my fingers over the smooth skin of my cheek.
It is very, very silent, how different it would have been with Jack. I hear the boy, who stands in the door entrance, coughing and then I nod to confirm that my head might be shaved as smooth as possible.
The barber starts to prepare the cream that will be applied to my head with the shaving brush. He uses slightly hot water and the barber applies the cream, at ease massaging my head and I wait for the shave. The baber sharpens his razor and starts to shave, scraping downwards and I feel how he constantly checks how smooth it is.
Just when I have the idea that he has finished the back of my head, he takes again the brush and then he starts again scraping again and again in the opposite direction. I wonder how it feels and take one hand from under the cape and feel that strange smooth skin. Rubbing up and down I feel that no sign of hair seems to be present and I know that it will take some days before it will feel rough again and only after some more days a real stubble will be visible, the more because my hair is blonde.
The barber continues at the right side. Again first that downward scraping and then moving upwards and then I see my ear in that totally open space, but I am already used to that effect. The most dramatic will be the total shave of the hair on top, removing all signs of the presence of hair and the smooth skin of my forehead will continue without any boundary into the smooth skin of the rest of my head. I feel my heart beating stronger and stronger and know that the total smooth headshave is even much more dramatic, because with the clipper shave there is still that border formed by the visible stubble.
Some more minutes and I will know. The barber continues and then he starts with the top of my head, but first again the parts, more at the back and turning my head sometimes a little bit more downwards. I see more and more smooth skin appearing and then the last hairs in front are removed and even the barber stops for a moment to see how I react.
It takes time to realize that I am the one there with that face and with that beautiful smile and even the barber shares that smile. For some moments the baldness disappears again, because my head is covered again with cream, but then after endless checking the job is finished.
I feel my head and then the barber applies a lot of talcum powder and for a minute my head has a curious dusty appearance. It is cleaned again and then the barber applies a kind of cream and gives my head a massage. At the end a kind of fat is applied and to my surprise my head is really polished in a way that reminds me of my crazy father when he polished those black shoes.
The job is finished and totally bald I leave and go on my way to the local supermarket and it is nice that I have the boy as my first fan, declaring how beautiful I look. I almost forget to look for the internet club, but the boy knows one and then I can really leave.
Returning home, I ask myself what Jack will say and I wonder how long it will take before I see this barber again, but then with Jack. Near the tent I approach Jack from behind and cover his eyes and ask him to admire my new haircut with those sensitive fingers. I tell him that I feel no regret about his absence, but he easily accepts that it was my own decision.
Looking for a very long time in the mirror I start to doubt if I really like it, but there is no doubt how much I like it when the seawater drips from the bald skin and when I feel the soft wind blowing over my head. Heavens....
Looking in the photo album after that wonderful holiday I touch the short bristles of the cute crewcut that I sport during the winter. After the many haircuts during that long summer holiday we know that we can easily do the job ourselves and that is why each two weeks we spend some time in our bathroom clipper shaving each other's head.
During the last few months the whole art business has been solved and I have time enough to play again bassoon and still good enough to be asked even as a substitute player in the local symphony orchestra.
Tomorrow we will leave for Egypt and I feel already the very smooth skin of...
Jack enters and asks: "What are you dreaming about?"
I pull his head close against my head, take his hand and move it over our heads and....
I was happy to receive some more positive remarks about my stories and that is why I finished this second part of "Tess and Viola"
I still try to imagine which role haircut fetishism plays in the life of other people and maybe some of your own experiences can play a role in new stories
The adress:barberjos@lycos.com.
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