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The large amount of hair removed from Burke, especially from above, caused him more than a little consternation
as Lucky proceeded to barber him, but he had to admit it felt extremely comfortable as the excess growth
fell away, leaving bared sides and neck, with an appreciable lightness through the removal of nearly
three quarters the length and weight from the pate. Into the now much shorter hair Lucky meticulously
introduced the centre part.
"You sure about parting it in the middle Lucky? Do you think it suits
me? Really?" Burke needed assurance.
"Top style Gill Sahib," confirmed the barber.
"Do me a favour
then, will you Lacks? Leave it so I can still brush it back or part it anywhere I like after. Just in
case. I don't know about the centre parting yet. But I must admit it looks swell as it is."
"When
I finished this haircut Mr Burke, you be able to do it any way you want. Best haircut in the Colony.
Guaranteed! But middle part bagus, I tell you." He finished combing the style with a flourish. Burke
thought this to be the finished job, and was pleased with it, especially satisfied since he had to admit
the barber had left the top and fringe much longer than expected. But Lackshman Lucky went on to spray
TELAGE from a crystal atomiser thoroughly dampening the hair all over. To a slight panic from Burke
he then took up a cut-throat razor.
"The moment of truth has arrived Gillbert," observed the vigilant
von Zimner. "Looks like Lucky is going to shave you off after all."
"Now hold on mate. What're you
going to do with that thing?" interrupted the perturbed trapper. "I thought you said you weren't shaving
Jazz Cut edges this time?"
"Trust me Sahib. New razor-cut, fresh from New York in Esquire Magazine.
You be the first razor-cut on the Peninsula. Bagus!" Lackshman reached over Burke's head and began the
operation without waiting for confirmation from his customer.
"You just be careful. I don't want
to end up like your baldy boss over there," instructed Gill Burke smiling weekly with more than a little
trepidation at this unexpected turn of events.
The Lascar barber grinned back into the mirror and
began skillfully to chamfered the longer hair away from the part down to the clippered sides and back,
the effect to completely shape the style without bumps or cut marks.
"See Gill Sahib. Nothing to
worry about. New razor-cut just smooth out hair," Lucky explained, brushing back the slightly longer
side hair to emphasise the flow from the top divide. von Zimner feigned disappointment.
Still a little
bemused by his totally new appearance, Burke watched fixedly as the Lascar barber plied his trade to
the finishing strokes; gone was the excessively long hair he had sported for years; gone was the shining
oiled brushback; gone was the Jazz Cut low on the neck; gone were his razor sharp sideburns. Yet eventually
he did nod an unqualified approval.
"Excellent Lacks. Quite nifty!" Indeed, Burke had lost any doubt
about his radical new haircut, quite smart, even with the middle part, he admitted, and that would grow
on him, as could his hair when Spruso came back to the Colony. Yes! Quite stylish, in fact. The effect
was a tightly trimmed, well fashioned haircut, with the centre parted fringe swept around over each temple
and allowed to fall naturally to the edge of the eyebrows just out of his vision range.
"Well it's
not quite the shortest Tropical Trim I have ever seen Burke my boy, but even you must admit it's 'smart
as paint' as you English say," complemented von Zimner, "even though it is not shaved like a real man."
"Smart yes. I must say I quite like it. Thank's Lucky." Burke surveyed the closely trimmed and tapered
back moving the hand mirror around to see all aspects, fingering the newly cropped stubble around his
ears and neck with genuine satisfaction; testing the centered fringe length and form.
"But I'm Australian,
CvZ, again I remind you. Not English."
"Just so. Oh! This has slipped my memory until now. I'm sure
you were wondering how your entire stock of Spruso was used up so quickly. There might be a reason,"
suggested von Zimner with some villainy.
"I know you said I'm a rotten trader, but you know that
isn't so. Don't you Carl? There was plenty of stock. It just seemed to disappear," replied Burke with
a question in his voice.
Spraying on The Enclosure Lime and Ginger Cologne, TELAGE, a substantial
favourite in the Colony formulated jointly by Burke himself and CvZ, Lucky completed the last shaping
of Burke's wetted hair, brushing it each side away from the part in the middle of his scalp and sweeping
the fringe across the brow and over the ears. No Spruso from the last jar was used, though Burke did
take it.
Admiring the final result once again though still a little sceptical, Burke paid the Lascar
barber including a more than generous tip.
"Tramakasi Tuan Burke," Lucky thanked his customer in
the local language. "Now we bring out the Spruso Carl Sahib?" addressed Lakshman to von Zimner.
"What
do you mean? Have you got more Spruso? I thought you said this was the last jar in the Colony?" Burke
queried von Zimner while the barber removed the cloak and the pile of severed hair from Burke's lap.
As he climbed out of the chair and Lucky brushed a few remnants of hair off his shoulders he faced his
tormentor with suspicion to see the German trader grinning at him with pearly teeth.
"Now it can
be told. While you were up-country on your orang-outang expedition, I had my staff buy up all the remaining
supplies of Spruso for miles around. It cost me a pretty penny I can tell you. But it was worth the joke.
There you are mein fruend without a drop of Spruso on your hair after all these years. Now don't you
thank me?"
Burke eyed von Zimner with a momentary look of fury, but immediately burst into a peel
of laughter, patting the confessor on his bald head.
"The joke's on you, mate. I had every intention
of having my hair cut off. The brushback's had it's day," exaggerated Burke with a half truth.
"But
you were going through agonies of hell trying to decide to change your style to something shorter." pouted
von Zimner.
"A little charade Mr Bald Practical Joker. Do you think my staff didn't know what had
happened to the Spruso? Don't forget, every bottle and jar you bought put profit into my coffers." They
both laughed again; so did Lakshman.
"Even so. Now to the bar to christen your new haircut. Yes?"
conceded von Zimner.
"Your shout?"
"Yes. I'll finance the wake for the passing of your late lamented
brushback. I must take some new photographs tomorrow at tiffin. Ireene and you are coming I trust?"
von Zimner had constantly teased his rival about his over long oiled hair. Burke had equally belittled
von Zimner's shaven head. In truth, they admired the contrasts in each other, and privately defended
the two totally individual styles for the ten years they had been acquainted, which as they said were
their trade marks in a way.
Several months before, to celebrate the second anniversary of the Burke-Sanders
liaison, von Zimner had devised a unique present, which was appreciated by all, not only for the material
gift, but also for the friendship and creativity manifested in the thought.
In the Paragon Cafe on
Buckingham Road or Jalan Kota Baru as the locals called it, von Zimner has taken a marvelous photograph
of Burke and his Lady Ireene. It was in a corner booth where Burke was pitching woo closely to Ireene,
she tossing back her head in an enticing smile, and with a cigarette in her fingers. The angle showed
the back of Burke's shining oiled hair severely edge trimmed, and ironically, parted in the middle.
The tops of their faces and heads were reflected in two surrounding mirrors to create an image of
stunning perspective and contrast. von Zimner had asked Burke especially if he could take the photograph,
not only as a testimonial to his friends, but also to show off Burke's brushback and it's faultless gleaming
oiled craftsmanship as an object of magnetic interest to the camera.
In return, Burke had photographed
von Zimner semi-naked but for a loin-cloth, sitting lotus fashion completely anointed all over his body
and hairless head with coconut oil, back to back to a gilded statue of Buddah, so that Carl's shaven
dome was reflected and framed by the bald metal image of the back of the Lord Buddah. Through te smoke
of incense sticks Margarett Jaques, CvZ's fience, dressed in a flinsy sarong, was seen placing a garland
at the feet of the 'von Zimner buddah. It was a super piece of art photography, as was the cafe study.
In photography, as in everything, Burke and von Zimner were rivals.
Now, von Zimner lead Burke to
the bar waving at the new haircut so no one missed Burke's embarrassment. A round of applause ensured.
Gill's rival had the upper hand for the moment and he was going to make the most of it while it lasted.
"You insult my head Mr Burke," von Zimner spoke in a stage voice loud enough for all to hear, catching
Burke by surprise, and causing him to wonder what new mischief his friend was up to, at his expense,
Burke had no doubt.
"Your insult is your own Herr von Zimner with your self inflicted baldness.
I have no part in it," retorted Burke, still wondering what his companion was up to.
"My appearance
is my choice. I shave my head because it signals my manliness. Hair I do not need to satisfy the ladies."
So saying, von Zimner sneered at Burke's freshly barbered neatly sculptured hair. "What has hair or lack
of it got to do with success, in any field." von Zimner's tone was still over-loud, teasing and accusative.
"What is manliness without veracity Mr Zimner," Burke used the diminutive title to annoy Carl. "I
have all three.
My honesty, not like some I know who would stoop to chicanery on a mate, my honesty
has never been questioned the length and breadth of the Peninsula; my manliness is known to my friends,
especially my lady friends; and my hair is here for all to see." Burke finished the rebut.
"Lady
friends. Emm. I'm sure Lady Ireene will be interested to hear that. As for your hair being your honesty,
well? It has diminished somewhat," teased von Zimner.
The clock struck the hour before the Noonday
Gun.
Ladies could be expected momentarily for 'elevenses'. Soft-shoed, white-coated waiters glided
around the polished teak floor of the Tiffin Room, setting rattan tables with white starched cloths and
fresh flowers sprigs of bougainvillea, frangipani and ginger fern. As the Palm Court Orchestra struck
the first harmonic note, the sliver cake trolley was wheeled in.
Burke and Carl spied their companions
enter the restaurant through the etched glass double doors, took up their drinks to join the women for
tea, followed by a large number of the men in the bar. Traditions had to be upheld, and the women of
the Colony saw to that.
"Gillbert", cried Ireene as she spotted Burke, "you look so different. You've
had a Tropical Trim after all." She pecked Gill on the cheek, sweeping back the brim her vast organza
picture sun hat as it disturbed Gill's carefully formed fringe in the process. Unconsciously he adjusted
the right side of the part back to where Lucky has settled it.
"Do you like it?" Burke was forced
to ask.
"Yes, actually I do. What do you think Maggie?" she asked von Zimner lady love.
"Quite
nice I think. Yes Gill, a change from your famous brushback. But I do like my Carl better though. You
should persuade Gill to do it too Reeney," advised Margarette with a smirk caressing von Zimner freshly
shaved gleaming scalp.
"So you agree with CvZ, do you Maggie, that his deliberate baldness indicates
that he is a better trader than me? At least that is what he was saying just a short while back," reminded
Burke, a little miffed still.
"Keep out of it Margarette," warned Ireene. "I smell a squall coming.
We've had enough typhoons for this season."
Several of the men from the bar had been paying attention
to the conversation of the foursome, and chatting to their female companions about Burke's new appearance.
von Zimner surveyed the scene. Their tea had arrived and Lady Sanders poured from a silver pot.
"Far
be it from me to make a hollow claim," said Carl von Zimner quite loudly, again attracting an audience
to the surprise of the ladies. Ireene paused her pouring. "You, Gill mein fruend, you with the hair,
shorter though it now may be, you Gillbert Burke have stated categorically that by baldness does not
make me a better trader than you. That is correct? Yes?"
Again Burke felt that he was being maneuvered
into a trap of Carl's making, and even a hunter of his considerable experience could not yet read the
lie of the land. As his profession had taught him, he should have held back, waiting till the quarry
showed itself in his sights.
"I think there is ample proof, as you yourself admitted Carl. It was
you who bought up my entire shipment of Spruso for the sake of a practical joke, at a tidy profit to
me, I might point out. QED."
"So an hairy man is the better trader?" again queried von Zimner with
a paraphrase from Genesis.
"It's obvious," retorted Burke with some trepidation.
"So you would
never consider having your hair shaved off to increase your trading ability?"
"How many times do
I have to tell you. No! I could never consider the self-defacement of deliberate baldness."
The reply
was a snigger from Burke. Ireene smiled to herself. The room had gone quiet but for the occasional rattle
of silver cutlery. Margarette genteenly nibbled on a cake while Ireene sipped her Earl Gray tea. It was
then that von Zimner fired his barb of challenge. Burke instinctively knew he was trapped.
"Well,
just let us see who writes the most business in the next six months. Do you accept the challenge?"
"That
is no challenge. In an honest race I will win every time," retorted Gill Burke with a little upitiness,
as he smoothed back his new centre parted fringe. "But yes, I accept the feeble challenge."
"And
would you agree that a challenge needs a wager?" questioned the German trader.
"The wager will be
in the winning". The reply brought mild laughter from the audience, though Ireene and Margarette exchanged
glances of some concern.
"Just to prove the point. You are a sporting man, a manly man you said,
are you not? A side bet I think is in order," prompted Burke's rival trader, while even the Palm Court
Orchestra grew silent.
"Agreed. Name your odds." Burke ignored his tea for the remainder of the gin
sling in his glass. The waiters stood stock still. 'Elevenses' was forgotten by the habituees of The
Empire Hotel.
"A head of hair!" von Zimner shot back at Burke. Tension snapped as a wave of chatter
suddenly buzzed around the room, followed by isolated outbreaks of laughter.
Burke took time to reply.
"You can't be serious. What kind of bizarre stakes is that?" spluttered Gill Burke, realising at
last that he was firmly enmeshed in a trap his whimsical adversary had been preparing for weeks. The
hunter had become the quarry.
"Manly stakes. That's what this is all about isn't it Mr Gillbert Burke.
Bald against non-bald. From now to the end of the six month challenge period I will grow my hair, and
so will you. No haircuts for either of us. If you win the wager I will keep my hair on and you may do
with yours what you will ..... but if I win, I have the right to have my head shaved once more .....
and I personally will shave you Mr Burke absolutely bald." von Zimner turned to the gathered audience
for approval while waiting for Burke's reply, "and you will stay bald for a further six months; shaved
completely smooth all over your head each and every day!", he added with relish, swinging back to face
Burke.
"This is quite childish Carl," interspersed Ireene sotto voce, hoping the rest of the tea
takers would not hear.
"Why Gill has only just got that beautiful new haircut. It looks lovely dear."
Removing her lace glove, she ran her forefinger along the side of Burke's freshly clipped head, a thrill
to them both, last night's niggling abandoned in defence of her mate.
"Bald! Gillbert Burke. I'm
waiting for your answer", insisted the gloating Carl von Zimner, shoving his own glistening shaven skull
in front of Burke's face.
Shouts of encouragement from the gathering filled the Tiffin Room. Several
men slapped von Zimner's shoulder to congratulated him on the most unique wager issued for ages.
Encouraged
Carl invited a few of the more forward husband-seeking young ladies of the 'Fishing Fleet' to caress
his baldness, much to the consternation of Margarette.
A hairless vision of himself flashed into
Burke's mind, but sped away as fast as it arrived.
Never in his wildest imaginings had he ever
considered being shaved bald: well, except for the shipboard venture, and that was almost a matter necessity;
and last night, where he was not really serious except if shamed into it by the Lady; and just now the
fantasy in the barber's chair with the new electric clippers.
"Well, perhaps .....", he mused, "three
out of three..... but no!". Even the prospect of a naturally receding hairline at a later age filled
him with foreboding.
Suddenly he knew that his hair was essential for his ego; admitting to himself
that even the shortish haircut he had just received had taken quite a bit of fortitude to endure, though
he was glad he had. He was terrified to lose it, which was peculiar for a man noted for his bravery against
the wild beasts of the jungle. Now he was trapped, hunter turned into hunted, for his own pelt.
"No
one can challenge my manliness without ..... very well CvZ. I accept!" The gathering cheered. Burke and
von Zimner saluted each other with chota pegs delivered freshly to the table with alacrity by the ever
watchful maitre d'.
"Compliments of the house gentlemen to launch The Hairloom Challenge," advised
the maitre d' who regarded himself as a bit of a wit, with a deft turn of a pun. Again the 'elevenses'
crowd applauded.
"Looks like you'll have to get used to Carl with hair Maggie," Ireene pointed out
to her friend.
"Perhaps we should swap men Reeney. You go to hairy Carl and I take over bald Gill.
I would certainly save us women a lot of trouble," Margarette continues the attack.
"But then again
perhaps we should find entirely new models. These seem to make absolutely no sense any more," pondered
Lady Ireene Sanders.
"Enough of that", interjected Burke. Nothing will happen. I will win this Hairloom
Challenge," raising his glass to the maitre d'. "And of course keep my hair. All that will happen is
that Carl will look normal for a few months. Now there's will be a sight for sore eyes. Carl von Zimner
with hair."
"Not so fast my fine rival. Six months is a long time between haircuts you know. Even
your brand new Tropical Trim No.3 Rig won't last so long. By then your straight hair will be all over
the place, and without the benefit of your unctious Spruso. I, on the other hand have nice curly hair,
when I have hair, and that will sit very well for six months. It seems you cannot win in any direction
Gillbert mein herr, if you will excuse the pun?"
Again the Palm Court Orchestra struck up, this time
with a rendition of 'Will you have it Bobbed or Shingled' as an anthem to the challenge while the tea
drinkers and the gin drinkers went back to their own tables, looking forward to the progress of the two
competitors for the next six months.
The die had been cast. The Noonday Gun fired on the promintary
in front of The Empire Hotel and the big celestial clock timing The Hairloom Challenge began to tick
away.
The afternoon races were a winner for Burke, which gave him confidence for the ensuing contest.
He felt good. His up-country expedition had been successful. He was back in the company of his Lady Ireene.
He betted successfully against the bookmakers, while CvZ did not. And he was quite pleased with his new
Tropical Trim.
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