The Barbershop Seven (168 page)

'She's talking about lunch now,' said Monroe.

'Dear Christ!' she ejaculated.

Took the words right out of my mouth
, thought Igor.

'Dear Christ!' she repeated, going off wildly on any tangent which came to mind. 'For there was a deadly destruction throughout all the city; the hand of God was very heavy there. And the men that died not were smitten with the haemorrhoids: and the cry of the city went up to heaven!'

'Don't talk to me about haemorrhoids,' said Monroe bitterly.

'Sshh!' said Barney suddenly. The crisp sharp sound immediately heightened the tension around the circle and brought back the nerves and the adrenaline which had begun to subside. Hands were squeezed more tightly; a couple of them threw anxious glances over their shoulders. It was coming at last. The first noise from Jonah's office.

A chair was pushed in at the desk. The footsteps strode hurriedly across the floor. The door opened. At least, there was the sound of the door opening; the gentle creak of the hinges, the door being dragged across the carpet. The assembled company stared at the door but it had not moved.

Now there was a pause, as if the ghost of Jonah Harrison was standing in the doorway, looking at this absurd circle of six. They couldn't see him but they felt him. They all knew he was there. Even the miserable Monroe could tell there was another, even more miserable, presence in their midst.

'Jonah!' cried Ruth Harrison, looking at the doorway in fear and awe. 'I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! I should have let you into the bathroom. Can you forgive me?'

They held tightly onto one another, each one wary of the unseen manifestation of one man's need to pee.

'And Igor,' she added. 'I'm sorry about Igor!'

'It's hardly your fault he's a hunchback,' said Monroe, whose wariness, to be fair, was bordering on weariness.

'Arf.'

'Cast out this spirit from within these walls, Dear Lord,' burst forth the Reverend Tolstoy, almost in song. 'Allow him at last to relieve the ache within his innermost flesh, allow him to release the burning glory of his bladder, allow him to free his most divine pee from the prison of his urinary tract, and let him travel on once more, through the path of life unto death!'

Barney slung her a look but her eyes were closed, her face pointed upwards, aiming pleadingly at the Lord.

'Cry freedom! dear Christ, and unleash the dogs of waste water!'

Barney smiled ruefully and looked back at the door. Ruth Harrison, however, was fearfully gripping onto his hand, her heart racing, her nerves strained far more tightly than they had been over the previous two days. And, on the other side of her from Barney, her nails were digging into Igor's palms.

Thomas Petersen was even more scared. The Reverend Tolstoy, had she had a second to be honest with herself, would have had to admit to also being consumed by terror, which was why the tone of her voice was becoming more and more agitated with each fervent shout.

'And when he was come into his house, he took a knife, and laid hold on his concubine, and divided her, together with her bones, into twelve pieces, and sent her into all the coasts of Israel!'

'Lost her bleedin' marbles,' said Monroe.

'And in this way, Dear Jesus, divide the eternal urine of Jonah Harrison into twelve pieces and send it into the waste pipes of the land and down to all the coasts of Scotland!'

Just as everyone else in attendance was about to turn upon her, castigate her for being a complete idiot and strike her down with great vengeance, there came another sound from the doorway. Once more blood froze, hearts skipped beats and fingernails dug viciously into the clammy palms of others.

A first, tentative footstep, as if Jonah was unsure whether or not to stride purposefully along the corridor to the bathroom.

'Oh my God!' yelled the Reverend Tolstoy, in such a manner that the meaning was not entirely clear.

'Come on, Jonah,' said Barney, thinking that at least one of them ought to retain some grasp on sense, however bizarre the circumstances.

'Aye,' said Monroe, 'I've missed my afternoon cup of tea because of this, and you know what happens to my kidneys when I do that.'

'My God forbid it me,' wailed the minister, 'that I should do this thing: shall I drink the blood of these men that have put their lives in jeopardy?'

'You're not drinking my flippin' blood,' said Monroe.

'Arf!'

Another footstep and then another more quickly followed. They could not see him, but they knew he was almost upon them. Ruth gasped. Thomas Petersen was terrified and contemplating making a break for it.

'Stand firm!' barked Barney.

'Come amongst us, Jonah!' cried the minister. 'And feel the hand of the Lord upon you!'

Another step and suddenly Jonah was in their midst. As one, each of the six, these hardy four men and two women, could feel his presence, as if his soul was passing straight through them. And each of them suddenly felt the most burning desire to go to the toilet.

Ruth gasped, Tolstoy ejaculated strangely, Petersen whimpered.

'Jesus,' said Barney.

'Good thing I wore my incontinence pants,' said Monroe glumly, even though he had for once found the positive in a situation.

And then, as instantly as it had come, the feeling of intense, bladder-bursting need had passed and Jonah's footsteps trudged on in the direction of the bathroom. Relief swept through each of the six as the sensation of need disappeared, yet they were each left with a great comprehension of Jonah's bane.

'Free him, Lord!' howled the minister, 'now that we have each shared in the anguish of his urinary torment. Free him! Free his soul! Free his urine from its eternal prison!'

Petersen finally cracked and pulled his hand away from Tolstoy. On his other side, Igor held tight and would not let him away.

'Do not break the circle!' shouted Tolstoy, flailing around for Petersen's hand.

'I want to!' he wailed back.

'Hold her hand!' barked Barney authoritatively. 'Do it!'

Petersen swallowed, big wide nervous eyes, and allowed Tolstoy to grab onto his cold and damp fingers.

'Girl,' said Monroe gruffly.

They heard the sound of the bathroom door open and close and then lock, although they did not see it move.

'Here we go, Lord!' screamed Tolstoy, as if Jonah was clean through on the goalkeeper in the last minute of the World Cup Final. 'Freedom!'

She paused. She gripped tightly onto Barney and Petersen. There was a silence, as they stood and waited, bodies tense, every sense strained and directed towards the bathroom.

And then it came. A dribble at first, then quickly a free-flowing stream of gold. And although the burning desire to pee had passed through each of the assembled company and was now gone, they each felt Jonah's enormous relief as finally, with the helping hand of the Lord God, he was able to substantively pee.

'Thank God for that,' said Petersen.

'We must!' exclaimed Tolstoy.

Ruth's shoulders dropped, her head dipped an inch, her grip on the others relaxed, as the strong stream of pee gradually began to wear down after almost a minute.

'But this is just what I've heard before,' she mumbled. 'He's done this a hundred times. He's still here.'

Barney gripped her hand more tightly, as did Igor.

'This is different,' said Tolstoy, her voice suddenly quiet, having lost all the qualities of the TV evangelist which she'd had for the previous ten minutes. 'Feel it, Ruth. It's not just Jonah who is here. God is also amongst us. Jonah will be free, Ruth, believe me.'

'But how will I know?'

She stared at Tolstoy, eyes wide with hope and fear and desperation and a hundred other conflicting emotions.

The toilet flushed. They heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled up.

'Does the toilet usually flush?' asked Tolstoy.

'Yes,' said Ruth, quietly. 'There's no difference.'

The door to the bathroom opened. Ruth turned quickly to look, her heart suddenly in her mouth.

And there he was. Jonah Harrison. Or, at least, the spectral wraith of Jonah Harrison. They could see through him, back into the bathroom, but he was definitely there, in all his former hugeness.

'Oh, fuck,' said Petersen.

'Dear God,' said Tolstoy. 'Dear God,' she repeated.

'Jonah?' said Ruth. 'Jonah?'

But he was not staring at her. He stood in the doorway for a second, eyes looking nowhere in particular, but with a comforted and fulfilled appearance about him. Then he rubbed his hands together and started to walk towards the circle.

Petersen recoiled; the others held firm.

One, two, three footsteps and he was almost upon them. They tensed. Barney and Igor held firmly onto Ruth, and then the ghost of Jonah Harrison walked through the entwined hands of his widow and Barney Thomson.

'Jonah!' she exclaimed.

But still he did not look at her. There was no acknowledgement from him of the small band of exorcists. He stopped in the middle of the circle, so that each of the six was no more than two feet away from the ghost.

'Dear God, take his soul,' said Tolstoy, thinking she ought to say something.

'Jonah?' said Ruth.

At last he turned and looked directly into the eyes of his widow. He smiled, a look that seemed to forgive her everything. All her mistakes and foibles of the last two days, and all her faults and errors from the previous thirty years.

'Oh, Jonah!' she said, and she pulled her hand away from Barney and held it out towards him.

He stood still. He embraced her with a smile once more, and then slowly his vague appearance, his thin apparition, began to fade.

'Jonah!' she said again, more loudly.

One last smile, one final look between husband and wife, and he was gone and Ruth Harrison was left staring into the face of old Jack Monroe.

'Oh, God,' she said, and then suddenly she was on her knees, her hand slipping free of Igor, great wells of tears suddenly coming from the pit of her stomach.

Barney was about to make a move to comfort her but the Reverend Tolstoy nodded at him and then she bent down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. Barney and Igor stared at one another and then shivered, as they felt the same footsteps across their graves.

Now that it was over, Petersen backed away from the small crowd and leant against the wall, eyes still wide with fear and awe.

Monroe surveyed the scene for a few seconds.

'Suppose you think that went well,' he muttered.

And, as Ruth Harrison finally wept for her husband, the assorted men of the strange little exorcism turned away and left her and the Reverend Tolstoy alone, to at last submit to her grief.

Barney turned at the top of the stairs and looked back at the two women, kneeling on the floor. He caught Tolstoy's eye and she nodded at him. Barney returned the look and then followed Igor down the stairs and back out of the small house, which was no longer haunted by the ghost of Jonah Harrison.

––––––––

F
ather Andrew Roosevelt was giving a brief interview to a young couple, who had ventured into his presence to ask him to marry them. They had arrived with an appointment a little less than thirty seconds before Jacobs and Ephesian had also arrived to see Roosevelt. Jacobs had wanted to barge in, push the young couple aside and get on with business. Ephesian had instructed that they wait their turn.

And so the two most important men on the island sat outside the small office in the college buildings beside the cathedral, while Father Roosevelt took a short consultation with Sauvignon Medoc and Buster Mack.

Roosevelt looked up from their birth certificates and smiled.

'Everything seems to be in order,' he said. Mind completely distracted by the not unexpected arrival of the Dark Knight and his henchman. Roosevelt was very, very nervous. He could, when the mood took him, be very scathing with young people whom he thought were getting married for the wrong reasons. Medoc and Mack, however, were about to get an easy time of it. Roosevelt's mind was a mess and whatever small part of it was saved for day-to-day parish business, was submerged under layers of anxiety.

'Cool,' said Mack.

'And when is it you'd like to get married?' he asked.

'This Saturday,' said Medoc quickly, then she smiled at Mack and they giggled.

Roosevelt frowned but the objections which should have been there were not in attendance.

'That's, em...' he stumbled, 'that should be fine.'

'Cool.'

'And why have you chosen the Episcopalian Church for your wedding?' asked Roosevelt, the words tripping out because that was what he always asked. And the answer to that question was one he would usually treat with the utmost scorn and derision. In eleven years of asking he had yet to discover anyone under the age of thirty who could explain to him what marked the Episcopalians out as different from the Church of Scotland.

'This is the Episcopalian Church?' asked Medoc.

'Like, I don't even know what that is, Dude!' said Mack.

'Simplistically,' said Roosevelt, 'it refers to church government by bishops.'

'Bring it on!'

'Yeah,' said Medoc. 'Does that mean we get, like, married by a bishop?'

'No,' said Roosevelt, his mind pouring over all the different things which Ephesian was potentially about to throw at him. Principally, he assumed, the fact that he had allowed Lawton to remove the Holy Grail. 'I'm not a bishop.'

'Whatever,' said Medoc, 'we'll still let you do it.'

Roosevelt looked from one of them to the other, mind a thousand miles away. Or, more to the point, actually only about seven yards away. At least the presence of Ephesian meant that there was a lot less likelihood of bloodshed.

Medoc and Mack smiled curiously, recognising the priest's pre-occupation with other matters.

'Everything all right?' asked Medoc.

The words drifted into space and floated around for a while before Roosevelt realised that they'd been directed his way.

'Yes,' he said, 'sorry. Yes, everything's fine.'