The Barber of Jabalya

I must get a haircut. I have no choice. I must get to my regular barber in the village today. If necessary, I'll even go down on my knees and beg for him to forgive me, to absolve me of my sins, and agree to cut my hair.

I know what he's like. He can be really tough. I still vividly recall that incident three years ago, when a guy who was before me in line took his seat in front of the mirror, and all it took was a quick glance and the briefest tousle of the hair for the barber to discover that this fellow had betrayed him by daring to place his head in the care of someone else's hands.

"It was just once, I swear," the tearful young fellow pleaded. "It was an emergency, I swear I'll never do it again." But his pleas fell on deaf ears as the barber shooed him out of the shop in utter disgrace. "What nerve!" huffed the barber once the guy was out the door for good. "If there's one thing I can't abide, it's disloyalty."

I've been going to him for years, and I don't know what possessed me that accursed afternoon about three months ago when I decided to patronize the local barbershop in the shopping center of my new neighborhood. What the hell was I thinking?

more @ haaretz (By Sayed Kashua)