The Northwest times. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1947-1955, 1954-05-08
A Short Story. .
O BY ROGER SPLINTER
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the mirror just inside the restau-
rant and frowned Maybe he should
have his face worked over in a good
barber shop He needed a massage
and a good face scraping.
He moved in closer to the mirror
and inspected his puffy features
with the quick furtive look that a
man uses when he's conscious that
hes in public and people might
think he's vain or conceited Actu-
ally, no one would think Ojiro con-
ceited; his face was that of fight
er, a boxer who'd stopped too many
blows with his face. Ojiro's nose
was flattened and his ears were
ragged, permanently swollen appen-
dages. No, people couldn't say that
he was conceited. In fact, If they
noticed him peering into the small
mirror just inside the restaurant in
the train station, they might think
he was checking on the extent of
the old damage to his face and per-
haps wondering if it had gotten "a
ny worse
Ojiro was thinking These bouts
he was going to arrange-it would
take some doing, lot of persuasive
talking His fighters depended on
him to make favorable arrange
mentS They knew that as an ex-
fighter pug he knew the ropes.
A good facial massage and shave
it'd be. He'd need to look prosper
Gus when he faced gimlet-eyed Flu
jiWara. That was one man who ne
yer seemed to make a losing arran-
cement His fighters could lose but
FujiWara always seemed to make a
small profit even then
Ojiro finished his inspection, pull
ed his rakish hat down with a
quick tug over his round battered
face and went out the restaurant
door He stood and slowly circled
the surrounding shops and open We
getable stores and cluttered narrow
street. There was barber shop at
the end of the street. He walked to
it, rolling slightly in gait, a squat
powerful man with sloped broad
shoulders. He looked as he really
was. An ex-fighter, grown heavy.
The shop, he saw, was small and
clean and well-lighted. There were
two chairs and one was empty as he
entered. He grunted; this was a
break. no waiting. He slipped of
his coat and settled back in the en-
PITY chair, instantly relaxing. He
liked being barbered. 1t relaxed
him immeasurably. He could sink
into a reverie, almost doze as sup
pie fingers shipped and patted and
rubbed He closed his eyes.
A barber had entered and a cloth
encircled him and was tucked "a
round his neck He didn't open his
eyes Facial, massage and shave,
he said. Sometimes a barber would
say something about his tell tao
face and sometimes if ne felt gehl.
al disposed, he'd talk about ms ma
ny fights.
The barber behind him put a hot
cloth on his face and rubbed gently
Strong fingers Then a cream and
the massage. Ojiro slipped away, a
little. from reality. let stray
thoughts rummage through his
mind; the trip and FujiWara the
Fox and his own slow climb as a
fight promoter
Shave, now. The blade was keen
and the barber touch light He
manipulated the razor deity in
short feather touch strokes, down
the side of Ojiro's face. now tc
tn neck.
oJAiO III AiNhNi hAAtH WY CPSAA
ed his eyes. The barber was bent o.
yer him, his face closer to his razor
than most BARRIERS, almost as if he
were very nearsighted. Ojiro rolled
his eyes and looked straight up in
to the intent eyes above him, eyes
| closely watching his own razor
| sweep smoothly. The eyes. some.
thing about the eyes Ojiro didn'
stir but his spine stiffened and III
felt his shoulder muscles ridge
These eyes. they weren't reall!
looking at him, they we're following
the razor, close to the razor as /
the man had trouble seeing. Thos,
eyes. . he knew them He kneY
the tiny scars etched around them
the livid cash that threaded like ;
ravelled thread from a fighter
trunks. just above the eyebrows.
1t all flashed back to Ojiro, sittin