Saying Yes

Characters:

MAN BARBER

(Interior of a barbershop. A window and a front door. A barber's swivel chair, a small chair, a small table on which there are scissors, a comb, shaving implements. A large white bib cloth and a few soiled towels. Two trash cans on the floor, one large and one small, with lids. A broom and a dust pan. A moveable foot mirror. On the floor, at the foot of the barber's chair, a large amount of cut hair. The BARBER awaits his last customer of the day, sitting in the barber's chair, leafing through a magazine. He is a large man, reserved, with slow movements. He has a forbidding, yet enigmatic look. Not knowing what is behind this look is what is disconcerting. He never raises his voice, which is sad, heavy. The MAN enters. He has a very timid and insecure demeanor.)

MAN: Good afternoon.

BARBER: (Looks up from the magazine, looks at him. After a moment.). . . afternoon . . . (Doesn't move.)

MAN: (Forces a smile which doesn't get the slightest response. Glances at his watch. Waits. The BARBER throws the magazine down on the table, gets up, as though in a controlled rage. But instead of attending to his customer, he goes to the window, turning his back to the MAN, and looks outside. The MAN, conciliatory.) It's gotten cloudy. (Waits. Pause.) It's hot. (No response. Loosens his tie, slightly nervous. The BARBER turns around, looks at him, grim, forebidding. The MAN becomes insecure.) Not really . . . (Without moving, he stretches his neck toward the window.) It's clearing up. Mm . . . better. I was wrong. (The BARBER looks at him, enigmatic, immobile.) I'd like . . . (Pause. Puts his hand to his head with an uncertain gesture.) If . . . if it's not too late . . . (The BARBER looks at him without answering. Then he turns and looks out the window again. The MAN, anxious.) Has it clouded up?

BARBER: (For a second, immobile. Then he turns. Brusquely.) Beard?

MAN: (Rapidly.) No, not the beard, no. (Enigmatic look.) Well . . . I don't know. I . . . I usually shave myself. By myself. (Silence from the BARBER.) I know it's awkward, but. . . Well, maybe you can trim my beard. Yes, yes, the beard too. (Goes to the barber's chair. Puts his foot on the footrest. Looks at the BARBER, waiting for him to indicate for him to sit down. Slight obscure gesture from the BARBER. The MAN doesn't dare to sit down. Takes his foot off the rest. Touches the chair timidly.) This is a strong chair, solid. It's . . . it's wood. Old. (The BARBER doesn't answer. He tips his head and stares at the seat of the chair. The MAN follows the BARBER's look. He sees cut hair on the seat. Impulsively he gathers it up, keeps it in his hand. He looks at the floor.) May I? . . . (Waits. Slowly, the BARBER shakes his head. The MAN is conciliatory.) Right, it's filthy. (Notices that the floor is full of cut hair. Smiles, confused. Looks at the hair in his hand, on the floor, and opts to put the hair in his pocket. The BARBER, instantly and brusquely, smiles. The MAN is relieved.) So . . . hair and . . . beard, yes, my beard. (The BARBER, who abruptly stopped smiling, scrutinizes the chair. The MAN imitates him. Impulsively, he takes some of the soiled towels and cleans the seat of the chair. The BARBER leans down and observes the back of the chair, forbiddingly. The MAN looks at him, then follows the direction of his glance. With another towel, impulsively, he cleans the back of the chair, content.) There. I don't mind . . . (The BARBER looks at him, mysteriously. The MAN is disconcerted.) . . . lending a hand . . . That's why we're here, isn't it? Today it's my turn, tomorrow it's yours. I'm not being presumptuous! It...