First Blood

He put off going back out there as long as he could. He knew he would not be able to stand it when Teasle came touching the scissors to his head and cutting. The spray of water on him, he glanced out the shower, and Galt was suddenly at the bottom of the stairs, holding the scissors and a can of shaving cream and a straight razor. His stomach tightened. He watched frantically as Teasle pointed at a desk and chair by the bottom of the stairs, saying something to Galt that came muffled through the noise of the spray. Galt brought the chair around in front of the desk, took some newspapers from inside the desk and spread them under the chair. He was not long doing it at all. Directly Teasle came toward him in the stall, close enough for him to hear.

'Turn off the water,' Teasle said.

Rambo pretended not to hear.

Teasle came farther down. 'Turn off the water,' he repeated.

Rambo went on washing his arms and chest. The soap was a big yellow cake that smelled strongly of disinfectant. He switched to soaping his legs. It was the third time he had soaped them. Teasle nodded and walked out of sight to the left of the stall where there must have been a shut-off valve because in a second the water quit spraying. Rambo's legs and shoulders tightened, water dripping from him onto the hollow metal bottom of the stall, and then Teasle was in sight again, holding a towel.

'There's no sense in putting this off,' Teasle said. 'You'll just catch cold.'

Rambo had no choice. He stepped out slowly. He knew that if he didn't Teasle would reach in for him, and he didn't want Teasle touching him. He dried himself repeatedly with the towel. In the cold the towel made prickle marks on his arms. His testicles felt exposed.

'Dry yourself anymore and you'll wear out the towel,' Teasle said.

He went on drying himself. Teasle reached to guide him toward the chair, and Rambo side-stepped, keeping Teasle and Galt in front of him as he backed over to the chair. Without a pause everything built up in quick sequence.

First Teasle touched the scissors to the side of his head, snipping, and Rambo tried, but could not stop himself from flinching.

'Hold still,' Teasle said. 'You'll jerk against the scissors and maybe hurt yourself.'

Next Teasle snipped off a large clump of hair, and Rambo's left ear was cool and unprotected in the damp basement air. 'You've got more up here than I guessed,' Teasle said and dropped the clump onto the newspaper spread out on the floor. 'Your head's going to weigh a lot less in a minute.' The newspaper was turning gray, soaking up water.

Then Teasle snipped off more, and Rambo had to flinch again. Teasle stepped back of him, and Rambo tensed from not being able to see what was going on behind. He swung his head to see, and Teasle pressed him forward. Rambo slipped his head from under the hand.

But Teasle snipped the scissors to his head again and Rambo flinched again, and hair caught in the swivel of the scissors, yanking sharply at his scalp. He could not bear it anymore. He surged from the chair and spun around to Teasle.

'Get away.'

'Sit down in that chair.'

'You're not cutting anymore. You want my hair cut, you get a barber down here.'

'It's after six. There aren't any barbers working now. You're not putting on that uniform until your hair is cut.'

Then I'll stay like this.'

'You'll sit on the chair. Galt, go up and bring Shingleton. I've made as many allowances as I can. We'll cut his hair so fast it'll be like we used sheep shears.'

Galt looked happy to get away. Rambo listened to him unlock the door at the top of the stairs, the rattle echoing down. It was all happening even faster now. He did not want to hurt anyone, but he knew that was coming, he could feel his anger spreading out of control. Instantly a man was rushing down the stairs, Galt half a flight behind. It was the man who had been sitting by the radio in the front office. Shingleton. He seemed huge now that he was standing, his head up near the bright lights in the ceiling. The bones above his eyes and around the bottom of his face stuck out in the glare. He looked at Rambo, and Rambo felt twice as naked.

'Trouble?' Shingleton said to Teasle. 'I hear you have trouble.'

'No, but he does,' Teasle said. 'You and Galt sit him on the chair.'

Shingleton came right over. Galt hesitated, then he came over too.

'I don't know what this is all about,' Shingleton said to Rambo. 'But I'm reasonable. I'll give you a choice. Do you walk or do I carry you?'

'I think you'd better not touch me.' He was determined to keep control. There would be just the next five minutes and the continual touch of the scissors, and then it would be over, he would be all right.

He started toward the chair, his feet slick in the water, and behind him Shingleton said, 'Good God, where did you get all the scars on your back?'

'In the war.' That was a weakness. He should not have answered.

'Oh sure. Sure you did. In which army?'

Rambo almost killed him right then.