Absaloms Hair | Page 9

to obtain prominence by this. This

prominence must be maintained, and nothing answered so well as
boasting about Norway and his father's exploits. His statements were
somewhat exaggerated, but that was not altogether his fault, He knew
English fairly well, but had not mastered its niceties. He made use of
superlatives, which always come the most readily. It was true that he
had inherited from his father twenty guns, a large sailing-boat, and
several smaller ones; but how magnificent these boats and guns had
become!
He intended to go to the North Pole, he said, as his father had done, to
shoot white bears, and invited them all to come with him.
He made a greater impression on his hearers than he himself was aware
of; but something more was wanted, for it was impossible to foretell
from day to day what might be expected of him. He had to study hard
in order to meet the demand.
As an outcome of this, he betook himself one evening to the
hairdresser's, with some of his schoolfellows, and, without more ado,
requested him to cut his hair quite close. That ought to satisfy them for
a long time.
The other boys had teased him about his hair, and it got in the way
when he was playing--he hated it. Besides, ever since the story of
Absalom's rebellion and punishment, it had remained a secret terror to
him, but it had never before occurred to him to have it cut off.
His schoolfellows were dismayed, and the hairdresser looked on it as a
work of wilful destruction.
Rafael felt his heart begin to sink, but the very audacity of the thing
gave him courage They should see what he dare do. The hairdresser
hesitated to act without Fru Kaas's knowledge, but at length he ceased
to make objections.
Rafael's heart sank lower and lower, but he must go through with it
now. "Off with it," he said, and remained immovable in the chair.

"I have never seen more splendid hair," said the hairdresser diffidently,
taking up the scissors but still hesitating.
Rafael saw that his companions were on the tiptoe of expectation. "Off
with it," he said again with assumed indifference.
The hairdresser cut the hair into his hand and laid it carefully in paper.
The boys followed every snip of the scissors with their eyes, Rafael
with his ears; he could not see in the glass.
When the hairdresser had finished and had brushed his clothes for him,
he offered him the hair. "What do I want with it?" said Rafael. He
dusted his elbows and knees a little, paid, and left the shop, followed by
his companions. They, however, exhibited no particular admiration. He
caught a glimpse of himself in the glass as he went out, and thought
that he looked frightful.
He would have given all that he possessed (which was not much), he
would have endured any imaginable suffering, he thought, to have his
hair back again.
His mother's wondering eyes rose up before him with every shade of
expression; his misery pursued him, his vanity mocked him. The end of
it all was that he stole up to his room and went to bed without his
supper.
But when his mother had vainly waited for him, and some one
suggested that he might be in the house, she went to his room.
He heard her on the stairs; he felt that she was at the door. When she
entered he had hidden his head beneath the bedclothes. She dragged
them back; and at the first sight of her dismay he was reduced to such
despair that the tears which were beginning to flow ceased at once.
White and horror-struck she stood there; indeed she thought at first that
some one had done it maliciously; but when she could not extract a
word of enlightenment, she suspected mischief.

He felt that she was waiting for an explanation, an excuse, a prayer for
forgiveness, but he could not, for the life of him, get out a word.
What, indeed, could he say? He did not understand it himself. But now
he began to cry violently. He huddled himself together, clasping his
head between his hands. It felt like a bristly stubble.
When he looked up again his mother was gone.
A child sleeps in spite of everything. He came down the next morning
in a contrite mood and thoroughly shamefaced. His mother was not up;
she was unwell, for she had not slept a wink. He heard this before he
went to her. He opened her door timidly. There she lay, the picture of
wretchedness.
On the toilet-table, in a white silk handkerchief, was his hair, smoothed
and combed.
She lay there in her lace-trimmed nightgown, great tears rolling down
her cheeks.