A Light Goes Out In Bailyville.
                                          A short story by G.E.Wolfe.

     If you were in downtown Bailyville Oklahoma, at the
corner of McPherson Avenue and South Main street on
June twenty-ninth, in the year nineteen thirty-one. And
happened to look south at about six thirty A.M., you
would see Daniel Cuff's fairly new model "B" farm truck
coming into town. Four months had gone by since his
last haircut.
     Mr. Cuff is a tall raw boned sixty eight year old with
angular features. Today, he felt very tired as he drove
by Miller's gas station, then the Fair Grounds and on
past Pavilion Park. Yellow strips of morning light
between wide shadows slashed at the truck as he came
closer. The truck's mechanical breaks sang out in pain
before he turned into the curb and bumped to a stop.
With the motor still running, he sat for a moment hunched
over the steering wheel as if he were still driving. With
one motion he turned off the motor, popped open the
door, flung his legs outward and banged his feet down on
the running board.
     Daniel Cuff dirt farmed all his life. He wore out two
wives and tried raise nine boys and one girl. The oldest
son was shot after a card game. The second boy died
having his appendix taken out. He was twenty-six. Turned
out, all he had was a bad stomach ache. The next two
moved to Canada soon after the depression sliced up their
share of the farm in smaller pieces. Son number five took
out his share of the farm and for some reason kept his
distance from the old man. Next came the Cowboy
Bootlegger and his brother, the nineteen year old drunk.
The youngest stayed close to his father. The boy was not
with him on this trip to town. Daniel missed him. He sat
half out of the truck, with his head bowed, hands clasped
and elbows resting on his knees. Daniel began to doze off.
"Bob's Grill", where the aroma of eggs and bacon
drifted into the morning air, was just down the street.
Across the brick pavement was the "Davis Barber Shop".
Clive Davis died about ten years ago. Harry Cume, out of
respect or good business sense, never changed the name.
Daniel was parked in front of "ABC Billiards". A place
where he never went without a good reason. He liked
the owner Mort Gruder. They grew up together. Mort had
just opened the double door entrance to his business and
was sweeping dust, cigarette and cigar butts out on to the
sidewalk. The air now smelled of bacon, stale beer, fired
eggs and chewing tobacco. Mort continued to sweep his
trash till it fell over the curb and under Daniel's truck. He
walked around to his friend and gently griped Daniel's
shoulder and said, "Wake up Mr. Cuff. It's time. Harry's
open now. He's over there". Daniel raised his head. He
was smiling broadly under his big brush mustache. He
searched Mort's eyes for a moment and said, "I can still
beat your ass in a game of snooker any day of the week."
Mort's laughter was loud enough to push it's way far
down the street. As Daniel stepped down, Mort said,
"Yes and I've been practicing all this time, justa waitin for
that day".
     "It'll come, it'll come", Deniel said as he turned and
started for the barbershop. Over his shoulder he
continued with, "But I'm going to let you practice just a
little longer. Then I'll be in. You'll see. You'll see."
Mort watched as Mr. Cuff walked across the street. He
noticed a slight missed step in his stride. A moments
concern caused Mort to take a few steps after him with his
arms outstretched as if the need were to catch him.
Daniel waived him off without speaking and continued
toward the barbershop.
     Mort's concern quickly turned to memories. He knew
that forty more years of practice was not enough to beat
Daniel at snooker. He was a natural. He remembered the
big city hot shots from Wichita and St. Louis, who
would pass thorough town looking for the local pool hall
hero. The minute they steeped into Mort's pool room, a
runner was sent to find Daniel. Soon he would show up
in his high top work shoes and dusty overhauls, looking
like ten kinds of Farm Town Sucker. The long dark
smelly room would be lined with dead beats, shop
keepers, bankers and the clergy. Most of whom would
not be in this nasty den or, on the same city block with
each other, if it were not for these events. In about three
hours, of what looked like a finely tuned Greek Tragedy.
Daniel would methodically fleece the willing adventurers
in the pinstripe suits and wearing the heavy gold rings. The
instant the contest was over, Daniel would buy everyone a
drink, pocket the winnings and go back to work.
Harry saw Mr. Cuff coming and began to dust off the
first chair with a new apron. Before Harry became a
barber, he did farm work for Daniel. Mr. Cuff always
explained what he wanted you to do by the results he
envisioned. If you didn't finish well or took too long on the
job, he never asked you back.
     Harry Cume had an average build and was a shorter
than most men. As a kid he was a known to have a smart
mouth and a backbone much thinner than his words.
Around tall decisive men, Harry was noticeably
uncomfortable.
     Daniel opened the door slowly and shuffled over to
the chair without speaking. He stood at the barber-chair
for a moment, holding onto the arm rest with both hands.
     "Ar-Are you ok Mr. Cuff", Harry said nervously.
     Daniel struggled to get into the chair. Once there he
seemed to relax a little and said, "Harry, what ever
happens, give me my usual haircut."
     Harry looked around as if he were in a haunted house
and said, "Wh-what's going to happen Mr.Cuff?
     Daniel reached back and caught Harry under his right
arm. He pulled him firmly up and around the chair so he
could see his face. When Harry's feet were almost off
the floor Daniel said softly, "Just get on with it, Harry, get
on with it!".
     Harry had the apron in his other hand and while
forcing a smile held it up for Daniel to see and said, "I'm
ok, I'm ready Mr. Cuff." Daniel took a long look at Harry,
smiled sadly, and released his grip.
     Harry was ready. He whipped the apron around Daniel
like a bull fighter. With comb and scissors ready, he
placed his fingers on the back of Daniel's head and said,
"Head down just a little Mr. Cuff". When Harry pushed
lightly, Daniel's body began to slide down the seat on it's
way out of the barber chair and on to the floor. At the last
moment, Harry reached around and caught Daniel under
the chin to stop his motion. Harry panicked. He froze and
couldn't speak. Finally in a horrified voice he said,
"Please don't do this Mr. Cuff. I can't handle this. Do
something else, Please!" Harry glanced out the windows
for anyone. The streets were empty. Desperately he
reached for the handle to move the chair into the
shaving position. Once there, Harry recoiled and gasped
for breath. He turned, opened the shop door and staggered
into the street, clutching his throat. He saw people walking
around, alive. He wanted to scream and run down the
street. He didn't. He stood motionless. After some time,
Harry caught up with himself. He felt like crying as he
walked back into his shop. He saw Mr. Cuff crouched
toward the bottom of the chair, with his knees against his
chest. Daniel's head rested back over the seat. His mouth
was open and his eyes were closed. Daniel's arms fell limp
over the sides of the chair. Harry calmly walked behind
the barber chair, grasped the straps of Daniel's overhauls
and wrestled him back into the seat. He placed his arms
on his lap and straightened out his feet. Harry reached
around to the cabinet and pulled out two clean aprons. He
put one around Daniel's waist and tied it behind the
chair. The other went around his shoulders and again
was tied in back. He moved the barber chair back to the
haircut position and smoothed out Daniel's apron. He
found his comb and scissors in different parts of the
shop.
     Harry felt strong and solid as he heard himself say,
"I'm ok. I'm ready Mr. Cuff." He moved around behind
the barber chair and continued the haircut. Daniel's head
was already bowed.
     About half way through Daniel's haircut, Harry
noticed Cecil Walker's football shaped form standing
outside his shop. His hands were in his pants pockets and
nose smashed against the window glass. Seconds later he
burst though the door. He was wearing a heavily lapelled
light brown baggy suit. In front of his maroon shirt hung a
wide tie that swirled of white, brown and a shiny dark
green. All of which came Off The Rack of his own
dry-goods store.
     Cecil turned to the coat tree that stood by the door and
slapped his large brown fedora down over the top. He
backed over to the chair with the magazine holder
attached and lowered his himself into the seat.
Cecil said what his Daddy always said, "Howdy
howdy fellas, what's up?" He took a magazine and began
to thumb through the pages.
Without looking up, he turned his head and spoke in
the direction of Daniel and Harry, "Daniel you need
some new overhauls. I can't remember last time you
were in the store. You got patches over patches. Lordy!
What if you died in them things? We'd have to haul you
straight through town to get you over to Christie's.
Lordy!"
     Harry was never uncomfortable with Cecil in the
room. He was always annoyed. "Cecil, didn't I see that
Fashion Crest Ensemble your wearing in your store winder
for a whole year or more?"
     "And you, Harrison, Everett, Cume! I seem to remember you wearing those gabardine's when you graduated from
High School. There so shiny I could shave my face in'em."
     "Cecil, I always knew you'ez looking for an excuse to
stick your face in my ass. Now you got one." Harry
sneered.
     Cecil continued to thumb through the magazines
without paying attention. Harry finished the haircut and had the chair back in the shaving position. For the longest time, Harry seemed to be in some boring daydream as he applied after-shave to Daniel's face. Cecil, now restless, had gotten up and walked over to the side of the barber-chair.
      "Wake up, you two!", Cecil boomed. "I got work to do"
      Harry, snapped back into his wits and said, "Work!
Hell Cecil, you think work is going to work. The man in
this chair has done work enough for all'us, for the next
fifty years." Harry's eyes were now wet with proud angry
tears as he untied the aprons. "Now grab hold his legs and
help me carry him over to Christie's. You and me is
gonna do some WORK for a change!"