Free The Burial by Courtney Collins

Jack Brown had never been upstairs but he guessed that somewhere along the hall the strings split off into the rooms where they were each connected to a bell. The girl pulled on one of the strings and soon Lay Ping appeared at the top of the stairs. Jack Brown could feel heat radiating from his face at the sight of her. She was holding the balustrade as she walked and her dress was so tight, all the way to her ankles, she could only walk down the steps by twisting her hips from side to side.
    This man says he’s your regular , said the girl to Lay Ping.
    Lay Ping put out her hand and said, Jack Brown. So dusty!
    Jack Brown took her hand . I’m hoping you can clean me up, make me respectable.
    I tried that before but it did not work!
    They both laughed.
    Can we try again? said Jack Brown.
    No time , said Lay Ping. I am star of the show. But you wouldn’t know because you’ve never seen it. She punched Jack Brown on his shoulder. I can give you a shave , she said . And maybe if you stay after the show, I can make you respectable.
    Lay Ping led Jack Brown through two swinging doors into a room signposted the wet room . The room was steamy and thick with the smell of tobacco and menthol shaving cream. Lay Ping sat Jack Brown in a reclining leather chair. Standing behind him she tipped him and cupped his chin with her hands and scraped her fingers through the thickness of his beard.
    You want it all off? she said. Or you want those lamb chops? She traced a line beneath his cheekbone with her finger.
    What do you think?
    I don’t like them.
    Whatever you think is best, Lay Ping.
    Lay Ping covered Jack Brown’s face with a hot towel and pressed her fingertips into his temples. She wrapped her hands around his head and massaged the place where his jaw met his jaw. Soon he was aware only of his skull on his neck and his mouth gaping open.
    She ran her hands through the hair on his head and pulled at the roots, which sent a tingling from his scalp to the soles of his feet. He felt a suction on his forehead as she drew breath through the towel and then she thwacked him on the head and it sounded like a hammer, though it did not hurt at all. She unwrapped the towel and replaced it with another that was hotter and smelt of eucalyptus and made his eyes water.
    She removed the towel and worked up a lather against his jaw, moving the brush in small circles into his beard, and then she began to shave him, flat blade from the neck. She scraped the blade up and over his chin, his cheeks and the curve between his nose and his lips.
    And then she did it all again.
    His skin felt like it was finally breathing air, not dust.
    She patted him with a warm, soft towel and then she whispered into his ear, Jack Brown, time for show. Will you watch me?
    Jack Brown had not planned it; beyond cleaning himself up, his sole purpose for the day was to visit the police sergeant. But now he was in no mood to ride off suddenly.
    Let me make your mind up for you , said Lay Ping. You will stay.
    Whatever you think is best, Lay Ping , said Jack Brown.
    Lay Ping led him out of the wet room and through the entrance hall and down a corridor to a single door.
    Go through , she said. Maybe I see you later.
    He opened the door. It was a side entrance to a large hall. Within the hall were the owners of the horses, twenty men or more, and Jack Brown could smell them better than he could see them. The lights were dimmed right down and as he walked along an aisle to find a seat he could smell the stench rising up from their torpid bodies. He wondered if, below the neck, he smelt the same. No man acknowledged him. Their eyes were fixed ahead on the red curtains which rippled with the promise of women behind them.
    Jack Brown sat down in a seat three from the front and cast his eyes along the row of men. He thought it curious how none of them were speaking to each other, how they were all looking ahead, only the jangling sounds of a piano saving them from