By: André Teixeira

“So I had a dream the other day.”

“I see. What about?”

“I was a street barber. In India.”

“That is very specific. Sounds like you carefully constructed this dream. Why a barber?”

“Well, I guess it’s because barbering is something one could do without much practice and it is still something very important for society in general. I mean, who doesn’t need a barber? Not to shame the profession, of course, one cannot master the art of barbering in a year or even a decade, but it sounds so simple that even I could do it. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Who knows, it might actually be easy. Or not. It might even be interesting to shave another man’s beard. Who knows? You’d have to try.”

“Exactly my point.”

“What about India?”

“Well, it is remote and exotic enough to be interesting, as well as poor enough to justify the existence of remunerated street barbers, but it still has the necessary achievements of modern civilization for me to feel comfortable, like toilets and freedom.”

“Both of questionable quality.”

“But still existent, something that cannot be said of way too much of today’s world.”

“True. Well, and what was the point of your street barbering in India?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, the locals all knew me and loved me. They recognized the greatness of my craft.”

“Naturally. Still, isn’t craft only applicable when you actually create something?”

“Creating a space devoid of male hair can be designated as a craft, I believe. There’s people buying white canvasses and calling it art, so I guess the definition is quite liberal these days.”

“I guess.”

“So as I was saying, I was loved by the locals, and I had regular customers and all. They all stopped under the tree where I set up shop, in the corner of one of India’s most crowded streets.”

“You’re not going to specify the city?”

“No, I just know it’s in India. Well, there were cars driving up and down the street, vans beeping, motorcycles buzzing. You’ve seen some Indian videos on the net, you know what I’m talking about.”

“I do.”

“So there was that, and under my tree I had a small chair, probably robbed from a scrapyard or just thrown away by an old lady. This chair was very comfortable, you see, my clients all loved it. I shaved them under the tree, using a razor I inherited from my teacher, while looking at the street and its display of busy and dirty human life. You are most certainly wondering what I was thinking about.”

“I am still wondering about why did that unnamed old lady throw out such a comfortable chair and why did you have returning customers if you shaved them while looking away. You could have cut their throats, you know.”

“I was skilled, remember. Well, while shaving I was always thinking about deep things, like the future of our race, the essence of the human being, the question of the existence of the divine.”

“All things you don’t seem to lose one second with while not shaving strangers.”

“True. That’s why it was so puzzling that I was thinking those thoughts. And such great thoughts, too! I can’t remember what they were exactly, but I can remember that I reached some very important conclusions about some very important topics.”

“Too bad for mankind you can’t remember, then.”

“Indeed. But the strangest thing is how the dream ended.”

“So it had an end? For a second I feared you had become a barber for all eternity. All the dreamt eternity, but still.”

“Fear not, for such did not happen. One particular day, when I was shaving an old gentleman that had a tea shop, one van lost control and run both of us over.”

“That was strangely anticlimactic.”

“I know, right. Even more so after all those important thoughts I managed to have. What was the point of all this? Do you think it is a sign? A foreboding, a prophecy, a warning from the cosmos? Is the Universe saying there is no point in anything, and that I may as well enjoy the small moments of my ephemeral life?”

“I think you’ve been working too much lately. But if you are still afraid, just avoid vans for a while.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was just a stupid, random dream.”

“Maybe I am. Or maybe it was something more. We won’t find out no matter how much we think about it now. No use losing sleep over it. Even though it’s a dream. Let’s just finish our drinks and go on our way. I’m tired as hell.”

“All right. But while we go, do you want to hear about this meeting I had with a very interesting person? It shall certainly entertain you.”

“Please, do tell. Just let me take one last sip.”