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No, I don’t shave with a straight razor anymore. I couldn’t do it, not with these hands. But I did for many years, before I got the rheumatism. It’s really not that hard. I taught myself. When I was little I always used to watch my father shaving, and my grandfather, and Uncle Jan. Uncle Jan was always the most careful. He’d always shave twice. He’d shave, then soap up again and shave a second time. He used to say he had an angular face, and so to make sure he got all the hollows and bumps properly, he’d shave two times. His hands shook by that time, but he always used a straight razor. He’d sometimes cut himself, the blood would run down his face, especially under his Adam’s apple, but he’d always do it twice. And he shaved every morning. But when he decided to hang himself the next day, he shaved the previous evening. I remember like it was yesterday. No one thought twice about it, though he never shaved in the evening. That time too he cut himself and he had to stop the blood with alum.

It wasn’t because the razor was blunt, he sharpened it before every shave. First on a whetstone, then on a strop. After he sharpened it he’d check the blade. If it wasn’t good enough, he’d sharpen it some more. Do you know the best way to check if a razor’s sharp enough? You pull a hair out of your head, hold it between two fingers like this, and split it with the razor blade.

Hang on, I’ll get the razor and show you. It’s a good one, Swedish steel. The best ones were always Swedish. I brought it back from abroad. I keep it as a reminder that I used to shave with a straight razor, that my hands were that good. From time to time I take it out and run it over the strop, so it’s sharp. You need to choose the right razor for your face, that way you get the best shave. A hard beard likes soft steel, and vice versa. Plus, you need to know your own face. That way you don’t cut yourself. And the best way to get to know your face is by shaving with a straight razor. You’re never closer to your own face than when you shave that way. Believe me. With an electric razor you’re shaving, but you’re thinking about something else. You can’t do that with a straight razor. Even if you cut yourself and bleed, you know it’s your own face. You feel it more than when you just see it in the mirror.

Look here. I pull a hair from my head. Then I hold it up in the air, best of all against the light, and I draw the razor across it. Not quickly. Gently. If it’s too quick even a blunt razor will tug the hair away. But it won’t cut it. That was always how people checked. Now pull a hair out of your own head. We’ll try it with one of yours, you’ll see. What, you don’t want to give up a hair? It’s just one hair. Think how many come out when you brush your hair in the morning. How many fall out when you wash it. One hair won’t even hurt. If you’ll let me, I’ll pull one out. You’re even afraid of me pulling a single hair from your head? I don’t get it at all. You don’t trust me? Yet you came to get beans from me!

Me, I started shaving when I was still at school. Once in a while. My chin was only just starting to get covered with fluff. But since the older boys were already shaving, us younger kids wanted to be the same as them. We shaved each other with a razor we borrowed from the custodian. At a price, you understand. Every Saturday we had to sweep out his yard and the sidewalk in front of his house, and clear the snow in winter. I only bought my own razor when I went to work on a building site. When I was working on the electrification of the villages I still used to borrow one from the guys I roomed with. I was saving up for a saxophone, I didn’t want to spend money on a razor.

As it happened, there was this blacksmith in the next village that made razors out of tank bearings. You can’t imagine what those razors were like. The only thing that might have come close were the Swedish steel ones, and even that I’m not so sure of. In the fields there were still all these smashed-up tanks from the war, he’d remove the bearings and make razors out of them. They were a bit unwieldy, true, the handles were awkward to hold, they were thick, made of elm wood or acacia, but the blade took your beard off all by itself. I bought two, I used one of them and kept the other in reserve, then later I gave it as a gift to the warehouse keeper who taught me the saxophone. He wouldn’t take any money for the lessons, like I said, so I thought I’d at least give him a razor. He tried to give it back when I stopped going to him.

No, from that time on, even when I needed some item from the warehouse I’d ask one of the other electricians to go get it for me. I don’t remember how long that went on. Then one day I was passing the warehouse, he must have seen me through the window and he started knocking on the pane, but I pretended not to hear. I thought to myself, he probably wants to tell me again how bad the band is. A week before it had been Women’s Day. There was a celebration, and we performed in the musical part of the evening. He came, I saw him there, he sat right in the back. There were speeches, flowers and chocolates and stockings for the women. Construction was still going on, the plans were way behind, but they always had various celebrations in the course of the year. Though Women’s Day was the most enjoyable.

I’d already passed the warehouse, but he called after me. He was standing in the doorway shouting:

“Are you pretending not to hear? And you say you want to be a saxophone player! Come back here!”

I turned around and went up to him.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll buy that saxophone back from you.”

“What saxophone?” I didn’t follow, I didn’t have any saxophone. He hadn’t told me to save up, so I didn’t. The one I played on in the band belonged to the company. And his, the one he taught me on in the evenings, was with him.

“The one that used to be mine,” he says.

“It’s still yours,” I say. “And you still have it.”

“I have it, but it’s yours,” he says.

“What do you mean, mine?” I still didn’t know what he was talking about.

“It’s yours. I gave it to you. I meant to tell you a long time ago, but I never got around to it. Now I’d like to buy it back from you. Take this as a down payment.” He stuck a wad of banknotes in my palm. I pulled my hand away but he caught hold of it, pushed the money into it and closed my fingers over it. “Here.”

Let me tell you, it was like the will went out of my hand, the blood went out of it. I stood there not knowing what to do, what to say. One banknote fell out, he leaned down and picked it up.

“Don’t lose this. Count it, make sure it’s all there. There ought to be …”

I didn’t even hear how much. I could only feel my heart pounding. There was a tightness in my throat.

“I’ll pay the rest bit by bit. Every month on pay day. Don’t worry, you’ll get it all down to the last penny. The amount it’s worth. I don’t expect any concessions. I’m not trying to pull one over on you. I never cheated anyone in my life. The amount it’s worth. And it’s worth quite a bundle. Every month on pay day. If you don’t believe me, make sure you’re standing behind me every month in the line for the cashier. I’ll give it to you right away, the moment I get my wages. Every month. I can’t give a lot each time, I don’t earn that much, as you know, I need to be able to live. But each month. They won’t close the site down, a job like this’ll take a long while yet, I’ll have time to pay off the whole thing. Even if they finish earlier, the warehouse will still be here. They can’t get by without a warehouse. They promised they’d let me keep my job till I retire. But even if I don’t finish paying it by then, don’t worry about that either. I’ve thought it all through. You can write me to say where you are and I’ll send you the money, every month. I’ll even pay for a money transfer, so you’re not out. I thought about taking a loan from payroll, but I’d prefer monthly payments, if that’s OK with you. I don’t like paying off one debt by taking on another. Then you have two debts to fret about. And there’s nothing worse than getting tied up in debts. Life’s a debt as it is, even if you don’t owe anything to anyone and you haven’t borrowed anything from anybody.”