HOMEWARD BOUNDA few years ago I realized the reason for heaving the THE article in English when speaking about THE doctor(‘s), and THE dentist(‘s), and THE cleaner(‘s), and THE baker(‘s), and the other - fill in the blank- __‘s people. Once, after I’d chatted with a saleswoman in a greengrocer’s kiosk/stand, I felt my bags were a little heavier than usual. I mean, I paid same money as usual for the same kilos of same fruits and veggies, but my bags were definitely heavier than usual. They – my bags – felt equally heavy since then. It was as simple as that: the saleswoman stopped cheating me!
And then the grammatical truth, pure and simple, dawned on me: THE – it’s when you become a frequent customer, a local VIP. THE – it’s when you leave well enough alone, and stop looking for new places, and do your shopping/cleaning/ mending your teeth at one and the same place!
So, back in Yekat I had – and still have - THE barber. Unlike Europe, America, Africa, Asia, or Australia, in Russia a man cannot easily find a man barber. They are as rare as Siberian saber-toothed tigers, and don’t ask me why. Your guess is as good as mine.
True, once I visited a man barber. It was in Turkey. He smiled at me happily and chatted with me all the time. However, we soon established the fact that he didn’t speak any other language but his mother tongue. For the first time in my life, I was real sorry I didn’t speak any Turkish.
He would talk to me inTurkish, and he would sing now and then, and I half-expected him to start belly-dancing. When I thought it was finally all over, he gestured me not to budge in my seat but wait. I watched him apprehensively in the mirror, as he was manipulating behind me with a metallic stick and piece of cotton. Then he lit cotton and moved to me, his smile still on his face. While I was in the agony of indecision about which language I should choose to call for help, he abruptly thrust the ball of fire right into my right ear. Before I could scream and cry havoc, he thrust the ball of fire right into my left ear! I was quick enough to realize that if I didn’t stop him then and there, he might burn out hairs in my nose next, and then… And then I stopped him. I stopped him, and thanked him, and paid him 3 dollars for the treat, and told him I would tell all my male friends to visit him.
My barber in Yekat is different. She is a woman. She doesn’t attempt to burn out hairs from either my ears or from any other parts of my body. We don’t chat. We keep silence about something very important. Once, an older friend told me: “Come to me and let’s have a cup of tea. Let’s not talk. Let’s keep silence, and let our souls talk”. So, we keep silence, my barber and I. I don’t start cracking any silly jokes or tell her compliments, because, first, sometimes silence is louder than words, and second, she always has a pair of sharp scissors in her hand.
Every time we smile, and exchange a few polite remarks before and after the hair job, and we part to meet same time next month. Now she is pregnant, but I’m not the one to be blamed for that. She’s on her maternity leave now…I had my hair cut a few days ago. Gosh! Customs officers and border-guards will probably have questions to ask me if I dare to leave the country with such a haircut! My barber, give a birth to a nice child and be back to work! My barber… THE barber. Now I realize how I missed the THE article in the US. Wouldn’t you miss it in another country?
