So it has come to this.
Looking into the bathroom mirror, I studied my face. I had always thought it was a good face, a friendly one; brown eyes, aquiline nose, freshly shaven chin and cheek…
And a receding hairline.
There, I said it. It feels good to admit it after all this time. At first, I wondered at the hair left over in the shower. A little more than usual, but I had always had thick hair. Then, I started seeing the lighter patches in photos. ‘Must be stress,’ I had thought to myself. A tough couple of months at the refinery combined with night classes had left me precious little time to wander the corridors of sleep.
So, I cut my hair shorter than usual before leaving on my 3 week vacation, secure in the knowledge that my hair would now be able to grow back evenly.
It didn’t.
‘This is ridiculous!’ I thought to myself. ‘What man loses his hair at 26?’ 40, 45 maybe- that I could understand. It would even line up nicely with the planned mid-life crisis. The human soul knows few ailments that can’t be soothed with fast sport cars and faster women. Yes, that was the natural order of things: the bold and the wary becomes the bald and the weary.
Yet here I am, standing in front of the mirror, staring at my glistening forehead 20 years early. I threw a glance to my wallet; the mid-life crisis would have to wait.
They always say that the first step of the solution is realizing that you have a problem. So I went to work. I read that daily head massages stimulated the follicles. Well, clearly my follicles had grown more apathetic than most. I tried caffeine shampoo, which did nothing except leave me blind for an hour after I got it in my eyes. I even tried some hair growth pills. They worked, quite well, I must admit. Unfortunately, they did nothing for the hair on my head.
Moving on.
There are, of course, other options. A toupee? Out of the question. I had seen far too many videos of toupees picking entirely the wrong moment to seize their chance at freedom. Besides, the idea of a toupee or hair-replacement surgery both left an uncomfortable taste in my mouth. The feeling of a tiny man trying embarrassingly to halt the inexorable march of nature. No, that is the path to madness.
The only option, my only chance, was to embrace it. To make the leap from Walter White to Heisenberg. I reached for my electric trimmer, switched on the those decisive blades, when suddenly I heard a knock on the front door.
Tap-tap-tap.
Bewildered, I snatched up a shirt and hoped that my courage would last until my unexpected guest had left.
‘Hello?’ I asked rather timidly.
‘Greetings,’ boomed a voice back. Opening the door fully, I beheld the man standing before me. A crisp, navy blue suit stretched from a pair of expensive Italian leather shoes up to a dignified beard. Intelligent blue eyes gazed back at me searchingly, while his bare forehead wrinkled slightly. His hairline had not only receded but had simply ceased to exist.
His head shone with the light of a thousand reflected suns.
‘Can I help you?’ I asked, noticing his driver for the first time.
‘My name isss Philippe Dufour, am I correct in assuming that I am speaking to Missster Benedict Stevensss?’ he asked slowly in a melodious voice, his accent somehow drawing out all the s’es.
‘Yes? Normally it’s just Ben.’
‘I represent a certain… organization, focusing on the betterment of man. May I come in?’
Well this is the strangest Jehovah’s Witness I have ever seen.
‘What organization exactly?’ I asked skeptically.
‘It would be much easier to show you than to explain, but if I must explain, let us rather sit down. Ideally with tea. May I come in?’
Suspicious of his cryptic answers, I nevertheless beckoned him in. He signaled to his driver to remain at the car, and followed me inside.
‘Please, take a seat. Can I offer you some… tea was it?’
He paused briefly from his first impression of my (thankfully) relatively clean apartment to seat himself languorously on my couch. ‘Yesss, milk and two sugars please.’
After making his tea, I poured myself a glass of water and joined him in the living room. Even though my experience was telling me to remain wary, I admit that I was fascinated by this Frenchman sitting in my apartment. What’s more, I couldn’t help but feel somehow… connected to this stranger.
Mr. Dufour sipped at his tea appreciatively before fixing his bright eyes on me.
‘Missster Stevens, this world is broken. The rich grow richer and the poor lose what little they have. Wars and debt threaten international relationsss. It is rare to find a man of principle and integrity. Instead of rising to the challenge and opportunity to redefine itself following the emancipation of women, manhood has instead become lethargic, content to wallow in either militant sexism or draining apathy. My…organization, is trying to change this.’
His words rang inside me, but even more so that feeling of connection grew ever stronger.
‘I agree with you, at least nominally, but what do you want from me? I am afraid that I am quite stingy when it comes to donations.’
Mr. Dufour laughed mellifluously. ‘No no no, Misssster Stevensss, I am not here for your money! I am here for you!’ he said pointing at me. ‘I am here to offer you a… job, actually more of a position. Time and resources to actually make a difference. I am merely a recruiter.’
This conversation was suddenly developing surprisingly indeed, yet I found myself curious instead of skeptical. ‘Me? Are you just going door to door, inviting people to join your shadowy organization? At least tell me what it’s called…’
‘I am afraid you have to sssee it,’ he said cutting me off jovially. ‘It simply will not do for me to explain. And in answer to your question: no, we do not just accept anyone off the sssstreets! Rather, we have very specific criteria, qualities of both mind and character that we seek in our…organization. Allow me also to congratulate you on your important decision.’
‘What decision?’
‘Why, your hair of course!’ he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
‘What? To shave it? How could you possibly have known that?’
‘Let’ssss just say, that that sort of decisiveness is highly valued in our…organization, and that everyone working there has made a similar decision. Time is of the essence Misssster Stevensss, I sense that I have whetted your curiosity. I give you now the opportunity to satisfy that desire. My aide is waiting outside with the car, within 30 minutes we can be in our headquartersss. You are now looking through the gap in the fence; I am offering to lead you to the gate. Will you join me?’
Indecision overwhelmed me. On paper, this was a recipe for disaster, or at least some sort of mass-suicide cult. Why couldn’t he at least give me a name? And why did he always pause before saying…the organization? And yet, I had that strange feeling of utter confidence; that this man was completely trustworthy.
‘I suppose a short drive can’t hurt.’
We joined his (equally bald) assistant in the car outside. The silver Mercedes had comfy black leather seats, fine but not ostentatious. Although Philippe joined me in the back, he remained silent during the drive. I, quite sunk in my thoughts, didn’t break the silence. We left the city and stopped in front of a gray block of office space about 3 stories high.
We left the driver to park the car and began walking to the utterly nondescript building. No logo, slogan, or name was to be seen anywhere. As he held the door open for me, Philippe was grinning from ear to ear.
‘Welcome, Missster Stevensss, to the Brotherhood.’
The door opened not to the ground floor but to a metal walkway suspended above a bustling labyrinth of office cubicles. Seemingly normal, it took me a moment to grasp what set this workers apart- there was not a single hair to be seen. The fluorescent reflections from above gleamed like a sea of stars. Deeply confused, I asked Philippe, ‘The Brotherhood of what exactly?’
Philippe chuckled inwardly before replying, ‘Why, the Brotherhood of the Uncovered! The greatest and most secret organization dedicated to helping those born with the gift.’
‘The gift?’
‘Yes, the gift. You have it too! When a man possessing the gift comes of age, he sheds his hair, and with it, his last vestige of vanity and selfishness. It represents the physical release of the mental maturity necessary in our organization. We have offices all over the world, but this is our central location. It has no official name, but the men like to call it the Bureau of the Bald sometimes hahaha. But come! There is someone you need to meet.’
Bewildered, I followed Philippe along the walkway and down the stairs. Friendly faces turned to smile at me, and once or twice one of the men came to quietly ask Philippe something before going back to work. On the far side, Philippe once again opened the door for me and beckoned me into the next room. A deep vermillion carpet lined the floor, and every wall was hidden behind tower bookshelves. At first I thought this was a library, but seeing the hickory desk laid imposingly near the far wall, I realized that it was an office. There was a man sitting behind it. His glorious white moustache and wrinkles belied his age, but his eyes gleamed with a palpable intensity from across the room. In his left hand he puffed a cigar, while his right was pouring tea from a pot into 3 porcelain cups. Altogether he gave the strongest impression of a cordial British colonel.
Without any introduction, his baritone voice boomed out, ‘Mister Stevens, what a pleasure to finally meet you! I take it that Philippe has taken good care of you?’
Deciding to match his courteous behaviour, I replied, ‘Yes very much so, thank you. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister…?’
‘Cummins. Alane Cummins at your disposal. You probably have a host of questions, so please, take a seat.’
As I took my seat and the proffered cup of tea, Philippe excused himself with another huge grin in my direction before leaving.
Mr. Cummins cleared his throat and leaned back thoughtfully in his chair, ‘Hmmmm, where to start? I suppose Philippe explained the gift to you? Yes? Well, legend says that in the old times, a man was given the opportunity to decide his future. He was allowed to choose between two of the following: dashing looks, piercing intelligence, and perfect hair. If you believe such stories, you see how our forefather chose,’ he said with a wink in my direction. ‘But skipping forward to our own Brotherhood: we have been operating in the shadows for almost 1,000 years. Keeping absolute secrecy, conjuring up legends, myths, and conspiracy theories to keep our existence hidden, we work in the shadows.’
Reading my dubious expression, he interjected, ‘Nothing gruesome, I can assure you! No, we work to help and protect our own, providing jobs, lodging, and support for all who need it. But we also help all in need, from the homeless and the sick, to the falsely accused and those seeking repentance.’
‘Why have I never heard of you?’
He shot me a slightly withering look, ‘We wouldn’t be a very good secret organization if everyone knew about us.’
My mind was still stuck on his previous statement. ‘You mentioned myths and conspiracy theories?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure that you have begun to feel the sun’s increased power on your head, correct? Those without hair tend to avoid direct sunlight, and as the organization first formed, we were known as children of the night. Vampires, werewolves, and so on.’ He paused to draw deeply on his cigar. ‘Utter nonsense of course, but the fear helped keep the general populace away from our headquarters. Today we have more modern monikers.’
‘The Thule Society?’
‘Haha, yes, very popular during the war.’
‘Illuminati?’
‘One of my favourites.’
‘Freemasons?’
‘No, the Freemasons are quite real, I play tennis with the Grand Master on Saturdays. Brilliant backhand.’
I paused to take this all in. Even though this was all preposterous, I felt the same inclination to trust this man as I had with Philippe. I still had one more question though.
‘How were you able to find me? Am I under surveillance?’
‘Oh no my dear boy, something else entirely. You see, the Greeks believed that the head and not the heart was the seat of feeling. True or not, the fact remains that we Uncovered are able to, hmmm, sense one another to a certain degree. Nothing like telepathy or such hogwash, but more that we can immediately feel whether another bald man is trustworthy or not. If we’re on the same wavelength, if you will.’ He paused to look me in the eyes and said, ‘And we want you to join us.’
My eyes were almost bulging, ‘Me? But you hardly know me!’
‘Yes, we do. As you feel trust towards us, so we feel trust towards you. You are Uncovered, not merely bald. Not all born with the gift accept it. They rant and rage, try hormone therapies and operations, all because they cannot embrace who they are. These men are our lost brothers, and even our best recruiters are seldom able to save one. The Uncovered are those like you, who, when faced with reality, choose to adapt and change. Who are brave enough to see the world and themselves as they are, and willing to sacrifice what is necessary. To join the Brotherhood means dedicating your life to helping others, but also to helping yourself. We provide all necessities for our members, and there is always an overflow because our members are using all their means to help others. What do you say, Mister Stevens?’
‘This is so much information at once, I know nothing about you, I don’t know if I can trust you…’ But looking at him I realized that I could. All my life I had wanted to be part of something greater, to take pride in doing right. I drew a deep breath, stood up, and took the enigmatic Alane’s hand.
His smiled reached almost to his ears, ‘Mister Stevens, welcome to the Brotherhood.’
END
