Forever Young

Chapter Three. Legal Problems

Chapter Three 

Legal Problems 

With the passage of time, Walt's tonsorial skills sharpened, and his clientele increased. The income from his in-home business, combined with his disability pension, allowed him to convert his backroom into a recognisable barbershop. He acquired a proper adjustable chair, new tools, and even a sink. Hilda had volunteered to wash the hair of his customers, who were mainly Darsian miners. Unfortunately, most of them thought this pointless, so the sink went largely unused.

He also started to advertise. Hilda had objected to a red and white pole above the front door, but did agree to a small sign in the bay window that fronted on to the main street. 

Occasionally the sign and his low prices would attract a Myrian customer. He always dealt with such customers in his faltering, heavily accented Myrian, and they didn't seem to mind if he resorted to Darsian when stuck for words. Politics was taboo. 

One morning, Walt was comfortably ensconced in his fully reclined chair, digesting the latest news in the "Nugget." Sam, his only customer of the day, had just left, when he heard the murmur of voices in the adjoining kitchen. A worried looking Hilda, wringing her pastry-covered hands in her perpetual apron, led a neatly dressed, middle-aged man into what they now called the parlour. 

"Walt, this gentleman wants to speak with you urgently. He says he wants to keep us out of trouble with the government." 

What kind of trouble could that be? He had never cheated on his taxes; he had followed the rules about registering his company. What was the problem? 

"Mr. Born, are you aware of the sign laws?" 

The man spoke in Darsian, even though it was obvious from his physiognomy and small stature that he was Myrian.  

"Well yes I think so. Any sign must include information in Myrian." 

"The sign must be predominantly Myrian, Mr.Born. I'm afraid your sign in the front window is illegal. You have given more space to the Darsian." 

"But my customers are Darsian." 

"That doesn't matter. Make sure you correct it, or I will have to report you to the M.R.P." 

"Fuck the M.R.P." 

The news made headlines in the Nugget.

"Pascal the parrot to be retrained."

It was the paper's last headline. 

"I thought you once said, Walt, that they couldn't do anything to bother you," said Howie on a subsequent visit.

"Well they have, Howie. I'm bothered now, hot, and bothered. It's getting ridiculous. There's nothing we can do. They've closed down the only non-Myrian paper in town and the council has voted to change the town's name to Rachon. How on earth can you name a town after a petty thief for God's sake? And now they've taken my parrot."  

 "Walt, would you really like to do something about this?"  

"What? What can we possibly do? We're in the minority here and everywhere in Pergamon. They made sure of that. There's nothing we can legally do." 

"Who said anything about being legal?" 

"You don't mean ...I don't think I want to know anything more." 

"You don't have to know anything Walt. You can still help us. Are you willing?" 

"Depends" 

"Look it's quite simple. We are very suspicious of recent developments at the Hollinger." 

"Who are we, Howie?" 

"You said you didn't want to know... but about the Hollinger. They have completely stopped work on the gold deposits and all the miners have been set to work mining the new ore body. Security is incredible. It's even tighter than it used to be in the gold refining plants." 

"So?" 

"They're taking every precaution to make sure that none of this new ore leaves the site." 

"That's impossible. It's easy to smuggle out a sample of ore." 

"Could you get us a sample Walt?" 

"Obviously I can't, but I'm sure Sam will oblige. He has no love for the M.R.P. government." 

"Great. I'll be back in about a week to pick up a sample. Will that give you enough time?" 

"More than enough." 

"Remember. Keep this under your hat." 

"I'm not daft."