Jenny and Barnum (15 page)

“It was clear to me that I could, if I had the mettle to throw myself before you. Let me outline my plan for this saintly nobleman's wonderful gift for mankind, should you determine to come to my aid.

“We would begin by distributing his razors among the men of importance in the community, those leaders who command large, respectful audiences. All that will be required of these gentlemen is a sincere commitment to use the razor and enjoy the healthful benefits to be derived therefrom. You will notice that I am clean-shaven. I use the razor myself. I can tell you, sirs, this is a fabulous invention.” He paused. “Why?
Because
—except for a swipe or two on a leather strop, this razor
never needs sharpening!
”

Almost as one, they blinked. The youngish one who had looked pained waggled his finger peremptorily. “Where is this device, Barnum? Produce it now.”

Barnum opened his hand. “As you see, nothing extraordinary.” It was, in fact, a simple straight razor that folded into an ebony handle. “What you can't see, because it cannot be detected with the naked eye, is that the steel is perfect. It never needs sharpening. The Polish count discovered that the use of a leather strop removes invisible particles from the cutting edge, no more.”

“What do you propose, Barnum?” one of the older men asked.

“The largest part of my problem in bringing this device to the public is in convincing men that this is really perfect steel. Let's be candid: most men have resisted shaving and allowed their beards to grow because of the discomfort and expense, the two factors together. What has to be demonstrated is that this new razor solves both problems. Because it is perfect it not only doesn't need sharpening between shaves, it doesn't need soap or other lubricants during the shaving process itself. Carefree, cost-free, healthful shaving! Not for a year, or ten years, or even a whole lifetime! Forever!

“This is my mission,” he whispered. “To bring to the world now and forever the benefits of carefree, cost-free, healthful shaving. I believe we were brought together for a unique opportunity. A crowd will be at the South Street docks—there always is. With your permission, I have arranged a demonstration—
your
demonstration, if you will, of the efficacy of this perfect steel razor.”

The rest of the herd, the ministers at the other tables in the dining room, had begun to listen some minutes ago. Their numbers had increased quickly, and now all twenty of them were gathered around Barnum's table. He leaned back to address everyone, thereby accepting and commanding their attention. Traveling from town to town with the drooling, helpless Joice Heth had taught Barnum how to seize crowds of all sizes and definitions. The ministers' eyes were as big as doorknobs as the razor was passed from hand to hand. No one was willing to test the edge of the blade, lest the others laugh at him for being stupid enough to cut himself. It was this innate cruelty that Barnum hoped to thrash into writhing torment. He had come to his understanding of men like these in his childhood, and he believed that what was learned in childhood was learned best. What he was drawing them into, what he was doing to them, he had learned in his childhood, too—how else had he learned it so well? And it was going perfectly, beautifully: he could taste his triumph, as cold and brilliant as the steel in the razor.

“I have already arranged with the ship's personnel to convert the dining room into a shaving clinic, during which you distinguished gentlemen, who have not shaved in years, will have the opportunity to compare the results of conventional razors—all I could find aboard, by the way—with that of the new perfect steel razor.

“What I propose doing, sirs, is distributing among you these collected conventional razors, with which, and to the best of your ability, you will shave only and exactly the
left
sides of your faces. Use soap, water, emollients, balms, or what-have-you, and make careful note of your reaction to all your various ministrations. When you have completed that first step, I will pass among you the new perfect steel razor, with which you will shave the
right
sides of your faces. I am completely without fear of your responses, which you can report directly to the crowd on the docks at South Street.”

He slammed his hand down on the table again, this time so smartly that his audience jumped. “Gentlemen, I sincerely believe that the opportunity presented to us here today is no accident! You have it in your power
at this very moment
to stun the nation with the news of this wonderful new benefit to health. The world will long remember its debt to you fine men for your contribution to its eternal betterment—”

“Are you sure about the health benefits of shaving, Barnum?” the young one asked.

“I have all the papers in my offices in New York. It was my original plan to call together a group of all the city's clergymen, but with the difficulty and hullaballoo of getting together such an assemblage, I thought—well!” He grinned. “But here you are! Providence has brought you to me! We can have these razors on boats bound for Philadelphia, Washington, and Savannah within a month, up the Hudson and across the Erie Canal to Buffalo and Cleveland—think of it!”

The young minister leaned in, his dark brow furrowed. “Do you swear before
God
to deliver these razors to the men of this republic at their cost to you?”

It took the young Turk to throw down the ultimate challenge. In their shock his older colleagues turned their attention to Barnum. The situation was all but blasphemous, and if Barnum now misstated himself, the entire scheme could crash in ruins—or blow up in his face later. Barnum looked through the crowd again, giving every man the opportunity to see his eyes. Now he raised his right hand and, looking at them all, said, “I swear before God Almighty to provide a copy of this razor before you to any man who desires one, for not one penny more than its cost to me. I will make no money on this venture, and I trust you men to be my witnesses to that statement.”

“Sounds fair enough to me,” the young one said. “We'll shave the left sides of our faces with conventional razors, and then we'll take turns using your new, so-called perfect steel razor.”

“So there'll be no chance of fraud,” Barnum said, “we'll have the old razors collected and secured during the second half of the demonstration. There'll be no possibility of criticism.” He stood up. “There's no reason for further delay. Let's begin.”

The crew was ready. While the women and children passengers watched from the sides of the dining room, stewards covered four tables with fresh linen, and brought out bowls for hot water, and mirrors on stands.

“Are these all the razors aboard?” Barnum asked loudly, over the pile of instruments brought before him. “There can be no possibility that another razor can slip in when we get to the second half of the test.”

“That's it, Mr. Barnum, sir,” the second mate said.

If any of the crew was suspicious, Barnum did not see him—not that he wanted to: he was so close to achieving the effect he wanted that it was everything he could do to keep from laughing out loud.

Barnum marveled at his timing. The shaving tables were ready just as the boat slid through the babbling whirlpools of Hell Gate. He set the stewards to getting the women and children out of the dining room and up on deck while the ministers removed their jackets and began lathering up.

It was May, the morning crisp. Weatherbeaten squatters' shacks encrusting Manhattan's distant shore line glided in and out of the Paquet boat's polished brass ports. Here and there a rude fire burned, translucent blue wood smoke rushing upward. The dining room was forward of the boat's paddles, and the water was smooth as it rushed past, wheeling on the axis of the shore line.

Smooth—but, happily, not smooth enough. With each slapping wave one or another of the ministers would cut himself, three or four of them quite badly; only the holiness of their calling kept the air from being turned as blue as the shore line smoke with their curses. Because of their silence, they did not know how much the whole group was suffering—a good thing, too, because, by odd coincidence, all the razors were in poor condition, prone to nick and cut. Except for an occasional encouraging comment, Barnum kept out of it. One fool was shaving the right side of his face. Barnum wanted them to consume all the time they could. Through the ports on the other side of the boat he could see Blackwells Island sliding into view.

“Let's wait until everybody's done, gentlemen,” he announced when most, in fact, had finished. They looked at each other, full-bearded on one side, nicked, cut, and raw on the other, and started to point fingers and laugh aloud. Barnum hadn't thought of this: if anything, their reactions to each other would get them thinking much too soon. He grabbed one of the tablecloths.

“Pass the razors here,” he trumpeted. “Come on, let's hurry. Let's have every one.” The razors clinked in the improvised sack. Barnum turned to the young minister, who was bleeding liberally from the chin. “Take a good look, my good man. Do I have
all
the razors?”

He scouted every table. “All!”

“Then let me get these out of here so there can be no question about the second part of this demonstration!” He rushed up the companionway to the bright daylight on deck, where at last his triumph broke through on his face. He shook the bundle of razors and let out a whoop.

“What's in the sack, Barnum?” a youth asked.

“The pomposity of the self-anointed, my boy!” Barnum shouted, and swung the tablecloth out over the railing, where all the razors on the boat flew out like so many glittering fish returning to the river. The tablecloth lay on the surface of the water, twisted like a banner of defeat. Barnum turned to the crowd on deck and flung out his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! I'm P. T. Barnum, if you don't know me, professional humbug and hoodwink, exhibitor of Joice Heth, bogus mammy of George Washington, exploiter of vulnerable General Tom Thumb, a mere child, smallest human being ever to draw a breath. People will tell you, if they haven't already, that I'm villain and charlatan, a buccaneer and freebooter, with nothing to contribute to the welfare or culture of mankind. Why, as recently as last night, I stood in the docks, as it were, while my accusers tried and convicted me for low motives and lower morals. I was accused of doing the work of—
the Devil!
”

He was striding about the deck, his hands clasped behind him. “The truth of the matter is that my motives are the shallowest ever devised and morals absolutely non-existent. Some of you are smiling—that's all I'm after! I
am
a humbug! I freely proclaim it. Amusing you gives me pleasure—and, to that end, as a demonstration of my sincerity—but not any seriousness, I promise you that—I offer for your delectation today a twenty-fold demonstration of the vast stupidity of our gibbering species. Down in the salon, from which they will have to emerge eventually, are twenty baboons and chimpanzees who have allowed themselves to be tricked into showing their true countenances to those whose lives they have brought low all these many years, all in the name of the perfect love they understand no better than common sense, as you shall see.”

They were south of Blackwells Island now, and around the bend Corlear's Hook was coming into view through the forest of masts rising from the gleaming river. To the south and west, the city dominated the view, church spires by the hundreds rising above the rooftops. On the other side of the water lay the mostly wooden towns of Long Island and Greenpoint, the latter part of, but not connected to, the city of Brooklyn. The Paquet boat, paddles chuffing, borne by the current, was making wonderful time. It would be tying up at South Street in less than an hour, too little time for the vulnerable to succumb to attacks of conscience.

“Barnum!” called a voice at the bottom of the companionway.

Barnum put his finger to his lips to hush the crowd, now rambunctious and gathering around closely. He leaned into the companionway. “Yes?”

“Where are you?”

“I'm on deck.”

“Where's the razor?”

“You'd better come above. We have a problem.”

The half-shaven young minister poked his head into view—and the crowd
screamed!
He gaped back at them a moment, not realizing why they were laughing, and then suddenly he touched his chin with both hands, lost his balance, and fell back into the darkness. The crowd screamed louder and rushed forward for a better look.

“Get back! They have to come up sooner or later!”

“Are they all like that?”

“All! Now you see them for what they are!”

“Two-faced!” came a shout.

Barnum pointed. “There's a bright lad!”

“Let's get them up here before they get shaved!” the same kid said.

“I just threw all the razors overboard!” Barnum yelled.

“One was mine!” a man shouted, and was drowned out by laughter.

“You'll get five dollars!” Barnum cried. “So will every other man on the stewards' list!”

People cheered.

“Anybody who comes to their aid will have to swim to shore,” Barnum warned mock-seriously.

Boys and men cheered, whistled, and hooted.

“Barnum!” the young minister shouted from the salon, and now the noise of the crowd was louder than ever. Men working on passing boats looked to see what was happening.

“Kid,” Barnum called to the boy, “let them know what's going on.” With a glance, Barnum told the boy he was going to get paid.

“
Barnum!
” came the voice from below, now a bellow.

The crowd cheered again.

“Should I go below?” Barnum asked them. “Daniel descended into the lion's den, didn't he? I will descend,” he announced portentously. “I will risk martyrdom.”

More hoots and jeers.