THE PORTRAIT

Robert and Julie walked into his house so he could gather some clothes and bathroom things to take over to Rose Cottage. As he stuffed his brush, toothpaste and so on into a small kit in his bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror over the sink, running a hand through his hair.

Coming back out into the living room where Julie was waiting he surprised her by asking, "Do you know how to cut hair?"

"Whose hair?"

His hand went to his head again. "This hair."

"You want to cut off your hair?"

"Most of it, yes."

"But...why? I love your hair! Er, I mean, I think it's quite...um...nice. Why would you want to cut it?"

"I could show you," he said softly and went to a large closet, fished behind a rack of coats, and brought out a painting, which he kept turned away from her.

"What's that?"

"A portrait."

"Of...?"

Silently, he turned the painting so she could see it, his eyes intent on her face. She stared at it, her eyes widening.

"It's...it's...."

"Me. Only a bit younger."

She took several steps closer to him. It certainly did look like him, or like he might have looked several years ago. "You...you're in costume?"

"It is not a costume."

"Um, Robert, how, um, old is this painting?"

"Quite old."

She came close enough to touch it with a fingertip. "Sir Robert Loxley?"

He nodded and she sat heavily on the arm of the nearest chair. "It's...real?"

"Entirely."

"You're real?"

"The last I checked."

"Are...are...you really Sir Robert Loxley then?"

"No."

"No? What do you mean 'no'? I thought...."

"Robin Hode."

She slid off the arm of the chair into its seat. "Hode?"

"Spellings change, given time."

"How much...time?"

"A lot of it."

"But...but...you said this was Sir Robert Loxley, didn't you?"

"I did and it is."

"I'm lost. Are you a 'sir' or not?"

"I was knighted, yes."

Something in her was oddly relieved at his answer. She sort of needed him to be a knight...her knight.

"Truly?"

"By Richard himself."

She smiled. That was good. She liked that. "But you're not Robert Loxley?"

"Only for a time. It suited my purposes."

"I've gotten used to thinking of you as Robert, Robert."

"So did a lot of people."

"Should I call you Robin?"

"If you choose. It is my name."

She stared at the portrait again. "Do you have any idea how much you look like General Meridius in this painting?"

He turned it so he could see it himself. "True, though there are differences I can see."

"Not much, Rob...Robin."

"But this is how I wore my hair. This...," he ran his hand through his locks, "...this is too much fluff for my taste. It makes me feel as though I've lost my real self."

"Has it been a, um, disguise, Rob...Robin?"

"After a fashion. But I am tired of it. So I ask you again, do you know how to cut hair? I do not wish to seek out a barber in the Glen, nor even in Coffs, for that matter."

"My grandfather was a barber."

His eyes brightened. "And does this mean...?"

"It means, yes, he showed me how to cut hair when I was still quite young."

Robin strode to the bathroom, coming back with a pair of barber scissors, handing them to her.

"Now?"

"If you would." He went to the kitchen, sitting in a smaller wooden chair, waiting.

She gulped. She actually did love his hair the way it was. That was how she dreamed of him, the only way she knew him, and he wanted to completely change it. Following him at last, she stood in front of him, studying his head. "Perhaps," she whispered, more to herself than to him, "it would help me begin to think of you as Robin."

He tipped his head in a slight nod. "Exactly as in the portrait, if you can."

Sighing, she went around him and lifted one of his waves. "Oh...my," she moaned, and lopped it off, holding it in her hand, not wanting to let it fall to the floor. As she was behind him and he couldn't see what she was doing, she quickly slipped it into a pocket.