The new face

The scarecrow brought its head to the mask-maker wrapped in a newspaper. It wanted a less welcoming face. The birds had become so familiar with the old one that they were using its mouth as a shortcut.

The mask-maker unwrapped it. Two painted eyes looked up from the sporting results. A little grass fell onto the counter.

“You could try closing your mouth,” she said.

“It was painted open.”

She turned the head over. The lining was torn, and a seed was lodged in the seam. She put the seed in a saucer. From somewhere beneath the scarecrow’s shirt came a single, disapproving click.

The mask-maker usually worked for the theatre. She took down a wolf with separate teeth, then an old king whose lips had been drawn back in rage. The scarecrow held each against its neck. The king was too heavy. The wolf would not fit beneath its hat.

“You could take the hat off.”

“It keeps the rain out.”

She fetched a plain face from the back of the shop. It had been made for a dead soldier in a play that closed before the battle. The eyes were shut, the mouth barely parted. One cheek had a pale square where a price label had been removed.

The scarecrow touched the eyelids.

“That one.”

“It won’t frighten anything.”

“I know.”

The mask-maker looked at the shirt. Something was moving from one sleeve to the other. She had been about to suggest a fresh stuffing, but she was no longer certain how much of the customer would have to be taken out.

“I thought you wanted them to leave.”

The scarecrow said that it had watched the same field for fifteen years. Every day there was a little more of it to watch. A gate had fallen down; the lane was wider; someone had cut the hedge. The birds came nearer. It could see the small things caught in their beaks.

“With that face,” she said, “you won’t see anything.”

“I did notice.”

She unpicked the painted cloth and fitted the sleeping face over the straw. The scarecrow put its head back on and held it steady while she tightened the last strap. When she reached for the old face, it caught her wrist.

“Wrap it up, please.”

She found another sheet of newspaper. The scarecrow put on its hat, tucked the parcel beneath its arm, paid with a coin taken from deep inside its chest, and asked her to open the door.

Outside, it took three steps into the road and stopped. A small voice under its collar said, “Left.” The scarecrow turned left. The field was in the other direction.