Dona Nicanora's Hat Shop (17 page)

Julio and Teofelo were in the middle of an argument when Don Bosco and Arturo reached the end of the street.

‘What are you two doing here?' Don Bosco asked without a hint of surprise in his voice.

‘We just happened to be passing a minute ago,' Julio said, ‘and we thought your lunch must be finishing soon, so we decided to wait here and walk back with you.'

‘Most thoughtful,' said Don Bosco.

‘Yes, most thoughtful,' Arturo repeated. ‘That's what I love about the people here, they're so thoughtful, and friendly. It's a beautiful town really, beautiful people, look how beautiful it is today.'

‘How much has he had to drink?' Teofelo asked.

‘Not much, but I don't think he's used to it,' Don Bosco said. ‘I didn't realise until it was too late. I should have kept an eye on him.'

‘So, it went well then?' Julio said.

‘You think so, do you?' Don Bosco replied.

‘I was asking,' said Don Julio. ‘How would I know?'

‘How indeed. Well, yes, it went very well as it happens,' said Don Bosco.

‘So,' Teofelo urged, ‘what happened? Why did she invite you?'

‘Does someone always need to have a reason to ask an old friend to lunch?'

‘Oh, come on, Bosco, what did she want?' Teofelo said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

‘I don't know.'

‘What do you mean, you don't know?'

‘I mean, I don't know why she invited me. We had lunch. We made conversation. The doctor got drunk. We met the Gringito. The usual things and that is that.'

‘You mean, you have spent three hours drinking beer and eating chicken while we have stood here sweltering in the sun waiting for you and you don't know why she invited you?' said Teofelo, irritated by his friend's enigmatic behaviour.

‘Yes. That's true,' said Don Bosco, ‘I have.' And he turned on his heel and walked back in the direction of Nicanora's house, offering no explanation to his friends, who were left to escort Arturo home.

‘What's got into him?' Julio said.

‘He obviously doesn't want to tell us. He can be so annoying. What's Bosco hiding from us, doctor?' Teofelo asked, slapping Arturo on the back.

‘It's a secret,' said Arturo, putting his fingers to his lips.

‘Well, we can play along with that if he wants us to,' Teofelo said as they led the doctor back to the plaza to sober him up.

Don Bosco tapped quietly on Nicanora's door. She was standing with her back to him, clearing away the remains of lunch from the table. At first he tapped so quietly that she didn't hear him. He cleared his throat, and then knocked again.

‘Nicanora,' he said softly. She turned to look at him. His eyes, which always twinkled with unguarded softness and warmth when he spoke to her, now betrayed his vulnerability.

‘I believe I may have left my hat here, I don't seem to have it
with me,' he said, a gentle laugh in his voice, mocking his foolishness.

‘You must be mistaken, Don Bosco,' she said. ‘I don't recall you having brought your hat with you, and you certainly didn't leave it here.'

‘Well, that has solved the mystery, then,' he replied, in a bolder voice. ‘I am getting old. I never had my hat and, instead, I've lost my mind.' He made as if to go and then turned back. He stood for a moment, uncertain of his next step. His hand moved forward as if to touch her arm, before checking itself and finding a pocket in which to hide.

‘Nicanora, something has been bothering me,' he said. ‘When you invited me for lunch you mentioned what passed between us all those years ago. I, of course, have never forgotten it, but I thought perhaps you had. I have the feeling that you wanted to ask me something all day but couldn't. Am I right?'

Nicanora was taken off guard. ‘Yes, you're right, Don Bosco,' she said. ‘I do have something I want to ask you.'

He stepped forward and took her hand. The soft crinkle of his eyes as he smiled stirred long-buried feelings of remorse within her.

‘Nicanora,' he said, ‘we are old friends, are we not? Can you not call me Pepito again, like you once did? You are the only person left in the world who used to call me that.'

Nicanora blushed at the familiarity of the scene. She sensed, momentarily, that if she let her ambition go, she might still be able to find happiness with someone who cared deeply for her, and yet she knew with certainty that if she were to make her offer, this was the moment to do so.

‘I have something to show you,' she said at last, breaking the
spell. He stepped back and let go of her hand. ‘I hope it will make amends for what passed between us all those years back, so that you can enjoy your life now.' She left the room, returning a few minutes later with a cardboard box.

‘Open it,' she said.

‘Nicanora, what is this?'

‘Open it,' she said again.

Don Bosco stood looking at the box and then removed the lid and peered inside. It was full of dollar notes.

‘Where did you get this from?'

‘The Gringito.'

‘He gave it to you?'

‘Yes, for staying here.'

‘But Nicanora,' Don Bosco said, ‘this is a fortune. Why would he give you all this money?'

‘Ernesto said it's what he would pay to stay in a hotel in Puerta de la Coruña. He wanted to come here and as there is no hotel, he wants to pay me. There is nothing wrong with that,' she said, unable to remove the haughtiness from her voice.

‘Are you telling me the truth, Nicanora?' Don Bosco asked.

‘Why would I lie to you?' she said, shocked that he would not trust her.

‘What are you planning to do with it?'

‘I want you to have it,' she said.

‘Me? Why? Why would I want it?'

‘I have been saving it. For you. That's why I invited you to lunch. I wanted to ask you …' and she stopped, terrified that what she would say next would cut through the unspoken cord of affection that had existed between them for so many years, and yet unable to stop herself now that the moment had arrived.

‘Ask me what, Nicanora?' he said, catching his breath, uncertain of what his eyes were seeing and his heart was feeling.

‘I would like to buy your shop,' she said at last. The words clattered to the floor like painted pebbles.

‘You want to buy my shop?' he said.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Don Bosco, twenty years ago you offered me a share in your shop, and I refused you. I now want to ask you whether you would consider selling it to me, so that you can retire and enjoy your life.'

‘You want me to take this money so that you can take my shop from me?'

‘No, Don Bosco, it is not like that,' she replied. ‘I want you to have this money so that you can be free to follow your dreams.'

‘I have no dreams, Nicanora,' he replied. ‘They left me years ago. My head is an empty vessel filled with shaving cream and nothing more. And you, what do you want to do with my shop?'

‘I want to sell hats,' she said. ‘I want to sell grand elegant hats like the ladies in the city wear. I want to make the plaza a centre of beauty. I want people to flock here from all over the province to buy hats more beautiful than they ever imagined. You know they say there is a hat for every dream, Don Bosco. I want to fill our town with dreams.'

He looked at her and saw again the impetuous young woman who had stolen his hope from him, and felt an almost uncontrollable need to take her in his arms and hold her and cover her with kisses. He wanted to tell her that it would be all right, he would do whatever she wanted just so that she would die a happy woman after a life of false starts and missed opportunities. Instead he said, ‘A grand plan indeed. But where will you find such hats and who will buy them, Nicanora?'

‘Times are changing, Don Bosco,' she said sharply. ‘We have the Gringito here and he's brought money. We can get more of them where he came from. Even the mayor has plans now for the town and our Gringito can help him.'

Don Bosco was shocked by the harshness of her words. ‘Don't tell me you're now supporting that man; the man whose family has drained our town dry for generations? Have you been selling your soul as well as your floor?' he said with unintended bitterness.

‘What do you have against the mayor?' Nicanora asked, defiant as the brief hope that had flickered between them was snuffed out. ‘Why do you dislike him so much? Why don't you have the courage to do something about it, to get rid of him if you don't trust him? Take this money. You can be free to do whatever you want, you won't have to work any more.'

‘I don't want your money,' Don Bosco said, and for the first time Nicanora heard real anger in his voice. ‘This is wrong, Nicanora, you don't know where this Gringito got it from, or what he wants. I won't take money from you, your Gringito or any other wandering soul who decides to make their home in our town. But I will give you my shop.'

‘You'll give me your shop?' she said, astonished.

‘Yes. On one condition,' he said.

‘What condition is that?' she asked, half anticipating, half hoping for the proposal that had been made so many years ago.

‘Make sure nothing bad happens to our town.'

‘What are you talking about?' Nicanora said. ‘All I want to do is sell hats. Why are you saying that to me?'

‘Because, Nicanora,' he said, ‘you have a gift. You know you have. Use it.'

‘What are you talking about, Don Bosco?' she said in a whisper, her breath taken from her.

‘You have a gift, Nicanora,' he said again. ‘I have always believed in you, when nobody else has, you must know that. I think the time might be coming when you will need to use it. Keep an eye on our town is all I ask.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' she said, laughing off her fear and shame. He made to go and then looked back one last time.

‘Nicanora,' he said. ‘You must have known that if you wanted my shop, all you have ever had to do was ask and I would have gladly given it to you. There is one more condition on which I give it to you now. That you call me Pepito as you once did.' And he turned and walked away. She looked at his pink-and-blue stripy back retreating from her and felt lonelier than she ever had before.

At the age of eighteen, a few months before she met Francisco, Nicanora was struck by lightning. She knew nothing about it until she woke in a darkened room two days later with her mother bending over her, asking her if she could tell her what would happen next week. Nicanora, without a moment's hesitation, and with no understanding of the significance of the question, sat up in bed, eyes wide open, and said: ‘On Monday there will be showers. On Tuesday light winds will strengthen throughout the day to become stormy gusts by the afternoon. The winds will be so strong that Doña Felicia's knickers will be blown across the plaza and come to rest on the roof of the church. On Wednesday the rains will start again. The water will seep under the kitchen door and all precautions should be taken not to leave any items on the floor that could be damaged.' She then looked at her mother and asked, ‘Where am I, what happened?', lay down, and fell asleep for another two days.

The lightning attack left burns down Nicanora's right arm that with the careful application of her mother's herbal ointments slowly healed, leaving only a darkened hint of misfortune on her skin. The effect of
her uncannily accurate weather forecast left her with a deeper scar that she would spend many years trying to conceal.

‘You have a gift,' her mother came home and informed her the following Tuesday afternoon, having just seen Doña Felicia's underwear take flight across town and ingloriously lodge itself on the corner of the cross of the Church of the Virgin of the Swamp. ‘And if my underwear was as grey and torn as hers, I'm sure I wouldn't have hung it out to dry in the first place,' her mother added as an uncharitable afterthought to the announcement that her daughter's auspicious survival had left her blessed by the ancestors. For several months following the incident, Nicanora's mother set her daughter a series of surreptitious tests to assure herself that the gift had truly been imparted.

‘I wonder how much I will earn in the market next week?' her mother said absent-mindedly while peeling the potatoes, and before Nicanora had control of her senses her mouth replied, ‘Next week will be a good one, you will earn at least fifty pesos a day. Be sure to get to the market early on Wednesday, as a travelling salesman will be passing through and will give you a good price for your oranges.'

Casual remarks from her mother such as, ‘What should I wear tomorrow?' were enough to provoke an insightful warning from her daughter: ‘I'd wear your new pink blouse, even though you are only going to the market, because by next week it will be ruined after falling from the washing line and being eaten by the goat.'

Despite her lack of control over her spontaneous predictions, Nicanora refused to listen to her mother's insistence that she was destined to become the town's next soothsayer and thereby fill a lucrative gap in the market that had been left by the untimely death of the old fortune-teller, Doña Nicolesa.