Dona Nicanora's Hat Shop (42 page)

‘I remember where she is,' he said at last.

As Don Bosco and Teofelo searched through the dark recesses of the church and retrieved the sad, lonely figure of the rain-soaked statue from her resting place in the cupboard at the end of the forgotten corridor, the ghostly sound of the voices of strangers echoed through the pores in the church walls.

The two men gently placed their charge in her rightful position at the front of the church, and with a renewed strength went out to face the visitors. Nicanora, the doctor and the Gringito, who had all been caught in a brief moment of sleep, woke up with a start at
the sound of the voices below. As they did, a more familiar voice drifted across the room.

‘You had better make sure that you close all the windows and doors,' Nena mumbled as if from the depths of her sleep, ‘the heavy rains are about to start and will not stop for at least a month.'

In the plaza, the commander surveyed the town of his captives. ‘There's nobody here,' he complained through the crackle of his radio.

‘Well, why did it take you so long to get there?' a voice barked back at him. ‘It's been at least eight hours since the operation began. Why has it taken you so long to move in on them?'

‘We got stuck in the goddamn swamp,' the commander explained, forlornly.

‘Well, what can you see?'

‘Nothing of interest,' the commander replied. ‘Just two old men hanging around in the plaza, and a church with a statue in it. It's raining so hard I could swear it makes the statue look as if she's crying.'

As dawn finally broke over the plaza, the townsfolk awoke to the miracle. The church doors were open for the first time in years. There in the central aisle stood the Virgin, the gentle rain leaking from the roof washing the stains from her cheeks.

Don Bosco led Nicanora down the stairs into the shop, leaving the Gringito to say his goodbyes to Nena, who by now was sitting up in bed chattering. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Don Bosco turned to Nicanora and took her by the hand. ‘I want you to close your eyes,' he said, memories of a time long gone
echoing in both their hearts. He led her by the hand into the centre of the shop. ‘You can open them now,' he said.

There, in front of her, were hats of such beauty that she could not at first comprehend what she was seeing. Purple hats with the feathers of peacocks from distant lands sat on the barber's basin. Hats that looked as if they had grown the wings of the condor and were about to take flight stood elegantly in the window. ‘There is a hat for every dream, or so I was once told,' Don Bosco said as he picked one up and handed it to her. It was made of fine silk woven into strands. As Nicanora gazed at the hat in the morning light, its colour changed, slowly passing through the shades of the rainbow. Then Don Bosco got down on his knees in front of her.

‘Everything you see here is yours,' he said, ‘regardless of whether you will have me or not. But you would make me the happiest man in the world if you would reconsider my offer of twenty years ago.'

Nicanora said nothing, the words silent in her throat.

‘Will you have me?' he asked again.

She was still silent.

‘I can't,' she said finally in a whisper.

‘Why not? I'm no longer a barber,' Don Bosco said, standing up and brushing the dust from his trousers and indignation from his voice. ‘And you are, and it doesn't worry me.'

‘It's not that,' Nicanora said, and she took Don Bosco by the hand and led him to the back storeroom. ‘I need to make sure of something. I don't think it is me who will really make you happy,' she said. ‘If you love somebody else you must try to find her, no matter how far away she may seem right now. It's the least you deserve.' Don Bosco was now the one who was speechless as Nicanora opened the drawer to the little cabinet.

‘It was made by my father,' he said, running his hand gently over the surface.

Nicanora handed him the photograph. ‘I know I should never have looked in here,' she said. ‘But you should try to find her before it is too late.'

‘I've been trying most of my life,' Don Bosco said, staring at the photograph. ‘I had quite forgotten that I had kept this.'

‘Did you love her?' Nicanora asked.

‘I did,' Don Bosco replied. ‘Very much. We can't help who we fall in love with, Nicanora, however unsuitable the person may be for us.'

‘What happened to her?' Nicanora asked, and then anticipating the answer said, ‘Did she die?'

‘Not in my heart,' Don Bosco said. ‘Take a closer look, Nicanora. Don't you recognise that shawl? Don't you see yourself?'

Nicanora stared at the picture. ‘I have never seen a photograph of myself before,' she said at last.

‘No,' Don Bosco said, ‘and you have never seen yourself as I see you.'

Don Bosco lay in the warmth of his lover's bed, snoring the snore of a contented man. After a lifetime of emptiness and longing he had felt for the first time the warmth and comfort of a woman lying beside him, breathing softly, her leg wrapped over his. He put his hand on Nicanora's head and smoothed her hair, afraid that she would fade away. The last of the television crews had disappeared, having received warnings to evacuate quickly or risk being stranded for months as the storms started. Don Bosco drew Nicanora closer to him.

‘It's raining, my sweet,' he whispered in her ear, ‘and we are going to drown.'

‘So be it,' she said dreamily and turned to hug her aged lover. ‘I was wrong about the Gringito, you know,' she said after some time. ‘He was very kind and generous. I see that now. I hope he will get home safely in this weather.'

‘We were both wrong about him,' Don Bosco said. ‘You can mistrust a man simply because you don't understand him.'

‘And that is really why you left?' Nicanora said.

‘It is,' Don Bosco replied. ‘It occurred to me in the middle of the night that a person cannot open a hat shop if they don't have any hats to sell. I'm sorry about the mess I left, I had quite forgotten it.'

‘And the mayor?' Nicanora asked. ‘Weren't you worried that he would take the shop from me?'

‘No,' Don Bosco said, ‘I knew you would be able to deal with him. He's quite harmless really.'

‘Tell me,' she said after a pause. ‘Do you honestly think it was a miracle? It had crossed my mind that maybe somebody had played a trick on the mayor.'

‘Surely not,' Don Bosco said. ‘Who would have done such a thing? And anyway, you would have noticed if it had not been the real statue. After all, you were host of the fiesta.'

‘Of course I would have noticed,' Nicanora said. ‘So a miracle it was then?'

‘Absolutely,' Don Bosco agreed. ‘What other explanation can there be?'

‘I do hope the mayor and Gloria will make their peace soon,' Nicanora said, listening to the rain from the comfort of her bed. ‘If she leaves him under that tree much longer he will float away.'

‘I think they may just need a little help,' Don Bosco said. ‘Why don't we invite them both to Sunday lunch?'

‘What a lovely idea, Pepito,' Nicanora said, as she kissed him. ‘I'll tell them we're having chicken.'

 

 

 

 

I would like to thank the numerous people who have helped this book on its way to publication. For their enthusiasm and support: Judith Murray, Vanessa Neuling, and Stephanie Sweeney and her team. For their comments during various stages of the writing: Heather Eyles, Helen Arthur, Pippa Gough, Juliette Adaire, Neil Rose, Emily Pedder, all those from the City University group, and especially to Alison Burns for her encouragement and generosity with her time. Thanks also to Mario and Lulu Sarabia for their hospitality and local advice. Finally thanks to Nick Beaumont for his interest, inspiration and above all for making me laugh.