TheHat

parent nodes: BoneJackdaw

The Hat

There was a hat. It did not have a head to sit on. It sat
instead in an alley, in the dark, in the damp. It was felt, and
was growing a nice culture of mould.

A dog found the hat, and peed on it. That was the most
exciting thing that happened to hat the for a whole month
before, and half a month after.

Eventually, it was picked up by a bum who didn’t like the
smell of it and tossed it into a dumpster, from which it
made its way to a land fill, never to be seen again. But
before all that, some things happened.

There was the story of how it got left in the alley, which
involved a little kid with too much time on his hands, and a
bunch of bullies. There was the story of how it got spattered
with Odwalla Superfood, which was never cleaned
out. And the story of how it got pushed up on its owner’s
forehead when he was kissed for the first time by his
girlfriend. Then there’s the story of how it became a hat.
There was a man. He made hats. But most of the time he
was drunk, and in bars, and singing karaoke. But it was
pretty well known by everybody that he made the best
hats in town, when he bothered to, and he could sell one
for quite a lot of money. Quite a lot of money especially
when it was to an out-of-towner who’d travelled many
miles just to commission one of his hats.

Usually, such a customer would have to stick around for
about a year and bug the guy to get it done. But the customer
was always satisfied, and felt that it was time and
money well spent. Besides, the town was nice, and the
people were friendly, and the karaoke was surprisingly
tolerable as nearly everybody was a good singer (this
being the West Coast and all). And everybody complained
about the rain, but that was really just a matter of extra
politeness.

One day, a stranger in a blue trench coat came into town
asking about hats, as often happened. He said that he’d
lost his somewhere around Central America, and desperately
needed a new one to keep his head dry. He was
directed to a local bar and told to address the one guy
who couldn’t sing worth shit. That guy would be the one
he was looking for.

So it came to be that the stranger and the hat maker found
themselves talking to each other over pints of really thick,
black ale in a smoky bar, while some portly woman was
singing “The Universe is Laughing Behind Your Back,” in a
sultry voice.

“I need a new hat,” said the stranger, “One that doesn’t
keep me up all night. One that keeps the rain off my face.
One that doesn’t squeeze too tight. I need a new hat.”

“OK,” said the hat maker, “but I’m fresh out of supplies,
you’ll have to wait until next spring, when I can get some
wool. And some money up front wouldn’t hurt, so I could
buy the dies and thread, and repair and oil my iron.”

The stranger waved his hand, and said, “that won’t be a
problem. While I am desperate to acquire proper head
covering, I can wait to get it done right. And money is
definitely no object. You can rest assured that all your
needs will be taken care of while I am in town, from here
on, as a simple matter of gratitude. Just...”

“What?” asked the hat maker.

“I need to have the hat in a year’s time. A year and a day,
actually. It’s important,” and the stranger took a swig of
the last bits of ale.

“Pshaw,” said the hat maker into his stein, “I’ll have it to
you by next June, flat.”

“A year and a day will do,” said the stranger, “deal?”

“Deal,” said the man, and shook, “but I’ll have it to you by
June, all the same. And it’ll be the best damned hat you’ve
ever owned.”

“I know that, at least,” said the stranger with a wicked
grin.

“June,” said the man.

But he didn’t have it done by June. He spent way to much
time drinking and singing badly, much to the amusement
of his neighbors. Thanks to the stranger, he had all the
money he ever wanted, and no want in the world. When
July rolled around, the stranger appeared in the bar where
the hat maker was singing.

When the hat maker was done singing, the stranger came
to him and said, “I just wanted to see how my hat was
doing. Are you nearly finished?”

The hat maker pouted drunkenly, and said, “I know I said
that I’d get it done by June, but it’s the wool I’m using. It’s
the strongest wool in the land, and needs extra time to
cure and soak in the die. It’s taken just this long to get
where it’s at. But when it’s done, I can matt and press it in
a lick. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, that’s good, good,” said the stranger, “I’m more
concerned that you do it well than quick, but all the same,
my deadline is coming up. I’ll have to leave town then,
with or without my new hat. I’m just a little concerned is
all.”

“Oh, not to fear,” said the hat maker. “All is going well, very
well. Look, let me buy you a Guinness.”
And they drank to the hat.

Come the end of August, and the hat was still not complete.
Again, over a dark brew, this time Porter, the men
talked. This time, the hat maker’s excuse was that his iron
wasn’t up to the job. He’d never made a hat this powerful,
and he needed to import parts to make a new iron, one
made from Damascene steel or something. The stranger
nodded to this, his eyes darkened by concern but twinkling
with anticipation of his new hat.

Then the deadline rolled around. And the stranger couldn’t
find the hat maker in any of the taverns, nor on the waterfront
where he was like to be. Finally he checked the hat
maker’s shop and found him there, sobbing over his newly
forged iron. Scraps of felt were scattered all about the
shop. It was easy for the stranger to see what had happened.

The hat maker had stayed up all night working on
the hat, and in the end he had fail. He had taken on a task,
using materials that were too strong, that was beyond his
ability. There was no chance that the hat would be completed
on time now, and the hat maker was deadly drunk.
With a sad smile, the stranger nodded to the hat maker.

“Do not be sad,” said the stranger, “you’ve done your best.
You’ve proven your skill and power by smashing
yourself on the rocks of defeat. You’ll do nicely.”
Then the stranger turned the hat maker into a fine, grey
fedora with a slightly darker head band. Then he put his
new hat on his head, and a powerful hat it was, with lots
of character. Then the stranger walked out of town by a
different road than he arrived by.

Everything from the beginning of the world to the end of it, and all the fiddly messy bits in between.