Dona Nicanora's Hat Shop (39 page)

‘I don't know,' Arturo said.

‘Why do you want to leave us?' Ernesto asked.

‘It's not that I want to leave you,' Arturo said. ‘It's just that I can't stay.'

‘Why? Is it because we bore you?' Don Bosco said. ‘Because I have some very interesting things to talk about now.'

‘No, no, not at all,' Arturo said. ‘Of course not.'

‘Haven't we made you feel at home?' Don Bosco asked.

‘Quite the opposite,' Arturo said. ‘When I think about it now, I've felt more at home in the past few months than I've ever felt.'

‘So why then? Are you lonely?'

‘No,' Arturo said. ‘Not at all.'

‘Is it because of your friend?' Ernesto asked.

‘What friend is that?' Don Bosco said.

‘He dreamt he had a visit from a childhood friend in the night and she asked him to go with her.'

‘Where to?'

‘A troubled place,' Arturo said.

‘Oh,' Don Bosco said, not really understanding. ‘And you don't want to go?'

‘I can't,' Arturo said. ‘That is the problem. I just don't know where I should be. I see where she is heading and I can't follow.'

‘I see,' Don Bosco said. ‘No, you certainly don't want to follow someone in life. If you go with them, you must go as equals.'

‘The problem is, I have nothing to offer you if I stay,' Arturo said. ‘I'm a fraud. I'm not even a good doctor.'

‘I see,' Don Bosco said again. ‘You don't need to give us anything to be with us, you know. Do you want to go home?'

‘No,' Arturo replied. ‘If I go home, what then? I will go back to my parents' house and live my parents' life, the life that I've only just broken free from. I will never be myself.'

‘You do have a dilemma,' Don Bosco said. ‘Interestingly, it is similar to the one that I have recently faced.'

‘Oh,' Arturo said. ‘What was that?'

‘Well,' Don Bosco said. ‘When I first set out on my journey it did cross my mind that I was perhaps looking for a new life, a new beginning – even at my age it is possible to start again you know. Some people even change their name and create a whole new identity for themselves. It's a thought, isn't it? It is within our power to become somebody different, to become anybody we want to be.' Don Bosco was silent for a minute. ‘And then I arrived quite by chance at your Aunt Dolores's guest house, Ernesto. I have never been anywhere like it in my life. And I thought what better place to reinvent myself? And do you know what happened?'

‘What?' Arturo and Ernesto asked, now intrigued by the story.

‘Nothing,' Don Bosco said. ‘Absolutely nothing. I woke in the morning and found that I was still the same Don Pedro Bosco that I have always been. I still wanted my cup of strong sweet coffee. I still wanted my chat with Don Teofelo and Don Julio. I still needed my shirt to be ironed and my trousers pressed, and I hated all the noise and exuberance going on around me, even though your Aunt Dolores was extremely kind. They looked after me very well, someone knocked on my door every night to see whether I would like any company, but I was quite content to sit in my room on my own. And although I realised that I was just as dull as I have ever been, I felt comfortable with it. The truth is I realised that this is who I am, and who I will always be.'

‘Oh,' said Ernesto, deflated by the unpromising trajectory of the tale.

‘So do you know what I thought next?' Don Bosco asked. Ernesto looked at his watch, wondering how long it would take Don Bosco
to get through this story, and whether they would make it back home in time for the procession. He had never heard Don Bosco so eloquent.

‘What?' Arturo asked, before Ernesto could stop him.

‘I thought, well, I have come all this way and probably for the first and last time in my life. The least I can do is take a boat trip to Manola and visit my brother Aurelio as I planned to do over twenty years ago, just before I lost my heart and then my mind.'

‘So why didn't you go?' Arturo asked.

‘I very nearly did,' Don Bosco replied. ‘I bought the boat ticket. I went with my bag packed to the quay and was about to board. Then I was struck by another thought – what will happen when I get there? I have not seen Aurelio in over thirty years and you know we never really did get on. I will always remain his younger brother no matter how many years there are between us and our childhood toys. After a day of hugs and kisses we would be arguing about the same things. Who really was the cleverest at school? Who was Mother's favourite? And who put the toad in my father's soup? And I would be straight back where I started, only having travelled many unnecessary miles to get there.'

‘And so what are you saying?' Ernesto asked, trying to hide his irritation.

‘I am saying', Don Bosco replied, ‘that when a man reaches a point in his life when he cannot go forward and does not want to go backward, there is only one thing for him to do.'

‘And what is that?' Ernesto and Arturo asked.

‘Stay exactly where he is,' Don Bosco said. ‘It means that he has found the right time and place to be, for the moment at least.'

The three men sat for some time in silence contemplating Don Bosco's words. Then Ernesto turned the key of the engine, and the
little pickup truck started its journey on the downward hill, taking them back home.

‘Ernesto,' Don Bosco said after some time, ‘is Dolores really your aunt?'

The pickup reached the town by night fall on Saturday, just as Ernesto had promised. An unusual light covered the plaza, spreading like a warm blanket from the barber's. Candles had been set in rows outside the shop and the square was covered with fronds of the forest, laid like a carpet for the Lady to walk on, should she come to life. Offerings had been placed outside the barber's: sweets and flowers from the children, little dolls made from woven strips of banana leaves. The scent of warm berries, mangoes, oranges, coconut milk and bread lingered over the plaza, making a feast of the night air.

‘It looks like a shrine. You don't think somebody has died, do you?' Don Bosco said.

‘You have,' Arturo replied.

‘Oh dear, I feared as much. How very inconvenient.'

‘We must be careful that nobody sees you,' Ernesto said, as Don Bosco made his way across the plaza to peer into the barber's.

‘She has done all this for me?' Don Bosco asked, and his voice cracked slightly with tears seeing his hat perched on the barber's pole.

‘She has been looking after the shop until you come back,' Ernesto said.

‘She is a dear, kind woman,' Don Bosco said.

In the dim candlelight Don Bosco could make out the figure of
the Virgin, Doña Nicanora asleep beside her. Don Bosco suddenly froze to the spot.

‘The Virgin,' he said to Ernesto and Arturo. ‘I had quite forgotten. When does the procession start?'

‘Tomorrow evening. I will prepare the truck tonight. My mother will be the guardian of the Virgin until then,' Ernesto said proudly.

‘It is all too late. There is nothing I can do now,' Don Bosco mumbled to himself.

‘Do you think it will be all right if we drive her in the pickup, rather than my mother having to carry her in the traditional way?'

‘Of course,' Don Bosco said, ‘why not? Times are certainly changing and I am sure that if our ancestors had had a pickup truck at their disposal, they would have done exactly the same thing.'

The townsfolk woke in the morning to the vision of the Lady, standing on a bed of petals and banana fronds in the back of the pickup truck, parked in the middle of the plaza. She was covered from head to foot in a fine shroud, so that nobody could glimpse her face. The pickup had been decorated to look as if the Virgin were standing on a hill of flowers.

Nicanora looked proudly out of the window at her fine work. The soft drizzle gently moistened the town, filling the air with the perfume of damp petals. The mayor lay, as he had for the past few days, asleep under the eucalyptus tree. As Nicanora approached him he moved uncomfortably in his sleep and groaned. She gently shook him and placed a cup of hot coffee beside him. ‘Drink this,'
she said. ‘It will do you good.' He opened his eyes, bringing into focus first Nicanora and then the covered statue.

‘What are we going to do?' he asked. ‘If they discover that she has been stolen, and that this is an impostor, they will drive me out of town. And you as well,' he added, ‘once they find out that you knew it was a fake and went ahead with the procession.'

‘If Our Lady really is missing,' Nicanora said, ‘that is even more reason for us to hold a fiesta in her honour. Let's think of this as a fiesta to bring back not only lost souls but also stolen statues. If she knows we are genuine, she will come to us.'

‘And if she doesn't come back?' the mayor said.

‘Then we are both in serious trouble,' Nicanora agreed.

The tension had been building all day. The townsfolk gathered in the plaza in anticipation of the long-awaited fiesta. As the sun began to fade Nicanora walked out of the barber's shop ready to lead the procession into the night. She was dressed in her finest silk shawl, the one her mother had been married in and which Nicanora had been promised for her own wedding day. Nicanora had come across it after her mother's death, when sorting through her possessions. It had been wrapped in paper and attached to it was a note saying:
For Nicanora, to wear when she finally sees sense.
Nicanora knew that day had come. On her head she wore the straw boater the travelling salesman had tricked her with. She had kept it for all these years as a trophy of her naive youth. The salesman's fake plastic flower had now been replaced with a delicate tiara of fine wild blossoms that Doña Gloria had threaded round it. In her hand, Nicanora was holding Don Bosco's hat.

Don Bosco stood watching from his hiding place at the corner of the barber's shop, his boxes of supplies now lined up against the wall and covered by a large cloth. As Nicanora made her way towards the Virgin and the pickup, the crowd stood in silence. Don Bosco drew in his breath as he watched Nicanora mount the truck, astonished by her radiance. She looked more beautiful to him in her ageing years than in her youth. Nicanora stood beside the Virgin and poured the contents of a bottle of beer on the ground, asking the Virgin to bless the town once again and bring back lost souls. She then placed Don Bosco's hat at the feet of the statue. Don Bosco felt tears of humility stream from his eyes. The engine started up and the pickup began making its journey around the plaza, the townsfolk following, the school band playing, everyone singing, shouting and banging drums.

After fourteen turns of the plaza the pickup drew to a halt. The townsfolk lined up once again, each placing their small gifts and offerings beside the truck. When the last gift had been given, Nicanora beckoned the mayor so that he could place his personal offering to the Virgin. ‘This gift', Nicanora announced as the mayor and Ramon stepped forward carrying the dripping computer, ‘represents our mistakes of the past and our hopes for the future, and is presented today to Our Lady to do with as she wishes. I now hereby invite all gathered to take part in our people's fiesta.' Ernesto, on his mother's command, lit the fireworks to mark the start of the party. One by one they whizzed over the Virgin's head and were extinguished in a series of sharp explosions.