short sotry seven

The hat

It happened at some stage in the hot German summer of 1947 when he received his first hat. His mother gave it to him to protect him from the burning setting sun. It had belonged to his father who died the previous year after an infection caused by an American bullet in the harsh winter of ’45. It was a simple straw hat with a missing edge, but it still fulfilled its duty. What remained of the bright red ribbon showing a swastika in the middle was only a filthy yellowish piece of cloth, dirty and ripped apart. Joseph never asked about its history but wore it with unknown pride.

He hardly got to know his dad Lot. Cap Franz of the fifth mountaineer battalion. All the inheritance was a history of bravery, the hat and the Kreuz von Adel his father received from Himmler during the assault on the French.

As the sun set down, Joseph’s mother was cleaning the cups and crumbs of the afternoon tea and he tightened his jacket around him searching for some warmth. The hat switched its purpose to protection of the ocean breeze. He then slowly fell asleep dreaming of his father’s heroism.

Waking up by his roommate’s annoying and loud snoring, Joseph checked his bedside alarm clock. He realized that three more precious hours separated him from his warm bed and the shouting of the chief commander’s instructions for the class. Joseph or Josy how his British fellow future captains used to call him took his pillow and threw it in the direction of his Australian roommate, in a poor attempt to stop the disturbance. The pillow took an unfortunate twist and ended up crushing Joseph’s Australian cowboy hat he received two days after he learnt he had to share his room. Josy cursed loud out, turned around and tried to fall to sleep again.

It was Martha that woke him up. She was busy directing the kids to sleep. She took the black barrette off to kiss him on his broad forehead. After their marriage, Martha always kissed Joseph’s forehead in order to show him her affection. Every time he returned from a mission in a far away country with an unpronounceable capital, she would take off that sweaty barrette and kiss him. It was not so much the enjoyment, but a habit he got used to.
He woke up slowly and started to help Martha cleaning the wrapping papers the kids left behind from their Christmas presents. As his wife went upstairs to bed, Joseph remained to empty his glass, two finger full with JD and opening his own presents. His eyes firstly fixed on a small package. He meticulously unfolded the wrapping paper and pulled out an exact replica of a furry Russian hat. Pulling down its ears to the chin, Joseph fell back in the quirking rocking chair, poured himself another JD, finished it in one swallow and enjoyed the overall warm feeling in his entire body. As the rocking of the chair decreased, his eyelids closed gradually and his breath became steadier and heavier.

Ginger, his five years old granddaughter was rocking on her wooden horse swinging around Joseph’s Vietnam helmet. Amongst all the toys her parents had given her, Ginger’s favorite turned to be this bluntly slammed helmet which saved Joseph’s life twice during his posting in Saigon and Laos. What his helmet could not prevent was that one night throughout the napalm bombings, a shell fell near him silencing his life forever.

As little Ginger was housing her favorite doll inside the helmet, Joseph unhurriedly opened his eyes, smiled sweetly to his granddaughter and made sure that Brandon was still comfortable on his lap. Joseph reached to his laptop and after giving it one more thought, he clicked the buy button on E-bay. The deal was done. The Swedish hat will be shipped to his house in three days. And he will wear it this winter during the skiing holiday.
He put Brandon back in the cradle, made Ginger’s doll homeless, took the helmet and made his way to the garden. He lit a cigarette and dropped at ease in his hammock. Covering one knee with his helmet Joseph closed his eyes and appreciated the welcoming warmth of the late spring sun. As all the elements of the siesta were complete, Joseph happily started to wander through the land of dreams.

The intense buzz of the room service brought him back to life. He got out of bed, opened the door and let the friendly waiter set up the breakfast table. All Joseph wished for was a layer of fresh snow and an unoccupied ski slope.
Snow goggles were keeping his Swedish hat in place and the scarf was fluttering in the icy wind as Joseph was heading towards the elevator. On the way, while crossing the market, his eyes fell on a traditional hat of fine material and beautiful golden rim. As the price was more than affordable, he bought it straight away without applying the usual bargaining methods of the Basques.
He tucked his new achievement in the side pocket and looked cheerfully at the empty slopes.
At the top of the hill he fixed his ski’s, checked his sticks and set down for a first run. After successfully crossing the first five turns, Joseph realized that the new brown hat with the golden rim was hanging to one of his sticks. Concentrating on the recovery of his beloved hat, he lost his balance. As the sun was shining, the trees were taller then ever, the nature and the wind imposed their fatigue on him. Closing his eyes, Joseph kept the Basque tight to his chest.

The rhythmic sound kept repeating itself for fifteen minutes. There were many grieving faces starring and gazing at him, but only half of which he recognized. He lay pretty comfortable waiting for the next move. But nothing happed. The faced disappeared and a painted ceiling was left to his view. The ceiling was very high and the fresh smell of the white flowers surrounding him was bewildering. Suddenly he felt that a hat was placed on his head. He didn’t even have to touch it or see it to make out what it was. It had to be one of these black hats with a hard ridge and a black ribbon around it. One of those used for funerals…