Dona Nicanora's Hat Shop (23 page)

‘Make him jealous, my dear,' Lucia said with a flourish of the hand. ‘Shame him publicly. Make him realise the woman you are.
Show him that you can live without him. That is all there is for it. I will be here to help you.'

Gloria got dressed for the first time in weeks, grabbed a bottle of the mayor's finest whisky from the cupboard, and left the house, uncertain where to go, and what her future held.

Nicanora had never seen the plaza so full. She had not realised that so many people lived in the town. Not even in her youth, when the vendors from the surrounding swamp villages made their weekly pilgrimage to set up their stalls in the Sunday market, had she seen the place so bubbling with life. She slowly made her way into the crowd, holding tightly on to Nena's hand. Men were huddled together in conspiratorial groups. As she pushed past them, she caught the rumours as they were being delivered fresh from the wagging tongues.

‘I hear he's dying of a broken heart,' one man said to his neighbour, his tittle-tattle a bit too close to the truth for Nicanora's comfort. ‘Apparently he's had a secret lover for years and now she has rejected him. Perhaps he's taken himself into the swamp to die, like the sly old dog that he is.'

‘Yes, my dog did just that,' his friend replied. ‘But that was because it had hurt its leg. It took me two days to find him. He was nestling under the roots of the old tree over there. Do you think perhaps that is where Don Bosco is?'

‘At least some things never change,' Nicanora thought to herself.
‘They are the most useless bunch of gossips that ever were.' She glanced warily over at the little shop. It remained dark and silent, the shutters down. A group of men stood forlornly outside like children who had lost their parents in the crowd, not knowing which way to turn. She spotted Don Teofelo in the middle of the group. He was talking to them and by the look on his face she supposed he was trying to calm the agitation among his friends. Teofelo's apparent ease at the situation did nothing to quell her own rising panic. She had a sense that something was unravelling, as if an unrecognised vital thread had suddenly been pulled from the town and its whole fabric was about to fall apart.

Women were now making their way from the market to the plaza, having left their fruit rotting on their stalls in the midday sun. It was the time of day when all self-respecting fruit vendors would normally slash their prices and take advantage of their clientele all gathered in one place. But nobody was trying to sell fruit today. Fidelia, having just spotted Nicanora, rushed up to her. ‘I hear Don Bosco has gone missing,' she said. ‘Do you know anything about it?'

‘Why should I know anything?' Nicanora replied, alarmed that she was already starting to be the target of the town's gossip, and not for the first time in her life.

‘Well, you used to be good friends, didn't you? Such a shame about him. He always had a soft spot for you.'

But before Nicanora could answer, Fidelia's niece joined them. ‘Have you heard? Don Bosco has disappeared. Apparently the
kachi kachi
came in the night and ate him.'

Nicanora left the pair to their gossip and tried to make her way to the middle of the plaza, keeping Nena close at her side. In the midst of the chaos she saw the Gringito sitting cross-legged under
the tree. He was smoking a cigarette and quietly watching the proceedings, as if nothing unusual was happening. Nicanora shivered, remembering Don Bosco's words of warning. She had a deep feeling of discomfort that the arrival of the Gringito had somehow led to the events that were unfolding.

‘We're going to have to do something about him,' she whispered to Nena.

‘What do you mean?' Nena replied.

‘He worries me. Something is not right about all this. First he arrives, then Don Bosco goes missing.'

‘But you know why Don Bosco has gone missing, and it has nothing to do with the Gringito,' Nena said. ‘He isn't the one who upset Don Bosco.'

Nicanora felt the thud of Nena's words against her heart. She squeezed Nena's hand tightly to silence any more words of truth that might be about to pour out of her child's mouth. One of the men from the group who had been standing outside the barber's shop also started to make his way to the centre of the plaza. ‘We demand to know what is going on. We demand to know what is happening and where our barber has gone,' he shouted, to nobody in particular.

‘Yes,' another from the group joined in. ‘We've been waiting since this morning for the shop to open, and we want our mayor to explain where our barber has gone. We need our beards shaved.' And a handful of the men started to chant, ‘We want the mayor, we want the mayor.'

Nicanora rolled her eyes. ‘Is that all they are worried about?' she said to Nena. ‘Is that all they think about? Is that what Don Bosco means to them? Do they think he is just a barber with nothing better to do with his life than shave their stupid beards?'

Nena looked up at her mother and said nothing. A small shrill voice piped up above the chanting men. ‘Make way for the mayor – make way for the mayor, please.' Nicanora saw Ramon running through the crowd like a dog in a frenzy, unable to find its master. Nobody paid any attention to him and carried on talking.

‘I heard he's lost his mind,' a man standing next to Nicanora said to his friend. ‘Apparently he attacked Don Teofelo with a knife only a few weeks ago. I think Teofelo has tried to hush it up to protect him.'

‘Well, whatever has happened, Bosco is clearly not all he seemed,' his friend replied. ‘I heard that he borrowed money from the mayor and can't pay it back and he's had to leave town in disgrace. Let's see what the mayor has to say about that.'

Nicanora turned to the men in a fury. ‘How dare you spread such thoughtless rumours,' she said, her words dripping with indignation. ‘Don Bosco is worth more than all of you put together. He has never done anything wrong or caused harm to anyone. How dare you talk badly of him.' But her words were drowned out by the pointless babble of the crowd. The men drifted off to test out their theories with their neighbours, none the wiser for Nicanora's lost words.

‘What's going on? What's happening?' a familiar voice suddenly said in her ear. Turning, Nicanora was relieved to see the young doctor standing by her side.

‘Don Bosco hasn't opened the shop today,' Nena said. ‘And everyone is very upset.'

Arturo looked at her kindly and laughed. ‘I see,' he said. ‘Isn't a man allowed to have a day off once in a while without the town calling a general meeting about it?'

‘No, it isn't that,' Nicanora said. ‘He's gone. He's shut the shop up and he's gone. Nobody knows where he is.'

‘He's gone on a journey, because he thinks he's dull,' Nena added.

‘That's enough,' Nicanora said, giving her daughter's hand another tight squeeze.

‘Well I'm sure he'll be back soon,' Arturo said, patting Nena on the head. ‘But I don't understand why everybody is so upset, just because he has shut the shop for a day.'

‘Because', Nicanora replied, ‘he has never done anything like that before.' Arturo was silenced by the look of real anguish on her face.

Ramon, who was still running in circles through the crowd, started shouting again. ‘Make way for the mayor. Make way for the mayor and the town council. The mayor is about to speak. Attention please. Attention please. Attention for the mayor.' The buzz of voices only grew louder in anticipation. ‘Silence now,' Ramon continued, his voice audible only to those next to him. ‘Silence for the mayor and the town council. Let the mayor speak. Let the mayor speak, I say.'

The mayor had by now made his way to the middle of the plaza to where Ramon had inspirationally placed a wooden box from which he was to make his address. Sweat dripped from the mayor's face as he attempted to mount the rickety podium. The crowd's attention was momentarily held by the impromptu balancing act being performed in front of them as the mayor tried to steady himself on the box. He swayed backwards and forwards for a few seconds, before toppling into the awaiting audience. On the fourth attempt, having gained a precarious equilibrium, he seized the moment for an announcement.

‘The town council …' he began, wobbling as he spoke. ‘The town council …' and he lost his balance. ‘The town council', he said
again, trying to regain the podium for the fifth time, ‘has called an extraordinary meeting …'

His words drifted aimlessly above the heads of the crowd, who by now had lost interest in what the mayor was saying and were instead involving themselves in a heated debate as to what he might be about to tell them. Ramon started running around again, kicking people on the ankles as he went. ‘Silence now. Silence now, the mayor is trying to speak. Silence now for the town council. Have some respect please.'

‘The town council', the mayor tried again, ‘has called an extraordinary meeting.'

‘No you haven't,' a man shouted back. ‘We were here first.'

‘Extraordinary indeed,' another shouted. ‘I didn't even know we had a town council.' The crowd were loosening up and beginning to enjoy themselves. They started to laugh encouragingly at the participation from the floor.

‘No heckling,' Ramon shouted, running up to one of the sniggering men and kicking him on the shins. ‘No heckling now. No heckling at the back, I say. Silence while the mayor speaks.' The man brushed Ramon aside with a swipe of his hand, as if swatting an annoying fly.

‘The town council has called an extraordinary meeting,' the mayor continued, the sweat drenching his shirt. ‘Ramon, please could you give me the agenda for the meeting.' Ramon rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

‘Agenda item number one,' the mayor read, ‘is occupancy of abandoned barbers' shops in the event of the disappearance of their owners.'

‘What do you mean, “barbers' shops”?' the heckler shouted. ‘We only have one. And now that is shut we don't have any.'

‘The district officer has informed me that we will be having a visit from the provincial authorities in the next few weeks, and I', the mayor continued, ‘intend to show them how we have developed our important tourist trade so that the town can continue to prosper.'

‘What do you mean, “tourist trade”?' shouted the heckler. The mayor looked in direction of the Gringito, who was still sitting under the tree, quietly smoking.

‘Oh no,' Nicanora whispered to Nena. ‘I knew there would be trouble soon.' But the mayor's attention was deflected from the Gringito by the shouting man.

‘Never mind all that. We want to know where Don Bosco is.'

‘Yes,' another agreed. ‘We demand to know where our barber is.'

‘Well
I
don't bloody know,' the mayor replied.

But the men were no longer listening. ‘We want our barber. We want our barber,' they chanted.

‘Well, I haven't got him,' the mayor shouted over the noise, putting his hands into his pockets and pulling them out empty, as if by way of proof.

‘I wish someone
would
bring him back,' the woman standing next to Nicanora said. ‘I'm fed up with my husband already. He's been moping around the house all morning and he's really getting on my nerves.'

‘You're the town council, you should do something about it,' one of the men said.

‘Don Bosco's whereabouts are not my concern,' the mayor answered. ‘This is a free town. A man can leave whenever he chooses. I can't stop him. I am only here to announce that if the barber's shop is not reopened by the keyholder by tomorrow, the shop will be taken over by the town council. We cannot allow
prime business premises to remain empty, especially in our central plaza.'

Nicanora held on to the key in her pocket as the mayor spoke.

‘But it's Bosco's shop. We need Bosco. We need a barber,' a man shouted, and to Nicanora it seemed that he was directing his accusing words at her alone.

‘He'll be back by tonight,' she told herself. ‘He will be opening the shop again tomorrow. He must.'

‘If you are all so concerned about the whereabouts of Don Bosco, then you find him,' the mayor challenged. ‘I now formally announce that the town council is looking for volunteers to go into the swamp and bring back our missing barber. Ramon will lead the search party.'

There was silence. Ramon turned white. ‘But señor, what about the
kachi kachi
?' he whispered into the mayor's ear.

‘Do I take it there are no volunteers?' the mayor continued, ignoring Ramon. ‘I see that when it comes to it, our good friend doesn't mean as much to you as you all say.'

‘Don't believe that for one minute,' Don Teofelo said, stepping forward at last. ‘
I
will lead the search party, and it will be made up of people of
my
choosing. Julio here will accompany me, for one.' Julio looked as horror-struck as Ramon. He had always harboured the deepest fear of and respect for what lay in the depths of the swamp and had never troubled himself to venture in to find out what it might be.

‘I need at least two more volunteers,' Teofelo shouted. ‘Who will come with us to find our friend?'

The silence was broken by a voice at the edge of the crowd. ‘I will,' Arturo said raising his hand. ‘You may need a doctor with you,' he added.

Ernesto, who had just joined the crowd and had missed most of the previous discussion, was swept away by the drama of the moment and shouted, ‘Wherever the doctor goes, I'll go.' He had heard similar words spoken in the adventure movies in Puerta de la Coruña and liked the sound of them coming from his own mouth.

‘Oh Lord,' Nicanora whispered to Nena. ‘If this is Don Bosco's search party then the poor man is lost for ever.'

‘You have until tomorrow,' the mayor replied. ‘If our barber is not returned to us by then, I am officially notifying you that the property will come under the auspices of the mayor.'