I broke in:
“What about the one on display?”
“I can’t take anything down from the display.”
“Why not?”
“I’m only allowed to take things from the display when the display is changed.”
“When will that be?”
“Who can know. Who can know, young man. There has to be a new shipment so there’ll be something to change.” He seemed unwilling to forgive me for having interrupted his nap. “Besides, the one in the display is too big for you. You need the next size down, I can tell. Or even two sizes, if you got a haircut. Where did this taste for big shocks of hair come from? Everything evidently has to be changed. Everything’s all wrong.”
I figured my hair must have set him against me, since he himself was bald. At the time I had a full head of hair, and it made me embarrassed next to his shiny head.
“At least let me prove it to you,” he said unexpectedly in a milder tone. He took a tape measure, came out from behind the counter, had me stoop down, and measured my head. “Like I said, too big. I’ve been in this line so long I don’t even need to take measurements. One look at a client and I know right away, they’ll need such and such a size. And what style will suit them. What’s the right color for them. Before the client tries anything on I know all there is to know. If you want to give good advice you have to sense everything. Sometimes a different style or color might be better, but I take one look and I know which one the client is going to like himself in best, so I advise them accordingly. And which one they’ll like themselves in, that requires a lot more knowing than size and style and color. You might say that every client is a mountain, and on the summit of the mountain you need to be able to see the right hat. Though why am I even telling you this? As far as the hats are concerned there is what there is here, and there aren’t any more clients either. All of us, we’re just the ‘working people of city and country.’ As for brown felt ones, I don’t remember when I last had anything.”
“Do you expect to be getting any in?”
“Who can tell. Who can tell anything these days? You can tell that the sun will rise tomorrow, that much we still know. I put in an order. Way back. Including brown felt ones. Personally I like brown felt hats the best. I have one from before the war, it still does the job. These days, putting in an order means sending the thing off then just waiting and waiting. And even if it finally comes, it’s not the styles you asked for, or the colors, or the sizes. You’re lucky if the number of items matches up. Numbers still count some. Numbers fulfill the plan, so to speak, not styles or colors or sizes. It’s another matter that no one buys hats anymore nowadays. These aren’t good times for hats. It’s as if people are afraid to be too tall. Because hats make you taller. That extra two or four inches, depending on the style, it adds to your height. There was a time, everybody wanted to be taller. There were even special styles for shorter clients. I’ve worked in hats all my life, and in my old age I don’t understand any of it. You’d have thought that someone like me, who had a shop before the war — and not just any old shop, I even imported hats from abroad — that I ought to be able to read hats like you’d read the book of wisdom. But evidently that book doesn’t include present times. Before the war, if you’d come to me I’d have had just the right hat for you. What kind was it you wanted again?”
“Brown felt.”
“I’d have had a brown felt one, yes indeed. Would you prefer darker or lighter brown? Wide or narrow brim? By all means. Higher, lower? You’re quite tall, I’d suggest something a little lower. By all means. The client was actually a client. And the hats — you could tell a person from their hat. These days, though, big industry comes first, producing hats is a sideline. What about this one? It’s your size.” He took one of the dull-colored hats from the shelf behind him. “Try it on, go take a look in the mirror.”
“No thank you,” I said.
“Then perhaps this sort of greenish one? For a young face it’s even better. And it’s also the right size. I’d not suggest brown. Brown ages a person. Especially felt. There’s no reason to hurry toward old age, even in these times. It’ll come of its own accord. Oh yes, it’ll fly here on wings. You expect it, but still you’re taken by surprise. People aren’t able to come to terms with old age. You, you’re young, you don’t need to understand how painful old age is. Though at times youth is painful too. That’s how life is, there’s something painful at every age. The worst pain comes from inside a person. There was this one client before the war, I’d order the very best quality hats for him … I’ll never have clients like that anymore.” All of a sudden he seemed to remember something. “Wait a moment, I have just the thing for you. It’ll be perfect.” He started rummaging about among all the caps and berets and hats on the shelf, and from somewhere deep down he produced a cream-colored hat. He straightened it and said with pride in his voice: “This is from my old shop. Try it on.” When I said thank you but no, that wasn’t what I was looking for, he actually begged me: “What do you have to lose. Please, try it on. Maybe it was just sitting here waiting for you. That’s how it is sometimes, that a hat is waiting for a particular client. When the client finally shows up its destiny is fulfilled, so to speak. And not just the hat’s. Unfortunately, the client I mentioned probably won’t be coming back. Now there was a client. Simply brimming with life. He changed hats like he changed women, so to speak. I always knew he had a new woman when he came in for a new hat. The last time, he happened to be looking for something youthful, in cream. The color of desert sand in the glare of the sun, he said. In a whisper he added, there’s going to be war. You have to enjoy life before then, right up to the final minute, because this may be the last time. I told him I’d have something in a month, please come by. But he never did. And this is the hat. The color of desert sand in the glare of the sun. Please, do try it on. That way I’d no longer have to … Especially as I hide it under the other hats. This is a state-owned store, and here I am selling my own merchandise. From before the war. What if they found it during an inspection? Luckily there’s nothing to inspect here. They usually just have me sign a form that there was an inspection, the inventory was such and such, no discrepancies noted. Sometimes they try and reprimand me, saying the orders I put in are evidently too small and don’t include every kind of headwear, because the plan includes all different kinds and so I ought to have more in the way of merchandise. Sometimes they ask if I have any particular requests. But what kind of requests can you have in a state-owned shop, in a state job, when requests have also been placed under state control, so to speak. I mentioned that it would be good to have more hats. Of course they wrote it down. Had me say what different styles, colors, sizes, they wrote all that down too. Now I’m waiting for those requests of mine to be granted. One request I had was that they fix the lamp in here. For the last month, when it gets dark I’ve had to light a candle, because I mean I can’t shut up shop early. It says on the door that I’m open from such and such till such and such a time, and that has to be. When a client comes in I have to go up to them with a candle, how can I help you, because I never know if they can even see me here behind the counter.”
“What happened to the light?” I asked, all set to leave, especially since he’d given me no indication that he might take that hat from the display and at least let me try it on to see if it really was too big.