Dona Nicanora's Hat Shop Read Online Free PDF Page A

always wore a smart black trilby sent to him by his brother Aurelio to go with his Sunday suit. Don Bosco would not walk out without it, even on the most stiflingly humid days. ‘It stops the mosquitoes biting my head and stealing my thoughts,’ he explained to Nicanora as the sweat dripped off his face during their Sunday strolls.
    For many months now Nicanora’s daydreams had been drifting unchecked back to the safety of her hometown. No longer did she wish to be transported to foreign parts and exotic locations. She craved the comfort of her mother’s house, and with a regret that was too painful for her to acknowledge, she thought of how one day she might still set up her business in the plaza, selling her shawls, if she could bring herself to look humiliation and sadness in the face.
    Her decision was made the day a travelling salesman stopped by her roadside stall. He stood for a long time looking at her woven shawls, touching them gently, running his fingers over the fine fabric of the weave. At last he spoke to her.
    â€˜You’re very clever,’ he said, ‘these designs are works of art. Where did you learn how to do them?’ Nicanora, at first thinking he was making fun of her, did not answer.
    â€˜They really are beautiful,’ he said again. ‘I’d like them for my shop. The colours and patterns are exquisite. But I’m afraid I would never be able sell them to the ladies in the city. These are peasant clothes.’
    â€˜So what do the women in the city wear?’ Nicanora asked, feeling both indignant and deflated. The man pulled some pictures out of his pocket. The photos were of women in glittering jewellery and elegantly laced skirts, and all wearing the most glorious hats. She could not take her eyes off them. She ran her fingers over them as if trying to conjure the hats out of the photographs and into the reality of her world. She imagined herself returning home in one to prove to the townsfolk and above all to her mother, that despite what they thought of her she had made something of her life, and that she could dress like a glamorous city woman.
    The man stood quietly observing her. ‘Would you like one?’ he asked finally. ‘I have one here in my bag. I will give it to you in exchange for your shawls.’ He bent down to undo his travelling case and pulled out a pink box. It contained the most exquisite hat Nicanora had ever seen. It had a soft, delicate sheen that subtly changed colour in the light, transforming itself through shades of pink and blue. It was trimmed with a lace that looked as if it had been woven from diamonds. Nicanora could not bring herself to touch it.
    â€˜It’s yours,’ the man said at last, coaxing her. ‘I could sell it for afortune. It comes all the way from Europe, handmade in Italy. You can have it in exchange for all the weavings you have.’ Nicanora knew, in that moment, that destiny had tapped her on the shoulder.
    Her mind was now made up. She could no longer stand the squalor and disappointment of her life in a single rented room with only Francisco’s lies to support her and the children. She would face her mother and anyone else in Valle de la Virgen who might wish to judge her. She no longer felt she had to hide from the man whose goodness she had spurned and whose hopes she had destroyed. She knew who she was and what she was worth and it was far more than the life she was living now. In a moment of inspiration she knew where her destiny lay. She would bring joy and elegance to her hometown. She would save every penny she earned, and one day soon she would open Valle de la Virgen’s first ever hat shop, and this was the jewel in her collection.
    She rushed home and gathered the results of her hard labour and handed them over to the man in exchange for the pink box. He tipped his hat to her as he departed and wished her a life full of surprises. She packed a small bag, and with