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The Hat
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The Hat |
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Mysteria 
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada 
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 ~* The Hat *~ 1,120 words © Mysteria 09/2002 This is dedicated to a fine lady that I never had the pleasure of meeting in person, but somehow feel I have gotten to know her. This is for Mrs. Finkel ~*~ It was such a chic creation. At least, that is what the man who owned the barrow in the market called it. “Right form Paris, it was,” he enthused. “Original it is, only one of its kind, mum, and costing you but seven shillings. I’m offering a real bargain.” She could finally afford the hat she had adored for over two months. Pearl had scrimped and saved every little bit she could to come up withh the seven shillings she needed and today her dream was becoming a reality. Mrs. Pearl Finkel arrived home feeling elated with her purchase. Beige felt it was, with a big taupe bow at the back and two shades of ribbon framing her face. “Wouldn’t that knock their eyes out on the sidewalks of Paradise Street when she sallied out for her shopping?” She could hardly wait until they were out of some kosher supplies to go to Hoffman’s market to show it off. Seymour Finkel, her husband, was non-committal about the hat when she told him, and barely glanced up from the football pool figures on his form, which he was filling in. The aroma of fish and chips in the packet sitting on the table at his elbow was of much more interest than the beige hat, and all he said was, “Yes, ducky, its lovely, but when is supper going to be ready?” Seymour lived a very proscribed life. His occupation as helper on one of the council’s sanitary trucks left him little opportunity in which to savor the finer things of life. Occasionally he brought home some discarded magazines, or some odds and ends that could be used in beautifying their small rear garden which was his special pride and joy. Indeed, Seymour had made quite a pleasing little place out back, with three flowerbeds edged with broken bricks around a center of crushed mussel shells. Plants climbed eagerly up sticks to reach what sun was available in the smoke enveloped atmosphere of the neighbourhood. A few days later, one evening after supper, while Pearl was washing the few dishes, which had been used during the preparation and consumption of their meal, Seymour stoked up his pipe and sauntered out to have a look at his beloved sweet peas. Real champions they were this year, he thought, and prided himself that his forethought in burying wet newspapers in the trench under the seeds, had given them this prolific growth. Those gardening hints really gave a fellow the lowdown. His neighbor, Morley Segal, was in his tiny yard next door making some piece of household furniture from an orange crate and several longer strips of woods. “How’s them sweet peas coming on, Seymour?” he asked, hoping to start off a discussion. Morley was a bachelor nearing his sixties and Pearl always said that no woman would ever want the likes of him. He was too ready with his tongue, evidently sensing by some woman’s intuition the unfair competition that would be met with in this element. Seymour, now swelling with pride, pointed out the various color groups of his flowers, to show off his stewardship. Morley, though, was off on another tangent. Local gossip was his joie-de-vivre, and the citizens of Paradise Street had long ago learned to be very circumspect in their comings and goings, lest they should provide tom with ammunition for his gossip, which like a rolling snowball gathered weight the more it turned over. “Didn’t I see your missus out this afternoon with Marty Golfman?” he ventured, coming to the subject he had planned, the moment he had heard Seymour bang his back door. “You were at the football match, I do know that, and I also know Marty Golfman when I see ‘im.” “No, you’re all wrong, Morley, my Pearl was out shopping and she wouldn’t walk along the same street with that type.” Marty Golfman was well enough known to all paradise Street as an undesirable who gained a precarious existence by any means fair or foul. His most respectable occupation was to take bets outside the pub on the corner, between hurried detours to evade the local constable, who had orders to apprehend him whenever possible. “Yes, I’m sure it was Pearl,” Morley continued aggressively. “She was wearing that new beige hat with a big taupe bow in the back, she’s got a hat like that, hasn’t she?” I remember it as she sticks out in the crowd as she walks along Paradise Street. Seymour by this time had been worked to a towering range, and leaving Morley gloating on the other side of the wall, stamped back into the house. Pearl had just swabbed the sink down preparatory to sitting down to an evening of darning Seymour’s socks, meanwhile turning the new hat around in her hands, the better to admire it. “What’s this I hear about you walking down the street with Marty Golfman? I am not going to allow you to have anything to do with a no-good of that class, “Seymour stormed, and before Pearl could recover from his accusation, he seized the hat, flung it to the kitchen floor, and stomped on it. Pearl started to cry, and said she wouldn’t put up with it no more she wouldn’t, not that, she hadn’t done nothing of the sort at all.” She bought the hat for herself as the first thing ever that she truly wanted, and had scrimped and saved out of the household funds to get it. She started sobbing loudly venting all the pent up hurt about leaving Germany to come to England, loosing her loved ones in Germany, all her family’s belongings and now this, her hat too! “I’m going over the street to my sister’s, that’s where I’m going,” she continued between her sobs wiping her eyes with one of Seymour’s red handkerchiefs. “And it’ll only be when you come to your senses and say your sorry, Seymour Finkel, that I’ll come back.” Then suiting the action of her words Pearl darted along the passage to the front door flung it open and started to cross the street. Seymour, realizing that he had gone too far, and perhaps had been a bit hasty in taking Morley’s words for granted and jumping to conclusions, rushed outside to follow Pearl. Just as he stepped out the door, a couple passed the house arm-in-arm. It was Marty Golfman and he had a woman with him that indeed looked like his Pearl in her street clothes. The one thing that put the finishing touch to the resemblance was that on her head was a beige felt hat with a big taupe bow in the back that made her stand out on the sidewalks of Paradise Street. This one's for you Mrs. Finkel and that is her hat that sold on eBay, along with so many wonderful nostalgic trinkets of such value it was unbelievable to me.  The most valuable thing you own is a smile, wear it, and share it. God Bless [This message has been edited by Nan (10-06-2002 04:25 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2002 Mysteria 1997 - All Rights Reserved | |||
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NewEnglandlazurlu Member Rara Avis
since 2002-01-04
Posts 7470A Mountain Paradise |
Hi Sharon - I can see the hat! And I love the story! But you're right, without the picture, this would not be clear. Hugs, Marti Every now and then take a good look at something not made |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
How very strange! I can't see it, wonder why? And thanks for reading it, I hope the lady I did for sees it. God Bless |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
Hi Sharon. I hope she gets to see it. Maybe she will have a happy memory from this, even though it wasn't so cool that her hubby accused her like he did. I love the mauve'taupe color combo. BTW, how many trinkets did you buy? LOL, you are an ebay shopaholic. |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Very nice, Mysteria. You depicted how easily it is for one to place doubt in someone's mind! Good job! |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
She'll see the hat and enjoy the story as much as I have...  You just can't put a price on nostalgia, can you??..  |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Oh blast it! I can't see that darn hat again! Thank you all for reading this story, just a little one had to come out. |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
Wow - What a great new addition this photo is to your work... It's wonderful to see the 'real thing' - Isn't it? It brings your poem to a new realm, Sharon - I really enjoyed this piece... |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
Whoa! A very impressive work of creativity you have here. I love how you've taken some historical information and built an entire story around it. You narrative is both humourous and serious. It is interesting to think about where an object has been and what might have happened to it. I wonder how many things in my own home have been stomped upon at one time or another, lol.  "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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