The Hat
The Hat
by Nikolay Kryachkov
А hat is unlike any other head-cap because of its rims. But the rims, like wings, may have the air-lift capability. Once you have a hat on your top, you get above other ranks – dog-eared fur caps, all kinds of woven caps, hoods, berets or even casques, to say nothing of bare heads.
On the first floor of the GD stores in St.Petersburg a saleswoman was telling her story about some lecturer in economics who nearly bought a bowler hat at her department. For the moment, there were available only black bowlers. Grey specimens had been sold out. The lecturer was faced with the stark choice of buying the black one. Whether he had a black coat on, with a velvet collar, a walking stick at hand or traveller's bag, the saleswoman didn't tell. Why should he have a traveller's bag? What must be the needs and means of a lecturer in economics? The gold-tipped pen, smartphone and some boring books calling for economic growth. A doctor of medicine, that would make a difference. A stethoscope. A pair of rubber gloves. Galoshes, why not? Galoshes are now à la mode. And a stick with a silver-plated handle showing a head of some mesozoic monster. A good proof of competence and self-esteem to entice clients, that is patients. Perhaps such were the thoughts of the lecturer. No, hardly ever he bothered himself with traveller bags. His instruments were easily accomodated in his pockets, but a black bowler? No, thus he could be mistaken from afar for Georgui Plekhanov*.
No wish at all to buy a black bowler. Would not match the grey coat, but would make people think him to be a lecturer in economics. Or doctor of medicine. But here is a nice brown hat, not bowler though. With a much wider span of wings. The felt was the colour of bitter chocolate, and the ribbon wasn't of fabric, but a narrow leather strip, the colour of good brandy. It gave the feeling of being in flight above the glittering waters in the Griboyedov Canal, and further still... which meant either Nevsky prospekt nearby, or Sadovaya Street, or even Zvenigorodskaya**...
By the way, once there was an occurrence to visit Zvenigorodskaya in the overcoat with hat. Few were the passengers on the bus, but one old man, slightly tipsy, was amiably surprised. Several times he looked up with interest and then smiled: “Well, if such people are among us, Russia is to remain!” Other people within hearing turned away their smiles into the windows. The former tubing works of Theodor Goesch there attempted a toothless red-brick smile in return, but failed. No benefit of smiles from the writers, either. Too preoccupied with Russia's anxieties, too busy to heed a humble pen mate.
Had it not been for the theatre... At the theatre it turned out much better, quite different. The famous saying about the theatre to begin with the cloak-room is an absolute truth to appear the unavoidable fact. The hat rather gracefully delivered its user to the front of the cloak-room alongside the enchanted faces of the queue. The aged woman servant appeared just as enchanted and she took several seconds to pluck up her wits, then she said, instead of giving a token with number: “You will just come up out of queue and say “The hat!”, your password!”
The absence of a token was embarassing at first, but was soon forgotten on account of the interest in the play. Afterwords, upon arrival at the cloak-room, it appeared that the password, pronounced distinctly and outside the queue, didn't cause any problem to anybody. People simply admired the hat which carried its lord toward the exit. Just at about one inch above the surface. Such a trifle, but it proved more than enough for the hat owner's stride to look sure and convincing.
Translated from the Russian by Y. Lebedev-Serbe
* А socialist leader, one-time rival of V. Lenin.
** In Zvenigorodskaya St. there is housed the local branch of Russia's Union of Writers.
by Nikolay Kryachkov
А hat is unlike any other head-cap because of its rims. But the rims, like wings, may have the air-lift capability. Once you have a hat on your top, you get above other ranks – dog-eared fur caps, all kinds of woven caps, hoods, berets or even casques, to say nothing of bare heads.
On the first floor of the GD stores in St.Petersburg a saleswoman was telling her story about some lecturer in economics who nearly bought a bowler hat at her department. For the moment, there were available only black bowlers. Grey specimens had been sold out. The lecturer was faced with the stark choice of buying the black one. Whether he had a black coat on, with a velvet collar, a walking stick at hand or traveller's bag, the saleswoman didn't tell. Why should he have a traveller's bag? What must be the needs and means of a lecturer in economics? The gold-tipped pen, smartphone and some boring books calling for economic growth. A doctor of medicine, that would make a difference. A stethoscope. A pair of rubber gloves. Galoshes, why not? Galoshes are now à la mode. And a stick with a silver-plated handle showing a head of some mesozoic monster. A good proof of competence and self-esteem to entice clients, that is patients. Perhaps such were the thoughts of the lecturer. No, hardly ever he bothered himself with traveller bags. His instruments were easily accomodated in his pockets, but a black bowler? No, thus he could be mistaken from afar for Georgui Plekhanov*.
No wish at all to buy a black bowler. Would not match the grey coat, but would make people think him to be a lecturer in economics. Or doctor of medicine. But here is a nice brown hat, not bowler though. With a much wider span of wings. The felt was the colour of bitter chocolate, and the ribbon wasn't of fabric, but a narrow leather strip, the colour of good brandy. It gave the feeling of being in flight above the glittering waters in the Griboyedov Canal, and further still... which meant either Nevsky prospekt nearby, or Sadovaya Street, or even Zvenigorodskaya**...
By the way, once there was an occurrence to visit Zvenigorodskaya in the overcoat with hat. Few were the passengers on the bus, but one old man, slightly tipsy, was amiably surprised. Several times he looked up with interest and then smiled: “Well, if such people are among us, Russia is to remain!” Other people within hearing turned away their smiles into the windows. The former tubing works of Theodor Goesch there attempted a toothless red-brick smile in return, but failed. No benefit of smiles from the writers, either. Too preoccupied with Russia's anxieties, too busy to heed a humble pen mate.
Had it not been for the theatre... At the theatre it turned out much better, quite different. The famous saying about the theatre to begin with the cloak-room is an absolute truth to appear the unavoidable fact. The hat rather gracefully delivered its user to the front of the cloak-room alongside the enchanted faces of the queue. The aged woman servant appeared just as enchanted and she took several seconds to pluck up her wits, then she said, instead of giving a token with number: “You will just come up out of queue and say “The hat!”, your password!”
The absence of a token was embarassing at first, but was soon forgotten on account of the interest in the play. Afterwords, upon arrival at the cloak-room, it appeared that the password, pronounced distinctly and outside the queue, didn't cause any problem to anybody. People simply admired the hat which carried its lord toward the exit. Just at about one inch above the surface. Such a trifle, but it proved more than enough for the hat owner's stride to look sure and convincing.
Translated from the Russian by Y. Lebedev-Serbe
* А socialist leader, one-time rival of V. Lenin.
** In Zvenigorodskaya St. there is housed the local branch of Russia's Union of Writers.
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