Uncle Arber's Hat, Part I

Inside the big house, the post-funeral reception was ramping up.  Their father had maintained quite a wine cellar, and the mourners seemed to be raiding it in an effort to mitigate their grief.  Or, more likely, it was just an opportunity to get drunk on someone else’s expensive wine.  Jarek Dellarosa hadn’t exactly been everybody’s favorite neighbor.

David and Garth stood on the gravel path next to the oversize garage.  David was doing his level best to be gracious, but it wasn’t easy.  Garth had inherited the entire estate.  Their father’s will had been quite explicit in that regard.

“Tough luck, Davey,” Garth said, though his smile said otherwise. 

David’s older brother knew he hated the nickname, but there’s no way he’d take the bait.  He forced himself to shrug, to keep tension out of his voice.  “Guess I’m not all that surprised, the way he acted toward me the last few years.  Still, it kind of hurts.  I mean it’s not like—”

“It’s your lifestyle.  You did a lot of stuff he didn’t like.”

Now that stung.  Especially coming from Garth.  “Right.  I put myself through school and got a job.  How dare I?”

Garth puffed up his chest.  His jaw jutted out.  “Hey.  Don’t get defensive, Davey.  You made your choice, and it pissed the old man off.”

Time to change the subject.  “Listen, Garth.  Thanks for inviting me to the reception, but I’m kind of wiped out by… by everything.  The funeral was pretty rough, and I have a long drive ahead of me.  I’d better get going.” 

Garth’s upper lip curled.  “Busy, huh?  I thought guys like you could take a day off for little things like, oh I don’t know… your father’s death.”

David’s right fist clenched.  His field of view narrowed, and he shifted his weight.  Heat surged up his spine.  A solid hit on that soft, leering face…  

His older brother was taller and a lot heavier, but Garth must’ve seen something that scared him because he took a quick step back.  That gave David just enough breathing room to regain control, and the moment passed.  He forced his fist to relax.  “Leave it alone, Garth,” he said.  “I’ve got a big day Monday.  Probably take most of the weekend to prep for it.”

Garth’s smug expression returned, but now it seemed thin, belied by his sudden pallor and the sweat on his forehead.  His breath stank of fear.  “You… you don’t even want to hang out with Dad’s friends?  See?  That’s what I’m talking about; you think you’re too good for ‘em.”

“Those are your friends, Garth.  And a handful of the neighbors.  Those few of our father’s friends who are still alive aren’t in any condition to attend a party.  Only Bob Shrimpter made it to the funeral, and I’m not sure he knew what was going on.”

“You… you just don’t get it, do you?”

David almost laughed.  His older brother had always been a bully and, like most bullies, he was a coward.  “Like I said, Garth, I want to get on the road.  Just give me a call when the dust settles, and we’ll get together.  Maybe we can talk things out.  Okay?” 

“Um… actually, I could use a favor.”

Now there’s a surprise.  David suppressed a sigh.  “Really?  What?”

Garth opened the side door of the garage and flicked on the light.  “I’ve got the estate people coming on Monday afternoon.”

“And?”

“Well, they’re interested in Dad’s tools.  I guess some of them are antiques.  But…”

“Just tell me, Garth.  What do you need?”

“I can’t climb into that storage loft.  My bad back and all.”

“So you want me to climb up there?”

“Yeah.  And look for tools.  It won’t take long.  Maybe twenty minutes.  There’s not that many boxes up there.”

“And if there are tools?”

“Uh, I’ll check ‘em out.  If they’re any good we’ll put ‘em on the workbench for the estate people.  Come on, Davey.  You can afford that much time.”

“Why can’t your son do it?  Kevin’s seventeen, and it’s summer vacation.”

“Emily nixed that.  She doesn’t want him up there.  Afraid he’ll hurt himself.  Or get bit by a black widow.  Anyway, I don’t trust the kid to know the difference between a screwdriver and a book.”

The old loft…  David donned what he hoped was a casual, slightly bored expression.  He peered up at the rafters.  He doubted Garth had any idea what that dusty little space had meant to him.  No one in the family had known about it.  A few minutes alone up there would be good.  It’d provide some closure.  Of course, it’d be a mistake to admit that.  He shook his head and wrinkled his nose.  “I don’t know, Garth…”

“C’mon, Davey.  Just get the boxes open and tell me what’s there.  Maybe there’ll be some stuff I can’t sell.  You could have it.”

Gee thanks, big-bro. “Fine.  Whatever.”

“Great!  I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”  

With a perfunctory wave, Garth turned away.  His footsteps crunched toward the house.  Despite the racket from the house, the garage felt heavy.  Still.

David scrambled to the top of the ladder.  Decades ago, their father had hauled several sheets of plywood up into the rafters and tacked them down to make a low-ceilinged storage area.  That was around the time the last of their grandparents’ generation had died.  The loft had quickly filled with boxes — things that no one valued enough to use but didn’t want to discard.  

David had been about eleven years old then, and he’d lost no time in rearranging the boxes to create a private space for himself.  It was a place where he could escape his father’s rejection, his mother’s alcohol-soaked withdrawal, and his older brother’s cruelty.  For nearly five years, it had been his refuge.  He’d read up there.  He’d studied, and done his homework…  Discovered his talent for mathematics.  And, around the time of his fifteenth birthday, made out with Katy McCruthers. 

Once Garth sold the property, David’s sanctuary — more-or-less the best part of his childhood — would be gone.  This was a chance to say good-bye, and it was worth more than twenty minutes’ of his time.

Of course the space was smaller, more cramped, and a lot dustier than he remembered.  And in the two decades since he’d last climbed the ladder, someone had gotten rid of most of the boxes.  He grabbed one at random and tore off a strip of desiccated packing tape. 

But then a memory roared into his head.  There’d been one box that he really cared about.  Had it been discarded?  He remembered it vividly.  Most of the boxes had been of a similar size and shape — wine cases mostly.  A couple had been larger cartons.  The one David cared about was different from the others: smaller and more like a cube.  David shuffled through the remaining boxes.  

There it was!  It had layers of tape, layers that he’d put there.  Hands shaking, David peeled away the brittle tape.  His heart surged as he tore open the flaps.  A dark brown felt fedora lay there.  Great Uncle Arber’s hat.

David’s clearest memories of the old man came from family gatherings.  There was always an air of mystery about him.  Uncle Arber traveled “for his work,” although David never learned exactly what his great uncle did for a living.  And though he turned up more often than not, Uncle Arber’s presence always seemed special, a matter of intense discussion until the moment he arrived.

David settled the hat in place.  It fit perfectly.  He closed his eyes and thought back…

*     *     *     

“Do you think Arber’ll make it?” asked Great Aunt Rose, who surveilled the street with a corner of the curtains pulled back.

Grandma Violet shook her head and sighed.  “I hope he does.  I left a message for him, but—”

“He never returns calls,” snapped Great Aunt Louisa.  “Mark my words; our dinner will be ruined by the time he gets here — presuming he bothers to put in an appearance.”  

Great Aunt Louisa was the eldest.  She had always seemed fierce and kind of scary to young David.  She’d pinned the hated nickname, “Davey,” on him.

After what seemed like a long time, but in reality was only thirty minutes or so, Rose whispered excitedly, “He’s here!  His car just pulled up.”

There was a firm knock on the front door, and a deep voice called, “Anybody home?” 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Great Aunt Louisa said.  “Took your sweet time, I see.”  But she was first to hug Great Uncle Arber, to take his arm and pull him into the living room.

Arber’s eyes twinkled as his sisters fussed over him.  Younger relatives passed through the living room and paid their respects, but David stood off to the side and watched.  Eventually, the hubbub died down, and he found himself the object of the old man’s regard.

Solemnly, Uncle Arber extended his immense mitt and engulfed David’s hand.  The big man squinted his eyes and frowned in mock confusion.  “And who’s this?” he asked.  “An intrepid sailor home from storm-tossed seas?  An adventurer just returned from the Kalahari?  Wait!  I know; he’s a great scholar, come to lecture us on the mysteries of the universe.”

“Stop it, Arber,” Great Aunt Louisa snapped.  “You know very well.  It’s little Davey.  The youngest.”

The old man laughed.  He crouched, looked David in the eye, and asked, “Would you wear my hat, David?  I need someone to keep it warm for me.”

Of all the relatives, only Great Uncle Arber called him “David.” 

So of course David nodded and the old fedora dropped onto his head.  It mashed down his ears, which, like so many other things, had scandalized his mother.  Garth teased him about it but never dared touch the hat.  

And, except for at dinner, when his mother blearily insisted he set it aside, David wore the fedora all day long.   When it was time to go home, he felt a little sad.  Even so, he stood up as straight and tall as he could when he returned the hat to its owner.  

Uncle Arber smiled at him, and shook his hand again.  “Thank you for taking care of my hat.  Hats get to know a person, and I’m sure my old fedora likes you.  You’re a good man, David.  You’ll do well in life.  I look forward to seeing you again.”

*     *     *

David blinked and shook his head.  “Wow.  Haven’t thought about that stuff in ages,” he whispered.  He took off the hat, looked at it, and put it back on.  Amazing, how good it felt.

He glanced at his watch.  It’d been over ten minutes since Garth left.  Better get going on the rest of the boxes.  He counted twelve of them.  He put Uncle Arber’s hat back in its box and folded the flaps.

Half of the boxes contained what appeared to be old financial records.  David shoved those off to the side.  Two boxes held jigsaw puzzles.  One carton, the largest of the lot, had a set of magnifying glasses and a couple of small toolboxes.  It looked like equipment for model building or maybe jewelry repair, though David couldn’t remember anyone in the family doing things remotely like that.  Garth would probably want that one.

The remaining boxes held an assortment of letters, old notebooks and bound journals.  David pulled out one.  He frowned.  The handwriting on the label looked old-fashioned and vaguely familiar.  His heart beat faster.  The name on the cover was Arber Nikolia.

He thumbed through the notebook.  Though old-fashioned, the handwriting was precise and clear.  Each entry was dated.  He grabbed another book and opened it at random.  Again, the neat handwriting and carefully dated entries.  This wasn’t just a diary; it chronicled key events in his great uncle’s life.

He pulled out all the journals.  One box had gotten wet, probably from a spilled soda, and the top two journals were stained, with warped pages.  The cover of one was a mess, and several of its pages were badly damaged.  The second notebook was okay after the first page or two.  All the other journals looked to be in fine condition.  

A loud voice from the garage floor made David jump.  “So, you sleeping up there, or did you find anything good?” Garth shouted.

David thought quickly.  He’d found nothing of financial value, but he knew Garth’s instincts.  His brother’s natural response would be to deny any request. 

“A little,” David said.  “Come on up.”

“Hello?  Earth to Davey?  If I could climb around up there, I wouldn’t have asked for your help.”

“You don’t have to climb onto the platform.  Just—”

“Just tell me what you found.”

“Okay.  I think most of this is old tax stuff.  I only checked a few of the dates, but I think it’s from over twenty years ago.”

“That’s it?  Don’t be holding out on me.”

“Hang on.  There’s… well, I’m not sure but I think it’s stuff… um, from Grandma Violet’s family maybe?”

“Stuff?  You mean like antiques?”

“No.  Nothing like that.”

“What then.”

“Some letters.  Notebooks.  Like…”

“Like a diary?”

“I guess.  But it’s all in old-fashioned handwriting.  Some of the pages are messed up.  You can barely make it out.“

“Let’s see.”

David grabbed the damaged journal and climbed over to the ladder.  “Here you go,” he said, and tossed it.

Garth snatched the journal out of the air.  His nose wrinkled, and he dropped the journal like it was a hot potato.  He wiped his hands on his pants.  “Thanks a lot, Davey.  It’s all moldy.  You know I’m allergic to stuff like that.”

“You asked me to sort through the stuff.  You don’t like how I’m handling it, so how about I leave and you deal with it?”  David started down the ladder.

“Hey, hey, hey.  Chill, man.  You find anything else?”

“I found his hat.”

“Yeah…  Uh, what hat?”

“Great Uncle Arber’s brown fedora.  You want to see it?”

“Geeze.  That thing’d have to be at least fifty years old.  What kind of shape is it in?”

“Probably more than that.  Let me get it; you can try it on.”

“No way.  The thing’s probably got mange.  What else?”

“I found two boxes with jigsaw puzzles.  One with tools.”

“Sweet!  You should’ve told me that right off.”

“So, you want to bring everything down?”

“In a minute.  I better climb up there.  I still think you’re holding out on me.”

David backed toward the boxes while his brother panted his way up the ladder. 

Garth stopped, breathing hard, with his head and chest above the platform.  “Okay,” he said.  “Show me.”

David pointed to the pile of journals.  “See?” he said.  “Just a bunch of old notebooks.”

“Show me another one.  But you hold it this time.”

David picked up the other journal that had been damaged.  He opened the first couple of pages and offered the book to Garth.  “Here.  Take a look.”

Garth made shooing motions.  “I told you.  I don’t want to touch it.  What else?”

David slid the boxes with the jigsaw puzzles to the top of the ladder so Garth could look inside.  While Garth looked at the puzzles, David dragged a box of financial records over. 

“Here’s these,” he said.  “I think it’s…  Well, honestly, I don’t know who these belonged to.  At first I thought it might be Dad’s old taxes, but I don’t see his name on anything.”

Garth grabbed a couple of sheets off the top of the box.  “Trash.  Looks like stuff from Great Uncle Weirdo.”  He tossed the papers aside.

“Cut it out, Garth.  His name was Arber.  Our Great Uncle Arber Nikolia, and he was a good guy…  You want to see his hat?”

“Forget about the stupid hat.  He was a weirdo.  You like him so much, you take his stuff away.  Let’s see the tools.”

Yes!  “Check.  Here you go.”  

David slid the box containing the tools over to Garth.  His older brother pawed half-heartedly through the things.  “These aren’t real antiques.  It’s just weird old crap.  Can’t even recognize most of it.  Probably broken.”

“What about the puzzles?”

“Nah.  They’re junk.  Probably missing pieces.”

“Great.  Well, that was a half hour well spent.  Climb down, will you?  I need to get on the road.”

“Hey.  You promised you’d haul this crap away for me!”

“Did I say that?  I don’t think I said that.”

“Geez, Davey.  I thought you wanted to be helpful.  Keep me from wrecking my back any worse.”

David held up his hands in mock surrender.  “All right, Garth.  I’ll haul it away for fifty bucks.”

“You gotta be kidding me.  I’ll give you five.”

“Sorry, Garth.  No can do.  The minimum dump fee is twenty bucks.  I’m not going in the hole to haul away your—”

“When did you turn into such a hard-ass?  Twenty-five.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty-five.  That’s my best offer, Davey.  Anyway, I’m giving you all of Uncle Weirdo’s stuff.”

“Okay, fine.”  David held out his hand.  “Give me the money, and I’ll hand the boxes down.”

Garth squinted up at him.  “Uh.  I gotta get my wallet.  You haul the junk down.  I’ll leave the money in your car.”

“You’re not even going to help me carry the boxes out to my car?”

“My back, remember?  Anyway, I’m paying you thirty bucks.”

“No.  You’re paying me thirty-five.  And I get to pick through—”

“Uncle Weirdo’s junk.  Talk about a waste.  You’re gonna end up throwing it out, Davey.  Just save time and take it to the dump…  Listen, I gotta get back to the party.  People expect it.”  Garth backed down the ladder.  For someone with a bad back, he moved fast.  He was out of the garage in ten seconds.

It took David another half hour to wrestle the boxes to the bottom of the ladder.  He carried a stack out to the trunk of his car.  He made two more trips before he thought about the money he’d negotiated with his brother.  

He went to the driver’s side.  There was an envelope on the seat.  It contained two tens, a five, and three ones.  “What a sweet guy,” David said.  “A real prince.”

David glanced up at the house.  The party was in full swing: music, laughter.  The whole nine yards.  Garth would have a big spread with good food, and that was okay.  Better than, actually.  Their father would have liked it — including the part about David not being there.  

Hard not to resent that a little, but what could he do?  Go up and cause a scene over seven dollars?  He sighed and turned away.  Two or three more trips to the garage should take care of it… hauling away Garth’s discards.  At least it’d be quiet at his apartment.  Most of the time that was okay.  Tonight, well, at least nobody’d call him “Davey.”

****End of Part I***
Please return next week for another installment!

Copyright © 2021, Michael C. Glaviano.  All rights reserved.