The Hatter I wake up in a room with hats on the walls. The little yellow dragon is gone. Rather, it is a mini painting of him, placed near my pillow, that replaces him: he poses proudly with a big smile. It is a little weird to see a dragon smiling. To my surprise, I wear a nightcap. I get up and get dressed. I hear noises in the next room. I open the door and there, in front of me, is a man, whose head is covered with a hat like the one Napoleon wore, a bicorne.
The man seems happy to see me and, without me being able to say anything, he immediately starts talking.
"Welcome.. My name is Âl Môrô, son of Bên Môrô. Âl, it is for Alphonse. The writing Môrô (Moreau) comes from my paternal grandfather, Jô, who loved, made and sold hats. He adapted his name to his job: the circumflexes on each vowel "o" (or other vowels) made him think of little hats. He wore hats: his whole family was wearing hats. It cannot be said here that the saying "The shoemaker always wears the worst shoes" applied in his case.
Besides, I have a whole personal collection of hats built up throughout my birthdays, season changes, or important events.
When my grandfather reached a very venerable age, my collection stopped until I take over. His generosity had no limits when it came to hats. According to him, the head, an important element of the human anatomy, had to be well protected or embellished. In fact, in the last few years before his departure, he had added to his products a section dedicated to protective helmets. He did not make them, but he really liked them.
As for my grandmother, Câtherîne took good care of her family. She did not care for the heads, but rather the souls which, in her opinion, also needed to be embellished and protected. This is how she dedicated herself as a good seamstress that she was, to make small bags with scapular (made according to her own interpretation). These, well closed, contained blessed medals, sometimes some camphor (to keep the vampires away, although their presence has not yet been reported in the vicinity). The medals came from the annual pilgrimages she made, wearing her magnificent hats, to Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré and Cap-de-la-Madelaine. She could not bear to be short of medals. The small bags were then attached to the wool or cotton camisole, depending on the season. It is quite clear that I was not at all marked by the laughter of my comrades whose soul and head were not as well protected as mine.. So, I am the proud owner of a collection of small scapular bags, received on special occasions, and which ended when my grandmother could no longer see well enough to sew them (the last small bags having lost all their previous symmetry).
From this noble lineage came my father, Bên Môrô, and my aunt Loû Môrô. Since souls and heads were the main interests of my grandparents and a kind of guarantee of their extension into humanity for eternity, their desire to make children was greatly less than in the families around them. At that time, the Holy Church more easily forgave this slight desire of procreation to the wealthiest who invited them to their table than to the poorest who were already having difficulty feeding (and having more children).
In the case of my grandparents, two children were sufficient. Indeed, my father despaired my grandfather by agreeing to wear only caps from an early age. However, much to his father's delight, he took over the protective helmets, sparing his efforts to succeed in business, always well-wearing his caps. The "hats" section was entrusted to Loû, whose sexual orientation did not quite correspond to social norms and had made his mother despair.
From start to finish, Loû handed over the hats section to my father, who took over, somewhat against his will. And since I had been raised in this world, knew all the tricks and secrets of the trade and my imagination was overflowing, my father decided that I had to channel all my energy and creativity into the hats department. I love my job. We will spend the whole day together looking at the hats. »
After this long detailed introduction, I can see that my host is looking forward to this day. It is a little different from the previous two days when words were rather rare.
I ask no better than to know more about the world of hats, about which my knowledge is limited, with a few exceptions, to what the British royal family wears on their outings.... Âl is kind enough to offer me a breakfast, before undertaking what seems to me a long day, despite my interest. He serves me coffee in a hat-shaped cup, and toasts on a round plate, embellished by a variety of tiny caps.
During the morning, I am wearing hats of all kinds, Âl always looking for the one who would do me best for this or that occasion. But I do not have a hat-head, which is a great challenge that Âl takes up with all his fervor, perseverance, love of hats, professionalism, and almost uninterrupted communication. It is certain that one always finds "hat at his/her head".
At the end of the morning, I realize that there are always hats for those who do not have a hat head... I am happy about that. Âl’s energy energizes me and makes me enthusiastic. I want to know more about the world of hats, which seems to fill my host with delight and happiness. He hastens to release albums and albums of hat illustrations, as well as a small snack.
Not only does he make hats, but he knows a lot about the world of hats. Thus, over the first pages we flip through, I become aware of the extent of my ignorance in the field.
Âl is gloating. It is here, now, that I understand the magnitude of the "hat" phenomenon. What I found innocuous becomes grandiose. From almost every era, in many peoples of the Earth, the head had been covered, for all sorts of reasons or occasions.
We travel through time and space: headbands of men from New Guinea, Australian akubra (such as Crocodile Dundee’s one), top hats, multi-era war helmets, hats and caps of all origins, hats of all textures (Senegalese, Turkish, Lapland...), African hairstyles, Russian papakha, kepis, First Nations headdresses, turbans, the famous British Deerstalker (Sherlock Holmes’ hat), felt hats for men or women, famous fascinators (among others those of the British royal family, made of feathers), nemes (the headdress of the pharaohs), cowboy hats, the well-known Tyrolean, mantillas, veils, the Mexican sombrero, and more, and more..
This man knows a lot about the art of millinery, and he loves history as well. He is a passionate who transmits his enthusiasm with a lot of energy and love of his profession. He talks non-stop, gesticulates, explains shapes, compares tissues... He tells me that mercury had been used in the manufacture of hats, which had caused unwanted effects on hatters; there was even talk of the madness of the hatters (not to be confused with the “Mad Hatter”, in "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"). He looks me straight in the eye to see if I understand his explanations. We look at albums and albums, a real encyclopedia, quite incredible.
A few hours later, seeing that my attention is diminishing, and that the day is quite advanced, he decides to offer me dinner, which is very welcome since we did not have lunch, too absorbed by the hats. We move from the workshop to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, I see he is wearing his chef's hat. He takes the making of a meal just as seriously as that of a hat. Nevertheless, he keeps talking; how not to separate the millinery from history, feelings hidden under the hats, social conventions, cultures, important events like the Carnival of Rio or the Carnival of New Orleans, and so on.
I listen to him, sitting at the table. I offer my help, between two of his sentences. But he prefers to cook solo. And the result is excellent: a curry and coconut chicken, served on rice. A real delight! During the meal, while sneering from time to time, he talks to me about expressions (at the drop of a hat, I will eat my hat, keep it under your hat, old hat, pull something out of a hat, take one’s hat off to somebody, talk through one’s hat, proverbs ("the price of the hat is not related to the brains he caps", "if you're wearing the wrong hat, at least make sure it fits you" ...), quotes ("in politics, men and women who have several caps, after a while, wear the hat", "who sows the wind runs after his hat").
Memories come, under the cowboy hat lent to me. I think of the mantillas we wore to go to church. I see the white hat, made of straw, with an oval shape, small ribbons at the end, held by an elastic under the chin, bought by my mother from the hatter of the parish; I wore it to go to church and this, from Easter only (thankfully not before). I did not really like this hat, which I found extremely uncomfortable, perched on the top of my head. I also see my headdress during the First communion ceremony, recycled from the one my mother wore on her wedding day. I think of the hats that my father wore with pride and affection during his outings.
Dinner concludes with a green tea accompanied by small fruit tarts. The custard is exquisite, and the fruits remind me of the ones I tasted when I walked with Colette. Simply succulent!
He insists that I sit while he cleans the table and washes the dishes. Then he comes back to sit down to finish his tea. His communication becomes a little less effervescent; his eyes begin to blink more, fighting sleep.
I express Âl my gratitude for this fabulous day that made us travel so much. He also thanks me (I am not sure why) and wishes me a great night.
I go back to my room, put on my yellow pajamas and my nightcap. I place the white bison pendant on a small dresser as well as the miniature painting of the little smiling yellow dragon. Âl’s low voice resonates in my head.
My journey started only three days ago, and it seems to me that it has been a lot longer, so much so that what I am experiencing has intensity and density.
I am going to bed. I see in the darkness these multiple hats, and I try to imagine what story is hidden under each of them.