The Hat That Wouldn't Stay Put

Pip was explaining why he had never needed a hat when one landed on him.

It was blue, with a broad floppy brim, and it covered him completely.

For a moment, the hat stood very still on the path.

Then it said, “I would like to withdraw from this discussion.”

ORA, the cream-and-orange robot beside him, lifted it. Beneath it stood a small puffin with an offended expression and a feather pointing the wrong way.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“My argument has suffered.”

The woman in the yellow coat hurried towards them, smiling apologetically. She had been waiting beside ORA and Pip for the boat that would take them away from Lark. Beyond the landing, the sea shone between small moving patches of cloud shadow.

“I'm sorry. It blew straight off.”

ORA held out the hat. Sunlight caught the weathered orange plating of her arm.

“It found a suitable head,” she said.

“It found an entire puffin,” Pip replied.

The woman reached for the brim.

Another gust slipped beneath it.

The hat folded, twisted out of ORA's fingers and went bouncing up the path.

All three watched it go.

“It has rejected me,” Pip said. “I take that personally.”

He flew after it.

The path climbed gently away from the landing, broad and dry between a low wall and a grassy bank. The hat tumbled along it like a wheel that had never quite decided to be round. Whenever the brim flattened, it stopped. Whenever the wind lifted an edge, it began again.

Pip landed ahead of it.

“This way is closed.”

The hat struck a small stone, changed direction and passed him on the other side.

He hurried after it, caught the brim in his beak and pulled.

For two steps, the rescue went beautifully.

Then the crown turned inside out. Blue cloth rose in front of his face. Pip could see nothing except a seam and a great deal of blue.

He let go.

The hat flopped down. Pip backed away from it.

ORA arrived beside him.

“It is difficult to steer,” he said.

“You were walking backwards.”

“That was the direction in which I could see.”

She bent towards the hat. Before her hand reached it, the brim lifted again. It slid between her feet, bumped against one broad heel and escaped down a shallow dip.

Pip stared after it.

“You have considerably more feet than it does.”

“I have two.”

“It has none. I thought that would help.”

The woman caught up with them. She glanced towards the landing, where the boat's skipper was still securing a load of bags.

“We have a few minutes,” she said. “I'd rather not leave it blowing about.”

The hat had come to rest against a clump of grass. One side of the brim trembled.

ORA approached slowly. Pip stood behind her, ready to intercept anything that escaped.

This time she nearly had it.

Her fingers touched the cloth just as the wind pulled it taut. The hat rolled over her hand, sprang upright and wobbled away along the wall.

Pip took off.

From above, the hat looked absurdly small for something causing so much difficulty. He could also see where it was going. Farther up, the wall bent inland. There was a broad entrance between two thick stone ends, with a sheltered yard beyond.

A woman was sweeping there. A bucket stood beside her feet.

Pip flew back to ORA.

“There's a place it might stop.”

“Where?”

He described the entrance, then landed on the wall to show her. The hat lay below him now, pressed against a projecting stone.

“We could catch it here,” the woman in yellow said.

ORA looked at the narrow strip between the stone and the folded brim.

“Perhaps. But if we miss, it may pass the entrance.”

Pip watched the cloth shiver. He wanted to dive on it. He could picture himself arriving at the boat with the hat held firmly in his beak, to considerable admiration.

He could also remember the seam.

“I'll watch it,” he said.

ORA went ahead with its owner. At the entrance, the woman with the broom listened, looked towards Pip and moved her bucket aside.

“Bring it in here,” she called. “It's quieter behind the wall.”

The hat remained where it was.

Pip glanced at ORA. She stood beyond the opening, leaving room for the hat to pass into the yard. Its owner had taken off her coat and spread it low between her hands. The woman with the broom stood farther back.

Everybody was ready.

The hat did nothing.

“Now you've become sensible,” Pip told it.

A gull passed overhead. Pip watched it briefly, then looked back in time to see one edge rise.

“Coming!”

The hat rolled twice, flattened and stopped.

ORA remained still.

Pip shifted impatiently on the wall. The boat's engine started below them. It was only a low idle, but it made the distance to the landing seem longer.

The next gust sent the hat skittering past him.

It was moving quickly now, brim lifted, heading straight for ORA's feet. Pip flew down and landed behind it, keeping clear as she moved one foot across the path.

The hat struck her ankle.

It folded almost flat.

Then it slid the wrong way.

“Other side!” Pip called.

ORA turned, but did not reach for it. She lowered herself beside the opening, placing her broad body between the hat and the breeze.

The cloth dropped.

Now the brim lay quietly within Pip's reach.

He caught its edge and stepped sideways towards the yard. The hat dragged across the stones. Behind ORA's sheltering shoulder, it no longer tried to become a sail.

“Just here,” said its owner.

Pip pulled once more. The woman lowered the yellow coat over the hat and pressed both hands down.

There was a small, satisfying silence.

Then Pip said, “I believe the coat has won.”

The woman laughed. She gathered coat and hat together before lifting either. When she uncovered the blue crown, it had a deep crease along one side and a dusty mark on the brim.

“Still a hat,” she said.

“We checked several other possibilities,” Pip told her.

ORA stood. A dry strand of grass clung to one of her knees. She brushed it away while the woman with the broom retrieved her bucket.

“You made a good windbreak,” the woman said.

ORA looked down at her broad frame.

“A fairly portable one.”

Pip spread his wings.

“I provided directions.”

“And the last little pull,” said the hat's owner.

He folded his wings again, pleased that she had noticed.

The owner held the hat against her coat and smoothed its crown with one hand. A little ridge remained where it had turned inside out.

“Was it a particularly important hat?” Pip asked.

“It keeps the sun out of my eyes. And I like it.”

He inspected the dusty brim. That seemed sufficient. He liked a particular rock on Skerry for reasons nobody else found especially persuasive.

The woman turned the hat slightly.

“There. Nearly its old shape.”

Pip could see the seam again. From outside, with the cloth held still, it looked entirely harmless.

“That bit was my view of Lark,” he said.

“Was it a good view?” asked the woman with the broom.

“Very blue. Rather close.”

ORA laughed, and Pip found he could enjoy the memory now that he was looking at the hat from the proper side.

They thanked the woman in the yard and went back towards the landing. This time the hat travelled clamped beneath its owner's arm. Pip walked beside ORA instead of flying ahead.

“I thought I could carry it,” he said.

“You moved it.”

“After you persuaded the weather to stand somewhere else.”

ORA's cyan optics brightened.

“Only a small piece of the weather.”

“The troublesome piece.”

At the boat, the skipper waited while the woman put on her coat. She took the hat from beneath her arm, considered it and opened her bag.

Pip watched the blue brim disappear inside.

“Will it fit?” he asked.

“It's a soft hat.”

“It has been very firm with us.”

She tucked the last folded edge into the bag and closed it.

ORA boarded carefully. Pip followed, settling beside her where he could look back at the landing. The boat drew away, leaving the broad path, the low wall and the little yard behind them.

For a while, nobody needed to chase anything.

Pip attended to the feather that had been pointing the wrong way. It took several attempts to settle it. ORA waited until he had finished.

“You were explaining something before the hat arrived,” she said.

He looked up.

“Was I?”

“Why you had never needed one.”

Pip glanced towards the securely closed bag.

Then he looked out at the wind making small white lines on the water.

“I think,” he said, “I've made my case.”