The Man Who Sold Hats

Mr. Okafor has a small stall at Camden Market in London. He sells hats: hats for the sun, hats for the rain, hats for weddings and hats for people who just like hats. He has worked there for thirty-five years.

Mr. Okafor has a special talent. He remembers every person who has bought a hat from him. He remembers the hat, the day and the place where they wore it. "A green hat, 1998," he says. "A young man who was going to a job interview. He got the job."

One rainy Saturday, a woman came to the stall. She was about forty. She looked at the hats for a long time, but she didn't buy anything. "My father bought a hat here," she said finally. "Thirty years ago. A brown hat with a red ribbon."

Mr. Okafor closed his eyes. "A tall man with a soft voice," he said. "He was going to a wedding in Brighton. His daughter's wedding. He said the hat was for dancing." The woman put her hand over her mouth.

"That was my sister's wedding," she said. "I was ten. He danced all night in that hat. He died last year, and we can't find it anywhere." Mr. Okafor went to the back of the stall and came back with a box.

Inside the box, there was a brown hat with a red ribbon. "I only had two," he said. "I sold one to your father, and I kept the other one, because it was the hat which made a man dance all night." He gave it to her. He didn't take any money.