The Hat on the Mirror Ball

Kamal started work at the Silver Wheel on a Monday. The Silver Wheel was a roller-disco hall with a wooden floor and a huge mirror ball. Alma had worked there for two years. She did not trust new helpers, because they usually left after a week.

"Your jobs are simple," Alma said. "Sweep the floor, fill the skate boxes and check the lights."

"Is that everything?" Kamal asked.

"No. There is also the hat."

Kamal followed her pointing finger. High above the dance floor, the mirror ball turned slowly in the half dark. On top of it sat a small paper party hat, silver with blue stars. It rode round and round like a tiny captain.

"Whose hat is that?" he asked.

"Nobody knows," said Alma. "Every morning I take it down, and every morning it is back. The owner says I must find out who does it."

"Why not leave it there?"

"Because the owner thinks it looks silly. Also, the hat makes the ball turn unevenly, and the motor makes a terrible noise."

Kamal looked at the ladder that stood against the wall. It was green, and it had only four steps. Then he looked at the ball, which hung more than three metres above the floor.

"That ladder is too short," he said.

"I know. The owner bought it for changing light bulbs. I stand on the top step and push the hat off with a broom. It takes ten minutes, and my arms hurt for an hour."

"So how does anyone get the hat up there?"

"That is the puzzle," Alma said. She almost smiled. "If you solve it, you can choose the music for a whole evening."

Kamal liked puzzles. He also wanted Alma to like him. So he started at once.

First he tried the easy answer. He stacked three snack crates under the ball and climbed up with a torch. The tower shook like a jelly. Alma ran across the floor and held the bottom crate with both hands.

"Get down!" she shouted. "You will break your neck, and then the owner will blame me."

"I only wanted to look at the top of the ball," Kamal said from the air.

"Look from the ground, like a normal person," she said.

He climbed down slowly. Alma said nothing more. She did not let go of the crate until his feet touched the floor.

That afternoon Kamal sat on a bench with a notebook and thought about the hat. A person on a tall ladder could put it there. But the hall had only the short ladder, and the front door was locked all night.

"Who has keys?" he asked.

Alma counted on her fingers. "The owner, me, the cleaner, and the man who brings the snacks."

"Then I need clues, not suspects."

The next morning he arrived early and searched the hall with his torch. Alma laughed at him, but she brought him a cup of juice anyway.

At eight o'clock he found the first clue. It was a thin line of silver glitter on the wooden floor. The line began near the DJ booth. It stopped in the middle of the floor, under the ball.

"Glitter," he said. "The hat loses it, so the hat came this way."

"Very clever," said Alma. "Everybody knows a glittery hat drops glitter."

"But it did not come from the door. It came from the DJ booth."

Alma stopped smiling and came to look.

At nine o'clock he found the second clue. It was on the floor too, but you could see it only from very low down. Hundreds of tiny black marks made a wide circle around the glitter line. Each mark was a short curved scratch.

"Wheel marks," Alma said. She was lying on the floor beside him now. "But there are far too many. The cleaner wears shoes, and I never skate in the morning."

"Then lots of people skated in a circle last night, and they all stopped at the same spot."

"People do that when a game ends," Alma said slowly. "They stop and look at something."

At ten o'clock Kamal found the third clue, and it was the best one. It was not on the floor. It was on the notice board in the owner's tiny office, next to a pizza menu. A yellow sheet said, "Evening party plan." The last line of the plan said, "9:45, Hat Toss. Prize for the winner."

"Hat Toss?" said Alma. "I have never read this sheet."

"You go home at eight," said Kamal. "The party host starts after that."

They found the party host that evening. He was a quiet man in a purple jacket. He arrived at half past eight with a bag of paper hats. He did not seem surprised to see two people waiting for him by the DJ booth.

"Hat Toss?" he said, when Kamal asked. "Of course. It is the best part of every party. All the children make a big circle. Then I give the youngest guest a hat, and she throws it at the ball."

"And it stays up there?" Alma asked.

"Always. The ball has a little sticky tape around the middle, from an old decoration. The hat lands on it, and the children shout. Then they wave goodbye to it, like a ship."

"Every night?"

"Every night, for six years," the man said. "The owner invented the game himself. He said the hat should stay up there all night. That makes the children excited to come back."

Alma sat down on the nearest bench. She looked at the ceiling, and then she started to laugh. She laughed so hard that she had to wipe her eyes.

"Six years," she said at last. "For two of them I have pushed that hat off with a broom. And the owner told me to find out who did it."

"Maybe he forgot," Kamal said.

"Of course he forgot. He is the only person who never reads his own notice board."

The owner came in the next morning, still holding his coffee. Alma showed him the yellow sheet and said nothing at all. He read the last line twice. Then he put his hand over his mouth.

"Oh," he said. "That was my idea, wasn't it? And then I said the ball sounded bad."

"So what do we do now?" the owner asked. "The game is good. The noise is bad."

Alma thought about it for a moment. "We buy a ladder with six steps," she said. "And one person takes the hat down gently every morning, before the motor starts. It will take two minutes, not ten."

"And who is that person?"

"Kamal," said Alma. "He climbs crates. He is already brave."

The owner agreed, and the next week a tall orange ladder stood by the wall. Kamal climbed it every morning and lifted the hat from the ball like a fisherman lifting a fish.

Alma kept her promise too. On Friday she let him choose the music for the whole night. The skaters rolled in long circles under the turning lights.

At a quarter to ten, the host called the youngest guest into the middle of the floor. She was a girl of about five, in a yellow helmet. She held a silver hat in both hands and stared up at the ball.

"Ready?" said the host.

Alma stood beside Kamal at the edge of the floor. Neither of them said a word. The girl swung her arm back and threw as hard as she could.

Thwump.