Tuesday, October 18, 2011

His Toque (short story) by Leanne Dyck


His Toque

One of my island neighbours knit her husband a toque. Forty years later he still wears it. She tells him that it has become ugly with age – he still wears it. She explains that the yarn has become piled – he still wears it. She says the colours have faded – he still wears it.

"Maybe if I could knit another exactly like it, he'd let me throw that ugly old thing out. But I no longer have that pattern," she tells me.

“I can design a toque to match that one.”

“Really? Well, that would be lovely, dear.”  She hands me the toque and a bag of yarn. 

Arriving home, I set to work. The toque is a clever design. There are a few things I would change but I resist the impulse. Casting on leads to casting off. I sew the seam and weave in the ends. I put the new toque with the old into the bag of unused yarn and walk to my neighbour's. She is pleased to see me and inquires about my progress.

“I’m finished.” I hand her the bag.

She fishes out the new toque and hands the bag back. "You've done a lovely job, dear."

Her husband walks into the room. "That my new toque?" He takes it out of his wife's hands and pulls it on. "It fits."  He kisses his wife and waves to me. “I’m going for a walk.” 

Later, with the old toque as my muse, I make alterations and produce a pattern. One toque leads to another and another and another. I've knit the toque for men, women, and children. The toque has been enjoyed by all.