Chapter 5

The Hat, the Whip, and the Rest of It

Marcus felt fortunate that Helga had agreed to let them go back to the hotel. She had wanted to board a plane for Sweden immediately, but when he argued that he had some valuable items that could be of use to them, she agreed to it. Yes, Marcus thought, very valuable items indeed.

"Marcus!" Helga's muffled voice called out from the other side of the bedroom door. "What are you doing?"

"Changing," Marcus simply replied, removing his bow tie.

"Changing! We went all ze way back to ze hotel—to Indiana's room—so you could change!"

"Yes."

"We need to leave!"

"Don't worry. I won't be long."

Marcus Brody stood in the center of Indiana Jones' bedroom. His gentleman's coat and bow tie lay on the floor, cast away from their owner. He stared at them, for a moment, regretting what he had done, until he remembered why he was there. His eyes strayed from the garments to the closet. Taking a deep breath, Marcus strode over to the closet and opened it.

Right at that precise moment, a shaft of brilliant light came in through a high window, gleaming on the leather jacket and belt hanging next to a bullwhip, with the hat sitting on the shelf above. Marcus slowly took the jacket from its hanger, letting it droop about his hands. The scent of ancient tombs, humid jungles, and dead Nazis permeated from the unwashed garment, filling his nostrils.

Marcus tried to swipe some of the caked dirt from one of the jacket's sleeves before realizing that the caked dirt probably came from some unexplored path in a foreign land. That dirt was meant to be there. Cleaning the jacket would be the same as burning pages from a book—it told a story of all the adventures it had been through with its owner. Marcus cursed his hand for doing such a thing, then cursed himself again for cursing in the first place, and then cursed himself again for cursing himself after he had cursed his hand. Realizing the cursing would go on for infinity, Marcus decided to forget about it and cautiously put on the jacket.

Then, he removed the belt. The belt which always went in conjunction with the brown jacket, like frosting on a cake. The belt dangled from his fingertips, the buckle gleaming in the light. He tightened the belt around his waist and turned back to the beckoning closet.

Next, he reached out and took the whip, holding it like he would a fragile vase. A determined look came into his eyes, and he grasped the whip tight and put it in its place on the belt. Swallowing hard, he looked above his head where the hat was.

The hat. Marcus stared at the sacred item that was just within his grasp. Should he take it? Should he touch the thing coveted most by Indiana Jones, who had risked his life many a time to save it? Was he, Marcus Brody, a mere museum curator, worthy of such an honor as to place this crown of its kind on his humbled head?

"Come on!" Helga insisted, her voice louder than before. "We have to go!"

But Marcus continued to stare at the hat until he came to the final decision—he would put it on. Not for glory, not for honor, not for that one small chance to feel that he, an underdog, had come just a bit closer to being like the adventurer he knew was inside of him. He was doing it for Indy—his friend, his companion, the man who had saved his life from every sort of villain out there. Indiana Jones would not have wanted his fedora to come to such a fate as to wait in the darkness of that closet until the dust would cover it like some forgotten trinket.

Cautiously, very cautiously, Marcus picked up the hat and placed it on his head.

"Marcus!" Hega called out, knocking on the door. "Can we go now?"

"Yes," Marcus replied, in a voice that was not his own. "I'm ready."