The tailor's monologue

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Two middle-aged men drink champagne and look cheerful, almost tucked into black leather armchairs. The one, with sporty everyday clothes, he sits with his mouth half open, listening to his interlocutor. Sometime he nods, Sometime he smile, sometime he opens his mouth completely, risking contact with suspended dust particles and insects. But he doesn't utter a word. The other man, he is dressed in an expensive printed jacket with matching trousers, gold Swiss watch and leather moccasins with diamond details. Underneath the jacket he wears a plain shirt, but very bright, with the top three buttons unbuttoned. The expensive necklace he has around his neck ends in a small golden pair of scissors. Although sparkling, barely standing out through the thick hair on his sternum.  

He is holding a lit cigar, but rarely takes a puff, as he has indulged in an endless monologue. Half the time it's forgotten, the ash falls on the expensive carpet in the living room, but he doesn't care. The living room where they sit, it also features a heavy-duty desk with a laptop on top and a briefcase. There is also a small doll, who stands on a round base and has a couple of needles stuck to her polka dot dress. An also heavily built bookcase with some books is behind the desk. It also has a large glass shelf, that has alcoholic beverages in it. Special tags, which are not one of the usual ones that one finds in bars. On one side of the living room there is glass that allows visual contact with a huge hall. The hall is full of dolls wearing ready-made or half-finished clothes. Some have needles on them, even measuring tapes.

An inscription in golden letters on a wall reads: «Blebetheki’s Tailors». A large marble staircase with a wooden handrail, slightly circular, leads to the upper floor. There are also people who come and go. Some in good clothes stand close and observe the dolls, some others, in more detail, they work on them. The eyes of the employees and visitors of the hall rarely fall on the glass of the living room, which is of no interest to them anyway. So the two gentlemen who are talking, they enjoy their conversation with relative discretion. The well-dressed man's monologue continues with an imposing style, stormy, which leaves no room for questioning or questioning but only nods and exclamations:

– And what do you think?; That we were always like this; The famous fashion house Blebetheki; Do you remember... We started in a small shop in Kato Petralona. A hole. There were more mice than needles. We dressed the dolls with belle epoque dresses so they had room to hide underneath. We justified the semi-basement by saying that changes in temperature are not good for fabrics and that after sewing they "need to rest". It's as if it's leaven... The walls are dirty... Fortunately, the non-existent natural lighting helped them not to be seen... For the dresses, we had resos all around...

– You see, the electricity was off, so we lit them... with atmosphere. The funny thing is that some customers got it. But otherwise, our only hope to get out of the financial impasse would be next to the resos to paint pentacles with rooster blood, slaughtered on the full moon. Of course, we could deal with more popular jobs, so that the clientele is more tolerant of these situations. But the poor people gave a quarter. Because as you understand, the common people do not appreciate real art. Nonetheless, we also tried this folk style for a while, but we didn't have any great success either.

– My partner… You know… Totally between us, it is not what we call the first needle on the market. It is not enough that he pierced the people with the needles, then he lost them too. He was in a hurry to go and gamble. Turnover down eighty percent since corner bookmaker opened. Since without asking him, the agent had placed our business cards on his counter and was giving them to his customers. But even he didn't set foot in the tailor's court. Not even for underpants. He was stupid; Do you remember in the army that some were bitten by bedbugs close by?; This is how our customers were up and running. The unfaithful, not even a sewing machine did such fine work.

– And after he pierced them, he was half inserting the pins, threw the garment aside and headed for the agency. Then the pins nowhere... He was cutting at random, where he saw holes, which was full anyway. What do my excuses to customers do to you?; "...we made it longer for you because you will be taller...", I once told a thirtysomething. “…I saw that you have a taste for socks and they must show…”, I said to another. "Such a breast should be shown," I flattered a ten-year-old. Out of one eye I saw immediately. The other took a week to open from her father's rape...

– And many more props and excuses... "you can't wear this without a high-heeled boot, you will kill it…”, I told someone. But thirty point heeled boot where to be found; The dress was too much and more. "...but you told me you're on a diet madam, not to count it;”, I said to someone whose pants were like a corset. I ran out of excuses and repeated them over and over again. We had it ready for closing... The agent in the corner was of course more anxious than my partner...

– And then my friend, out of nowhere, a guy shows up at our door, mixed with strange features. With ripped pants, apparently a tourist. We get to the point where I've thrown my partner's leg from a doll, saying something Parisian... The man was startled, he also knew broken Greek. I'm coming back, I see him, I smile and tell him "eh, what to do, they have these jobs. He gives our suits cheaper than a car because they cry to him. You see… We can't kill our work”.

– He explains to me that getting out of the rental car to get something to eat from the local dirty, crotch… his crotch is torn. A Christian, God bless him, told him where to find us and to meet him at our door. I speak to him, as I make the crotch, to relieve him of his trifles. I find out where his hat is kept. "Swaziland" he told me in broken Greek. "Who is your father" I say to him. He didn't get the joke and began to explain... How he found Kato Petralona I don't know, probably to see how we get on with poverty, to feel better. His mother is Greek, was on vacation here.

– Anyway, don't p’ I count them, with the last stitch, defuses the bomb. His king, yes they have a king there, he was looking to find the best tailors. He wanted the best, unique, traditional dress, the like of which the world has never known... Stones on the head we call the crown, no jokes... He expelled the best tailor in his country because he says he made ordinary clothes. I finally sewed the guy, I told him what,what he had and I sent him to hell hastily hastily. I'm running to find my partner, who was stuck in the main street and some concubines around him. They were taking care of the hurt from the doll's leg that he ate in the head. "Come here, man, come at once to the tailor's court, there is a reason", I told him.

– He comes cautiously, I pull him in, I close the door behind me. I tell him what I said with the tourist and tell him to go prepare something to show him... He gets a dumbfounded expression, from his favorites, and tells me: "he fired the best tailor he had, he will take us from Kato Petralona;”. "We will sell nothing special. As we are, just before we cut the legs and arms off the dolls to eat them, it is our only hope. "And who will eat the wood?;”, he tells me, "Swiss cops also beat badly". “Not Switzerland you moron… Swaziland, in Africa. In Switzerland they have so many banks, don't you think that they know from scammers;”. We leave nuts and water on the floor for the pets and seal the sewing room. Let's take a compote and get well wishes to the agent in the hospital and voor for the black continent.

– There we found great competition. As you understand, we weren't the only ones who smelled gold. Masters of the needle and scissors had come from all parts of the earth. Each group was given a room in the palace by the King. So everyone could devote themselves undividedly to their work. Some first names from Milan and New York had also arrived, where can we from Kato Petralona whistle?. Some had brought an entire staff, expensive sewing machines, precious stones, first-class materials, so to speak. We started making drafts, but we had no luck with my unlucky partner. Especially in the last few years in all we had practiced, it's me in the excuses and he in the theatrics, every time I asked him why he was gone for so many hours.

– So, at the beginning, i send the punter to steal the patrons from the others, to work on them. At night he would go and enter the rooms of the other tailors, maybe we have luck. Like I said... No luck... Only the rough patterns were scattered on the counters, most kept the good ones in safes. If my partner was smart enough to find the combinations of the safes, it would also have solved our financial betting problem. But who lost it let us find it; And time was pressing us. The other tailors now had a dozen or so costumes ready... Needless to say, since they had clothes ready, they guarded the room all day and all night. Additionally they had suspected my wretched partner's entries.

– One morning, in frustration and defeatism, i was lying in bed. My unconscious partner next to me was snoring, fooling the rest of the palace that we were also working on the sewing machine at night. Cracked as I was, I was smoking some cheap cigarettes, with the ash falling on my t-shirt and shaking it off every now and then. I was looking at the ceiling. There the arrogant king had a full-length figure of himself painted in oil paint. She was wearing a traditional colorful Swazi costume and was looking down on the steppe from a hill. The smoke from my cigarette rose up and made the king pale.

– Oh Montier... Oh Montier... An idea pierced my mind. I felt an electric current run down my spine. I jump out of bed and wake up my unconscious partner. I tell him "it's time for your acting talent to shine" and I explained the plan to him. We would make the most cobwebbed traditional costume ever made. So finely textured, which will disappear... Just like the king's clothing on the ceiling, behind my cigarette smoke. We would rehearse the hand movements, as if we were wearing normal clothing. We would have to set up a whole dance script and face the taunts and questioning from the other tailors.

– I also worked on a psychological trick and a few other tricks. I wasn't so worried about the King, he would be the easiest victim. The days we had the opportunity to meet him were enough for me to understand that he is a person with impaired perception, who had terminated the proudness meter... The rest of them troubled me, nationals, service staff and mainly the other tailors. But with the right preparation and a good dose of help from Goddess Luck, we would leave there full of money. So the few days left, we were working on words, movements, excuses on a 24-hour basis. Our eyes from sleeplessness had something dark circles like archery targets. And the preparation reminded me of something from a play... Except that in this play we would either be filled with gold or be beaten to death... I would also bet on cannibalism, if my partner wasn't completely tasteless...

– Finally the big day of the show arrived. There were translators for every language the tailors spoke. In a large hall, the King was sitting on his throne and a folding screen was next to him. Around the hall the groups, each with its own booth, like an exhibition, they were waiting their turn to make the presentation. What clothes the other tailors came up with is not said... Our eyes were dazzled with inspiration, fabrics and gems. I was watching the blue blood, but he didn't look too impressed.

– When was our turn, we started our play. I took the floor and addressed the entire audience, with several kneelings towards the crown. I was nervous at first, but after a while it rolled: "Your Majesty, officials, ladies, ladies and gentlemen... The garment that we will present to you does not appear in the same form to every person. It is so perfectly sculpted, with such excellent knitting, so fine texture, which exhibits the property of reflection. Depending on everyone's level, it can look from vulgarity to the height of perfection, of the absolute, of unnecessary beauty.”. Ace’ the, I learned half a dictionary by heart in the last few days.

– And I continued: "The petite and squeamish may even see underwear, while the geniuses, those having souls of perfect purity, they can see spider webs that the human eye has never seen before. You see, when the others hid their patrons in safes, we were hiding a rare miracle of nature in ours.". And then I took out a can from my pocket, I opened it and showed it to the people present. They turned pale, they were impressed... I had some spiders inside, which before I had painted green, as a rare species, and introduced them to the public as our partners. The King's eyes widened open. I took courage. "This rare species of spider allows such fine webbing that in combination with experienced, our expert hands, we were able to build this…”.

– We started dancing with my partner, we took the so-called garment out of the box. Some exclamations were heard. “I beg His Excellency, which certainly distinguishes the delicate weaving, to get behind the screen, let's get him ready". Somewhat hesitantly at first but then more decisively, the crown went behind the screen. With masterful movements we spread the garment and followed him behind the screen. I tried to find the,what's the saddest thing that has happened in my life so that I don't burst out laughing with the Looney Tunes boxer briefs that the bystanders would see. Supposedly we buttoned the garment on him, we straightened it from here, we were picking her up from the other side... "Your majesty likes you; Have You ever seen finer weaving and originality;”. "Hmm... No…", he answered somewhat hesitantly. The translator is trained, deadpan, fortunately…

– With the same hesitancy he came out of the screen... Exclamations were heard, but without being clear as to the species. His most subordinates admired him, which anyway in all the costumes they did the same. Most of them let out exclamations of surprise. Some stifled their laughter, like a moan was heard. Fortunately there weren't many. I don't know how they kill the ungodly in Swaziland, but somehow this also played its role. The other tailors let out exclamations of complaint and frustration.

– In the end it all sounded like noise and destruction. The arrogant King nevertheless got positive feedback from it. He was boasting... After all, he couldn't bear the thought of the public considering him anything less than a genius. So he voluntarily played the role we had prepared for him in our play. I'm sure at some point he was actually seeing a garment. Some tailors reacted... "You are kidding;”, they shouted... "We make such clothes too... They will send you to the crocodiles...". However, I had no intention of having my fiesta and gold spoiled by some bad seamstresses...

– I glare at them, I pointed them and with a strong tone I call them derogatory: "Your jealousy does not allow you to reach the purity of soul required to see textile perfection". And I keep go on with full theatricality to all the audience and His Excellency: “It is an absolutely rare garment that was crafted with a combination of painstaking effort and the wonder of nature. I'm under no illusions… The only ones sure to see it are the King and the Clan Mage. Call the wizard at once to certify it”, I screamed in hysterics… Some approached me to calm me down and inform me that there was no longer a clan wizard… The King though part of the play without knowing it, he was impressed and moved by my drama. He ordered the slanderers removed and ordered the fashion show to end.

– From now on, you know the story. We blew gold, we quickly collected our basic personal items from Kato Petralona and disappeared. We moved away, we also changed names, so we don't have any strange coincidences. We don't even know what happened from there on in Swaziland. His Majesty committed suicide out of shame; They've all been around in their underwear ever since; They are trying to find the green spiders and multiply them; Interpol is after us; Who knows; The point is that we set up the fashion house Blebetheki's Tailors with the money we got. We also hired top-notch tailors and here we are...

Finishing his talk, he extended his hand showing the glass to his interlocutor. The rich tailor sank back comfortably on his couch, taking a long puff from his cigar. The other was content to look through the window once more, observing the huge hall with its marble staircase and golden inscription. After a few moments he finally opened his mouth to speak expressing the only question he had left:

– And since your partner was a gambler and worthless why is the house named after him; He won it in a bet;

– They don't call my partner Blembedekis. The house got its name from the one it owes its existence to… BLEssed BE THE KIng!!!

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12 thoughts on “The tailor's monologue”

  1. Concluding my previous post I have to add and highlight the energy with which emerges how in our time nothing becomes something, the insignificant becomes important, the poor becomes rich and non-being becomes being. And all this because of the goddess luck or to be more precise the poor average spiritual and psychological level, that plagues our time. Good luck with your writing and I hope you have a great rest of the summer.

  2. Starting from the fundamental point that analysis and criticism pale in comparison to the difficulty of composition and creation, which means that it is easy and inexpensive to judge but difficult to create, I have to express my undivided admiration for your last sentence. You have earned my respect and obligation on my part to address you in the plural. The detailed description (of the present) at 3 first paragraphs “sets up” normal movie scene. The flashback you attempt takes us into the past, where every snapshot adds something to your story, which develops smoothly in a very comprehensible way. His find “non-clothing”, which certainly cannot be criticized and can easily be declared the best is perhaps the crowning glory of your story.

    1. Thank you for your kind words. Your review is detailed and allows for appropriate feedback and psychological reinforcement for the next creation.

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