THE TAILOR

 

 

 

His fingers danced spider-like around the cloth. A snip here, a stitch there, head held perfectly still, eyes focused on the work. His touch was deft, precise; his concentration superhuman.

The doorbell tinkled, and the Tailor looked up. What now, interrupting at this moment?

He laid his heavy brass scissors onto the satin cloth resting by his left hand. His slender fingers, now freed from their intricate work, flexed back and forth.

The doorbell tinkled again, the notes at the same time sonorous and insistent.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered to himself, “I cannot be in two places at once.” Even as he said these words, he was reminded of a client who could disprove that.

Once more the doorbell rang. He eased himself out of his chair and entered the office.

Now a RAP on the door and a voice.

“Hello. Anyone in?”

These people! Do they have any patience? He slid the peephole cover back and peered through. There was a man standing outside in the road. It was raining hard, and water was dripping from his hood. The man was pouting, pursing his lips together like two mating worms. This was not a client of his – he’d remember that face!

He pressed the intercom button. “Can I help?”

“Are you the Tailor? I’ve come about a new suit.” The words were muffled, as if the man was trying to keep his voice low.

“Who sent you?”

He squinted through the peephole again. His measured eye reckoned the man two metres ten.  A big man. He was clean-shaven, square-jawed, with piercing blue eyes that were framed by black, bushy eyebrows. It was the eyes that drew most of his attention; they seemed to shimmer and spark in the gloom of the doorway.

The man spoke. “I was given your name by Barry- Barry Allen. He says you are the best, and almost as quick as him at getting things done.”

'I doubt that very much,' thought the Tailor. “Very well, give me a moment.” He slid back the various bolts and unlocked the various locks before opening the door. “Please come in. Try not to soak everything as you do so.”

The man entered, shaking himself like a dog. He offered a dripping hand. The Tailor declined. “You will forgive me if I refrain from physical contact until we become a little better acquainted.”

“Please take a seat. Before we begin, can I ask which side you are?”

The man looked at Tailor. What was he referring to? He assumed it was a tailoring term. An explanation followed. The man laughed a little. "Ah, yes, I see what you mean. The right side, then." 

“Good,” said the Tailor. “Otherwise, I would recommend using another of my profession who caters to the other side. We try to keep our clientele separate. He leans more towards the flamboyant in his overall styling, I would say. I prefer to be a little more subtle in my designs.”

The man nodded.

“Now, how can I help?” The Tailor sat behind his desk, his fingers theatrically binding and unbinding themselves as he spoke.

“I need a suit.”

“I had assumed as much. And do you have any, how shall we say…..specific requirements that require my particular skills and materials?”

“Of course,” replied the man. “Perhaps you should know that this is my first time of asking for something like this. I had always preferred to remain anonymous when working, but I am finding this to be increasingly difficult.”

“Hence your presence here,” said the Tailor. “Barry will have given you some words. Can you please let me know what they are?”

The man smiled. “Yes, Barry mentioned you would ask this. He told me to say the words 'maximum effort'. Is this what you are referring to?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied the Tailor, unlocking his fingers. “You understand I have to be very discrete.”

“I was assured that you would be, too,” replied the man.

“Indeed, I always am. Now, tell me about these specific requirements and how you think I may accommodate them.”

The man explained what they were.

“And the cost?”

The Tailor finished jotting down some notes, his writing neat and precise, as was his nature.

“The cost is what it is. I will not haggle. Do I proceed?”

A moment’s pause.

“Yes,” replied the man. “How do we start?”

“By taking some measurements. We have to be extremely accurate. Shall we begin?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

As the man nodded his agreement, the Tailor produced his tape measure from the pocket of his waistcoat.

“Good. Do you have a sign or a distinguishing mark that you would like me to incorporate into the overall design? Normally,  clients insist on such a thing."

The man pulled a scrap of paper from his inside pocket.

“I expected your question and prepared something in advance. Take a look. I am, of course, happy to take your guidance if you think it’s not good enough.”

The Tailor examined the piece of paper.

“So, Mr …….ah, I didn’t ask your name yet…”

“Burn. William Burn. You may call me Will.”

“Thank you, Will Burn. I like this design. It’s very good. I assume that this is meant to be a burning matchstick. Yes, I can use this. You are to be congratulated,” said the Tailor, looking at the rough outline sketched in pencil on the paper.

“What material will you use for the suit?” asked the man.

“Obviously, something hard-wearing and resistant to the elements. We don’t want it tearing or stretching either. It will need to be a breathable fabric too. I know exactly what’s going to work for you, Will Burn. In fact, a previous client of mine had much the same brief as yours, so really this is quite straightforward for me.”

 

 

When the suit was ready, the Tailor called the man in for a fitting. A few minor adjustments were required – a nip here and a tuck there, but nothing requiring major rework. The man was delighted – the suit being exactly what he was hoping it would be; practical yet distinctive. When the Tailor gave him the bill, he was a little taken aback, but appreciated that this was workmanship of the highest quality. The Tailor told him that should he wish to refer anyone else, then they would need to use the words 'I can do this all day' by way of introduction. As he left, the man offered his hand to the Tailor, and this time the Tailor accepted. He was not surprised at how warm it felt.

Three days later, the Tailor was watching the evening news on his television. It did not surprise him that a new meta-human had been seen in action on the streets of New York. He stared intently at the screen and listened to the presenter.

"A new meta-human, with the power to project fire from his mouth and eyes, has successfully stopped four armed men from committing a bank robbery in Manhattan. All four are being held at a secure hospital suffering from third-degree burns. One is in a life-critical condition because of the severity of the injuries sustained. The whereabouts of the meta-human, who was dressed in a grey skin-tight costume emblazoned with a symbol resembling a burning match, is currently unknown. In other news, the meta-human calling himself Destructo, who possesses the ability to dissolve matter with his bare hands, escaped the Government anti M-H units pursuing him, following a failed attempt to gain access to the Pentagon. He was described as wearing his usual luminous green and gold outfit, complete with a red cape and purple facemask."

“Tut tut,” chuckled the Tailor. “My dear colleague really has no sense of style at all. Green, gold, purple and red. What on God’s earth was he thinking of when he made that?”