The Midday Rest After Lunch
The tailor next door lowered his bamboo blind after lunch but never locked the shop. I could still hear the radio behind it while he rested on a narrow bench between the cutting table and the fabric shelves.
The blind lowered halfway
At midday the tailor swept loose thread from the bench, folded his jacket beneath his head, and left the blind high enough for air to pass. Customers understood the signal. A parcel could be left on the stool, but fitting questions waited until the radio changed programs.
I sat in the shaded doorway across the lane and watched the shops become quieter one by one. Bowls were stacked, fans changed direction, and conversation dropped to the level of utensils being washed.
A pause held by the room
The midday rest was not arranged like nighttime sleep. Bedding stayed folded. The tailor kept his shoes on the floor beneath the bench and one hand near the radio. When a delivery bicycle stopped outside, he opened his eyes before the bell rang twice.
The evening walk belonged after dinner, while bedding airing required a clear morning. A warm towel could be folded over the eyes at the end of work. The lunch pause used only the narrow quiet already available in the day.
The shop opens again
The tailor raised the blind, shook out his jacket, and returned the bench to the wall. He did not announce that the pause was over. The first customer stepped in when the cutting shears began moving again.
A line of white thread remained on the bench. He brushed it into his palm before sitting at the machine.