Introduction

It was the evening hours of a seemingly ordinary, torrential day in Hurricain Town, which was gradually kneeling to urbanization. There was no building that could be called a “tall one” in this small town yet, not by modern standards at least; the agricultural lands and gardens around the densely populated areas could barely maintain their place against the attacks of increasingly brazen diggers and concrete mixers, nevertheless. Therefore, at the end of such rainy days, the streets would be filled with the scents of soil and flowers, which were loved by people who could not get back as fast as they wanted in the rush of life. Although the number of these poor people was decreasing, there was still a considerable number of appreciative people in this town. Especially after heavy rains, people would flock to the greengrocers in the much older Central Market, who were trying to sell their items safely and with a speed comparable to the lightning that had struck only a few tens of minutes before. The noise raised during this dignified activity would remind someone living nearby that the storm was not over yet and was brewing among the people of this region.

The people of Hurricain Town were proud of themselves. It was a pride that was fading away and under the infestation of vermin, just like the gigantic statue that could be called its symbol, but it was still pride. This vision was passed on by the elders of the town to the future generation on their knees. The statue turned its back to the 4-story Tax Office, the largest building in the center, and stared its cold gaze at the Central Market in a direction approaching the ground. The statue depicted an officer who lost his life in a conflict that took place right where he was looking during the latest Great War. A stranger to the town could interpret the statue’s stance as: “A soldier resting with the butt of his rifle on the ground.” However, Hurricain, who had the opportunity to observe the effects of war from a close distance by experiencing someone in his heart, would mercilessly preach to his people through this work that some paths were irreversible, at any time, at any price. The neglect of the statue and the cracks that appeared on it in some places symbolized the state of the town under the occupation of reinforced concrete, rather than a quality that damaged the message given.

The fact that the rain increased its speed again, contrary to expectations, did not imply much for those working at the Tax Office. The only difference that made for the staff of this building, whether the clouds shining gray as if reflecting the place they were on brought rain or not, was the budding concern that they might not be able to find a place to hang their coats on the hangers in the hall. To some extent, this concern was justified; in this workplace, the higher a person’s jacket was in the pile, the more likely they were to find the floor mopped with it at the end of the day. However, the biggest misery of the poor man who was about to lose his coat was that the people of Hurricain, who had recently started to be asked to work more overtime, were suffering from the increasingly harsh working conditions and treated the coats lying like doormats at the end of the day, as their appearance required. Those who saw the piece he once wore on his back in this way were neither inclined to patch the tears nor to wash the mud and dust stains that were about to harden. These people would grab their coats from a place they deemed clean and throw them in the trash behind the main door. The reason for this seemingly unusual behavior was the fact that a well-known Tailor in their town sewed new coats for all the residents of the town every winter, free of charge.      

Some rumors were circulating in the windless corners of the town about what the Tailor, who looked like he could invite you to a sports competition at any time despite being in his late 50s, owed his athletic appearance. Although most people believed that he exercised at home, there was not a single human being who could say that he saw the lights of his gardenless detached house in the center of the town at night. During the day, people from all over the town would witness his daily routine. He would leave his house at the first light of the morning and head to the Central Market. Here he would collect as much garbage as he could fit in his greying palms, and throw it away, but only in the farthest garbage dump in the town. People thought that the reason for this move was to look at the fields surrounding the town, which looked fascinating under the morning lights.

But he wasn’t interested in looking at it to his heart’s content; once he emptied his hands, he would merely glance at the gardens and head to the tailor shop, which was right next to his house. Opening his shop so early would not do him any good, and he wouldn’t do it anyway. He would pull a chair next to the door and start smoking his pipe, which was of an impractical length. He would continue this activity until noon and only open his shop when the sun started to hit the Hurricain from overhead. When he had just settled in the town, his customers, who claimed that they had urgent work to do, would approach him with their clothes, which they believed were damaged or needed to be mended, and demanded that he open the shop. This would be followed by the Tailor taking his pipe from his mouth and giving him a blank yet disturbing look. This act of staring would sometimes continue for a few minutes and end with the customer turning the corner of the shop and walking away, muttering. As the people, in his words, were upset about these events, he began to keep a wooden safe in front of him during leisure hours. Those who wanted to leave their clothes before the Tailor’s starting time would, without saying a word, put what they had in this safe and go to work.