Two Styles of Coat

On a small street in the north of Vietnam, a tailor's shop sat close beside the road. Every morning, as soon as the sky began to brighten, the tailor opened his doors. He spread a length of cloth across his wooden table, its surface worn to a deep shine by the years. His scissors clicked as they cut through the silk. His needle slipped through the cloth with a faint, soft rustle. All day long those sounds went on, like a tune that belonged to his trade alone.

The tailor was known far and wide for his skill. A coat that passed through his hands had stitches as straight as a ruler and panels that hung evenly. It fit so well that it seemed made for that one person and no one else. Anyone in the area who wanted a decent coat would sooner or later find their way to the little shop by the road.

This is a Vietnamese comic folktale, passed down since long ago so that people could laugh together. The story goes that one day, a great official came to the tailor's shop.

The official walked in, stately and dignified, his robe and hat neatly in place. He said he wanted a coat made, a truly fine and handsome one, to wear when he received guests, so that he would look the part. The tailor bowed and agreed. He warmly invited the official to sit, then brought out the smoothest silk in the house. It was the kind of silk that feels cool against the skin and glows gently in the sun.

Now, everyone in the area knew this official's ways. Whenever he stood before his superiors, he shrank into himself, bent his back and lowered his head. He answered every word with a humble "yes, sir", as soft-spoken as could be. Yet when he turned to ordinary people, he lifted his chin and puffed out his chest. He spoke down to them, as if the world around him counted for nothing. People in the area saw this and could only look at one another and shake their heads.

The tailor took up his measuring stick and began to measure the official. He measured the width of the shoulders, the waist and the length of the coat, murmuring each figure under his breath. When he had finished, he looked up, pressed his palms together politely, and spoke.

"Your Excellency, please permit me to ask one thing. I would like to know whom Your Excellency will receive in this coat."

The official was a little surprised at the question. He frowned and looked down at the tailor.

"Why ask such a thing? A tailor should simply sew the coat well. There is no need to know whom I receive."

The tailor kept his voice soft and calm.

"Sir, I ask only so that the coat will fit just right. Depending on when it is worn, I must cut the panel a little differently."

The more the official heard, the stranger it seemed, and he urged the tailor to go on. The tailor set down his measuring stick and explained at an easy pace, as if he were discussing a perfectly ordinary matter of the trade.

"Your Excellency, if this coat is to be worn when waiting upon the higher officials, then I beg leave to cut the front panel a little shorter. That way, at each low bow, the front of the coat will not sag. It will stay neat and never get in the way."

The official nodded slowly. It sounded reasonable enough. The tailor went on.

"But if this coat is to be worn when receiving ordinary people, then I must cut the back panel shorter instead, sir. At such times Your Excellency leans back, chest out and head held high, and the back of the coat must not drag along the ground."

Having said this, the tailor simply pressed his palms together and stood waiting. His face was honest, as if he had just asked the most ordinary question in the world. Yet what he had just said was no longer about long or short panels at all. Hearing this, the official ought to have been startled.

But the official was not startled in the least. Instead, he looked deeply pleased. He slapped his thigh, nodded his approval, and spoke at his ease.

"Quite right, quite right. Only a skilled tailor would think of a point like that. So here is what we will do. Make me both styles of coat. One for waiting upon my superiors, one for receiving the common people. Each style just as it should be, so that I have the full pair."

The tailor bowed his head and accepted the order, and inside he understood everything. He said not another word. He quietly took up his scissors and cut the silk into two coats, just as the official had ordered. For the coat meant for his superiors, he cut the front panel a little shorter. For the coat meant for the people, he cut the back panel a little shorter. Once again the needle rustled through the cloth, and the seams grew longer in the lamplight.

A few days later, the official came back to try on the coats. He put on the first one and bent low in a bow. Sure enough, the front of the coat stayed neat and never got in the way. He changed into the second, leaned back, puffed out his chest and lifted his head. The back of the coat fit perfectly too. The official was delighted. He chuckled heartily and praised the tailor again and again for his skillful measuring and clever cutting. Then he paid generously and carried both coats home, his heart light and happy. He never once suspected that he had just put on both of those postures of his.

The tailor saw the official all the way to the door. He stood with his palms together, bowing, until the official disappeared around the bend. Then he went back inside, sat down at the wooden table, and picked up his needle and thread again. He went on with the unfinished coat lying on the table. The scissors clicked once more, the needle slipped softly through the cloth, and the little shop grew quiet again, as if nothing had happened.

Only the story of the two styles of coat stayed behind. People passed it from ear to ear and told it again and again, and every telling brought a laugh. After the laugh, someone would always fall quiet for a moment. Then they would glance around, to see whether anyone out there was wearing both styles of coat at once.