The Case Of The Kidnapped
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As you arrive Astiti stands up, bows from the. waist and courteously unfolds your batik, muttering an awed and approving
Bagus -Bagus as if permitted to view some sacred relic.
The ritual proceeds. Diffidently, with palms pressed together as though in worship, Astiti now inquires how it is to be made.
A stub of pencil and a dog-eared pad are pressed into your hand and you make a rough sketch.

The moment of truth has now arrived. Unslinging his tape measure from around his neck, Astiti apologetically clears his throat and asks if he may measure you. By now a crowd of children have gathered in the street outside, their amused eyes following every move of the tape. A seller of antiques-yesterday pushes past them into the workroom, and offers you a little bronze bell. You shake your head; he drifts back into the street.

Several discreet coughs later, your vital statistics scribbled on a grubby scrap of paper and pinned to your material, Astiti is bowing you "Selamat Jalan" in the doorway and asking you to call back in two days. Three days later, you return to find your dress, together with a pair of jeans and a couple of men's shirts, draped over a rail at the back of the shop. Astiti is bowing from the waist.

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"Can I try on the frock you ask.
"Please," invites Astiti.
"Where" you inquire.

Astiti takes the dress off the rail, carefully rearranges the shirts and jeans, and points behind them. The children have gathered in the street again. Their eyes sparkle with excitement. If the tourist tries on her frock behind that small screen, without doubt they will be able to see what undies she wears. They titter in happy anticipation. The group on the footpath is now joined by two youth and a wrinkled old hat-seller.

You look at Astiti and shake your head. He gets the message.
"In here," he says opening the door behind you.
You stumble down a step into a disused storeroom - disused except for the rooster who hops off the broken-down bed which occupies most of the space, and vanishes in a flurry of feathers out the opposite door leading to the yard - the room's sole source of light. Well, what are you waiting for The Overture to Swan Lake Quickly you peel off your old frock and slip into your new one. Cautiously you step out of the murky shadows back into the workroom. An old wardrobe sagging against a wall has a mirrowed door. Unbelievingly you look at your reflection. Astiti has captured every line of your scribbled design ... and it fits .... it fits.... it FITS

Astiti sit by your side murmuring .... .. Bagus .... BAGUS." You turn, thank him and ask "How much"
He shakes his head bashfully.
You ask again, Hesitantly he suggests No, it's a price so low I can't bring myself to tell it.. You'd never believe me.
You, yourself, must ask Astiti the tailor of Ubud.