I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods

Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.

(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:

My friend and associate in Antwerp called me ‘faint heart’, but this time I was right and he was wrong. We had not gone our several ways above eighteen months when his fortune, which at one time may have reached the seven-figure mark in sterling, was swept away. But I consider that Fate did not, after all, deal unkindly with him. No one was the worse by a penny for his misadventure, and he himself was taken off suddenly, before he really felt poverty. His faults, and he had some, were such as the advantages of education might have eliminated, and his good qualities many. An untruth was an abomination to him. He dealt fairly, fave generously, and of him it might be said with justice that ‘loyalty’ was his middle name.

Such was my large scale dealing in diamonds, playing credits against thousands of pounds’ worth of goods over two continents. There are other sides to the game, however, and I have known most of them. One memory I have of a certain Malayan adventure, which I would not have missed for worlds. It was a fine, delicate, leisurely flavor, full of the adventure of Eastern trading. I will see if I can impart it to you.

There are still some parts of an ever-narrowing world left where an itinerant diamond merchant may unload a larger parcel of brilliants on an unsophisticated housewife than on the local goldsmith, usually, of course, at a better profit! Whether the good woman decides to pay in cash or in monthly instalments, the dealer knows his money is safe, for the Chinese ladies of Malaya are scrupulously honest.

I heard of one likely spot—this was during my Singapore days—and I determined to enlarge my circle of private customers, even though it must involve an automobile journey of four hundred miles, by roads none too good, and across narrow, rickety wooden bridges which might at any moment conspire with the fatalistic speed-maniac at the wheel to precipitate me into a crocodile-infested swamp.

When mercifully I arrived at my destination in an unmutilated condition, I did not know a single soul in the district, and had I not taken the precaution of providing myself with a letter of introduction to one Mirzah, I might have come away at once a sadly disappointed man. This introduction had been scribbled in Arabic Malay upon a half-sheet torn from a motor-accessory dealer’s price list. I could not read it, and for all I knew its contents might have proved embarrassing to me. But I was already taking so many risks that one more didn’t matter. If I knew nothing at all of this Mirzah to whose good offices I was commended, at least his friend, my introducer, was a propertied man and had supplied me with two cans of petrol. But all he had been willing to say of Mirzah was that he acted sometimes as a go-between for merchants if he liked their looks. My prospects of enlisting his cooperation, therefore, were of the slenderest.

When I presented myself at Mirzah’s tin-roofed one-roomed shack he was still at his early morning devotions. After he had perused my introduction, he scrutinized me carefully and then declared with an air of deep gratitude, that I had been sent by Heaven itself. It required little intuition on my part to divine that Mirzah’s cupboard was not overstocked, for hollower cheeks than his I had as yet not encountered in all my journeying across the Malay Peninsular.

There is an Oriental saying which I remembered as I faced my broker-to-be. It says that the All-Merciful never sends one of his winged messengers to earth, but chooses quite an ordinary mortal in pursuit of his own selfish ends, for bringing succour to the needy and comfort to the distressed.

In my eagerness to make the most of the few hours I had allotted to the small township, I asked at once whether Mirzah knew of anyone who stood in urgent need of diamonds. Mirzah replied that it was an ill things to discuss such important business on an empty stomach (he was doubtless referring to his own). I at once agreed to postpone my business until he had broken his fast, for after all, it was only seven, a little more than an hour after sunrise. He offered me the loan of his best rattan rocking chair in which to compose my salesman’s ardor, and went on. I suspected that he had gone to get credit for provender on the strength of his prospects with me, for the news of my arrival in town had already reached the ears of even the most sluggard risers. Meanwhile I took a mental inventory of my host’s possessions.

Upon a large square of grass mat stood a solid hardwood table, surrounded by several high-backed chairs, which have evidence of being home-made. Two rocking chairs had apparently seen several generations come and go. A polished brass vase or two and a cheap color print on a wall, depicting their British Majesties, supplied the decorations. One outsize spittoon represented utility. The room itself was portioned off by a drab cotton curtain reaching halfway to the bare rafters, and hung loosely suspended from a thin, tautly stretched wire rope. Occasionally this curtain bulged and I thought I saw an eye applied to a convenient spy hole. Mirzah’s harem was slaking its curiosity.

Presently Mirzah returned with an armful of provisions. After some delay they were passed back to him through the curtain in the semblance of a substantial breakfast. He ate, I smoked. At length he was willing to talk business. He vouchsafed that there was a wealthy Chinese lady who had long waiting for such as me. She might be game for a good five carat stone, at a reasonable price, but he warned me that she knew what was what. There were also others, he told me, who might be tempted, but first call must be made on the old lady in the fine big house on the top of the hill. I would place myself entirely in his hands, I said, adding that I was ready to go. But he insisted that first he must send his serving-man to make sure that our visit was welcome. The man returned immediately to say we could come as soon as we liked, but Mirzah was not yet ready. He owed it to the English merchant, he said, and to the lady of the fine house on the hill, to make the most of himself. This time he disappeared for a long while behind the curtain, and when he came forth he was transformed.

I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)