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:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
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