The Human Jungle by Cho Chongnae

Author:Cho Chongnae
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chin Music Press Inc.
Published: 2016-08-19T04:00:00+00:00

The following day Cabang met the interpreter and off they went to the antiques market. In Asia, shopping was his pastime as well as his business. Addicted to the thrill of bargaining for unique, incredibly rare items at dirt-cheap prices, he also picked up practical business ideas as he rummaged among the items. The antique markets of Asia were all different, the expression of distinct cultures. But, thought Cabang, the Chinese markets were the best, hands down, whether it was variety you sought, quality, ingeniousness, artistry, or price. The vendors had no concept of displaying and packaging the ancient items mummified in caked layers of dust, but they did have a knack for haggling. For their part buyers like Cabang had a gift for unearthing gems among the disordered piles, an almost psychic propensity for discovery and a talent for thinking on their feet. At the basis of it all was a kind of X-ray vision. Cabang could always find something even after others had combed through the inventory. He lived for the excitement and joy, the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction at the moment of discovery. China had never disappointed him.

Like every antiques market Cabang had ever visited, this one was a dizzying jumble of activity. Vendors lined both sides of the alley, their clothing saturated with destitution, sitting impassively behind spread-out wrapping cloths displaying as few as half a dozen items. Their looks were deceiving, Cabang had learned. In fact, most were hard-core dealers with rolls of money. Their dream was to own a shop of their own, and to this end they would skip meals to save. They were encouraged by the stories of rags-to-riches shop owners with plush establishments who took their sweet time over tea, who had meat for lunch and used toothpicks afterwards. If for once in their life they could latch onto a thousand-year-old item, it would be like winning a lottery. That clandestine wish for a windfall might bring an antique vendor affluence or grief.

Cabang’s blue eyes darted down the alley and he came to a halt at a display guarded by a woman. The interpreter gave him a dubious look. On a grimy cloth lay three items. Cabang braved a squat, an act he hated as much as kneeling or sitting cross-legged. Surprised, the interpreter quickly followed suit.

Pointing to a small box, Cabang signaled the interpreter with his eyes per their routine.

“Duo shao?” said the interpreter. How much?

“Five hundred,” said the woman, spreading wide the fingers of her hand as she sized up her customer.

What a grubby woman! the interpreter silently tutted, thinking she had inflated the price. The woman looked as grimy and needy as the display cloth.

“One-fifty,” said Cabang, trying to stick to the principle of starting at one fifth the asking price and settling for one fourth. The extra fifty yuan was because he liked the item.

“No. Four hundred.” She shook her head and spread four fingers.

“One-sixty!”

“Nooo.” She frowned and again shook her head. “Three fifty.”

“One-seventy!”

“Three hundred.”

“One-eighty!”

“Two-eighty.”

“Let us be gone!” Placing his hands on his knees, Cabang laboriously rose.

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