Gregor von Rezzori - An Ermine in Czernopol

The diamond Brill had picked up was as big as a dove’s egg. He turned it in his short fingers. The backs of his hands were covered with reddish hair, his skin spotted like the belly of a salamander. Steadying the stone in two fingers, he held it in the thick, dusty ray of light. The stone flashed blue and fire-red.

Brill examined it at arm’s length, then brought it right up to his eyes, stroked the facets and edges with the tips of his fingers, finally took his jeweler’s loupe from his pocket, wedged it under his eyebrow, and continued his examination long and thoroughly. Finally he removed his glass, set the brilliant back on the table, and gave a deep, melancholy sigh.

“Speak!” said old Paşcanu.

“A beautiful stone,” said Brill, slowly, as if recalling a distant memory. “Very much a beautiful stone. A stone with hardly a cloud, hardly a spot of coal …”

“You’re lying!” snorted Paşcanu. “It’s perfectly pure. I paid five million for it.”

“You were cheated, Herr Paşcanu,” said Brill, troubled. “You should have bought from people you can trust, like Usher Brill.”

“What you sell are whipcords,” said Paşcanu, disdainfully. “And bad ones at that.”

“I have seen much in my life, Herr Paşcanu. Some of it thanks to you. And one time a remarkable diamond.”

“Not one like this.”

Brill rocked his bleached head back and forth. “You want to sell, Herr Paşcanu?”

“I want you to tell me what this stone is worth.”

“ Nu , five million. You said yourself.”

“I bought it before the war,” said Paşcanu.

Brill nodded, resigned, with closed eyes. The lie was transparent.

“What’s it worth today?”

Brill sighed. “What it’s worth is from me my whole life, and from you a good laugh, Herr Paşcanu, that’s what it’s worth. Because you are a rich man, Herr Paşcanu, and I am a poor man. But if you ask me what it should cost … It should cost a fortune for whoever buys it, and bring a fortune for whoever sells it. But it’s another story again if you ask me what it’ll bring … Nu , Herr Paşcanu, it’s a beautiful stone, a big stone, hardly a blemish, so, what will it bring? What it will bring — there aren’t many stones like that on the market today …”

“No,” old Paşcanu interrupted, vigilantly. “There’s not another one like it with the same cut. It has a name. I won’t tell you, because I gave it another one. Now it’s called Ice Heart.”

“A beautiful name, Herr Paşcanu. But sad. Why don’t you just rename it the Paşcanu Diamond? People don’t want to hear sad things.”

“Just tell me what it’s worth.”

“Why me, Herr Paşcanu? A stone like this has an international reputation. Why don’t you simply send a telegram to the bourse in Amsterdam: ‘Wire back estimated value Paşcanu diamond.” You want to sell, you make an auction. Rothschild makes a bid, Morgan makes a bid, the Prince of Linz or Wels or whoever, your friends, rich people, they bang with the gavel, going once, going twice, sold. All very simple. What need do you have for Usher Brill?”

“What would you give me for it as a lump sum?”

Brill swallowed. “A man can’t give what he doesn’t have, Herr Paşcanu.”

“All I’m after is security. I mean to entrust this stone to you. Then you’ll buy for me a second one. One exactly like this. I need two.” He made a small, meaningful pause. “That one I’ll call Fire Heart. You’ll buy it for me. Never mind the cost. You understand?”

Usher Brill looked back down at the diamond for the first time since he had examined it. He swallowed once again. He made a movement with his hands, as if to pick up the stone, but then let his arms drop. Once again he closed his eyes and rocked his head from side to side, as he said:

“When I was twelve years old, Herr Paşcanu, I had a dream. I saw old Herr Paşcanu coming to me and saying, ‘Usher my boy, here is a diamond, a diamond so big as a cannonball. Take it and go and buy me another cannonball just like it.’ Nu , that was the dream I had when I was twelve … I am an old man, Herr Paşcanu. God forbid, not as old as you, and yet not everyone has your health, Herr Paşcanu, may God preserve it for you. My business is getting along moderately well. My oldest boy is a parasolnik , a nobody, a nebekh who plays at being a cavalry officer with tennis racquets and goes drinking at the Trocadero like a goy —you’ll excuse me, Herr Paşcanu, as we’re old friends. But I have a little daughter, may God protect her, a nice reasonable girl, and she’s going to marry a sensible man, and I have another boy, a good smart yingl , God’s blessing on our old age, by the name of Solly. They will take over the shop with the whipcords, and maybe even go a little further. But I am an old man, Herr Paşcanu. If I still dream it’s only about the men who come painting swastikas on the shutters at night. Not about great deals with profits in the hundred-thousand range. I have the tax man on my back enough already.”

Paşcanu said nothing.

“Besides,” Brill went on after another deep sigh, “if you’ll permit me to repeat myself, Herr Paşcanu: Why do you need me? What need do you have of Usher Brill? What you need is a telegram sent to Amsterdam: ‘Obtain identical piece Paşcanu Diamond same size form any price stop Paşcanu.’ If they don’t find one, well, at the worst they’ll cut a new one to match. They have enough raw diamonds in all sizes and good for all kinds of cuts. You don’t have to get personally involved, you have people here on the square with excellent connections. But me, I don’t deal much with stones anymore, Herr Paşcanu. I have my shop with whipcords, like you say, it’s getting along, may God protect it, it’s known better days, but I’m an old man, what more do I need, grow up poor and poor you stay … You have experts right here on the square. You have Merdinger & Lipschitz, you have Gottesmann & Rubel, you have Falikmann & Company. And if you don’t want to deal with them, you have Merores. An old acquaintance, Herr Paşcanu. What’s wrong with him? Is he suddenly too high class not to need a few hundred thousand? Maybe the boy, growing up with all those millions. But the old man?”

Herr Paşcanu didn’t move.

Brill looked past the diamond, concentrated. “I am an old man, Herr Paşcanu, of over sixty years,” he said. “You knew me in younger days. Back then, whenever you said to me, ‘Brill, I have some deal, this thing or that, it’s difficult, it calls for discretion, we have to be careful but it’s a good deal,’ well, did I hesitate, Herr Paşcanu? Tell me yourself — did I hesitate, Herr Paşcanu? No I didn’t, Herr Paşcanu. Today I am an old man. I have my business, yes, with whipcords, but there is a crisis in the whole world, and not everyone can take advantage of a situation like you can, and take refuge in stones, but in those days, when you said to me, ‘Brill, I have serious difficulties with the business, avoid making a fuss, a matter of trust’—you tell me! I hear lumber isn’t doing so well, but you are a chosen one, Herr Paşcanu, may God preserve whatever other businesses you may have, I’m always telling my Bubi, my oldest, look at old Herr Paşcanu, I say, the way he climbed down from the mountaintops and didn’t have a shoe on his foot, you’ll excuse me, Herr Paşcanu, but, you know, that’s how people talk, and for the young people it’s an example. So I say to my Bubi: ‘Look at him, this chosen man, who climbed down barefoot from the mountains and now he’s a meylekh , a king among the lumber merchants.’ But he prefers to go the kurvehs at Schorodok’s. So permit me, Herr Paşcanu, but it will be a very expensive purchase. You’ll have to pay in Dutch guldens, and the exchange today is nearly sixty-five to one — not just another order of net stockings, Herr Paşcanu, it will cost millions. And you will kindly permit me to ask: What kind of security are you offering, Herr Paşcanu?”