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Questers, April 1935 In a partitioned nook of the Amsterdam Gem Club, teenage apprentice Hank Tromp listened with a newly awakened yearning, as his uncle and the Coptic gem buyer made small talk. They had just closed a deal for respectable cache of Brazilian emeralds. "Where to next, Macarius?" "To Burma for rubies, and then on to Ceylon to buy sapphires." The multi-tongue Egyptian’s voice lacked all trace of an accent. Nor was his western dress a key to his origin. He was not too tall, and had more weight around his middle than was seemly. His hair was white as corn silk. His face was sun baked - its parched skin was often wrinkled with a ready smile. "You’ve a good life, seeing the world. I envy you." |
"It has its ups and downs Chaim. I
have no wife, nor children to leave the wealth you accuse me of hoarding. The thought of
it makes me unhappy at times. Worse, there is no one to whom I may pass the knowledge of
my trade." The Egyptian paused, reflecting. "A rare and dear learning it is
too." Chaim sighed. "God’s will, my Christian friend." The Coptic pointed to Hank, smiling and nodding. "You, on the other hand, have a wife and two sons. Now you’ve have taken on your sister’s son as yet another heir to your skills. It is you, I think, who is to be envied. Perhaps I should follow your example, and take on an apprentice of my own, to make up for the sons I did not sire." Before Chaim could reply, a suddenly eager Hank blurted out his new found desire. "I would go with you Master Serapion!" |
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