“The result,” Paul said, “was sanguine. They were able to adopt under such duress my viewpoint; they perceived what I had delineated. So it was worth it. Having done that, I rested. Nothing more, Robert. I am exhausted.” He laid the pin back in the box. “Responsibility with me has ended. Discharged.” He pushed the box to Childan.
“Sir, it’s yours,” Childan said, feeling apprehensive; the situation did not fit any model he had ever experienced. A high-placed Japanese lauding to the skies a gift grafted to him—and then returning it. Childan felt his knees wobble. He did not have any idea what to do; he stood plucking at his sleeve, his face flushing.
Calmly, even harshly, Paul said, “Robert, you must face reality with more courage.”
Blanching, Childan stammered, “I’m confused by—”
Paul stood up, facing him. “Take heed. The task is yours. You are the sole agent for this piece and others of its ilk. Also you are a professional. Withdraw for a period into isolation. Meditate, possibly consult the Book of Changes. Then study your window displays, your ads, your system of merchandising.”
Childan gaped at him.
“You will see your way,” Paul said. “How you must go about putting these objects over in a big fashion.”
Childan felt stunned. The man’s telling me I’m obliged to assume moral responsibility for the Edfrank jewelry! Crackpot neurotic Japanese world view: nothing less than number-one spiritual and business relationship with the jewelry tolerable in the eyes of Paul Kasoura.
And the worst part of it was that Paul certainly spoke with authority, right out of dead center of Japanese culture and tradition.
Obligation, he thought bitterly. It could stick with him the rest of his life, once incurred. Right to the grave itself. Paul had—to his own satisfaction, anyhow—discharged his. But Childan’s; ah, that regrettably had the earmark of being unending.
They’re out of their minds, Childan said to himself. Example: they won’t help a hurt man up from the gutter due to the obligation it imposes. What do you call that? I say that’s typical; just what you’d expect from a race that when told to duplicate a British destroyer managed even to copy the patches on the boiler as well as—
Paul was eying him intently. Fortunately, long habit had caused Childan to suppress any show of authentic feelings automatically. He assumed a bland, sober expression, persona that correctly matched the nature of the situation. He could sense it there, the mask.
This is dreadful, Childan realized. A catastrophe. Better Paul had thought I was trying to seduce his wife.
Betty. There was no chance now that she would see the piece, that his original plan would come off. Wu was incompatible with sexuality; it was, as Paul said, solemn and holy, like a relic.
“I gave each of these individuals one of your cards,” Paul said.
“Pardon?” Childan said, preoccupied.
“Your business cards. So that they could come in and inspect other examples.”
“I see,” Childan said.
“There is one more thing,” Paul said. “One of these individuals wishes to discuss this entire subject with you at his location. I have written out his name and address.” Paul handed Childan a folded square of paper. “He wants his business colleagues to hear.” Paul added, “He is an importer. He imports and exports on a mass basis. Especially to South America. Radios, cameras, binoculars, tape recorders, the like.”
Childan gazed down at the paper.
“He deals, of course, in immense quantity.” Paul said. “Perhaps tens of thousands of each item. His company controls various enterprises that manufacture for him at low overhead, all located in the Orient where there is cheaper labor.”