Why fight for liberty, if it only creates shallow creatures who’ve never known the lack of it? If hardship disappears, life would be as light as a down feather plucked by a bird who will never remember it once kept him warm. Perhaps if Portugal had not won liberal democracy reforms after overthrowing the military last year people would have turned out differently.
Pedro ruminated as he rearranged porcelain vases in the front cabinet of his shop in the Barro Alto district of Lisbon. He had just finished school and was intent on earning a reputation for discipline in color and line using the Chinese aesthetic, but found he had no idea how he would accomplish it.
His existential crisis revolved around people who walked in the door. They weren’t interested in the 18th Century Famille Rose porcelain he displayed. They wanted modern pieces that could pass for antiques, so they could lie to their friends.
“What you want doesn’t exist,” Pedro tried to explain. “Reproductions have designs that look like a 3-year-old drew them with a crayon. The marks on the back could be anything. Once I came across a seller trying to pass off a light blue vase with swirls on it as Yuan Dynasty! And because there are so many people like you who don’t care that liars fall into their own trap, I’m wondering when it will reach a major auction house!”
His eyes were wild. The shoppers left carefully. Pedro found his favorite chair at the back of the shop, where it was dark, and fell into it, creasing the jacket of his elegant grey suit. “Why do people like this exist?” but he felt like one of the millions of voices crying for help that never comes. His thoughts drifted to the 16th Century Ming Dynasty rug fragment he chose for the finance minister’s wife, Sra. Francisca Almada. That would not alter destiny either. It would just become another item among her thousands of possessions.
Pedro gasped.
She was looking in the window!
Cheerfulness takes years of anguish to master. Despite the frostiness he felt, he smiled warmly and opened the door. Her inexplicably worshipping husband followed. “Sr. y Sra. Almada. How lovely to see you again.” Francisca fluttered about the shop, hoping flattery would persuade Pedro to give her a better deal.
She settled upon a bowl on the bottom row of Pedro’s front cabinet. “I love subtle colors. They show such taste and refinement, and the picture of the mother with her children... I just can’t help myself. Wouldn’t this go beautifully in our bedroom, Bento?”
Her husband raised his eyebrows; then nodded like a puppy who knew no other love. “How much is this beautiful piece?” she asked. “It’s a saucer-shaped dish from the Yongzheng Period, which is early 18th Century. The dish is 19.8 centimeters in diameter. The back has the famous crimson rose glaze that was fired at Jingdezhen, when subtle colors began to enter their repertoire.
Jingdezhen is the most famous Imperial kiln factory in China. The white glaze produced there has never been equalled. This bowl was made for export, so after firing, it was sent to a workshop in Canton, where the enamel decoration was added. It comes from a private collection in Belgium. The price is €30,000.”
Bento asked if there was a mark of some kind. “No,” Pedro informed him, “Only pieces made for the Yongzheng Emperor would have his 6-character mark.” “I see,” said Bento. “I like it. You have wonderful taste, my dear.” She smiled. Pedro made his living from husbands who satisfied the acquisitiveness of their wives. He wasn’t enlightening anyone. He was helping cunning, ruthless, intellectually vacuous women hoard antiques that would mean nothing to them in 6 weeks.
They worried Pedro’s mind. He would walk home in tears, fantasizing that impending doom would force them to face the human wreckage that supported their comfort. But he knew full well that fantasies of moral reckoning would not erase their pompous superficiality from his world.
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