pretty substantial reward.”
“It is, indeed.”
“Just how valuable is this carpet?”
“To a collector such as my client, depending on how wealthy he is and how much he might want this particular piece, it could bring anywhere from fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars.”
“That much?”
“Yes. I take it you know relatively little about Orientals.”
“Almost nothing, I'm afraid.”
“Suppose I give you a little background. I'm something of a collector myself, in a minor way, and I've studied Orientals as a hobby for several years.”
“All right.”
He paused to light another cigarette. He smoked them in short, quick drags, so that his face seemed continually wreathed in curls and wisps of smoke. It was difficult for me to keep my eyes fixed on him; the cigarette and the smoke had a kind of hypnotic effect on me. Like a reforming heroin addict looking at somebody with a nickel bag, I thought. You don't want the damned thing, only you want it so bad you can taste it.
Kayabalian said, “Several hundred years ago Daghestan was a province, under both Armenian and Persian rule, in the area sandwiched between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea—what we refer to today as the Caucasus, currently a part of Russia. Daghestan's Armenian weavers, like those in such provinces as Shirvan in the Caucasus and Isfahan in Persia, were consummate craftsmen; their work is historically among the very finest. But not many Daghestan carpets and Namazlyks—prayer rugs—dating from earlier than 1750 have survived in the Western world, for two reasons: production was small and purely functional and carpets were not made specifically for court use, as they were in Persia. They were instead handed down from generation to generation and treasured as family heirlooms; consequently most have remained in the Caucasus. The Russians, of course, guard them jealously.
“The Daghestan in question here is a beautifully preserved specimen, finished in 1709. We know the exact date because it is woven into the carpet in Arabic numerals from the Mohammedan calendar, which begins with Mohammed's journey from Mecca to Medina on the sixteenth of July, 622 A.D. —I'm not giving you too much academic history, am I? I tend to get carried away on the subject.”
“No, I'm with you,” I said.
“Well, my client obtained it in the late fifties through a dealer in Europe, who had gotten it from the family of an eighteenth-century British colonialist; until it was stolen, it was one of the few of its kind owned by a private individual in the Western Hemisphere. It measures eight feet three inches by ten feet seven inches and is dark red in color, with fringed edges. The center field is decorated by three beige rectilinear medallions; around the borders are mihrābs —niches of the type built into mosques to indicate the direction of Mecca—and agrabs , or scorpions, done in beige and dark blue. Can you visualize it from that description?”
“Yes.”
“As I said, it is in remarkably fine condition. Quality Orientals become more beautiful with age and gentle wear; they acquire an almost silken sheen. This one has the most brilliant sheen I've ever seen on a carpet or rug outside a museum. It must be treated with the utmost care. Exposure to direct sunlight or rain or fog, even careless folding or storage, would damage it irreparably. This is just another cause for concern by my client, as you can imagine.”
I said I could.
Kayabalian built a pyramid with his fingers and laid his chin on it. He had the look of an art connoisseur outraged by injustices which he took personally, rather than of an attorney expressing impersonal anger on behalf of a client. He said, “I think that's all I can tell you about the Daghestan. Unless you have questions?”
“Just a few related questions.”
“Yes?”
“How sure are you that Terzian actually had possession of it?”
“Reasonably sure. The modus operandi of the thieves who robbed my client
“It is, indeed.”
“Just how valuable is this carpet?”
“To a collector such as my client, depending on how wealthy he is and how much he might want this particular piece, it could bring anywhere from fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars.”
“That much?”
“Yes. I take it you know relatively little about Orientals.”
“Almost nothing, I'm afraid.”
“Suppose I give you a little background. I'm something of a collector myself, in a minor way, and I've studied Orientals as a hobby for several years.”
“All right.”
He paused to light another cigarette. He smoked them in short, quick drags, so that his face seemed continually wreathed in curls and wisps of smoke. It was difficult for me to keep my eyes fixed on him; the cigarette and the smoke had a kind of hypnotic effect on me. Like a reforming heroin addict looking at somebody with a nickel bag, I thought. You don't want the damned thing, only you want it so bad you can taste it.
Kayabalian said, “Several hundred years ago Daghestan was a province, under both Armenian and Persian rule, in the area sandwiched between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea—what we refer to today as the Caucasus, currently a part of Russia. Daghestan's Armenian weavers, like those in such provinces as Shirvan in the Caucasus and Isfahan in Persia, were consummate craftsmen; their work is historically among the very finest. But not many Daghestan carpets and Namazlyks—prayer rugs—dating from earlier than 1750 have survived in the Western world, for two reasons: production was small and purely functional and carpets were not made specifically for court use, as they were in Persia. They were instead handed down from generation to generation and treasured as family heirlooms; consequently most have remained in the Caucasus. The Russians, of course, guard them jealously.
“The Daghestan in question here is a beautifully preserved specimen, finished in 1709. We know the exact date because it is woven into the carpet in Arabic numerals from the Mohammedan calendar, which begins with Mohammed's journey from Mecca to Medina on the sixteenth of July, 622 A.D. —I'm not giving you too much academic history, am I? I tend to get carried away on the subject.”
“No, I'm with you,” I said.
“Well, my client obtained it in the late fifties through a dealer in Europe, who had gotten it from the family of an eighteenth-century British colonialist; until it was stolen, it was one of the few of its kind owned by a private individual in the Western Hemisphere. It measures eight feet three inches by ten feet seven inches and is dark red in color, with fringed edges. The center field is decorated by three beige rectilinear medallions; around the borders are mihrābs —niches of the type built into mosques to indicate the direction of Mecca—and agrabs , or scorpions, done in beige and dark blue. Can you visualize it from that description?”
“Yes.”
“As I said, it is in remarkably fine condition. Quality Orientals become more beautiful with age and gentle wear; they acquire an almost silken sheen. This one has the most brilliant sheen I've ever seen on a carpet or rug outside a museum. It must be treated with the utmost care. Exposure to direct sunlight or rain or fog, even careless folding or storage, would damage it irreparably. This is just another cause for concern by my client, as you can imagine.”
I said I could.
Kayabalian built a pyramid with his fingers and laid his chin on it. He had the look of an art connoisseur outraged by injustices which he took personally, rather than of an attorney expressing impersonal anger on behalf of a client. He said, “I think that's all I can tell you about the Daghestan. Unless you have questions?”
“Just a few related questions.”
“Yes?”
“How sure are you that Terzian actually had possession of it?”
“Reasonably sure. The modus operandi of the thieves who robbed my client
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