IT IS OF NO REAL VALUE

IT IS OF NO REAL VALUE

As the slightly hunched, aged Chinese man turned the corner, he glanced up at a sign on the opposite side to see if he was at, or near, his proposed destination; the glare of the bright sun made him squint as he made out "AYOUNG'S JEWELRY SHOP & REPAIRS", hanging in front of the building, just above the door. At this, he began to cross the street and stepped down onto the pavement, feeling a slight heat through his thin shoe soles. He slowly made his way across the street under the blazing tropic sun, and as he stepped up onto the pavement, he was directly in front of the now wide-open door with the metal accordion gate directly on this right. The coolness - no, the coldness - of the shop confronted him immediately and he jerked erect for a momentary second or two, then resumed his usual stance. The gentleman behind the counter turned and put his repairs on a work table, resumed his original position of facing the front door, and inquired, "May I help you?" "Yes, you certainly may. I have a ring here that needs grinding down. Are you able to do it? It is perhaps a size too large. It was my wife's, but she has passed away." At this, he stopped his conversation and his head lowered for a moment or two making him seem even older and sadder than when he originally entered the shop. But, after a sigh, and a raising of his head and gaze of his dark, moist eyes, he continued, ". . . and now my granddaughter is getting married in a few months' time, and I want to pass it on to her at that time - and ceremony. The ring goes on, but it is fairly loose and, therefore, I need your assistance."

The shop owner, Mr. Ayoung, put out his still unwrinkled hand to receive the article. The old gentleman reached into the pocket of his black outfit and pulled out a yellowed handkerchief, undoing the knotting, and placed it in his awaiting hand. He raised his hand up and then lowered it, several times and very quickly, judging the approximate weight as he did so, and also intensively considering its pureness and value, all at the same moment, cutting his eyes to watch the old man's expression.

"Yes, I can do it for you, but I have a few other repairs to make before I can do yours".

The old man thought for a moment or two and then said, "I will come back as I don't wish to leave it. . . . if you're that busy".

Mr. Ayoung then turned and looked at his work table. There was a gold necklace that had a chain link which needed mending; a ring with a gemstone that needed re-mounting; and the watch that he was working on when the old gentleman had entered the shop. In addition, there were a few other items in the backroom vault safe that needed repairs or cleaning. It would be cruel to send this old man home to come back again - or unwise, worse yet, because he might go to another jeweller and have it done - work did not present itself that much to turn a customer away. He could sense from the old man's manner that you could not talk him into something other than what he had his mind made up to do.

"Well, I guess I could put the other thing aside. This shouldn't take too long, but you will have to give me a couple more dollars than my usual charge, which is $5.00".

"Thank you, sir", the old man said with what seemed to be something of a smile.

So, Mr. Ayoung bent down and brought up onto the dark oak counter a small motor with a grinding stone connected to it by a shaft. He then measured the size of the ring and offered the ring onto the stone and proceeded to grind away the gold. It fell gently onto the counter, particle by particle, and began to form a lovely golden glow of dust on the old wooden counter, leaving a bright shiny surface on the inside of the ring. After a short while he took the ring off the grinding stone and re-measured it. "Just one or two movements of the stone and that will be it", he then commented.

He replaced the ring on the stone, pressed the foot pedal once or twice and then asked, "Do you wish me to grind the outside, as the inside, to bring up the beauty of the color?"

"What? And give you more gold to store away in your vault for nothing? And still pay you your fee?", the old man replied with a direct frankness which belied his seemingly feebleness.

The questions surprised the jewel shop owner and he took a moment or two to collect his thoughts as not every customer would even dare to say something as this, or even have the keenness to think of it. But now he composed himself from the misjudgement of character that he had rendered and nonchalantly waved his hand over the precious powder and said, "What? This?", then picking up the smallest amount possible and fingering as much of it as possible back into place, acting as though it were dirt by flinging it from his fingers in the air. "That is of no real value!", he could hear his voice shrilly declaring.

The old man said nothing - but bent as though his age was bearing down upon him all at one time and then in an instant, with his short breath, blew all the dust off the counter. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?", the shop owner shrieked.

"It is of no real value", the old man answered, took up the ring, placed the payment on the counter, and walked out into the blazing afternoon.