Speaker 1: Cool Zone Media.
Speaker 2: Book Club, book Club, book Club, book Club, book Club,
Speaker 2: book Club, book Club. I wonder how long I can
Speaker 2: do that for book Club book Club, No, I got bored. Hello,
Speaker 2: and welcome to cools on Media book Club, your weekly
Speaker 2: book club that I host. My name is Margaret Kiljoy,
Speaker 2: and I host the cools On Media book Club, which
Speaker 2: is what I had already said. And every week I
Speaker 2: read you different stories. And it's the only book club
Speaker 2: where you don't have to do the reading because I
Speaker 2: do the reading for you. You might have other book
Speaker 2: clubs like that, Well I wouldn't be me doing the
Speaker 2: reading for you, although I do like reading anyway. Okay,
Speaker 2: I've been on this kick where I've been reading old
Speaker 2: stories written by radicals, and I have got for you
Speaker 2: a story that I'm excited about.
Speaker 1: It is written by B. Traven. And if you've never
Speaker 1: heard of B. Traven, that's understandable. And if you have
Speaker 1: heard of B. Traven, you might be excited. B Traven
Speaker 1: what was a really important Mexican pulp fiction writer. He
Speaker 1: was writing in the twenties thirties. I actually don't know
Speaker 1: when he stopped writing because I don't have his hoole biography.
Speaker 1: In front of me. But if he's famous today, there's
Speaker 1: two old movies based on his books. One is called
Speaker 1: The Death Ship and that's less known, and then there's
Speaker 1: the Treasure of the Sierra Nevadas and that movie was
Speaker 1: a big old hit before I or most of you
Speaker 1: were born. But the thing that is really neat about
Speaker 1: be Travan And one day he's actually going to be
Speaker 1: a character on I'm going to do episodes about him
Speaker 1: at some point on cool People who did cool stuff.
Speaker 1: So I don't have all the information right now. The
Speaker 1: thing is is that no one knew who Betraven was
Speaker 1: for so long, Like he would only meet people in
Speaker 1: darkened rooms in order to do interviews and stuff like that.
Speaker 1: He was completely anonymous as this very popular pulp fiction
Speaker 1: writer in Mexico, and a lot of his work was
Speaker 1: translating in English. And you know, two Hollywood movies were
Speaker 1: made after his book books, and almost certainly I believe
Speaker 1: people see this as a known fact now. He was
Speaker 1: a German anarchist named Rhet Marut who was part of
Speaker 1: this There was this whole wave Germany almost had a
Speaker 1: revolution at the end of the nineteen tens, and I
Speaker 1: haven't really covered this uncol people did cool stuff yet,
Speaker 1: so I don't know a ton about it. Rosa Luxembourg
Speaker 1: is a big famous person from all this whole thing.
Speaker 1: And there was a bunch of anarchist artists who got
Speaker 1: together and tried to create a Soviet and in the
Speaker 1: Soviet sense of like a bottom up assembly organized society,
Speaker 1: rather than what the Soviet Union became, which has nothing
Speaker 1: to do with Soviets. I'm not bitter. Rhet Marut had
Speaker 1: to flee Germany because of his role in this revolution,
Speaker 1: but he was a fiction writer, and so he made
Speaker 1: it to Mexico and he started writing, and he wrote
Speaker 1: a lot of really popular stuff. And so I'm going
Speaker 1: to read one of his short stories today. This story
Speaker 1: is called assembly Line, and I've said this with a
Speaker 1: couple episodes recently. It was written in nineteen twenty eight,
Speaker 1: or it was published in nineteen twenty eight in English,
Speaker 1: and it was probably translated into English by Betraven himself.
Speaker 1: But the way that people wrote about race and indigenity
Speaker 1: was different. And I would also say that the way
Speaker 1: that indigenity versus like radical leftist politics looks different in Mexico. Historically,
Speaker 1: this is going to be a story about an indigenous
Speaker 1: man in Ohaka. And I could not really tell you
Speaker 1: about the relationship of Bee Traven to indigenity in terms
Speaker 1: of writing and things like that, but I can tell
Speaker 1: you that I have studied since like the eighteen forties
Speaker 1: eighteen fifties, this overlap between European anarchist politics, learning from
Speaker 1: and hanging out with and being part of Mexican radical culture,
Speaker 1: including indigenous culture, and so I suspect I don't know
Speaker 1: whatever I'm doing this thing where I'm like, hey, some
Speaker 1: of the writing in this is like not the way
Speaker 1: that someone would write it now, or things like that,
Speaker 1: But I still find it a very interesting story. And
Speaker 1: I also like reading these stories because of how they're
Speaker 1: indicative of the way that radical fiction writers perceived of
Speaker 1: their world and what they like to write about at
Speaker 1: different times. And I think that there's a value also
Speaker 1: in that. I also just like this story. This is
Speaker 1: another example kind of like the Toll story stories I've
Speaker 1: been reading where it is a skilled writer who is
Speaker 1: writing these political parables, and I think that that skilled
Speaker 1: writer is important. And I also have a particular love
Speaker 1: like Tulsoi is fine. I have a particular love for
Speaker 1: pulp fiction in adventure novels, and that's what B. Traven
Speaker 1: is more known for. Although this is not as much
Speaker 1: of an adventure story. Write the story assembly line B.
Speaker 1: Travean nineteen twenty eight, mister E. L. Winthrop of New
Speaker 1: York was on vacation in the Republic of Mexico. It
Speaker 1: wasn't long before he realized that this strange and really
Speaker 1: wild country had not yet been fully explored by rotarians
Speaker 1: and lions, who are forever conscious of their glorious mission
Speaker 1: on Earth. Therefore, he considered it his duty as a
Speaker 1: good American citizen to play his part in correcting this oversight.
Speaker 1: In search of opportunities to indulge in his new avocation,
Speaker 1: he left the beaten track and ventured into regions not
Speaker 1: especially mentioned and hence not recommended by travel agents to
Speaker 1: foreign tourists. So it happened that one day he found
Speaker 1: himself in a little quaint Indian village somewhere in the
Speaker 1: state of Ojaka. Walking along the dusty main street of
Speaker 1: this peblocito, which knew nothing of pavements, drainage, plumbing, or
Speaker 1: any means of artificial light save candles or pine splinters,
Speaker 1: he met with an Indian squatting on the earth and
Speaker 1: floor front porch of a palm hut, a so called yaclito.
Speaker 1: The Indian was busy making little baskets from bast and
Speaker 1: all kinds of fibers gathered by him in the immense
Speaker 1: tropical bush which surrounded the village on all sides. The
Speaker 1: material used had not only been well prepared for its purpose,
Speaker 1: but was also richly colored with dyes that the basket
Speaker 1: maker himself extracted from various native plants, barks, roots, and
Speaker 1: from certain insects by a process known only to him
Speaker 1: and the members of his family. His principal business, however,
Speaker 1: was not producing baskets. He was a peasant who lived
Speaker 1: on what the small property he possessed less than fifteen
Speaker 1: acres of not too fertile soil, would yield. After much
Speaker 1: sweat and labor, and after constantly worrying over the most
Speaker 1: wanted and best suited distribution of rain, sunshine, and wind,
Speaker 1: and the changing balance of birds and insects beneficial or
Speaker 1: harmful to his crops. Baskets he made when there was
Speaker 1: nothing else for him to do in the fields, because
Speaker 1: he was unable to dawdle after all the sale of
Speaker 1: his baskets, though to a rather limited degree, only added
Speaker 1: to the small income he received from his little farm.
Speaker 1: In spite of being by profession just a plain peasant,
Speaker 1: it was clearly seen from the small baskets he made
Speaker 1: that at heart he was an artist, a true and
Speaker 1: accomplished artist. Each basket looked as if covered all over
Speaker 1: with the most beautiful, sometimes fantastic ornaments, flowers, butterflies, birds, squirrels, antelopes, tigers,
Speaker 1: and a score of other animals of the wilds. Yet
Speaker 1: the most amazing thing was that these decorations, all of
Speaker 1: them symphonies of color, were not painted on the baskets,
Speaker 1: but were instead actually part of the baskets themselves. Bast
Speaker 1: and fibers dyed and dozens of different colors were so
Speaker 1: cleverly one might actually say intrinsically interwoven, that those attractive
Speaker 1: designs appeared on the inner part of the basket as
Speaker 1: well as the outside, not by painting, but by weaving.
Speaker 1: Were those highly artistic designs achieved. This performance he accomplished
Speaker 1: without ever looking at any sketch or pattern while working
Speaker 1: on a basket. These designs came to light as if
Speaker 1: by magic, and as long as the basket was not
Speaker 1: entirely finished, one could not perceive what in this case
Speaker 1: or that the decoration would be like. People in the
Speaker 1: market town who bought these baskets would use them for
Speaker 1: sewing baskets, or to decorate tables with or window sills,
Speaker 1: or to hold little things to keep them from lying around.
Speaker 1: Women put their jewelry in them, or flowers or little dolls.
Speaker 1: There were, in fact a hundred and two ways they
Speaker 1: might serve certain purposes in a household or in a
Speaker 1: lady's own room. Whenever the Indian had finished about twenty
Speaker 1: of the baskets, he took them to town on market day.
Speaker 1: Sometimes he would already be on his way shortly after midnight,
Speaker 1: because he owned only a burrow to ride on, and
Speaker 1: if the borough had gone astray the day before, as
Speaker 1: happened frequently, he would have to walk the whole way
Speaker 1: into town and back again. At the market, he had
Speaker 1: to pay twenty centavos and taxes to sell his wares.
Speaker 1: Each basket cost him between twenty and thirty hours of
Speaker 1: constant work, not counting the time spent gathering the bast
Speaker 1: and fibers, preparing them, making die and coloring the bast all.
Speaker 1: This meant extra time and work. The price he asked
Speaker 1: for for each basket was fifty centavos, the equivalent of
Speaker 1: about four cents. It seldom happened, however, that the buyer
Speaker 1: paid outright the full fifty centavos asked, or for realis,
Speaker 1: as the Indians called that money. The prospective buyer started bargaining,
Speaker 1: telling the Indian he ought to be ashamed to ask
Speaker 1: such a sinful price. Why the whole dirty thing is
Speaker 1: nothing but dirty patate straw, which you find in heaps
Speaker 1: wherever you may look for it. The jungle is packed
Speaker 1: full of it. The buyer would argue, if I paid you,
Speaker 1: you thief ten cent of vetos for it, you should
Speaker 1: be grateful for it and kiss my hand. Well, it's
Speaker 1: your lucky day. I'll be generous this time. I'll pay
Speaker 1: you twenty and not one green centavo more. Take it
Speaker 1: run along. So he sold finally for twenty five centavos.
Speaker 1: But the buyer would say, and what do you think
Speaker 1: of that? I've only got twenty centavos change on me?
Speaker 1: What can you do about that? If you can change
Speaker 1: me at twenty p payso bill?
Speaker 2: All right?
Speaker 1: You shall have your twenty five fieros. Of course, the
Speaker 1: Indian could not change a twenty payso bill, and so
Speaker 1: the basket went for twenty centavos. He had little, if
Speaker 1: any knowledge of the outside world, or he would have
Speaker 1: known that what happened to him was happening every hour
Speaker 1: of every day to every artist all over the world.
Speaker 1: That knowledge would have made him very proud, because he
Speaker 1: would have realized that he belonged to the little army
Speaker 1: which is the salt of the earth, and which keeps culture, urbanity,
Speaker 1: and beauty for their own sakes from passing away. Often,
Speaker 1: it was not possible for him to sell all the
Speaker 1: baskets he had brought to market. For people here as
Speaker 1: elsewhere in the world, preferred things made by the millions,
Speaker 1: and each so much like the other that you were unable,
Speaker 1: even with the help of a magnifying glass, to tell
Speaker 1: which was which and where was the difference between two
Speaker 1: of the same kind. Yet he, this craftsman, had in
Speaker 1: his life, made several hundreds of these exquisite baskets, but
Speaker 1: so far no two of them had ever turned out
Speaker 1: alike in design. Each was an individual piece of art,
Speaker 1: and as different from the other as a marion from
Speaker 1: a Velasquez. Naturally, he did not want to take those baskets,
Speaker 1: which he could not sell at the marketplace home with
Speaker 1: him again if he could help it. In such a case,
Speaker 1: he went peddling his products from door to door, where
Speaker 1: he was treated partly as a beggar and partly as
Speaker 1: a vagrant, apparently looking for an opportunity to steal, and
Speaker 1: he frequently had to swallow all sorts of insults and
Speaker 1: nasty remarks. Then, after a long run, perhaps a woman
Speaker 1: would finally stop him, take one of the baskets and
Speaker 1: offer ten centavos, which price, through talks and talks, would
Speaker 1: perhaps go up to fifteen or even twenty. Nevertheless, in
Speaker 1: many instances he would actually get no more than just
Speaker 1: ten centavos, and the buyer, usually a woman, would grasp
Speaker 1: that little marvel right before his eyes and throw it
Speaker 1: carelessly on the nearest table, as if to say, while
Speaker 1: I take that piece of nonsense only for charity's sake,
Speaker 1: I know my money is wasted, but then after all,
Speaker 1: I'm a Christian, and I can't see a poor Indian
Speaker 1: die of hunger since he has come such a long
Speaker 1: way from his village. This would remind her of something better,
Speaker 1: and she would hold him and say, where you at home? Anyway?
Speaker 1: In Dieto? Where's your pueblo? So from Huhutonoc? Now listen
Speaker 1: here in Dieto. Can't you bring me next Saturday two
Speaker 1: or three turkeys from Hutonoc? But they must be heavy
Speaker 1: and fat and very very cheap, or I won't even
Speaker 1: touch them if I wish to pay the regular price.
Speaker 1: I don't need you to bring them, understand, hop along?
Speaker 1: Now in Deeto, the Indian squatted on the earth and
Speaker 1: floor of the portico in his hut, attended to his work,
Speaker 1: and showed no special interest in the curiosity of mister
Speaker 1: Winthrop watching him. He acted almost as if he ignored
Speaker 1: the presence of the American altogether. How much is that
Speaker 1: little basket, friend, mister Winthrop asked, when he felt he
Speaker 1: had at least say something so as to not ap
Speaker 1: peer idiotic fifty centavos patroncito, my good little lordie for Realez,
Speaker 1: The Indian answered, politely, All right, sold, mister Winthrop blurted
Speaker 1: out in a tone and with a gesture as if
Speaker 1: he had just bought a whole railroad, and examining his
Speaker 1: by he added, I already know who I'll give that
Speaker 1: pretty little thing to. She'll kiss me for it. Sure,
Speaker 1: I wonder what should you use it for? He had
Speaker 1: expected to hear a price of three or even four pesos.
Speaker 1: The moment he realized that he had judged the value
Speaker 1: six times too high, he saw right away what great
Speaker 1: business possibilities this miserable Indian village might offer to a
Speaker 1: dynamic promoter like himself. Without further delay, he started exploring
Speaker 1: those possibilities. Suppose is my good friend, I buy ten
Speaker 1: of these little baskets of yours, which I which I
Speaker 1: might as well admit right here and now have practically
Speaker 1: no real use whatsoever. Well, as I was saying, if
Speaker 1: I buy ten, how much would you then charge a piece?
Speaker 1: The Indian hesitated for a few seconds, as if making calculations. Finally,
Speaker 1: he said, if you buy ten, I can let you
Speaker 1: have them for forty five centavos each, Senorito, gentleman, All right, amigo,
Speaker 1: And now let's suppose I buy from you straight away
Speaker 1: one hundred of these absolutely useless baskets. How much will
Speaker 1: each cost me? The Indian, never looking up to the
Speaker 1: Americans standing before him, and hardly taking his eyes off
Speaker 1: his work, said politely, with out the slightest trace of
Speaker 1: enthusiasm in his voice. In such a case, I might
Speaker 1: not be quite unwilling to sell each for forty cent
Speaker 1: of vitos. Mister Winthrop bought sixteen baskets, which was all
Speaker 1: the Indian had in stock. But you know who does
Speaker 1: have more in stock? Well, whoever's advertising, They probably have
Speaker 1: a bunch of stuff, and you could buy it if
Speaker 1: you want. Or you could press the forward thirty second
Speaker 1: spot in a couple times so you hear the theme
Speaker 1: music again. You could do whatever you want, and we're back.
Speaker 1: After three weeks stay in the Republic, mister Winthrop was
Speaker 1: convinced that he knew this country perfectly, that he had
Speaker 1: seen everything and knew all about the inhabitants, their character,
Speaker 1: and their way of life, and that there was nothing
Speaker 1: left for him to explore. So he returned to good
Speaker 1: old New York and felt happy to be once more
Speaker 1: in a civilized country, rust it to himself. One day,
Speaker 1: going out for lunch, he passed to confectioners, and looking
Speaker 1: at the little display in the window, he suddenly remembered
Speaker 1: the little baskets he had bought in that far away
Speaker 1: Indian village. He hurried home and took all the baskets
Speaker 1: he still had left to one of the best known
Speaker 1: candy makers in the city. I can offer you here,
Speaker 1: mister Winthrop, said to the confectioner, one of the most
Speaker 1: artistic and at the same time most original of boxes,
Speaker 1: if you wish to call them, that these little baskets
Speaker 1: would be just right for the most expensive chocolates meant
Speaker 1: for elegant and high priced gifts. Just have a good
Speaker 1: look at them, sir, and let me listen. The confectioner
Speaker 1: examined the baskets and found them extraordinarily well suited for
Speaker 1: a certain line in his business. Never before had there
Speaker 1: been anything like them, for originality, prettiness and good taste.
Speaker 1: He however, avoided most carefully showing any sign of enthusiasm
Speaker 1: for which there would be time enough. Once he knew
Speaker 1: the price and whether he could get a whole load exclusively,
Speaker 1: he shrugged his shoulders and said, well, I don't know.
Speaker 1: If you asked me, I say, it isn't quite what
Speaker 1: I'm after. It depends, of course, on the price. In
Speaker 1: our business, the package mustn't cost more than once in it,
Speaker 1: Do I hear? An offer, mister Winthrop asked, why don't
Speaker 1: you tell me in round figures how much you want
Speaker 1: for them? I'm no good at guessing. Well, i'll tell you,
Speaker 1: mister Kemple. Since I'm the smart guy who discovered these baskets,
Speaker 1: and since I'm the only jack who knows where to
Speaker 1: lay his hand on more, I'm selling to the highest
Speaker 1: bidder on an exclusive basis. Of course, I'm positive you
Speaker 1: can see it my way, mister Kemple. Quite so, and
Speaker 1: may the best man win. The confectioner said, I'll talk
Speaker 1: the matter over with my partners. See me tomorrow morning,
Speaker 1: same time, please, and i'll let you know how far
Speaker 1: we might be willing to go. Next day, when both
Speaker 1: gentlemen met again, mister Kemple said, now, to be frank
Speaker 1: with you, I know art on seeing it, no getting
Speaker 1: around that. And these baskets are a little works of art.
Speaker 1: They surely are. However, we are not art dealers. You
Speaker 1: realize that, of course we've no other use for these
Speaker 1: pretty little things except us fancy packing for our French
Speaker 1: prelines made by us. We can't pay for them what
Speaker 1: we meant I might pay considering them as pieces of art.
Speaker 1: After all to us. They're only wrappings. Fine rappings perhaps,
Speaker 1: but nevertheless rappings. You'll see it our way, I hope,
Speaker 1: mister Oh yes, mister Winthrop. So here is our offer,
Speaker 1: take it or leave it. A dollar and a quarter
Speaker 1: apiece and not one cent more. Mister Winthrop made a
Speaker 1: gesture as if he had been struck over the head.
Speaker 1: The confectioner, misunderstanding this involuntary gesture of mister Winthrop, added quickly,
Speaker 1: all right, all right, no reason to get excited, no
Speaker 1: reason at all. Perhaps we can do a trifle better.
Speaker 1: Let's say one fifty. Make it one seventy five, mister
Speaker 1: Winthrop snapped, swallowing his breath while wiping his forehead. Sold
Speaker 1: one seventy five apiece free at Port of New York.
Speaker 1: We pay the customs and you pay the shipping. Right sold,
Speaker 1: mister Winthrop also said, and the deal was closed. There is,
Speaker 1: of course, one condition, the confectioner explained, when mister Winthrop
Speaker 1: was to leave one or two hundred won't do it
Speaker 1: for us. It wouldn't pay the trouble in the end
Speaker 1: advertising I wouldn't consider less than ten thousand or one
Speaker 1: thousand dozens, if that sounds better. In your ears, and
Speaker 1: they must come in twelve different patterns. Well assorted, how
Speaker 1: about that I can make it sixty different patterns or designs,
Speaker 1: So much the better, And you're sure you can deliver
Speaker 1: ten thousand, let's say early October. Absolutely, mister Winthrop vowed
Speaker 1: and signed the contract. Practically all the way back to Mexico,
Speaker 1: mister Winthrop had a notebook in his left hand and
Speaker 1: a pencil in his right, and he was writing figures,
Speaker 1: long rows of them to find out exactly how much
Speaker 1: richer he would be when his business had been put through. Now,
Speaker 1: let's sum up the whole goddamn thing, he muttered to himself.
Speaker 1: Damn it, where is that cursed pencil again? I had
Speaker 1: it right between my fingers. Ah, there it is ten thousand,
Speaker 1: he ordered. Well, well, there we get a clean cut
Speaker 1: profit of fifteen thousand, four hundred and forty genuine dollars
Speaker 1: sweet smackers, fifteen grand right in a papa's pocket. Come
Speaker 1: to think of it, that republic isn't so backward after all.
Speaker 1: Buenos tardes, mi amigo, how are you whom he found
Speaker 1: squatting in the porch of his jocolito as if he
Speaker 1: had never moved from his place, since mister Winthrop had
Speaker 1: left for New York. The Indian Rose took off his hat,
Speaker 1: bowed politely, and said, in his soft voice, be welcome, Patronsito.
Speaker 1: Thank you. I feel fine, Thank you, moebenos tards the house,
Speaker 1: and all I have is at your kind disposal. He
Speaker 1: bowed once more, moved his right hand in a gesture
Speaker 1: of greeting, and sat down. But he excused himself for
Speaker 1: doing so by saying, pardon me, Patrosito, I have to
Speaker 1: take advantage of the daylight. Soon it will be night.
Speaker 1: I've got big business for you, my friend, mister Winthrop.
Speaker 1: Agan good to hear that. Signor. Mister Winthrop said to himself.
Speaker 1: Now he'll jump up and go wild when he learns
Speaker 1: what I've got for him, and aloud, he said, do
Speaker 1: you think you can make one thousand of these little baskets?
Speaker 1: Why not, Patronzito. If I can make sixteen, I can
Speaker 1: make one thousand also, that's right, my good man. Can
Speaker 1: you also make five thousand? Of course, Signor, I can
Speaker 1: make five thousand if I can make one thousand. Good Now,
Speaker 1: if I should ask you to make me ten thousand,
Speaker 1: what would you say? And what would be the price
Speaker 1: of each You can make ten thousand, can't you? Of
Speaker 1: course I can't signor I can make as many as
Speaker 1: you wish. You see, I am an expert in this
Speaker 1: sort of work. No one else in the whole state
Speaker 1: can make them the way I do. That's what I thought,
Speaker 1: and that's exactly why I came to you. Thank you
Speaker 1: for the honor, Patroncito. Suppose I order you to make
Speaker 1: ten thousand of these baskets, how much time do you
Speaker 1: think you would need to deliver them? The Indian, without
Speaker 1: interrupting his work, cocked his head to one side and
Speaker 1: the other, as if you were counting the days or
Speaker 1: weeks it would cost him to make all these baskets.
Speaker 1: After a few minutes, he said, in a slow voice,
Speaker 1: it will take a good long time to make so
Speaker 1: many baskets, Petroncito. You see, the bast and the fibers
Speaker 1: must be very dry before they could be used properly. Then,
Speaker 1: all during the time they are slowly drying, they must
Speaker 1: be worked and handled in a very special way, so
Speaker 1: that while drying they won't lose their softness and their
Speaker 1: flexibility and their natural browks. Even when dry, they must
Speaker 1: look fresh. They must never lose their natural property, so
Speaker 1: they will look just as lifeless and dull as straw.
Speaker 1: Then while they are drying, I got to go get
Speaker 1: the plants and roots and barks and insects from which
Speaker 1: I brew the dyes. That takes much time. Also, believe me,
Speaker 1: the plants must be gathered when the moon is just right,
Speaker 1: or they won't give the right color. The insects I
Speaker 1: pick from the plants must also be gathered at the
Speaker 1: right time and under the right conditions, or else they
Speaker 1: produce no rich colors and are just like dust. But
Speaker 1: of course, hefsito, I can make as many of these
Speaker 1: kind of steethas as you wish, even as many as
Speaker 1: three dozens if you want them. Only give me time.
Speaker 1: Three dozens, three dozens, mister Winthrop yelled, threw up both
Speaker 1: arms and desperation. Three dozens. He repeated it as if
Speaker 1: he had to say it many times in his own voice,
Speaker 1: so as to understand the real meaning of it, because
Speaker 1: for a while he thought he was dreaming. He had
Speaker 1: expected the Indian to go crazy on hearing that he
Speaker 1: was to sell ten thousand of his baskets without having
Speaker 1: to pedal them from door to door and be treated
Speaker 1: like a dog with a skin disease. So the American
Speaker 1: took up the question of price again, by which he
Speaker 1: hoped to activate the Indian's ambition. You told me that
Speaker 1: if I take one hundred baskets, you will let me
Speaker 1: have them for forty centavos apiece. Is that right, my friend?
Speaker 1: Quite right? Hepacito. Now, mister Winthrop took a deep breath. Now,
Speaker 1: then if I ask you to make one thousand, that
Speaker 1: is ten times one hundred baskets, how much will they
Speaker 1: cost me each basket? That figure was too high for
Speaker 1: the Indian to grasp. He became slightly confused, and for
Speaker 1: the first time since mister Winthrop had arrived, he interrupted
Speaker 1: his work and tried to think it out. Several times,
Speaker 1: he shook his head and looked vaguely around as if
Speaker 1: for help. Finally, he said, excuse me, hepasito, little chief,
Speaker 1: that is by far too much for me to count. Tomorrow,
Speaker 1: if you'll do me the honor, come and see me again,
Speaker 1: and I think I shall have my answer ready for you, patronsito.
Speaker 1: And so then the guy, the American guy, he went
Speaker 1: off and listened to ads. That's what he did. I
Speaker 1: totally didn't add that to the story. That's definitely a
Speaker 1: part of the story. That's not true. It's not part
Speaker 1: of my story.
Speaker 2: I've added it.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry, I can underly to you, says and rebec.
Speaker 1: When on the next morning mister Winthrop came to the hut,
Speaker 1: he found the Indian, as usual, squatting on the floor
Speaker 1: under the overhanging palm roof, working at his baskets. Have
Speaker 1: you got the price for ten thousand, he asked the
Speaker 1: Indian at the very moment he saw him, without taking
Speaker 1: the trouble to say good morning. See, patronsito, I have
Speaker 1: the price ready. You may believe me. It has costed
Speaker 1: much labor and worry to find out the exact price,
Speaker 1: because you see, I do not wish to cheat you
Speaker 1: out of your honest money. Skip that, amigo, Come out
Speaker 1: with the salad. What's the price, mister Winthrop asked nervously.
Speaker 1: The price is well calculated now without any mistake on
Speaker 1: my side. Have I got to make one thousand kindastitas?
Speaker 1: Each will be three pesos. If I must make five thousand,
Speaker 1: each will cost nine pesos. And if I have to
Speaker 1: make ten thousand. In such a case, I can't make
Speaker 1: them for less than fifteen pesos each. Immediately he returned
Speaker 1: to his work, as if he was afraid of losing
Speaker 1: too much time with such idle talk. Mister Winthrop thought
Speaker 1: it was perhaps his faulty knowledge of this foreign language
Speaker 1: that had played a trick on him. Did I hear
Speaker 1: you say fifteen pesos each if I eventually would buy
Speaker 1: ten thousand. That's exactly and without any mistake, what I've said, Patronsito,
Speaker 1: the Indian answered in a soft and courteous voice. But
Speaker 1: now see here, my good man, you can't do this
Speaker 1: to me. I'm your friend and I want to help
Speaker 1: you get on your feet. Yes, Patronsito, I know this,
Speaker 1: and I don't doubt any of your words. Now let's
Speaker 1: be patient and talk this over man to man. Didn't
Speaker 1: you tell me that if I would buy but one hundred,
Speaker 1: that you would sell each for forty centavos? See Hevesito.
Speaker 1: That's what I said. If you buy one hundred, you
Speaker 1: can have them for forty centavos apiece, provided that I
Speaker 1: have one hundred, which I don't. Yes, yes, I see that.
Speaker 1: Mister Winthrop felt as if he would go insane any minute. Now, Yes, oh,
Speaker 1: you said, only what I can't comprehend is why you
Speaker 1: cannot sell at the same price if you make me
Speaker 1: ten thousand. I certainly don't want to chisel on the price.
Speaker 1: I am not that kind only well, let's see now
Speaker 1: if you can sell for forty centavos at all, be
Speaker 1: it for twenty or fifty or one hundred. I can't
Speaker 1: quite get the idea of why the price is to
Speaker 1: jump that high if I buy more than one hundred. Bueno,
Speaker 1: patron tito, What is there so difficult to understand? It's
Speaker 1: all very simple. One thousand kindistitas costs me one hundred
Speaker 1: times more work than a dozen. Ten thousand cost me
Speaker 1: so much time and labor that I could never finish them,
Speaker 1: not even in one hundred years. For a thousand kindis titas,
Speaker 1: I need more basts than for one hundred, and I
Speaker 1: need more little red beetles and more plants than roots
Speaker 1: for the dyes. It isn't that you can just walk
Speaker 1: into the bush and pick all the things you need
Speaker 1: at your heart's desire. One root with the true violet
Speaker 1: blue may cost me four or five days until I
Speaker 1: can find one in the jungle. And if you thought
Speaker 1: how much time it takes and how much hard work
Speaker 1: to prepare the bast in fiber. What is more, if
Speaker 1: I must make so many baskets, who will then look
Speaker 1: after my corn and my beans and my goats, and
Speaker 1: chase for me occasionally a rabbit for meat on Sunday.
Speaker 1: If I have no corn, then I have no tortillas
Speaker 1: to eat. And if I grow no beans, where will
Speaker 1: I get my fruholes from. But since you'll get so
Speaker 1: much money from me for your baskets, you can buy
Speaker 1: all the corn and beans in the world, and more
Speaker 1: than you need. That's what you think, Senorito, little lordie.
Speaker 1: But you see, it is only the corn I grow
Speaker 1: for myself that I am sure of. Of the corn
Speaker 1: which others may or may not grow, I cannot be
Speaker 1: sure to feast upon. Haven't you got some relatives here
Speaker 1: in this village who might help you make baskets for me?
Speaker 1: Mister Winthrop asked, hopefully Practically the whole village is related
Speaker 1: to me somehow or other? Fact? Is I got a
Speaker 1: lot of close relatives in this here place. Well, then
Speaker 1: can't they cultivate your fields and look after your goats
Speaker 1: while you make baskets for me? Not only this, they
Speaker 1: might gather for you the fibers and the collars in
Speaker 1: the bush, and lend you a hand here and there,
Speaker 1: and preparing the material you need for the baskets. They
Speaker 1: might patroancate again, They might possible, But then you see
Speaker 1: who would take care of their fields and cattle if
Speaker 1: they work for me, and if they help me with
Speaker 1: the baskets. It turns out the same. No one would
Speaker 1: any longer work in his fields properly. In such a case,
Speaker 1: corn and beans would get so high up in price
Speaker 1: that none of us could buy any and we would
Speaker 1: all serve to death. Besides, as the price of everything
Speaker 1: would rise and rise higher still, how could I make
Speaker 1: baskets for forty centavos apiece? A pinch of salt or
Speaker 1: one green chili would set me back more than I'd
Speaker 1: collect for one single basket. No, you'll understand, highly estimated
Speaker 1: Caballero and hevcito, why I can't make the baskets any
Speaker 1: cheaper than fifteen pasos each. If I got to make
Speaker 1: that many, mister Winthrop was hard boiled, no wonder, considering
Speaker 1: the city he came from. He refused to give up
Speaker 1: more than fifteen thousand dollars, which at that moment seemed
Speaker 1: to slip away through his fingers like nothing. Being really
Speaker 1: desperate now, he talked and bargained with the Indian for
Speaker 1: almost two full hours, trying to make him understand how
Speaker 1: rich he the Indian would be calm if he would
Speaker 1: take this greatest opportunity of his life. The Indians ever
Speaker 1: ceased working on his baskets while he explained his points
Speaker 1: of view. You know, my good man, mister Winthrop said,
Speaker 1: such a wonderful chance might never again knock on your door.
Speaker 1: Do you realize that? Let me explain to you, in
Speaker 1: ice cold figures, what fortune you might miss if you
Speaker 1: leave me flat on this deal. He tore leaf after
Speaker 1: leaf from his notebook, covered each with figures and still
Speaker 1: more figures, and while doing so, told the peasant he
Speaker 1: would be the richest man in the whole district. The Indian,
Speaker 1: without answering, watched with a genuine expression of all as
Speaker 1: mister Winthrop wrote down these long figures, executing complicated multiplications
Speaker 1: and divisions and subtractions so rapidly that it seemed to
Speaker 1: him the greatest miracle he had ever seen. The American,
Speaker 1: noting this growing interest in the Indian, misjudged the real
Speaker 1: significance of it. There you are, my friend, he said,
Speaker 1: that's exactly how rich you're going to be. You'll have
Speaker 1: a bankroll of exactly four thousand pesos. And to show
Speaker 1: you that I'm a real friend of yours, I'll throw
Speaker 1: in a bonus. I'll make it around five thousand pesos,
Speaker 1: and all in sober The Indian, however, had not for
Speaker 1: one moment thought of four thousand pesos. Such an amount
Speaker 1: of money had no meaning to him. He had been
Speaker 1: interested solely in mister Winthrop's ability to write figures so rapidly.
Speaker 1: So what do you say now? Is it a deal
Speaker 1: or is it Say yes, and you'll get your advance
Speaker 1: this very minute. As I have explained, patronsito, the price
Speaker 1: is fifteen pesos each. But my good man, mister Winthrop
Speaker 1: shouted at the poor Indian, in utter despair, where have
Speaker 1: you been all this time on the moon? Or where
Speaker 1: you are still at the same price as before? Yes,
Speaker 1: I know that hepacito, my little chief, The Indian answered,
Speaker 1: entirely unconcerned. It must be the same price, because I
Speaker 1: cannot make any other one besides signor there's still another
Speaker 1: thing which perhaps you don't know. You see my good
Speaker 1: lordie and caballero. I've to make these canistitas my own way,
Speaker 1: and with my own song in them, and with bits
Speaker 1: of my soul woven in. If I were to make
Speaker 1: them in great numbers, there would no longer be my
Speaker 1: soul in each or my songs. Each would be like
Speaker 1: the other, with no difference, and such a thing would
Speaker 1: slowly eat up my heart. Each has to be another song,
Speaker 1: which I hear in the morning, when the sun rises,
Speaker 1: when the birds begin to chirp, and the butterflies come
Speaker 1: and sit down on my baskets, so that I may
Speaker 1: see a new beauty. Because you see the butterflies like
Speaker 1: my baskets and the pretty colors on them. That's why
Speaker 1: they come and sit down, and I can make my
Speaker 1: canistitas after them. And now signor he fasito, if you
Speaker 1: will kindly excuse me. I have wasted much time already,
Speaker 1: although it would be a pleasure and a great honor
Speaker 1: to hear the talk of such a distinguished caballero like you,
Speaker 1: But I'm afraid I have to attend to my work now,
Speaker 1: for day after tomorrow is market day in town, and
Speaker 1: I've got to take my baskets there thank you signor
Speaker 1: for your visit, adios. And in this way it happened
Speaker 1: that American garbage cans escaped the fate of being turned
Speaker 1: into receptacles for empty, torn and crumpled, little multi colored
Speaker 1: canistitas into which an Indian of Mexico had woven dreams
Speaker 1: of his soul, throbs of his heart, his unsung poems.
Speaker 1: The end, we don't have a lot to add to it.
Speaker 1: I think it's a pretty self explanatory thing. You know,
Speaker 1: it's called assembly line. There is no assembly line in it.
Speaker 1: It doesn't even come up that anyone considers an assembly line.
Speaker 1: And it gets into something that I've covered a lot
Speaker 1: on both book Club and on my show. Cool people
Speaker 1: did cool stuff about like the move towards industrialization right
Speaker 1: and what we lose in factory work and things like that,
Speaker 1: and that I really like. And also it actually reminds
Speaker 1: me a lot of some of the stories that I
Speaker 1: read by William Morris a while ago, which, you know,
Speaker 1: whereas this fiction writer who presaged a lot of like
Speaker 1: Tolkien and Lord of the Rings and stuff, but was
Speaker 1: also mostly known for making wallpaper and inspiring the arts
Speaker 1: and crafts movement. And this idea of like really seeing
Speaker 1: the beauty in ornament and putting time and effort into
Speaker 1: the things that you make, and I like seeing that
Speaker 1: reflected in these different ways, and yeah, you'll be enjoyed
Speaker 1: it too. I'll be back next week with more goalson medium.
Speaker 1: It could Happen here as a production of cool Zone Media.
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Speaker 1: Thanks for listening.