A Gipsy Ming (Xochano Baro III)

 

The object Ion held in his hand was heavy. It depicted a delicate interlacing of birds and tropical foliage, a scene from a Chinese paradise. Ion gazed at it for a long time, turning the precious piece over carefully to guess at all the animals. The jade was translucent, almost transparent, of exceptional quality. The emerald green, sometimes crossed by yellowish or white filaments, was truly unique. In front of Ion, there was an entire wall filled with these sculptures from the Ming period. Most of these masterpieces were frescoes of animals, celestial dragons or court scenes. The carvings were of unusual design. It was not known who made them, although one could certainly guess the purest style of Shaanxi Province.

At $3,000 an ounce, jade was worth more than gold. The kilos of carvings stored in the glass shelves were therefore priceless. Staged in this sumptuous wooded salon, furnished with dark wood English bookcases, the 15th century jades turned the heads of rare visitors. Among them, some financiers acting as intermediaries had offered tens of millions to Ion. Their proposals relayed the offers of Asian or European billionaires who had made an almost blind bid, relying on the enthusiasm of such renowned experts as Vicki Paloympis of Christie's. The sensation was purely aesthetic, as no one had been able to study the jades directly. Ion had always politely refused expert visits. He had only allowed one video to show his collection to those who had not been invited. This three-minute document detailed the pieces by slowly moving a camera among the sculptures. Ion had hired a professional. The image definition and lighting were optimal, perfectly highlighting the delicacy of the sculptures and the bluish transparency of the objects.

The video, entrusted to a few people, had finally been put online on the Internet. Ion, apparently furious, had pursued the sites which diffused these images. But some sites had escaped these pseudo-suits. Ion had, since, forbidden any visit. In the specialized circles, it was said that his jade collection was the most beautiful in the world. China officially protested, demanding that this exceptional cultural heritage be returned to the land of the Han. Several museum curators, bankers and lawyers tried to approach him. Ion had closed his door to almost everyone.

Ion did, however, always grant a favor to the most important ones. They were prime victims for a Xochano Baro, a good gypsy scam.

Wilmington's collection, Ion's collection, was for the moment neither visible nor for sale. This attitude had exasperated museums and especially fired the imagination of private collectors.

Suspicious individuals had appeared in the vicinity of the property, apparently taking a close interest in the collection. Several incorruptible guard dogs and a sophisticated surveillance system seemed, for the time being, to deter them from coming any closer. The Wilmington Sheriff's Office and private security firms in the area had been notified, and men were making daily rounds. This had given Ion ideas.

In this context, Ion had organized a big job. He had organized a robbery. He knew that several Asian billionaires, all Chinese, were willing to spend fortunes to acquire, in any way possible, one of his sculptures. So he contacted people in Europe, people from his clan.

Ion had gone directly to the only one André trusted: Pedro, the head of the Marseille clan.

The goal was to discreetly let some people in China know that a Ming sculpture, from the Wilmington collection, as Ion's pieces were known in the collecting world, was for sale.

It had to be made clear that the piece had been stolen... And that it was available to the highest bidder.

In the mentality of the Chinese, there would be no expertise since the piece had been stolen. A very rich Chinese man would pay a lot of money to anonymously buy one of the most beautiful pieces of one of the most coveted collections in the world. This Asian man would enjoy taking this admirable sculpture out of his trunk, perhaps to show it to a friend.

One had to be Chinese or a great collector to understand this.

The theft was therefore organized, and especially the communication around this event. The international press was exceptionally admitted to the premises. Ion gave interviews, with a stern face, visibly bound to secrecy. Everything was documented, photographed, exposed. The trap was set.

The thieves who had pulled off this stunt had to be professionals. The alarm system had been neutralized, there was no sign of a break-in, no witnesses. The police investigation found nothing. Ion's wife didn't know anything about it. She didn't care if the Chinese things were stolen, as long as nothing was broken in her house. There was no insurance company. So there were no brilliant private investigators from the insurance companies, often more competent than the cops.

And for good reason, Ion himself had taken the statuette from the shelf, two days before he officially reported it stolen.

He had sent a courier from China, whom he had met at O'Hare airport in Chicago. He gave the statue to the courier to hand-deliver to Pedro, his grandfather's friend in Paris.

From then on, Pedro took over. He gave the statuette, in a different package, to another Chinese courier, Liang, who took the train to Chongqing and then Schenzhen, where the trusted man of an Internet billionaire was waiting.

The sum of this formidable coup remained in the hands of Pedro and his clan. It was Ion's tribute to his clan, to his gypsy origins. It was also an assurance that Pedro would keep an eye and protect his daughter, Yanna, who had come to live in Paris, in Pedro's clan.

He didn't need it. Pedro had already given instructions to Tonino, the head of the clan who had succeeded him. Yanna was a descendant of André Lafleur, his friend.

This passion for Chinese antiques was a family tradition. André Lafleur, the grandfather, of Roma origin, had been a great French swindler, known in his time for "jade swindles" exceeding millions. André was eventually apprehended, but he managed to keep his loot out of the hands of investigators. Collectors who had bought beautiful Ming-style statuettes carved from common nephrite at golden prices had difficulty justifying the origin of their money, which was often hidden from the tax authorities...

Released from prison for procedural irregularities, André immediately moved to Florida with his family clan. The money, repatriated from offshore accounts, was wisely invested in local restaurants and businesses. He and Ion's mother had been born in a sheltered environment, far from the context of the gypsy families settled in the Avignon, Marseille and Var region.

André had never returned to his native country and had cut off all contact with the people of his clan, whose jealousy he despised. He had never brought his children to France to see those he exaggeratedly reduced to "thieves" and "pitiful". He said that he had had too much trouble getting out of his ghetto, that the only roots he had to keep were those of the Roma and the adaptability of a nomadic people. So he taught his children and grandchildren the language of their ancestors, made them read Arnold, Bataillard, Vaux de Forestiers and all the academic books about the Roma. The Rom language was used to speak in front of people without being understood, which remained rare, because everything was done to integrate.

For the rest, living among art dealers and rich collectors more than in the gypsy neighborhoods of Avignon, André had long turned his back on gypsy aesthetics. He had been, it is true, an exceptionally intelligent man, capable of rising above his initial conditioning and understanding, like Florin Cioabă, "king" of the Romanian Roma, that education was strategic for the future of his people. No flamenco or colorful dresses, the Lafleurs had preferred university education and a militant opening to the modern world.

André had called upon specialists and beauty professionals to give his family members an American look from their first steps on American soil. The vulgarity inherent in Gypsy camps was erased. The interiors of the houses and gardens were immediately entrusted to American designers to avoid any atavism of the caravan.

The smallest objects, the pictures of caravans and shaggy people on the background of the wasteland had been burned. The tutors, of English and maintenance, had finished transforming the Lafleurs into a typical American family, with no return.

All the past had been buried, except for the Chinese antiques that had made the family fortune and that André proudly showed to his children until his death.

Ion guessed that the geographical and cultural exile imposed by the patriarch had sometimes been badly experienced by the Lafleurs of the first generation. But all had benefited from André's success. They had all seized the opportunity. The Lafleurs, largely mixed with WASPs for two generations, had become a family of well-to-do Americans.

André's mother had married a classmate, far from the sad tradition of customary arranged marriages.

Ion had pursued a university degree in chemistry. He was now a manager at the chemical giant DuPont and lived in an upscale neighborhood in Wilmington, North Carolina. He was married to Megan, a human resources manager for a retail giant. They were a close-knit couple with a comfortable life. Their son, John, was a member of the UN Trusteeship Council. He took after his mother.

Their daughter, Yanna, had joined the Wilmington Trust, was well-liked and had a bright future. But she had met a Gipsy man in Europe and had left everything behind. Ion understood better than his wife, Yanna was the most "Rom" of his children. He had not said anything, but he respected his daughter's decision. She had made a decision, she had chosen her origins. He was proud of her, but he hoped that, one day, she would come back.

Looking at him, even up close, few people would have guessed Ion Lafleur's Gypsy ancestry, including his wife who, at best, thought he might be a little Mediterranean. However, he had kept the taste of Xochano Baro, literally "the big joke", the art of exploiting the credulity of the Gadje, the non-Gypsies. Chemist and passionate sculptor, he had created from scratch his fabulous collection of Ming art. He had his pieces made by a Vietnamese sculptor, the best in his region.

After several years of research, on the benches of the University, he had invented this material to carve almost identical to the most beautiful jadeite. For fun, he called it Andréite. Of course, an expert examination could confuse Ion. But since he didn't want to sell anything, he enjoyed his treasure with impunity, amused at stirring up the greed of all those important Gadjés who begged him to sell them his sculptures at a high price. 

He had, then, in these moments of negotiation, the beautiful smile, dating from the mists of time, of the Roma making the Gadjo's eyes shine with a false nugget, a false jewel, anything to deceive him. Ion, in those moments, exchanged with his deceased grandfather André, a thousand-year-old wink, the wink of the "chicken thieves"."

The phone rang. It was Pedro calling. Ion was plunged into the night of time. His grandfather Andre had told him about Pedro, one of the only men he respected. Pedro explained that Yanna and her daughter Kalia were coming to join him. He spoke little, said the essential, and hung up.

Ion also hung up, stood still for a moment, thinking. It was one of the most beautiful moments of his life. His daughter had returned.

He picked up the phone. He would have to call many people, without waiting, to get the authorizations, the arrangements, to smooth out the difficulties. But Ion and his wife knew the right people.

His daughter Yanna was coming back, with her granddaughter. His clan was getting back together. He would do whatever it took to protect his daughter and grand-daughter.