The
Return of the Sword: A Tale of Betrayal and Loss
Buying
a Sword
Biss reluctantly
agreed to the deferred gratification, and I joined him in looking
through the internet's offerings. Before too many years had passed,
I was on a six-month trip through South East Asia, and I remembered
what I'd told him. I met a man named Adam in southern Thailand,
and he told me about Lake Toba in Indonesia. I hadn't considered
whether to leave the Malay Peninsula if I went to Malaysia, but
his description of the huge caldera with a lake in the bottom
roused enough interest that when I needed to cross the Thai border
for visa reasons, I kept going south and eventually ended up in
Penang, a jumping-off point for a hydrofoil catamaran leaving
from the main dock.
I didn't realize
until my return journey that the morning seas were calmer, so
I enjoyed the trip without the torment of queasiness. Once I was
in Medan, a dingy flat industrial city on the eastern coast of
Sumatra, I began to make plans to go to Lake Toba. I wanted to
see the fabulous land Adam had described, and as well, I'd developed
a desire to have a sword made by hand in the village where Adam
had stayed. He'd found out about the tukan bissi, or blacksmith,
too late in his visit to have a sword made, but he assured me
that despite his crude forge, the man was very talented and could
make anything.
At least as
much to have a reason to go to the village as anything else, I
decided to fulfill my promise in Sumatra, where Biss might get
a sword and I would have a good story. I found a room in the Romland
guesthouse inside the caldera, walked through the villages under
the greenery-draped walls of the slumbering volcano, and looked
for the tukan bissi. Adam had shown me on a map that I
needed to walk no more than a few kilometres, but it was closer
to five when I asked for directions and someone told me that I'd
gone too far.
I walked back
a kilometre and found an overly eager man who seemed like he would
have liked to be a hawker, for he accosted me on the road and
called over his friend whose father was the tukan bissi.
With them in tow, I went to the blacksmith's house to see his
facilities. As Adam had described, two pipe-style bellows led
to a simple brick-lined pit for charcoal, or perhaps coal. The
blacksmith used a heavy homemade hammer and anvil, which was merely
metal-covered wood driven into the ground and kept in place by
heavy pounding. I told them I would return the following day to
meet the tukan bissi, and the hawker indicated that he
would be joining me then. I decided to avoid him when I returned,
so he wouldn't sour any deal I struck with the blacksmith.
Adam told
me the man was willing to make him a short dagger-actually a kris,
a wavy-bladed dagger in the Javanese style-for forty dollars,
so I was hopeful of a good price. I didn't go to see the blacksmith
the next day, however, because I wanted to avoid the hawker. As
well, it was raining so I went exploring in the opposite direction.
Two days later
I skirted around the edge of a wedding party on my way to the
tukan bissi's house. The small road was nearly blocked
off with a tent and there must have been at least two hundred
people, of all ages, running around if they were children and
sitting and chatting if older. I passed through, ducking under
the open-sided tent, and not far from the wedding I found my tukan
bissi. I expected that he might be at the wedding, and that
I might be sent back to scrounge through the crowd, but my luck
held and he was on his front porch. I began to talk to him but
he said he didn't speak English and called a local boy to interpret
for us. Before long other people crowded around and offered him
advice in Indonesian and made jokes about the procedure.
I showed him
a picture of a sword I had downloaded and we compared lengths,
largely by waving our arms around. When we began to discuss price,
however, we ran into problems. He asked me how much and I responded
with berapa, or my rough Indonesian approximation of the
question "How many?" When he balked at stating a money figure,
I eventually suggested 400,000R, or 40USD. From what Adam had
told me I figured I was close to a price we could agree on.
The tukan
bissi countered with two million Rupiah, or 200USD. I told
him I couldn't spend any more than 1 million on such a frivolous
item, but the afternoon didn't end there. We sat for another twenty
minutes while another interpreter explained how difficult stainless
steel was to procure and how the antique piece the blacksmith
was going to use had come from Holland. The main argument I felt
they should have been making was about the labour that must go
into a sword, but labour was so cheap that they were trying to
boost the price by reference to materials. Statements about how
difficult it was to procure stainless steel were unconvincing,
given that I ate off such utensils every day, so I thanked him
for his time and left. The interpreter suggested that I would
come back after I slept on it, but I told him I never sleep deep
enough for two million to be possible.
I wasn't overly
disappointed, for I wasn't sure what to expect anyway, but I walked
away a bit stiff from having sat cross-legged on the cement porch
for over an hour while we bargained. Otherwise, I'd had a good
time working through the details of the sword and it clarified
what I thought my friend wanted.
I told my
Batak friend Olga about my sword experience and she said that
400,000R was enough for the job and that they were probably trying
to take advantage of me. If so, their bargaining technique didn't
have the desired effect, for I decided that Biss would have to
wait for his sword a bit longer.
I wasn't finished
with Indonesia and swords, however, for word had passed about
the strange foreigner who wanted a Japanese sword made by hand
in an Indonesian village. Once I was back in the guesthouse and
was talking with the staff about my dinner-for I was starved-the
owner, an Indonesian man married to a Dutch woman, approached
me and asked if I were the Canadian he'd heard had been trying
to buy a sword. He told me the tukan bissi was his relative
and he offered to show me some swords the man had made for him.
He pulled them out for me and I admired the weight of the two
short swords and the carving on their hilts and scabbards although
they weren't really what Biss had wanted. He said he would sell
one so I offered him 400,000R, but it was also far short of what
he expected. The dickering ended until I took it up after dinner
by asking him to suggest a price. He said more than a million,
but that was far over my budgeted amount. He and his wife were
always discussing money problems, so likely he saw a chance-like
the other Indonesians in the villages-to make up the shortfall
by using tourists.
I went into
town by ferry a few days later, and when I was in the market I
saw a stall selling knives made by local blacksmiths. I tried
to get a sense of their prices when I stopped by earlier on my
way to buy oranges, but the seller had been reluctant to close
the deal with a local who wanted to buy a machete-style sickle.
He was waiting for me and my interest in local prices to go away.
When I returned, the large knives, more like small machetes, were
40,000R, or 4USD, and the smaller were 10,000R. I couldn't help
but wonder what a local would pay.
In the end,
all the wheeling and dealing in Indonesia left a bad taste in
my mouth. The prices, although more than fair market value in
North America, were hugely over-inflated, and that, combined with
having to carry it through a few countries back to Thailand made
me reluctant to undergo the hassle.
I have documented
my Thai trip in How
to Get to Bangkok: A South East Asian Travelogue 2005 - 2006,
but the sword I discovered in a northern Thailand market is only
a footnote in that book. The Sunday night market in Chiang Mai
is famous for travellers and sellers alike, and many tourists
will plan their visit to the area so that they arrive in time
to peruse the hundreds of small stalls which spring up along the
main streets in the centre of the city. Although I was mostly
at the market for the snacks and the people-watching, I stumbled
upon a sword that I thought Biss would like.
The stall
was run by an old man and although he was selling several other
items, such as carvings and fabric, I only saw the swords. We
were alone amongst the smaller stalls outside the main city gate.
The tourists normally mill around on the main streets and care
little about those who had arrived late or are out of favour and
have to set up outside the city wall. Because the old man was
anxious for a sale I didn't feel rushed as I took each sword out
of its sheath and examined its metal first-by bending it slightly
and watching it spring back-and then its shape.
I knew from
tempering metal that only soft steel will refuse to return to
its initial shape, for its long crystals are nearly as flexible
as rubber, although in a much narrower range. Once steel has been
tempered, however, the shock of the abrupt cooling paired with
the intense heat of the forge prevents the crystals in the steel
from growing longer. They end up short, and brittle, which is
why highly tempered metal, like that in razorblades, snaps when
it is stressed too much. A perfectly tempered sword should be
able to be pushed hilt to tip and spring back to its initial shape.
I wasn't about to demand such a test of those in the market, however,
for if I broke one of them I would be paying for a sword I had
willfully damaged. Instead, I sighted along the blade to ensure
the sword was straight, and then I grabbed the blade with a hand
on either end and bent it gently. Then I sighted it again. If
it weren't tempered at all, it would retain a slight bend. That
would not be enough to cause the seller grief for it could easily
be bent back, and I would have learned what I needed to know.
Some of the
blades were thinner than the others, which wasn't problematic
and in fact added to their authenticity. They were obviously handmade,
and although they were a bit rough, the makers had added extra
features. They each sported a Thai-style dragon's head on the
hilt, or naga, although some were missing the red eyes
made from plastic beads. The sheath was made of wood, and was
banded by a thin decorated metal, rather like they had salvaged
it from metal food tins, and there was a string wrapped around
and tied to the sheath as though someone could sling it on their
back.
Once I had
selected one for my friend, I spent a few minutes discussing prices
with the seller. This was one of the occasions I was happy to
have a bit of Thai, for I at least knew my numbers and could joke
around as I bargained. He was a better seller than I was a customer,
however, for he soon convinced me to buy two. Together they were
quite a bit cheaper, and that way he had less to carry home as
well. I don't remember what it would have cost to buy just one,
but for two I only paid twelve dollars each. Before long I was
walking down the street with both swords wrapped in newspaper.
I wasn't sure I wanted a sword, although it had some appeal, but
I had taken the time to pick through the offerings to find another
one that satisfied my standards in terms of its metal and condition.
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