The year was 1975, and the world of international trade pulsed with a different rhythm. For Kenji Tanaka of Trading Company A, a major deal was resting in a dusty, remote corner of the Iranian mountains. His mission: secure an exclusive import contract for the finest Persian carpets with the legendary, reclusive master artisan, Master Farhad.
Kenji, a man known for his relentless work ethic, knew the standard channels wouldn’t cut it. His research had pinpointed Farhad—not a factory owner, but a generational master who wove masterpieces—as the key player. Securing him meant dominating the highly lucrative, high-end market for authentic, hand-knotted \text{Isfahan} and \text{Tabriz} styles.
With a leather attaché case holding a detailed contract and a thick wad of US dollars—the universal currency for such remote, high-value transactions—Kenji embarked on his journey. The specialized knowledge he carried was not just the contract law, but the specifics of the \text{Persian} carpet trade: understanding the knot density (measured in \text{Rāj} or \text{kpsi}), the quality of the wool and silk pile, and the non-negotiable value of a master weaver’s signature pattern. He was there to buy art, not just a commodity.
His initial flight into \text{Tehran} was easy, but the next leg was a brutal, five-day trek deep into the Alborz mountain range. This wasn’t a standard business trip; it was an expedition. He endured a series of makeshift transports: the sway of a camel on flatter stretches, the bone-jarring rattle of a donkey-drawn cart on rugged paths, and several terrifying encounters where he had to outrun or outwit what he correctly identified as local band of highwaymen looking for easy prey. He ate dried figs and water, fueled only by the vision of Farhad’s intricate \text{medallion} designs and the weight of the company’s expectations.
Finally, gaunt and sun-scorched, Kenji reached the isolated hut.
Master Farhad, with his calloused hands and eyes that seemed to hold the history of a thousand years of weaving, was genuinely astonished. “No man of the city travels so far for a simple rug,” he observed, pouring Kenji a sweet, potent glass of black tea.
Kenji explained his company’s desire for a long-term partnership that respected the art and the artisan, not just the speed of delivery. He spoke the specialized language of the craft, detailing his appreciation for Farhad’s famous use of natural vegetable dyes. Impressed by Kenji’s hard work and his authentic understanding of the craft, Farhad listened and, without hesitation, signed a provisional contract. Kenji felt the profound satisfaction of a deal hard-won, his exhaustion melting away as he shook the master’s hand.
The Master’s Revelation
The next morning, Kenji was ready to begin the long journey back, the sense of victory a warm blanket against the morning chill. He had exchanged his final pleasantries and was about to step out when Farhad paused him.
“Oh, that’s right,” the old man mused, adjusting his worn skull cap. “I almost forgot to tell you, you are only the second Japanese person to come here.”
Kenji’s heart sank, a cold, sharp feeling cutting through his triumph. “Was someone here?” he managed, his voice suddenly dry.
“Yes. A month ago, roughly. A man like you, but he seemed less… committed to the journey,” Farhad said, pointing to a small, dusty shelf above his loom. “He left this and then quickly went on his way.”
The master handed Kenji a small, crisp white rectangle.
It was a business card. The name, embossed in clean, precise Japanese script, belonged to a senior executive at Company B—Company A’s most direct, vicious rival.
Kenji stared at the card, the victory of the night before turning to ash. His rival had been here first. They hadn’t secured the contract, but they had found the way and made the initial contact. Kenji’s five-day odyssey had been necessary to close the deal, but it was now clear that his competitor’s initial, quieter reconnaissance had already revealed the specialized knowledge of Farhad’s existence and location.
In the cutthroat world of 1970s trade, Company A had won the battle, but Company B had demonstrated a chilling knowledge of the target’s value and location. Kenji realized this was only the beginning of a fierce, global competition for the master weaver’s art.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
Comments