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"How to Buy a Turkish Rug" By Laura Billings
At that, a cluster of salesmen who had been gathering in the room suddenly converged on us and pulled us to separate corners. Three men whisked me into another room. Their leader was a raven-haired fellow with cheap shoes and a wistfiil expression. His name, Ogiin, means "That Day" in Turkish, a fact that was the source of huge laughs for his two squat henchmen who clearly un- derstood my English, but spoke only in Turkish with Ogiin. I started to say that I was in the market for a five-by-seven kilim with a lot of red in it, but Ogiin shot me a pained look that sug- gested such a request was as d6class6 as demanding that an Old Master painting match my sofa. Instead, he ordered the henchmen to unroll a series of rugs at my feet. When I shook my head at the choices, the henchmen tossed their arms up in disgust, but Ogiin had a more courtly approach. With each selection I dismissed, he nodded appreciatively and moved closer to me, as if irresistibly drawn to my aesthetic.
Soon he began dismissing rugs for me "Can´t you see she won´t like that? She wants real beauty," he would scold the hench- men. He asked if my husband would like my choice of rug, and I said I didn´t have a husband. He shouted in Turkish to the hench- men, who eyed me up and down, and again tossed their hands up in disgust. "They think this is a tragedy," Ogiin said, and then sighed toward his cheap shoes," and so do L" At this point he asked if I had a credit card with me. I said yes. The haggling began.
The rug I selected, or that OgUn had selected for me, was a jewel-toned affair of blacks, pomegranate reds, jade greens, and deep blues. Ogdn explained that normally he would start the bid- ding around $1,000, but since this was the end of the season, and since I had no husband, he would start at $500. 1 shook my head at the price, and though my blood was racing, I couldn´t coax out a counteroffer. Ogiin strode away from my side with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. He nodded his head and Henchman No. 1 scurried to the other room. Ogiin smiled, puffed out one side- of his cheek, and slowly blew out a low whistle of air. A few minutes later, the henchman returned and whispered in Ogiin´s ear. Ogiin told me that Doublebreasted had insisted that I leave with a rug today@how did $260 sound? Well, it sounded pretty good to me, now that my lust for bargaining had flagged. Ogiin wasn´t a shrewd creep, I thought, he was a fellow connoisseur. just then, my friend walked in and saw me handing off my credit card.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, and I explained the sit- uation. "No way," she said to Ogiin. "Two of ´em for $260!"
Quickly, my friend´s bad-cop display made me realize I had al- lowed myself to be swept along too easily. Ogim looked to me. "Two for $260?" he asked, and I nodded. He held his hand to his heart. He walked to the corner of the room and sighed. "We are friends, Laura?" he said, coaxing a small tear to the corner of his eye. "Why do you hurt me like this?" Finally, I understood the the- atrics required here.
"Ogiin " I said, so forcefully I convinced myself I was truly af- fronted. "i don´t think you´re being honest with me..." and I
snatched back my Visa card. At that there was a very pregnant pause in which Oon and the henchmen bored their Turkish eyes at me. They huddled and Henchman No. 2 threw his hands up in the air and pointed at me. Henchman No. 1 made a spitting noise. Ogdn looked over his shoulder. "So you want two rugs?"
"If the price is right," I said. Henchman No. 2 sniffed and ges- tured again. Ogiin came back to my side and put his arm around me, hand to his collarbone in a gesture of sincerity.
"My friend, you know that I must make a living?" I clenched my fist around my plastic. He let out a heavy sigh. "My friend, you may have two for $400. No lower please."
"Three hundred," I said. "Three sixty," he said.
"Three hundred," I said. "Three twenty-five ´" he said.
"Sold," I said, and at that there were cheers from the henchmen and from the small crowd from my tour bus that had gathered for the final negotiation. As I handed off my Visa, Ogiin took my hand and wrapped it under and over his forearm as though we had been wedded by this exchange of currency. He lovingly folded and packed my rugs in brown paper and then in a nylon case he promised would fit nicely´under my plane seat. It did. Now I come across my twQ rugs, one in my living room, the other in my bedroom, and I feel a wave of pleasure at my pur- chases. But the souvenir that pleases me most is a photograph I have of Ogiin and me. We are standing in the courtyard of the rug ranch-I have my hands clasped and my head tossed back in laughter; he gazes at the camera with the smallest trace of a smile. We both look so satisfied-like we each ripped off the otherjust a little bit.
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