Spiced to Death Read Free Page A

was reluctant, but he couldn’t get a flight out right away so he went.
    Well, the way Marvell tells it, they were driving along and from the jeep, Marvell looked down into a valley where he saw a strange-looking crop. He said it glowed in the setting sun and he asked what it was. The answer was ‘Just weeds.’”
    The waiter brought dessert menus and I reluctantly tore myself away from Don’s fascinating story. The specialty was a mascarpone sorbet with wild strawberries and all three of us ordered it. Don continued.
    “Marvell said he couldn’t get the image of that peculiar crop out of his mind. He felt there was something about it that was far out of the ordinary. He went back again the next day and took a sample and went into Saigon to the university.”
    “I have to chip in here,” Peggy said. “If Alexander Marvell didn’t have an import business, he might be running a religion. He’s an extraordinary man—I can just picture him standing there, looking down into that purple valley and having an unshakable conviction that there was something magical about it.”
    Don nodded in agreement. “It’s true, that’s how he is. Anyway, the people at Saigon University were puzzled. It was no weed they recognized—or plant, for that matter. So Marvell changed his flight plan back to New York. Instead of going via Bombay and London, he booked in the opposite direction so as to stop off in San Francisco”—he broke off and looked at me—“I’m sure you can guess why San Francisco …”
    “Probably because that’s where the Mecklenburg Botanical Institute is. They’re number one in that kind of study.”
    “Right. He even stayed in a nearby hotel and pressured them into going to work on the investigation right away. Once they had started, they got really interested and—to cut a long story short—they eventually concluded that it must be Ko Feng.”
    “Which presumably didn’t mean much to Marvell at that point. I mean, not being a spice specialist, there would be no reason for him to even know the name—”
    “He didn’t. Once he read up on it, though, he became really excited.”
    “I hate to ask such a crass commercial question,” I said, “but how much do you suppose Ko Feng is worth on today’s market?”
    Don grinned. “It’s okay to ask the question. You’re in the U.S. of A. now—commercialism comes with the territory. This wouldn’t be the country it is without commerce. Money lubricates the wheels of progress.”
    “We still want to know how much,” Peggy said, tapping a spoon on the table for emphasis. “I was asking you this question the other day and I never did get an answer.”
    Don spread his hands. “It’s so hard to say. How can you value something like this? It’s worth whatever someone wants to pay.”
    “Sort of like the Mona Lisa?” Peggy asked.
    “In a way, yes.”
    “Or that Van Gogh that a Japanese bought for thirty million dollars?”
    “They’ll do as examples. What’s the Van Gogh worth? Wood, paint and canvas—total twenty dollars. The Mona Lisa? Maybe less, the materials are older.”
    “There is a difference, though,” I pointed out. “When a million visitors to the Louvre have looked at the Mona Lisa, another million can come and look at it. When this spice has all been eaten up—then what?”
    “The scarcity makes it all the more valuable,” Don said.
    Peggy looked at Don. “Hasn’t Marvell said anything about value?”
    “I haven’t been able to get any clue from him as to what he’s going to sell it for.”
    “Will we get some?” Peggy wanted to know.
    “Doubt it. I told him I’d like some, though.”
    “What does saffron sell for now?” I asked. “It’s the most valuable spice there is today.”
    “At the point of retail sale—about $200 an ounce,” Don replied.
    “Ko Feng must be worth far more than that. Like ten times more?” I pressed.
    “More, probably.”
    “And the shipment is—what did you say, Don—about