Negotiation

Fromm did not answer immediately. He went behind the desk and sat down, took a pair of reading glasses from a drawer and put them on, then picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and looked it over before asking:

"Three hundred tonnes of phosphate fertilizer. How will you pay?"

"I'll pay a deposit of five hundred thousand first, and the rest in installments," Aditya replied.

"Three hundred tonnes, five hundred thousand. How do you intend to pay the rest?"

"In three installments. Four hundred and fifty thousand within seven days of the first batch leaving the warehouse, four hundred and fifty thousand within seven days of the second batch leaving, and the balance within three days of the third batch leaving. No payment, no goods leave."

Fromm leaned back in his chair and looked at him, tapping the desk twice with his fingers. His voice was cold:

"You think I'll sell you goods on credit? You're from Uttar Pradesh. I've done business in Mumbai for forty years. If I take your money today and you run off tomorrow, who am I supposed to go after?"

"I can't run. My surname is Mishra. The Mishra Family has been in Varanasi for hundreds of years. Our ancestral land is there; I can't run away. Besides, Solomon introduced me. Are you still worried?"

Fromm's gaze lingered on Aditya's face for a few seconds. Then he picked up a fountain pen, wrote a few lines on the paper, and asked:

"You're buying three hundred tonnes. Do you know how long this shipment has been sitting on my hands?"

"About two months, hasn't it? Storage fees keep eating into it every day. Your money is tied up in the goods. Sell three hundred tonnes, and your cash flow comes alive again. You can keep holding the remaining five hundred tonnes until the moment you're waiting for," Aditya said calmly.

Fromm looked at him, his gaze sharp, his voice even colder:

"You know what moment I'm waiting for?"

"Yes. You're waiting for the policy. So am I."

Fromm paused, then asked, "You know about the policy too?"

"Everyone in India knows," Aditya said. "The BBC reported it, and so did All India Radio. Even the grain traders at the tea stalls are discussing it."

"Then tell me when the government will make the announcement."

Aditya did not answer that question. He took his notebook from his pocket and opened it to a page with dates and sources recorded on it. But he did not set it on the desk. He simply looked at Fromm and waved the notebook in his hand as he said:

"I don't know when it'll come, and neither do you. It's precisely because nobody knows the exact date that you're stuck with this shipment. Do you dare bet it'll come tomorrow? Do you dare bet it'll come next month? What if it still hasn't come by the end of the month? Will you keep paying storage fees and keeping your money tied up in the goods? Can you afford that gamble?"

Fromm did not answer.

"I can," Aditya said. "I'm only eighteen this year. I can afford to take on debt. If this shipment makes money, I'll be happy. If it loses money, that's no big deal either. At worst, I'll go back to farming. You can't afford to lose, but I can. So sell me the goods. I'll take the risk, and you take the money."

Fromm was silent for a long time.

The workers' shouts outside came through the sheet-metal walls. He took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then put them back on.

"Six thousand five hundred a tonne," Fromm said firmly, his tone allowing no room for doubt.

"Six thousand two hundred," Aditya answered even more firmly, refusing to give ground.

Fromm leaned back in his chair, his hands folded on the desk. "You come from Varanasi, sit down in my office, and use my goods as collateral to buy from me on credit. And you offer me six thousand two hundred?"

"You paid a little over five thousand. Add two months of storage fees, and your cost is six thousand a tonne at the absolute most."

"At six thousand two hundred, you can probably make four hundred a tonne. That's a hundred and twenty thousand on three hundred tonnes. You'll get five hundred thousand in cash from me today and the full balance within a month."

"That brings your money back to life. Money that can circulate is what you need right now. You can keep holding the remaining five hundred tonnes while you wait for the policy. You profit twice, and even if I lose money, you lose nothing."

Fromm looked at him, his gaze motionless behind his lenses. He was judging whether the eighteen-year-old before him was worth taking a gamble on.

Aditya also knew he was calculating, weighing things up.

Fromm pulled open a drawer, took out a blank contract, laid it on the desk, and wrote several lines. He turned the contract around and pushed it toward Aditya.

"As you said. Six thousand two hundred a tonne, three hundred tonnes in total. A deposit of five hundred thousand, with payment in three installments. Seven days after the first batch leaves the warehouse, seven days after the second, and three days after the third. Sign."

Aditya took the pen and signed at the bottom of the contract. He put the pen down and pushed the contract back.

Fromm glanced at the signature, folded the contract, and put it in the drawer. Then he took a key from the drawer and set it on the desk. A number was engraved on its iron tag.

"Come to the warehouse at nine tomorrow morning to inspect the goods. Bring the contract."

Aditya stood, set the canvas bag on the desk, untied its opening, and stacked five bundles of cash on the desktop. Fromm looked at the money without counting it, pulled open the drawer, and put it inside.

Aditya picked up the key and closed his hand around it, the iron tag resting against his palm.

"See you tomorrow."

He turned and walked out of the office. The sheet-metal door closed gently behind him.

Nayak was leaning against the wall by the warehouse entrance, an unlit cigarette between his lips. When he saw Aditya come out, he took the cigarette out and tucked it behind his ear.

"Done?"

"Done."

"Six thousand two hundred?"

"Six thousand two hundred."

Nayak gave a crooked grin, his mouth stretching wide, and asked:

"Do you know why he didn't counter your offer?"

"Because he can't afford to wait."

"Right. He can't afford to wait. You won this gamble." Nayak patted his shoulder. "But remember, what you're ultimately betting on is when the policy comes out. If it doesn't come, or comes late, you won't be able to carry this shipment either."

Aditya did not reply. He lowered his head and glanced at the key in his palm. The numbers engraved on the iron tag were already wet with his sweat.

Aditya raised his head. The sun over Cumballa Street was sinking, and the horizon burned orange-red.

Aditya glanced toward the harbor. All that remained now was to wait, to wait for that final moment to arrive.

Beside him, Nayak said, "Once you've inspected the goods tomorrow, how are you planning to transport them?"

Aditya asked in puzzlement, "Transport them? Transport what? The goods are staying with you. I'll pay you storage fees."

Nayak's gaze sharpened. "You know the exact date of the government announcement? No, you're very certain. You're not gambling. You're sure it'll be in the next few days."

Aditya shook his head and answered, "Who knows?"

At that, Nayak burst out laughing. "You sly brat. No wonder Solomon chose to help you."

The moonlight was dim, casting a gray sheen over the flagstones.

Aditya walked through the gray light and entered the inn.

"How did it go?" Madan hurried over to ask as soon as he saw Aditya.

"It's settled. The contract's signed."

Madan's mouth opened and closed. He turned in a circle, then another.

"How much?"

"Six thousand two hundred a tonne. I bought three hundred tonnes and paid a deposit of five hundred thousand."

Madan asked again, "Three hundred tonnes, over one million eight hundred thousand. We only have five hundred thousand. What about the rest?"

"We'll use the proceeds from selling the goods."

Madan did not understand. "What do you mean?"

"The three hundred tonnes will leave in three batches. As soon as the first batch leaves the warehouse, we'll sell it and use the proceeds to pay Fromm for that batch. Then the second batch leaves, we sell it and pay again. The same for the third."

Madan opened his mouth, then lowered his head and calculated for quite a while. "You mean we'll pay for buying the goods with the money from selling them?"

"Yes."

"What about the third batch? What's left after selling the third batch is what we earn?"

"Yes. The first and second batches recover the costs. The third is profit."

Madan fell silent and sat on the bed.

Raju stood to one side, rubbing a grass stem between his fingers, little expression on his face.

Aditya took the key from his pocket and tossed it lightly in his hand.

He walked to the window, pushed it open, and looked outside. The alley was quiet, and the streetlights had already gone out.

Mumbai's night sky was gray and hazy, with barely a few stars visible.

Aditya knew that in a few more days, he would be able to board a northbound train and return to Varanasi with his rupees.

With money, Aditya could first repay Patel's loan and reclaim the Mishra Family's honor from this man with the gold watch.

He closed the window and turned to look at Madan and Raju.

None of the three spoke, but each wore a different expression.

Before long, the three returned to their respective rooms to rest.

Aditya could not tell whether he was tired or happy. That night, he went to sleep very late.