Charisse's Treasure
When Charisse cautiously opened the chest, she gasped. Diamond brooches, emerald necklaces, ruby rings and pearls caught the attic's distant, dim bare bulb and transformed it, magnified it instantly into a blinding light, dazzling and wavering before her as if lighted from within. An eternity passed, and when she recovered her breath, she reached to touch the incredible treasure with reverence, almost fearing it might suddenly vanish if handled after having been secreted away from the world of mortals for so many centuries.
With a surgeon's hand she removed a long, thin, coiled pearl strand, upon which individual beads rewarded her admiring gaze with the luster of satin. Higher and higher the strand uncoiled in her hands, depending into cascading, catenary curves with serpentine sensuality. It seemed the strand were endless, but at last the final small, perfect bead emerged from its fabulous neighbors. Charisse raised its grouped folds high in its entirety, slowly shifting it from palm to palm, examining its every perfection in worshipful admiration, then drew it nearer, lightly stroking its trembling orbs over her chin and neck before replacing it carefully upon the heap of its fabulous companions.
Her excitement was soon dissipated, however, for in her heart of hearts Charisse's foremost quality was that of accountancy--a quality she had inherited from her father.
"Geezus Christ!" she shrieked. "How much is this shit worth?"
Her hands became a whirl of shovels as she dug, flinging aside priceless jewels, exquisite pendants and bracelets, solid gold and silver coins, chains, crowns, coronets, plates, pitchers, and cups like dross. Soon what must have been the greatest amassing of the accumulated wealth of the kings, princes, and potentates of the entire ancient world lay scattered over the attic floorboards like the discarded carnage of a pack of wolves.
Charisse raced to the bedroom closet and returned with several soiled pillowcases, into which she stuffed the booty and hauled it to the storefront of the sign of the Medici, where she flung the bags upon the dirty glass counter with a clattering thud.
After a lengthy professional examination, Alvino Vinci gave her $38 for the lot. Charisse stood grinning as broadly as the Cheshire Cat as she thumbed and summed, tallied and dallied through each bill, for in her heart of hearts, she was first and foremost an accountant--a quality she had inherited from her father.
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