Mr. Chang laughed. “Now you're talkin'.”
“This way.” I took him into the back room but we made a pit stop at the little kitchen along the way.
Once Mr. Chang and I both had a cup of coffee, I took him to a worktable covered in pieces I had yet to price. He went straight for my favorite—a warrior woman mask with abalone shell eyes, a horsehair wig, feathers, and a handprint painted over her mouth.
“She's wonderful, isn't she?” I asked. “It's my favorite piece. I'm a little impressed that you went right to her.”
“It's a woman?” Mr. Chang looked up. “That makes it even better.”
“Yes, but it's also a statement piece. I don't know if you'll be interested after I tell you.”
“What?” He went still.
“The red handprint over the mouth—it's come to represent the MMIW movement.”
“The what now?”
“The Missing Murdered Indigenous Women Movement.”
As I mentioned before, the world was improving, but bad shit still happens. Some races are still looked down upon by some people. They don't get the justice that they deserve. The improvement is that now, indigenous women can speak about it. There wouldn't have been a movement even a hundred years ago. Change can sometimes feel slow, but from an immortal's perspective, I can see how fast it comes once it gets started.
“Fuck,” Mr. Chang whispered. He stared at the piece. “That's both sad and stirring.”
“Yes, it is.”
He looked over the other pieces, sipped his coffee, but went right back to the warrior woman. “How much is she?”
“The sadness doesn't bother you?”
“I prefer to see the strength.” He lifted his head. “This mask reminds me of my mother.”
I didn't want to ask what his mother had been through that the red handprint would remind him of her. Instead, I also focused on the strength of the warrior woman. “That's beautiful.”
He grinned. “So how much?”
“One moment. Let me check the invoice.” I went to the packing crate and pulled out the plastic sheath with the invoice. Doing some quick math in my head, I added on my fee, and came up with, “Eight hundred.”
“Really?” He grinned, then set his coffee down so he could pick up the mask. Turning it this way and that, he nodded. “Shoots. I'll take her.”
“Good choice,” I murmured as I went over to admire the piece with him. “I admit I'm a little sad to see her go before I've had a chance to enjoy her. But I'm glad she's going to someone like you who can appreciate her and what she represents, instead of just putting her in a safe.”
“In a safe? Why would I do that?”
“Oh, a lot of collectors store most of their art. They collect for resale. Or they rotate pieces. Some loan them to public places for display.”
“Ah. I guess it's a good investment.” He shrugged. “I just want to spread the aloha, help out some native artists, and get something to make my house look choice.”
“Choice,” I repeated. “I like that.”
“You guys don't say that here?”
“We might. There are a lot of people from Hawaii in Seattle.”
“Yeah? I thought they all went to Oregon.”
“They seem to like the Pacific Northwest in general.”
“Cuz it's a lot like home.” Mr. Chang shrugged and handed me the mask. “Colder, but similar. Actually, with all the construction they're doing in Hawaii, this is nicer.”
