Chapter Forty-Eight: The Antique Camera

"Could I trouble you to let me use that radio with the open cover as well? I need to test if this meter works..." Hong Tao picked up the black instrument, as hefty as a brick, examined its exterior, inserted the battery, and tried a few basic functions. Not bad—the needle was responsive, and the accuracy was decent.

"Alright, I'll take this one too. I'll return the eight yuan you just gave me and add two ten-yuan notes." After testing a few components, Hong Tao confirmed that the multimeter's basic functions were intact. He took out two bills and placed them on the counter along with the eight yuan change. The meter cost twenty-eight yuan, nearly half the price of a new one, yet performed just as well. That was half a month's wages, enough for several meals at Quanjude.

About an hour later, his uncle arrived with three young men. At that moment, Hong Tao was helping Jin Yue try on clothes in the store, deliberately making the biased saleswoman fetch garment after garment for Jin Yue, enjoying her discomfort.

"Hong Tao, who’s bothering you?" His uncle didn’t even come in, but called out from the doorway.

"It’s that old man outside in the blue shirt with the black bag—there, sitting on the railing! He tried to snatch what I bought and blocked me at the door!" Seeing his uncle, Hong Tao felt emboldened, rushed to the entrance, and spotted the old man still there, smoking by the roadside railing and keeping an eye on the shop.

"Let’s go!" His uncle didn’t hesitate, charging straight at the old man. Though called an old man, he was only about fifty, younger than Hong Tao’s grandfather.

"Hey... What are you doing? Help! They’re hitting me!" The old man, seeing people come at him and Hong Tao daring to approach, realized something was wrong. He jumped off the railing to flee, but one of the young men grabbed him and flung him onto the ground.

"Let me tell you—don’t loiter around here again. If I see you once, I’ll hit you once. Got it? Get lost!" His uncle didn’t strike him, just grabbed his collar, lifted him with one hand, and tossed him forward, sending him tumbling.

Compared to his uncle, a bricklayer since his teens, the old man was like a chick—light and easy to handle. He knew he was outmatched; the other regulars from the shop pretended not to know him, and he had to pick himself up, not even dusting off his clothes. He crossed the street, hopped on a bicycle, and rode off to the south.

"What did you buy that’s so valuable he cared so much?" With the old man gone, his uncle told the three men to wait in the car, then approached the shop, quietly asking Hong Tao, curious about his every move.

"Right, help me check what kind of wood this is." Since Hong Tao had called his uncle, he had no intention of hiding anything. Among his family, his uncle was the sharpest, most receptive to new things, and most understanding.

"You bought this? Forty-two yuan?" His uncle watched as Hong Tao lay on the ground, dragging out the dark object from under the wardrobe. Seeing the price, his uncle's voice shot up an octave, eyes darting to the saleswoman, clearly accusing her: You’re tricking a child!

"This comrade... He insisted on buying it. It’s not our fault..." The saleswoman wasn’t stupid, quickly defending herself.

"It’s not their fault—I bought it myself. Please, help me see what kind of wood it is." Hong Tao tugged at his uncle’s sleeve and pointed to the object.

"This thing’s been soaked in asphalt, hasn’t it..." His uncle touched it, then unhooked a ring of keys from his belt, took out a folding electrician’s knife, and began scraping the asphalt off.

"Go slow, don’t damage the wood," Hong Tao pleaded, worried by his uncle’s vigorous movements.

"Ah... Interesting... Come on, Hong Tao, let’s take it out into the sunlight. You know your stuff!" His uncle ignored Hong Tao’s protests; his hands were precise, quickly stripping a piece of asphalt and exposing the wood grain. He suddenly grew cautious, squatting to examine it under the light, then picked it up and walked outside—the indoor lighting was too dim.

"Well, Uncle, is it rosewood?" Hong Tao hurried after him, multimeter in hand, Jin Yue trailing behind.

"Pretty close. This should be a stand for a fish tank or flowerpot. No idea who made it look like this, but it’s not worth forty-two yuan. If you let a carpenter make a few planes, they could sell for ten or so." His uncle scraped away more asphalt, examined the grain in sunlight, and confirmed his guess. Still, he didn’t understand why Hong Tao bought it—hardwood was best for tools but not worth what Hong Tao paid.

"Heh, I have my reasons. Could you help me clean off the asphalt without hurting the wood?" Hong Tao didn’t bother explaining about collecting or appreciating value—his uncle wouldn’t understand, and it wouldn’t help.

"You need solvent and patience. I’ll take it home and clean it up for you, then bring it along with your parts next time. What else did you buy?" His uncle noticed the big black box Hong Tao was holding.

"A multimeter!" Hong Tao held it up for his uncle to see.

"That’s for electricians, isn’t it?" His uncle recognized it.

"Not just electricians. I plan to build a radio myself. When it’s done, you can try it—if it works well, I’ll make one for you." Hong Tao explained his plan.

"Sure you can. Who knows how your dad taught you—building radios, things that neither fill your belly nor quench your thirst, and waste batteries. Anyway, get home, don’t wander so far. I have to get back to work. I’m off!" Clearly uninterested in radios, his uncle grabbed the dark object, climbed onto the flatbed of the three-wheeler, tapped the cab, and the vehicle sputtered off in a cloud of black smoke.

"Hong Tao, I want to ride in that car too!" Jin Yue watched the vehicle disappear, full of envy.

"I’ll take you on a sleeper car someday. That thing’s no fun—soon it won’t even be allowed inside the third ring!" Hong Tao could only make promises; in those days, where could he find a car? There were no taxis, even if you had money you couldn’t buy one, and no one dared sell private cars.

After this successful bargain hunt, Hong Tao was hooked. He frequented the local consignment shops—Dongsi, Dongdan, Andingmen, Dongzhimen—searching for treasures, and found several good items: two old Swiss watches, a hardwood screen, a Parker gold pen from the 1940s, and a Leica camera from 1920s Germany.

The best find was the Leica 1A, manufactured in 1923. It had always sat on the consignment shop’s shelf, but at first Hong Tao didn’t notice—it was encased in leather and he only knew it was a camera, not the brand or model. One day near the New Year, he found the shop assistants cleaning the shelves, placing all cameras on the counter. That’s when Hong Tao saw "Leica" stamped on the bottom of the case.

Even then, he wasn’t too impressed. Out of respect for the famous brand, he opened the case just to admire it. Leica cameras from the 60s and 70s weren’t too valuable in later years—plentiful in Europe and America, though rare in China. But when he opened the brown leather case, he discovered a strange camera unlike any he’d seen before.

The lens ring, shutter, and film advance lever looked like the dial of a safe, exuding an ancient aura. The weight and feel were nothing like domestic Seagull or Friendship cameras; it piqued Hong Tao’s curiosity. He searched further and found an English-German bilingual manual tucked in the hard leather case.

Hong Tao’s English was decent, thanks to a pair of foreign teachers who rented three rooms in his family’s courtyard, introduced by his father’s colleague. The foreign couple were chatterboxes and loved to debate all sorts of topics with Hong Tao. To better argue his points, Hong Tao improved his English—originally intending to counter them, but as a side effect, his language skills soared.

After reading through the manual, Hong Tao immediately bought the camera—he’d seen the manufacturing date: 1923! Even if the camera didn’t work, it would be a prized collectible in years to come. Not just valuable for resale—even the Leica factory would pay handsomely to reclaim it.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t much of a bargain. A brand-new Seagull 205/135 was sixty yuan, and this old Leica was priced the same. By contemporary standards, it wasn’t cheap, perhaps even costly. But people then valued items for their intrinsic worth, with little awareness of collecting or appreciation—no concept of added value.

One thing about shopping in these days was the peace of mind. Whatever the item, it was high fidelity—what was written on the tag was exactly what you got. There was no need to worry about fakes, knockoffs, or counterfeits—everything was genuine. Finding a fake was harder than climbing to heaven. You could ask the sales clerk if it was a clearance item, but never question authenticity—otherwise they’d reward you with a big eye roll and look at you like a fool.