“Miss! Miss!”
A shrill voice shot out from the diamond display.
I flashed the customer a friendly smile: I see you—just let me finish what I’m doing and I’ll come over.
But the hefty lady in furs wouldn’t calm down.
“Why should I have to shout across the entire store? Such disrespect! I ought to file a complaint with your manager!”
“Honey, please don’t,” her unremarkable husband whispered from behind, trying to soothe her.
With a smile glued to my face like epoxy, I approached “Honey.” Stay quiet, I told myself. No conversations.
“Are these real diamonds?”
I nodded silently.
She drilled into me with a suspicious glare.
“Oh, I know your kind. Always trying to cheat people. I heard you sell fakes here. Still… show me that ring.”
“Honey” made a sour face and jabbed her thick finger against the glass.
“Let’s see what kind of diamonds you’ve got there. What’s the purity?”
No choice—I had to answer.
“Seven-fifty.”
How many times had I sworn never to speak to people like her? I know perfectly well: the moment I open my mouth, it’ll end in a sale.
The delicate, elegant design looked absurd on sausage-like fingers, but the fur-wrapped lady figured that out herself and demanded a larger stone.
“Could you please show me that carnelian ring?” someone asked politely from the semi-precious section.
“Honey” instantly bristled.
“Can’t you see the salesclerk is helping serious customers?” she screeched, drenching the poor woman in icy contempt. “Wait your turn!”
“Honey, please don’t,” her husband murmured again, but—just like before—she ignored him completely.
I took out my earbuds.
Other people’s thoughts crashed down on me in a wave: hers—spiteful, selfish; his—exhausted, hopeless.
What an unpleasant woman. Loves no one but herself. Crushes anyone in her path. Turned her once-kind husband into a doormat. He’s tired of her; the love they had long ago is gone. If he had any willpower left, he’d have left already.
I slipped off my glasses.
Now I could see their past and future.
The past—like a necklace, each event strung bead after bead.
The future—like a fan, ribs branching in many directions.
Now I knew exactly what to do.
“Take a look at these pieces,” I said gently. “It’s as if they were made just for you.”
“Honey” suspiciously tried on the rings, turning her hand this way and that, admiring the glitter.
“I suppose… I like it.”
“Of course you do,” I wanted to say. I’m no ordinary salesclerk: when I take off my glasses, I see a customer inside and out.
“Honey” finally made her choice.
“I’ll take this one.”
She tossed over her shoulder to her husband:
“Pay.”
Well, she chose her own future.
Both rings she tried had diamonds with a tiny flaw.
Not visible—not to the naked eye, not even to a jeweler. A jeweler can spot inclusions or cracks—but this? This kind of flaw is invisible.
Minerals are like people: they may look perfectly normal—two arms, two legs—but still hide a nasty streak inside. Just like “Honey.”
Once she wears the ring, the diamond will start misbehaving too.
In six months, her husband will finally find the courage to leave her.
Had she chosen a different ring, she’d end up with a stomach ulcer instead.
Diamonds are powerful—coiled springs storing vast energies.
For good people, they bring good.
For bad people, they return the negativity they spread into the world.
Later that day, I had to take off my glasses and pull out my earbuds several more times.
First, I sold a dainty garnet ring in a halo of crystal chips to a timid student. Now she’ll pass her exams with no trouble. Garnet will dispel her self-doubt, and rock crystal will clear her thoughts and sharpen her memory. A pleasant bonus she doesn’t yet suspect: she will stop doubting her own attractiveness.
Then I spent time with a middle-aged man choosing a watch.
Yes, our jewelry salon sells watches too—high-quality, prestigious ones.
But watches can only slow down or speed up time. Good ones follow their owner’s intentions; bad ones do the opposite—when you want time to fly, they make it drag.
But watches aren’t talismans. They can’t influence events.
And the man needed help—desperately.
I knew it the second I took off my glasses: partners betraying him, associates deceiving him, competitors outmaneuvering him.
So I persuaded him to buy a small jade dragon.
He’ll put it on his office desk and things will start improving.
The dragon will darken in the presence of traitors or dishonest partners.
He bought the watch too, of course. A good one.
Right before closing, an older, weary woman walked in.
Her worn coat had been fashionable years ago.
Her hair was hastily pulled into a bun.
Lines creased the corners of her mouth; her eyes were dull.
She wandered near the silver display, not daring to ask to see anything. Something bad had happened—I could feel it.
“Can I show you something?”
I can’t just stand behind the counter when someone truly needs help.
“I’m not sure…” the woman smiled shyly. A strained, painful smile.
“You must be closing soon…”
“It’s all right,” I reassured her and took out my earbuds.
Oh…
I looked at her with sorrow.
Time to remove the glasses too.
I was right: her daughter’s illness had become her deepest grief.
The girl was fighting bravely—but how long could she hold on?
“I wanted to cheer her up before the operation,” the woman sighed.
“I know,” I almost blurted out.
A difficult surgery ahead, and then a long, grueling recovery. Anyone would feel crushed. And the girl needed to stay strong.
“Wait here please. I have something special,” I said and went into the back room.
I keep certain things there for cases exactly like this.
I returned with a ring—a masterpiece crafted by a true artisan who had poured his soul into it.
You can’t buy something like this in a regular jewelry store.
And the stone—rare, unique, so uncommon it doesn’t even have a modern name.
Also terribly expensive, of course.
It won’t cure her illness—that’s for doctors.
But it will support her, keep her spirit from collapsing.
And a sick person desperately needs that.
“It’s beautiful…” the woman whispered, gently lifting the ring out of the box.
And the stone responded—it sparkled, shimmered, came alive. It sensed it could be useful.
“It must be very expensive,” she said regretfully, returning it.
“Not at all,” I named the smallest price I could think of—less than the silver pieces she had been looking at earlier.
I hope the girl recovers.
I was just about to lock up when the door burst open and a breathless young man ran in.
“Wait! It’s a matter of life and death!”
Without wasting time, I shed my glasses and earbuds.
Yes, he needed my help.
Losing the ring you planned to propose with—this is no joke.
You need to take such signs from fate seriously.
If you don’t back out completely, at least take a pause.
And what did he do? He ran straight into a jewelry store.
He tried to explain with gestures what the lost ring looked like.
“Do you have one like it?”
His eyes were full of hope.
I shook my head.
“Unlikely.”
I pretended to search, though I already saw it—in the second row: white gold with cubic zirconia.
Not the best gift for a future bride, especially if she’s the authoritarian type.
“Take a look at these,” I said, handing him a couple of random rings.
Then I subtly angled the mirror in the display so it would catch his eye.
Ah. There it is. Hooked.
He froze, staring, jaw practically on the floor.
Of course—he was watching a “movie” in the mirror now: his entire future married life unfolding before him.
He stood motionless, turning the ring in his hands.
Shaking his head—probably thinking he imagined it.
I had to help.
“You were in a hurry to get to the restaurant, right? Then go. Have a nice dinner.”
I softened my tone.
“And make your proposal next time. You can’t take a step this serious in a rush.”
“Yeah… you’re right.”
He left.
Whew.
Now can I close the store?
What a strange day of sales…
But then again—I’m not just a salesclerk.
—
Dmitri Korsak
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