Chapitre 1: Chapter 1: Selling Gold
In February, Chicago was still cold.
Although it was now 1943, and the war in Europe and Asia was raging on, Chicago, far from the battlefield and one of America's most important industrial cities, remained bustling and vibrant.
During the day, the streets were filled with cars, the shops were dazzling, and gentlemen and ladies moved about, creating a lively atmosphere not much different from the 21st century.
If it weren't for the occasional war posters scattered around the streets, it would be hard to believe that, on the other side of the world, the largest and deadliest war in history was taking place.
But none of this mattered to Josh.
Wrapped in a coat too large for him, Josh crossed the busy streets and entered a shop on the side of the road.
"Take a look around if you need anything!" said the elderly shopkeeper without raising his head, accompanied by the crisp sound of the bell above the door.
This was a general store, selling everything from small items like scissors and cutlery to large items like radios and vinyl records, all neatly arranged in their respective places.
However, Josh wasn't here to buy anything; he was here to sell.
"I heard you buy gold," Josh said directly, walking to the counter and addressing the old shopkeeper, who was fiddling with an old radio.
Hearing this, the old man finally raised his head slightly, glanced at Josh, surprised to see a boy around fifteen or sixteen years old, but he still nodded.
Without hesitation, Josh reached into his coat and pulled out a pouch, placing it on the counter and revealing the gold jewelry inside.
"Hmm? It looks a bit like Native American craftsmanship, but not quite. Where did you get it?" the old man asked, surprised as he examined the gold.
"Why? Would Native American craftsmanship make it worth more?" Josh replied without answering the question.
"Not really. It doesn't appeal to mainstream tastes," the old man shrugged. The mainstream aesthetic, of course, was the white man's aesthetic. The rough, native style of craftsmanship would hardly catch the attention of wealthy ladies. The fate of this gold was likely to be melted down.
"How much can you offer?" Josh asked again. He didn't care about the craftsmanship because he knew it wasn't actually Native American gold.
"Don't rush, kid! Wait a moment," the old shopkeeper reassured him before calmly turning to fetch some tools.
Josh wasn't in a hurry either. Before coming here, he had done his research. This was a well-known old general store in the area, and it also served as a pawnshop.
And what he was selling was just gold, not illegal items.
Well, technically, according to a law passed by Roosevelt ten years ago, private gold trading was illegal. This law wouldn't be fully repealed until Nixon's time, more than twenty years later.
But in reality, since the start of World War II, this law was no longer enforced as strictly as it once was.
Additionally, with the influx of refugees during the war, the U.S. government had turned a blind eye to small-scale gold trading, making such transactions quite common.
Of course, the safest option was to sell the gold to a bank at the official rate of $35 per ounce, which equates to about 28 grams.
But that would be a huge loss.
The market price for gold had already risen to $50 per ounce.
A $15 difference was no small amount.
Given the purchasing power of the dollar in this era, it was substantial.
For example, in a big city like Chicago, a full meal at a typical restaurant, with coffee, meat, and vegetables, would cost only fifty to sixty cents, while a large hamburger was around twenty cents.
In other words, for the average person, $15 was enough for over a week of eating out.
Josh's gold wasn't a large amount, but it wasn't small either—ten ounces. That was a $150 difference, which was about two to three months of income for the average person.
Don't be fooled by the fact that the average annual income in America had already surpassed $1,000 by 1943.
Anyone who understands what "average" means knows the reality.
In fact, in the city, an annual income of $700 or $800 was considered a good salary.
Why did so many young Americans enthusiastically enlist during World War II?
It was because the military offered good pay.
A private's base pay was $50 a month, and with each promotion in rank, their salary increased by $10 to $20. By the time someone became a sergeant, they could earn $100 a month, not including various allowances.
So $150 was no small amount.
Josh's gold wasn't a lot, but he wasn't willing to forfeit such a significant difference to the American banks, so he was willing to take a bit of risk.
Fortunately, the old shopkeeper didn't pull any tricks and soon returned with tools—measuring cups, water, a balance scale, and so on.
"The purity of this gold isn't very high, only about 80%. I can offer you $40 for it," the old man concluded after measuring the gold.
"Deal!" Josh wasn't surprised by this. He knew the gold's purity couldn't be too high, given the primitive metallurgy of the world it came from, especially from barbarians who couldn't even smelt steel.
So Josh quickly agreed to the price.
"Very good, 9.8 ounces in total. I won't shortchange you; I'll round it up to 10 ounces. Here's $400. Take it, kid!" The old man, seeing Josh's swift agreement, didn't delay either. He pulled out a roll of dollars from behind the counter, took out two bills, and handed the rest to Josh.
Josh took the roll of money, unwrapped the rubber band, and counted—eight $50 bills, exactly the right amount.
After all, the U.S. hadn't yet entered the credit card era, so large bills weren't uncommon. Unlike in the 21st century, where $50 bills were rare.
"Change $50 for me, preferably in $5 bills, $10 bills if necessary," Josh said after confirming the money was real, pushing $50 back toward the old man.
While large bills weren't rare, having some smaller change on hand was more convenient given the high purchasing power of the dollar.
The old man didn't say much, simply nodded, and exchanged it for a roll of $5 bills.
After counting and confirming everything was in order, Josh tied the money back up, put it in his pocket, and prepared to leave.
"If you have more goods, feel free to come back. I am the best dealer around here!" the old man's voice called out as Josh was about to step out the door.
"Of course!" Josh replied with a slight pause and nod before leaving.
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Hey, Readers So I am Starting A New Translation Which I said I would But After Stockpiling around 35 chapters but as the Chapters are quite around 1000 - 1500 word per chapter and sometimes more, I decided to post them after translating around 20- 25 Chapters.
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