The Coffee Trader (14 page)

One afternoon when I met Lienzo I had been fortunate enough to be served a most unusual delicacy by Mustafa. I was sitting and enjoying the drink when Lienzo showed himself most eagerly. He had enlisted my aid in a matter of whale oil, and it had turned out rather well for him.

“I hear you’ve done well,” I said, as I signaled Mustafa to bring a cup of the strange mixture he’d been brewing. “How lucky you are to have Alferonda as a friend.”

“I may have done well, but I haven’t yet got that money,” Miguel said. “The broker who bought it, that fellow Ricardo, is refusing to pay me.”

I knew Ricardo, probably better than Miguel did, and I could not have been less surprised. “What? He’s paid you nothing?”

“Nothing. He’s promised in a month or so, and meanwhile my Muscovy agent is demanding I pay in full what I borrowed of him.”

“I, for one, advise that a man should always pay his debts, but I have a proprietary interest in these matters.”

Mustafa now set the drink before Miguel. It was served in a little white bowl, not much bigger than a hollowed-out eggshell. The drink inside had a yellow, almost metallic-gold color, and there was not much of it, for it was very expensive and very rare. Of course, I would not say as much to Miguel. I would pay for his drink.

“What is this?” he asked me.

“You think there is only one kind of coffee? Coffee is like wine: a hundred varieties and flavors. A hundred nations around the world drink it, each with its own preferences, and each has pleasures for the discriminating drinker. My Turkish friend managed to get a small quantity of this treasure from the East Indies, and I convinced him to share it with us.”

Miguel sniffed as cautiously as a cat and, after saying a blessing, raised the little bowl to his lips. His forehead wrinkled at once. “Curious,” he said. “It is muskier than the other coffees I’ve had, but at the same time thinner. What is it?”

“It’s called monkey coffee,” I said. “There is a particular kind of beast in those tropical forests that eats the coffee fruit. Indeed, it eats only the most perfect berries, and so the locals have learned that a flavorful drink can be made from this creature’s droppings.”

Miguel set down the bowl. “This is made from monkey turds?”

“I would not have put it so boldly, but yes.”

“Alonzo, how can you have fed me this abomination? Besides being disgusting, surely it violates the dietary laws.”

“How so?”

“It comes from a monkey, and monkey flesh may not be eaten.”

“But can monkey turds be eaten? I have never heard of them being forbidden.”

“If we may not eat its flesh, how can we eat its turds?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “However, I do know that a chicken is flesh, but its eggs are neither flesh nor dairy. Thus we can conclude that the Sages believed that what comes out of a creature’s guts may not be of the same quality as the creature itself.”

Miguel pushed the bowl away from him. “You make a convincing case, but I don’t think I’ll drink any more shit brew.”

I smiled and sipped at my own bowl. “I hear that Parido’s help is not so valuable as one might hope.”

“Yes,” he said, “the brandy. There’s no way of knowing if he intended for me to lose out or if the change in price caught him by surprise.”

“Of course he intended it. Parido has been your enemy these two years, and when he suddenly declares himself your friend and acts on your behalf, it costs you money. I don’t believe in mere happenstance, Miguel. He’s shown his colors.”

“I took at least as much from his pocket when I traded on whale oil.”

“That may be,” I observed, “but if you took that money from his pocket, it has not shown up in yours.”

“Are you saying that Ricardo’s client is Parido, that it’s he who refuses to pay me?”

“It needn’t be that direct. Parido could simply be using his influence to keep that money from you. I suggest you press Ricardo a little more forcefully. You can’t bring him before the Ma’amad, but you may be able to find other ways to make him yield.”

“Have you any suggestions?”

I shrugged. “If I think of something, I will be certain to inform you.”

“That’s not very helpful. I feel like everything is getting away from me. I earned money in whale oil, but I cannot get it. I begin a trade in coffee, but the world warns me off it.”

“Who has warned you?”

“Isaiah Nunes. And my brother.”

“Nunes trembles at the sound of his shit falling in his chamber pot. You oughtn’t let his cowardice affect you. And as for your brother, he is Parido’s creature before he is your kin.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Parido may know of your trade in coffee and want you to stay away from something that will make you successful. You must remain fast and cling to your purpose.”

“I have no intention of doing otherwise,” he said.

That was precisely what I wanted to hear.

14

In the kitchen, Annetje chopped onions while Hannah cleaned the sour-smelling fish. She slid the knife into its soft grayish belly, fighting the fish’s fibrous resistance, and pushed up with more force than necessary. The fish slid apart easily, and she scraped its innards into a wooden bowl. Annetje would use the guts for a
hutsepot
she made out of ingredients permitted by Jews—
Joodspot,
she called it.

“I’ve been thinking about your encounter with that old widow,” Annetje said.

Hannah didn’t look up from the offal. She had a few coffee beans in her apron, but she did not want to touch them with her fishy fingers. Still, the fruit called out to her. She hadn’t eaten one for hours now. Hours. Her supply had been running low, and after her embarrassing visit to Miguel’s cellar the night before, she thought she had better make do with what little she had.

“You must not say anything to Senhor Lienzo—Senhor Miguel Lienzo, I mean. Of course you know you should not say anything to your husband.”

“I’ve been thinking of it as well,” Hannah confessed, “and I’m not certain I should remain quiet. That woman claims to be his friend. He ought to know she’s keeping secrets.”

“People must be permitted their secrets,” Annetje said, this time more generously. She sprinkled a pinch of cinnamon onto a bowl of onions. “You have your secrets, and you are better, your husband is better, and the world is better for your keeping them. Who is to say that the same is not true of the widow?”

There had been a time when these words would have silenced her, but now things were somehow different. “But we don’t
know
that it is true.” Her finger probed the meat under the fish’s skin. “What if she means him harm?”

“I am sure it is nothing we need concern ourselves with, and even if it were, there’s nothing to do about it. You don’t want her speaking of your secrets, after all.”

Hannah thought about it for a moment. “But Senhor Miguel is not my husband. He can be trusted to keep silent.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know the senhor like I do.”

She closed her eyes. “Perhaps not.”

Annetje bit into an onion as though it were an apple and chewed with her mouth wide open. Hannah had many times asked her not to eat onions. If Daniel learned that she helped herself so freely to their food, he would lose himself in wrath. “He’s found your behavior curious. He told me you came to him in the cellar last night with your scarf askew and your hair exposed.”

The girl would see a scarf askew if Hannah used it to strangle her. “I didn’t know it was loose until after I left him.”

“I think he found it exciting,” she said, her mouth full of onion.

“I smelled something in the cellar,” she said.

“And I smell something now, and it’s foul. You cannot tell him. He will betray you. He cares more about his devil’s religion than he does you, I can promise you that. He thinks you are only a fool girl, and if you speak to him he’ll discover how right he is.”

“Why would he think me a fool for trying to help him?”

“Help him nothing. He’ll betray you for the pleasure of it. I tell you that you must not trust him. If you do speak to him, I will consider myself betrayed. Do you understand me?”

“I understand you,” Hannah said quietly, thinking only of the coffee in her apron.

The letters started coming in all at once. Miguel had sat in the cellar, lighted two oil lamps, and opened the day’s correspondence, hardly daring to hope. But there it was: a letter from a cousin of a friend who now lived in Copenhagen. He didn’t understand why Miguel needed to buy at a particular moment on a particular day, but he was nonetheless willing to comply based on the commission proposed.

Miguel made a celebratory bowl of coffee and read the rest of his letters. Nothing from prospective agents, but the next day he heard from an old acquaintance in Marseilles and a distant cousin’s husband in Hamburg. By the middle of the next week he’d heard from three more. A week later produced another four, and surely more on the way. The thing was nearly done. There remained only one major problem to discuss with Geertruid.

She suggested they walk to the Plantage. Miguel thought a visit to the coffee tavern might be in order, but Geertruid had no interest. “There are things in life besides coffee,” she said. “You must not forget that I am a Dutchwoman and like to drink great quantities of beer. Staying up all night to look at ledgers and books—that’s for Jews.”

They walked along tree-lined paths where bright torches blazed to turn night into day. Handsomely attired couples passed by, wealthy burghers with their beautiful or plain wives, young couples out to gaze upon the fashionable life, cleverly disguised thieves. Back in Lisbon, these happy pleasure seekers would have been well born and of old families, but these were new men, merchants of the Exchange and their pretty wives, the daughters of merchants.

Miguel took Geertruid’s arm in his, and they strolled as though they were married. But even if he had a wife, could he take her to the verdant paths of the Plantage? No, she would remain at home with the children, and Geertruid would still be the woman upon his arm.

Geertruid raised her eyes and smiled at her friend; she seemed to like nothing more than to stroll with him on such nights. She had worn one of her most handsome gowns, all dark blues and reds. “Where do things stand?” she asked. “Tell me all the wonderful tidings. Delight me with tales of our impending wealth.”

“Things stand quite well,” Miguel told her. “As soon as you have transferred the money to my account, dear woman, I’ll be able to pay my East Indian merchant for the coffee. From that time on, we have to make certain we’ve contacted our agents and orchestrated the plan perfectly before the goods arrive. I estimate two months.”

“Two months,” she repeated dreamily. “Two months, and we’ll have accomplished all you say? You speak of it as though you anticipated trout for your dinner.”

“Well, I like trout.” He looked at her, her face aglow in the torchlight, dim enough to hide the imperfections of age.

They stopped to look at a sloppily erected stage where the players performed some adventures of the Sea Beggars, maritime rebels who fought off the Spanish tyrants to win the United Provinces their freedom. Miguel had never bothered to learn the names of the celebrated heroes or the pivotal battles, but Geertruid became absorbed instantly. They watched for a quarter hour, and Geertruid clapped and cheered with the crowd, losing herself in girlish glee as the players spoke of the miraculous storm that saved the town of Leiden from the Spanish. Then she decided she’d seen enough and began to walk again.

“I must still coordinate with our agents for the exchanges,” he continued, after a moment.

“And do you have your agents selected?”

Miguel nodded. “I have contacts at this very moment in Marseilles, Hamburg, Vienna, Antwerp, Paris, and Copenhagen. A cousin of a friend of mine at this moment is in Rotterdam, but he plans to return to London, and I’ll make arrangements with him soon enough. I can handle the business in Amsterdam myself. Still, I foresee a few problems.”

“Only a few problems,” Geertruid said thoughtfully. “That’s wonderful. It is utterly wonderful. I should have thought there might be countless problems, but you have managed things so handsomely. It is a great comfort to me.”

Miguel smiled at her. He looked at her lips, wondering if he saw a vaguely ironic smirk. “Nevertheless, you might wish to hear the nature of those problems.”

“I have every confidence in you, but if you wish to speak of problems, I’ll certainly listen.”

Miguel cleared his throat. “I am concerned about my ability to establish agents in the Iberian exchanges: Lisbon, Madrid, and perhaps Oporto. I have not continued to trade there, and many of my former contacts there have fled to places of safety. Indeed, the contacts I have in Marseilles, Hamburg, and Antwerp are all refugees as I am—men I knew in Lisbon.”

“Can’t you make new contacts? You’re an amicable enough fellow.”

“I’m still exploring that possibility, but doing so is difficult. When dealing with those nations, a man such as myself must conceal his true name and not let it be known that he is of the Hebrew faith. To reveal that would invite rejection, for any man, whether a Secret Jew or no, would fear to do business with a known Jew. Should the Inquisition learn of his activities, it wouldn’t hesitate to punish him for suspicion of being a Judaizer.”

“That sounds like a rotten business.”

“The Inquisition funds itself by confiscating the property of those they convict. That makes merchants especially attractive to evil Inquisitors.”

“Can we proceed without those exchanges? After all, how many do we need?”

“We might perhaps fare well without Oporto, and even Lisbon, though I should hate to risk it. We must, however, have Madrid. Coffee has gained some small favor in the Spanish court, which acquires its fruit through the Madrid bourse. If we lose Madrid, the project fails.”

“Whatever shall we do?” Her voice was high and youthful, as though she tested Miguel to learn the depth of his concern.

“There are always maneuvers and schemes in the world of trade. It is all thrust and parry, and it’s not such an impossible thing to perform a little alchemy and make leaden problems turn to golden opportunities.”

“I know you know your business, so I’ll not worry unless you tell me to worry.”

Miguel began to turn left upon the path, but Geertruid pulled him right. She had some destination in mind but offered no more hint than the slightest of smirks. “How soon do you think you can have the money transferred to my account?” he asked her.

“Should we not wait? If this situation with Madrid does not resolve itself, and we have purchased the goods, shall we not be the losers for it?”

“It cannot happen,” he assured her—and himself.

They had now arrived at a wooden house, far more handsomely put together than most. Geertruid led him inside to a well-lit space decorated with sturdy wooden furniture. Drunken Dutchmen, perhaps a dozen of them, staggered about, and almost as many pretty girls in close-fitting dresses served tankards and whispered into ears. Geertruid had taken him to a brothel.

“What do we here?” he asked her.

“Oh, I thought you a little lonely, and I have heard such tales about a lass at this place—they made me quite blush—and I wanted you to sample the goods for yourself.”

“I thought,” he said, with a mockingly stern voice, “that we were to spend the evening together, discussing our business concerns.”

“You may pretend you are with me if you like,” she told him. “But as to business, I think we have concluded our talk.”

An eager-looking woman now appeared at Miguel’s side and took his other arm. She was small in height, and slightly built, but with a charmingly round face and full lips. “This must be the gentleman you spoke of,” she said to Geertruid. “He is a fine one indeed.”

“Senhor, this charming creature is called Agatha, and I hope you will treat her as kindly as I would want to be treated myself.”

Miguel laughed. “If only I knew how kind that was.”

Geertruid tossed her head, a sort of shrug.

“I think we should conclude our conversation first, before I take your generous gift.” He smiled at the girl so she would not feel unappreciated.

“You are a mighty man to keep your mind upon business with two beauties on your arm,” Agatha observed.

“You need only tell me when I can expect the money to be transferred, and we may forget the matter for tonight.”

“Very well.” Geertruid sighed. “I see you are not to be put off. All the more lucky for our friend Agatha, who they say likes a determined fellow. I can transfer the money before the end of the week if need be.”

Miguel had been sneaking a gaze at Agatha’s lively brown eyes, but he turned quickly to Geertruid. “So soon? You already have it?”

Geertruid pressed her lips together in a smile. “Surely you don’t think my words have been all wind. You asked me to raise the money, and I have done so.”

“If you have raised it, why did you not tell me? I should think after securing that kind of capital—no easy trick—would you not feel more celebratory?”

“Indeed I do. Are we not celebrating here tonight?”

Miguel had been in trade long enough to know when someone lied to him, and badly too. He held himself absolutely still, afraid to move until he thought this thing through. Why would Geertruid lie? Two reasons: she did not truly have the money, or she did have the money, but its source was not what she had earlier said.

Miguel had not realized he had been quiet for so long until he saw both women staring at him. “You can transfer this week?”

“That’s what I say. Why have you turned so dour? You have your money and you have a woman. What more could any man desire?”

“Not a thing,” he said, breaking free of their hold and placing a hand on both of their soft rumps. It was a freedom he would not have normally taken with Geertruid, but she had taken one with him, so why not return the favor? As for her lie, he would think no more of it tonight. Geertruid had her reasons, and she had her secrets. Miguel was content to live with them.

“I think the senhor would rather you than me,” Agatha said to Geertruid.

Something flashed across the widow’s face. “I think you’ll soon discover what the senhor likes, my dear. He has something of a reputation.”

Agatha led him to a back room, where Miguel soon found he hardly thought at all about Geertruid’s lies and what she might wish to conceal from so great a friend.

Among his letters the next day, Miguel found a favorable note from his prospective agent in Frankfurt. He read the letter through with satisfaction and then tore open the next, this one from the Muscovy trader. He politely explained that Miguel still owed him a sum approaching nineteen hundred guilders and that, as he knew of Miguel’s past difficulties, he could not let the matter rest. “I must demand immediate payment of half this debt, or I am afraid I shall have no choice but to allow the courts to decide how I might most effectively see my money.”
The courts
meant another public humiliation before the Bankruptcy Board, which would mean exposing both his connection to Geertruid and his coffee scheme.