David Liss - The Coffee Trader

“Good afternoon, Jew Man,” the Dutchman said with what might have been genuine warmth. He was a tricky one; he might present himself as a villain one instant and the grandest man in the world the next. “Join us. How have we managed all this time without you? We have been as parched as the desert without your company.”

Miguel sat. The knowledge of his impending wealth vied in his heart with the chafing impression that Hendrick mocked him.

“You look cheerful,” Geertruid told him. “I hope your month closed well.”

“Marvelously well, madam.” Miguel could not contain his grin.

“Ah, I’d been hoping that smile on your face meant you have some firm plans to do business with me.”

“It might mean that too,” Miguel answered. He hardly liked to give his name or the time of day with Hendrick around. “But we need not discuss these things at this moment.”

“What sound is this?” Hendrick grinned and leaned to the side with a hand cupped to his ear. “Someone calls my name? Well, then, I’ll let you get on with your chatter, for I have no interest in things of business. That’s a Jew’s affair, and I’ve Christian matters to look after.”

“Whoring or drinking?” Geertruid inquired.

He laughed. “That’s between me and my Maker.”

“Then I shall see you on the morrow,” Geertruid told him, squeezing his hand gently.

Hendrick pushed himself to his feet and swayed violently toward Geertruid. He snatched the side of the table to steady himself. “Rot these crooked floors, eh, Jew Man? Rot them, I say. Rot them.” He paused for a moment, as though waiting for Miguel to rot the floors.

A woman who saw her servant or lover in such a state might have shouted in anger or blushed in embarrassment, but Geertruid had already turned away, her attention arrested by some story read by the man with the news sheet. Therefore she did not see that after Hendrick had taken a few uneasy steps toward the door, he spun around, almost so quickly that he fell over but, instead, caught himself on Miguel’s shoulder.

The brawny man’s breath smelled remarkably sweet for a man who had been drinking beer and feasting upon onions, but his mustache was slick with grease, and Miguel shrank back from the disquieting intimacy.

“Last time I saw you,” he said directly into Miguel’s ear, his voice hardly more than a whisper, “a man asked me as I left if I might be your acquaintance. Some Jew fellow, I believe. Asked me if I’d be interested in helping him out a bit.”

Miguel looked at Geertruid, but she paid them no attention at all. She was laughing aloud at something in the news sheet, and much of the tavern laughed with her.

“I think this fellow must have been some rogue, out to trick both you and me,” lied Miguel. Who could this Jew fellow be, Parido? One of his spies? Daniel? Joachim, somehow pretending to be a Jew?

“Just as I thought. Besides, I won’t squeeze a friend’s friend. It’s not my way.”

“I am glad to know it,” Miguel murmured.

Hendrick patted his shoulder once more, this time a bit harder, something just short of a blow, and then swayed off, knocking one table and then another on his way out.

Miguel wondered if perhaps he should have thanked the fellow, both for the information and for not, as he had so menacingly phrased it, putting the squeeze on him. But Miguel had no mind to go about thanking men such as Hendrick for the harm they didn’t do.

“Well, now, beautiful madam,” Miguel said, to summon Geertruid’s attention. “We have much to discuss, haven’t we?”

She turned to face Miguel, flashing something like surprise, as though she had forgotten that anyone sat at her table. “Oh, senhor. I long to hear what you have to say.” Geertruid pressed her hands together. Her left eye showed a sudden twitch. “With any luck you have been thinking about coffee as much as I have.”

Miguel called for a beer while Geertruid brought out a small leather pouch containing the sweet tobacco she favored. “I have,” he told her. “You have seduced me with your proposal.”

She beamed at him. “Have I now?”

“I’ve been lying awake thinking of it.”

“I never knew my ideas had such an effect on you.”

The serving boy placed a tankard before Miguel. “So, let us discuss particulars.”

Geertruid finished refilling her pipe, lit it with the oil lamp on the table, and leaned forward. “I love to talk of particulars,” she said, in a breathy voice. She puffed at her pipe, sending forth clouds of smoke. “I won’t pretend to be surprised to hear you are with me, however. I knew from the beginning that you were my man.”

Miguel laughed. “Well, before we proceed, I thought we should work out a few details. If I am to enter into trade with you, I should like to know the conditions.”

“The conditions will depend on your plan. You do have a plan, don’t you? Without a sound idea, my capital will hardly be put to good use.”

A genuine laugh escaped Miguel’s throat, but his emotions ran somewhat higher than he demonstrated. Geertruid had the capital. That was the very thing he needed to hear.

“Madam, I’ve devised a plan so clever you will think you’ve gone mad. This idea of mine.” He shook his head. “Even I can scarcely believe it.”

Geertruid set aside her pipe. She pressed both palms upon the table and leaned in toward Miguel. “Tell me everything.”

So Miguel told her everything. He spoke of his idea with a kind of clarity he had not known he possessed-from the earliest details of the planning, to the many layers of execution, to the final vastly complicated and yet elegantly simple conclusion. His tongue flowed easily, perhaps because of the beer, yet he never stammered or slurred or stumbled. He spoke like an orator, and before he was halfway through his explanation he knew he had her.

Geertruid remained silent for a moment after he had finished. Finally she sat back. “Remarkable.” She ventured to take a sip of beer. She took another sip and looked up with the appearance of a woman who has just been awakened from an unplanned nap. “You have taken my most optimistic hopes and rendered them laughable. Do you think such a thing can work? Why, the very size of it-I can hardly take it all in.”

Miguel felt himself grinning like an imbecile. His life was changing before him. How many times does a man stand by foolishly while his life changes form, with no idea that anything out of the ordinary transpires? But for a man to rise to greatness by his own plan and to know the moment that this greatness begins-that was a glorious thing to be savored.

“We’ve a great deal to do, it’s true. We’ll have to plan this business down to the minute. We’ll have to hire agents-at least a dozen of them-to act for us where we cannot act ourselves. It is all coordination, orchestration. But, once done, the business will take care of itself.”

She slapped the table with her hand-not hard, but hard enough to send Miguel’s nearly empty tankard rattling. “By the grace of God, this scheme of yours is-well, I cannot even say.”

“However.” Miguel cleared his throat before beginning anew, trying hard to get the smile off his face. This was, after all, a serious topic. “However, it will take money. We must clarify that part of the arrangement.” This was the moment he had dreaded. Had Geertruid merely been talking to sound impressive, or did she have access to sufficient capital, as she had hinted? Without money, they could do nothing.

She picked his hand up gently, as though fearing it might fall and shatter were she to drop it. “I have been my own mistress long enough to understand that capital is but one element of the business. Do not think because I put forth the money that you will suffer for it. I propose a split of fifty percent. With all the capital in the world I could not do this thing without you. Is that not the way in Amsterdam, the way that has made this city great? We rule the world because we have devised joint stock companies and corporations and trading combinations to share the danger.” She gave his hand a good squeeze. “And the wealth.”