David Liss - The Coffee Trader

“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.”