David Liss - The Coffee Trader

“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.

Miguel swore, drank a bowl of coffee, and began his search of the most likely taverns. Luck was on his side that day, for he found Ricardo in the third place he looked, sitting alone drinking a tankard of beer sullenly.

“No business today?” Miguel asked.

“As to business,” Ricardo answered, without looking up, “you should mind your own.”

Miguel sat across from him. “Make no mistake. This is my business, senhor. You owe me a great deal of money, and if you think I’m content to do nothing you are mistaken.”

Ricardo, at last, deigned to look up. “Don’t threaten me, Lienzo. You dare not go to the Dutch courts without risking the anger of the Ma’amad, and we both know that if you go to the Ma’amad you run the risk of a ruling against you, a ruling that could tie up your money for months or years. You have no choice but to be patient, so get you gone before you anger me and I obstruct you even further.”

Miguel swallowed hard. What had he been thinking, coming here? Ricardo was right: he had nothing with which to threaten him-except, perhaps, a public airing. “Perhaps I’ll take my chances with the Ma’amad,” he said. “If I don’t get my money, I’ll be no worse off than I am now, and I can use a hearing as a public forum to expose you for the blackguard you are. More than that, I can expose your master. Indeed, the more I think about it, the more appealing this becomes to me. The other parnassim are only swayed by him because they think him scrupulous. If they learn about his tricks, he’ll lose power.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Ricardo said, but he looked worried. “I am my own master.”

“You work for Solomon Parido. He is the only one who might arrange this outrage, and I intend to expose it. If the money you owe me is not in my account by the close of business tomorrow, you can be sure I will seek justice.”

Miguel left without waiting for a reply, certain he had done what could be done, but by the end of business the next day, no money had been deposited in his account. Miguel realized he had no choice. He could not risk a court appearance that would look into his funds, so he transferred just over nine hundred guilders of Geertruid’s money into the agent’s accounts. He would worry about how to make up the money some other time.

The Exchange heaved and pulsated around Miguel as he sought out an East India Company broker. Only half an hour ago a rumor had come sweeping through with the might of a collapsing building: a powerful trading combination plotted to sell off a large portion of its East India shares. Often enough, when a combination wished to buy, it would circulate rumors that it wished to do just the opposite, and the force of that rumor would drive prices down. Those who had invested with the idea of very short turnarounds would dump their stock at once.

Miguel had been plying his trade on the Exchange long enough to know how to use these rumors to his advantage. Whether or not they were based on truth, whether the combination intended to buy or sell, made no difference. Such were the riches of the Orient that East India Company stock always-always-rebounded from a dip, and only a fool refrained from buying during a frenzy. Miguel had fortified himself that morning with three bowls of coffee. Rarely had he felt so awake, so eager. This madness could not have come at a more propitious time.

Buyers and sellers pushed through the crowd frantically, each screaming for his contacts as the usual cacophony of the Exchange rose to near-maddening levels. A rotund little Dutchman had his hat knocked off in the fray and, after watching it trampled, hurried away, content to lose something worth a few guilders rather than risk losing thousands. The men who dealt in diamonds, tobacco, grain, and other such items, and who shunned speculative trade, stood by, shaking their heads at the disruption of their business.