David Liss - The Coffee Trader

“I trust and believe your promise of silence,” he told her, “so I’ll tell you the truth. The man you saw has an old grudge against me for a wrong that was none of my doing, and he wishes to ruin me. He understands the ways of our community well enough to know how to ruin with whispers as easily as with deeds, and that is why you must not speak of what happened.”

He had entrusted her with the truth, and she still betrayed him with her silence. “Then I won’t speak of it,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

“Senhora.” Miguel shifted uneasily. “I beg that your silence extends to your husband. I know that such vows of secrecy often include an implicit exception for the special bonds of matrimony, but in this case it is very important that your good husband know nothing.”

Hannah sipped at her coffee. A black mulch had formed at the bottom, and not knowing if she should drink it and thinking it would be rude to ask, she set the bowl back down. “I, of all people, know what my good husband should and should not hear. I’ll not tell him. But you must promise me something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“That you will let me drink coffee again,” she said. “Soon.”

“I would consider drinking coffee with you a great pleasure,” he said warmly.

She studied his face. Were I a servant or a tavern girl, he would kiss me at this moment. But I am his brother’s wife. He won’t kiss me ever. He has too much honor. Unless, of course, she thought, I kiss him first. But that was unthinkable, and she blushed at her own boldness.

“Well, then,” she said with a sigh, “I’ll call the girl to clear away the dishes, lest my husband come home and find that we’ve been secreted together, drinking forbidden things.”

She enjoyed the look of wonder upon Miguel’s face for a moment before relieving him of his discomfort by ringing for the maid.

Miguel believed he had learned a great deal that day, about women and about Hannah. He could never have imagined what spirit lurked beneath her quiet exterior. He had feared the worst of her, that she would repeat all she knew to every wife in the Vlooyenburg. It seemed inevitable that a silly woman would run off with this bit of gossip like a dog who snatched a piece of meat from the kitchen counter. Now he believed he could depend upon her to be quiet. He couldn’t explain why he had given her the coffee, why he had confessed to her what he wanted to hide from Daniel. It had been an impulse to give her something, a new secret, to make her feel the bond of trust between them. Perhaps it had been sound reasoning and perhaps not, but the thrill of trusting her had been impossible to resist. And he knew with absolute certainty that she would not betray him.

Miguel shook his head and cursed himself. Did he not have enough trouble without looking for unspeakable intrigues? If something were to happen to Daniel, he thought, he would happily take a closer look at Hannah. And a man might die in many ways: disease, accident, murder. Miguel took a moment to indulge in thoughts of Daniel’s body being dragged from a canal, his eyes openly staring at death, his skin somewhere between blue and white. He felt remorse at his pleasure in such thoughts, but they left him less agitated than thoughts of removing Hannah from the unhappy bondage of her clothing.

Wasn’t coffee supposed to inhibit such thoughts? But even coffee was no match for the thrill of Hannah’s conversation. He had always thought the girl no more than a simple and pretty thing, charming but empty. Now he knew it had all been for show, an act to placate her husband. Give the woman a bowl of coffee, and her true self blossomed. How many other women, he wondered, merely played the fool to escape the notice of their men?

The thought of a world peopled with cunning and duplicitous women did nothing to calm his spirits, so he said his afternoon prayers, adding his silent thanks to the Holy One, blessed be He, for having disposed of Joachim without all of the Vlooyenburg knowing of his business.

Miguel soon learned his thanks were premature.

He had thought it fortunate that Joachim had pulled his impudent prank while the men of the Vlooyenburg were scattered about the city in pursuit of their business, but he had forgotten to account for the women, women who sat in their parlor chairs and stood in their kitchens with their eyes upon the streets, praying that this day heaven would release them from their tedium by manifesting the miracle of scandal. Joachim’s crude behavior had been witnessed: from doorways and windows and side streets. Wives and daughters and grandmothers and widows had seen it all, and they had talked eagerly, to one another and to their husbands. By the time Miguel saw Daniel that evening, there was hardly a Jew in Amsterdam who did not know that a strange man had threatened Hannah and her maid and that Miguel had driven him off. Supper creaked under the weight of the incident. Miguel’s brother hardly spoke a word, and Hannah’s weak attempts at conversation failed utterly.

Later, Daniel crept down to the cellar. He took a seat in one of the old chairs, his feet slightly lifted out of the damp, and remained silent long enough to expand the discomfort that already crept over them. His eyes half focused on Miguel while he poked at a back tooth, all the while making sucking noises.

Finally he extracted his finger. “What do you know of this man?”

“It does not concern you.” The words sounded feeble even in Miguel’s own ears.

“Of course it concerns me!” Only rarely did Daniel lose his temper with Miguel. He might condescend and lecture and express his disappointment, but he shied away from anything like anger. “Do you know that this encounter is so upsetting to Hannah that she will not even speak of it? What horrors have befallen my wife that she will not gossip?”

Miguel felt some of his own anger subside. He had asked Hannah to protect a secret, and she had done so. He could not let himself worry about what damage he had done to his brother’s domestic quiet. Daniel, after all, only believed his wife upset.

“I’m sorry Hannah had a scare, but you know I would never let her come to harm.”

“And that foolish maid. Every time I try to inquire of her what happened, she pretends not to be able to understand what I say. The girl understands my Dutch well enough when I go to pay her wages.”

“You are more practiced with those words,” Miguel suggested.

“Don’t play the fool, Miguel.”

“And don’t play the father with me, my younger brother,” Miguel boomed.

“I assure you, I am not playing your father,” Daniel replied tartly. “I am playing the father to an unborn son and I am playing the husband, a role that would have taught you much had you not botched your agreement with Senhor Parido.”

Miguel almost lashed out with some hateful words, but he checked his tongue. In this case, he knew, his brother’s grievance had merit. “I am truly sorry that anyone unpleasant should have had contact with the senhora. You know I would never consciously expose her to any danger. This matter was nothing of my doing.”

“Everyone is full of this, Miguel. I cannot tell you how many conversations broke into harsh whispers at my approach today. I hate hearing people talking of my business, of how my own wife had to be saved from a madman set upon her by your doings.”

Perhaps that was the source of Daniel’s anger. He did not like that it was Miguel who had saved Hannah from the madman. “I had always believed you had larger concerns than what wives and widows say about you.”

“Make sport if you like, but this kind of behavior is a danger to us all. You have threatened the safety not only of my family but of our entire Nation.”