David Liss - The Coffee Trader

Annetje now arrived with the bowls of coffee. Hannah breathed in the scent and salivated at the thought of drinking. More than its flavor, she loved how it made her feel. If she had been a scholar, she would have been able to unravel any point of Law. Had she been a merchant, she could have outwitted any man upon the Exchange. Now, she again lifted the bowl to her lips and tasted the engaging bitterness, a taste, she realized, that made her think of Miguel. This is the taste of Miguel, she told herself: bitter and inviting.

She waited for Annetje, who flashed all sorts of knowing looks, to leave before she began to speak again. “May I ask you what happened between you and the council?”

Miguel opened his mouth in surprise, as though she had spoken of something forbidden, but he also appeared pleased. Perhaps he found her boldness exciting. How bold should she be?

“It is nothing of substance. There were some questions about business partners. Some on the council do not like the people with whom I trade, so they placed me under this cherem for a day as a warning. These are pretty questions from so pretty a woman.”

Hannah turned away so that he would not see her blush. “Do you suggest that a woman should not ask such questions?”

“Not at all. I delight in an inquisitive woman.”

“Perhaps,” she suggested, “you delight in an inquisitive woman in the same way you delight in defying the council.”

Miguel smiled warmly. “I think you may be right, senhora. I have never much cared for authority, and I love to see it challenged-be it the authority of a husband or the Ma’amad.”

Hannah felt herself redden again, but met his gaze all the same. “When you were married,” she asked, “did you love to see your wife challenge you?”

He laughed. “Most times,” he said. “If I am to be honest, I must say that I am as prone to grow comfortable in authority as any man. That is no reason why I should not be questioned, however. I might have followed my father’s example and never studied the ways of our race had I not thought this way, for it is what I love best about the teachings of the rabbis. Everything must be questioned and disputed, looked at from all angles, examined and held up to the light. The parnassim and men like-well, like many men I know-forget that. They wish to see things always as they are and never ask how they might be.”

“And is this the reason, your delight in challenge, why you were called before the Ma’amad? My husband tells me you have defiled Holy Law.”

“As I say, senhora, there is law and there is custom, and custom is often little more than a fable. So long as I tell the parnassim what they want to hear, all is well.”

“What they want to hear?” Hannah asked, permitting herself the slightest of smiles. “You lied to them?”

He laughed. “Only little lies. They do not want to hear important lies.”

“But is it not a sin to lie?”

“You tease me, senhora. I suppose it is a sin, but an insignificant one. A man of business lies all the time. He lies to put trades to his advantage or to construct circumstances just so. A man may lie to make his position look better than it is, or weaker than it is, depending on his goals. None of these are the same as lying in a way that may harm another man. These lies are merely the rules of business, and such rules surely apply when dealing with the Ma’amad.”

“But those rules would not apply to a woman speaking to her husband?” Hannah had meant only to clarify, but she realized the moment she spoke the words that they carried weight she had not intended.

“It depends on the husband,” Miguel answered pointedly.

Her stomach flipped in fear. She was going too far. “This difference between law and custom is very confusing,” she said quickly, hoping to return the conversation to safer matters.

“The Ma’amad is a political body,” he said. “Among the Tudescos, there are rabbis who give the Law to the politicians, but among us it is the other way. Sometimes they forget the glory of the Holy Torah; they forget why we are here, the miracle of our being living Jews rather than dead ones or living papists.” He took a final sip of his coffee and then set down the bowl. “I thank you for your company,” he told her, “but I must now go. I have an appointment to keep.”

“How can you have appointments while under the ban?”

He smiled warmly. “I am full of secrets,” he said, “just as you are.”

Maybe he knew everything after all-the church, the widow, everything. As she watched him go, she thought she must tell him. Regardless of the consequences, she must tell him. Then she could tell him about the widow too, and her life would be in his hands. As she sipped her drink, she considered that to have her life in his hands would not be so very terrible at all.

The first thing Miguel saw when he walked into the Singing Carp was Alonzo Alferonda, his squat form spread out toadlike on a bench, speaking quietly to a pair of low Dutchmen. He rose upon seeing Miguel and hurried over on his short legs. “Senhor,” he called out eagerly, “I am delighted to hear of your victory.”

Miguel looked around, though he was inclined not to worry about Ma’amad spies on a day when technically he was not a member of the community. “I hardly expected to see you here.”

“I should like to buy you a drink to celebrate your victory over the Pharisees.”

“Another time, perhaps. I’ve a meeting just now.”

“You run some errand of the coffee trade?” Alferonda asked.

“This coffee trade will be my undoing. Parido cornered me on the Exchange and demanded to know my dealings in coffee. I refused, and before I could turn my head I stood before the Ma’amad.”

“Oh, he’s a tricky one, but the greatest way to foil him will be for you to succeed in your business.”

Miguel nodded. “Let me ask you something, Alonzo. You know more about coffee than I do; you’ve been drinking it for years. I read in a pamphlet written by an Englishman that coffee suppresses the urges of the flesh, but I have been feeding some to my brother’s wife, and she seems rather animated by it.”

“Your brother’s wife, you say? Ho, Miguel, you are more of a rascal than I had thought. And I commend you, for she is a pretty thing, and now plump with child too, so you needn’t worry about unfortunate results.”

“I have no plans to cuckold my brother. I have problems enough. I only wonder if the coffee may be the difficulty with her.”

“You cannot cuckold a man whose wife you cannot get with child, but we’ll set that aside for the moment. I’d advise you not to put too much faith in those English pamphlets. Those people will write anything to sell their scribblings. Here is something I do know, however. When the queen of Sheba came to visit the court of Solomon, among the gifts she brought him was a great chest full of the most exotic spices of the East. That night, after the palace had gone to bed, King Solomon was so full of desire he forced himself on her.”

“I have heard the story,” Miguel said.

“Among the Turks it is said that the chest of spices included coffee berries, and it was this fruit that spurred his lust. I would feed your brother’s pretty wife no more coffee fruit unless you want to follow Solomon’s path.”

“Only in wisdom.”

“It is always wise to take a handsome woman when there will be no consequences.”

“I don’t know if I would say that it is wise to do so. Only desirable.”

“Then you admit it,” Alferonda said, poking his finger gleefully in Miguel’s chest.

Miguel shrugged. “I admit only in seeing beauty where there is beauty and finding it a sad thing when it is neglected.”