David Liss - The Coffee Trader

At the Singing Carp they told him Geertruid had not been seen in half a week, and that meant she might be gone for a few days more. Often Hendrick would go with her, but not always, and Miguel had no need to wait for her return. In fact, he thought, this might be the better way. Why should Geertruid know all his business?

He spent the better part of the day scouring the taverns where he might expect to see Hendrick, but it was not until late afternoon that he found his man, sitting at a table with a few of his rough friends, smoking a long pipe that smelled like a mixture of old tobacco and dung. Hendrick had mentioned the tavern in passing before, but Miguel had never imagined that anything would lead him to enter such a place. He could taste in his mouth the scent of rotten wood from the tables; the flood had been covered with filthy straw. In the back, a crowd of men made a game of watching two rats fight each other.

Seeing Miguel, Hendrick let out a barking laugh and then whispered something to his friends, who joined in the cackling. “Why, speak of the devil, it is the very Jew Man. ” Hendrick puffed furiously at his pipe, as though the clouds of smoke might engulf Miguel.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Miguel said. “I need to talk with you for a moment.”

“Drink up, boys,” Hendrick shouted to his companions. “I must take my leave for a time. I have a meeting of importance, as you can see.”

Outside the tavern, the dead-fish smell of the canal coated Miguel’s throat. The summer heat had begun to settle upon the city, and the stink with it. He breathed in deep through his mouth and led Hendrick toward the alley, which had a slightly more pleasant odor of soil and old beer. A distressed cat with filthy white fur and a mangled ear opened its pink mouth and hissed at them, but Hendrick hissed back, and the cat fled into the shadows.

“My lady has gone away for the nonce, and I am used to it being that where there is no Madam Damhuis, there is no senhor either.”

“Has she gone to her lawyer in Antwerp again?”

“So you’ve come in search of her after all?” He punched Miguel congenially in the arm.

“I’ve not come for her.” Miguel offered a knowing look of his own. “But I’m curious.”

“Ha!” Hendrick barked. “You’ve kept that curiosity in check, haven’t you, good Jew Man? She’s a lady with many secrets: from you, from me, from the world. Some say she’s as ordinary as buttered bread, but she keeps secrets to seem otherwise.”

“But you know the truth?”

He nodded. “I know the truth.”

Miguel had so many questions about his partner that he had thought to never have answered. Now Hendrick hinted he might learn them all. But could he trust the Dutchman not to talk of Miguel’s questioning? The man liked to drink, and his tongue was known to wag. This conversation was proof enough.

“Tell me only what the lady herself would tell me,” Miguel said at last. “I’ll not pry into any secrets she wishes to keep.”

Hendrick nodded. “You are a cautious man, aren’t you? I respect that. You like the lady and won’t have her not liking you. And I think you’d like her all the same if you knew the truth-which is, at best, a dull sort of truth-for she might just as easily tell the world where she goes when she goes. A visit to her lawyer or his sister or her brother’s widow need not be a great secret.”

“I’ve not asked to be told all this.”

“But I’ve chosen to tell you,” Hendrick said, the levity draining from his voice, “because I love Madam Damhuis with all my heart, but she can be cruel. She likes to torment men. She loves to drive them mad with desire and then send them on their way. And she likes to drive them mad with curiosity too. She keeps the most trivial details secret, and all whisper her name.”

“It’s no crime,” Miguel volunteered, feeling the need to defend her.

Hendrick nodded. “Jew Man, if you said otherwise, I’d slit your throat. No one would insult that lady while I stand by, for I owe her my life and more. But I tell you these things because I know you love her, and you would not love her less for the knowing.”

Miguel held out his hand in the Dutch style. “I thank you for your trust.”

Hendrick grinned and shook firmly. “There’s been too long an uneasiness between us. I want only to see it end. You and madam are friends, and I would be your friend too.”

Miguel could not but rejoice at his good luck. “I am glad to hear you say this, for I’ve come to you with a most delicate problem, and I had hoped you would be able to assist me.”

“You need but name it.”

Miguel took a deep breath. “I’ve been bothered by a madman. This fellow believes I owe him money, which is not the case, for we both suffered in the same transaction, which was managed both fairly and legally. Now he follows me and has begun to threaten my life. I’ve been unable to deter him with reason, and I can’t go to the law, because he has not done me or my property any real harm.”

“I shit on the law. The law won’t help you,” Hendrick said, still puffing merrily. “Once he slices you open, then you may seek your redress with the law. What good is that? You need but tell me his name, and I’ll see to it that he never does another man harm again.”

“I have seen that you are a man who knows something of how to defend himself,” Miguel explained with some difficulty; it pained him to offer Hendrick even this brutal flattery. “I recall how well you reacted in the tavern.”

“Make no excuses, my friend. I understand that you cannot risk yourself by engaging in a scrape with a low fellow. Were you Jews not watched, I know a man such as you are could tend to this matter without help. Now, you need only tell me who he is.”

“His name is Joachim Waagenaar, and he lives by the Oude Kerk.”

“If he lives by the Oude Kerk, I suppose any number of accidents might befall a fellow in that part of town without the world taking notice. Of course, good feelings between us being what they are, such things cost money. Fifty guilders should do nicely.”

Miguel blinked several times, as though this price had poked him in his eye. Just what did he hope Hendrick might do? Joachim was a madman, so why did Miguel feel so uneasy about this transaction? “That’s rather more than I thought.”

“We may be friends enough now, but I still take a risk, you understand.”

“Of course, of course,” Miguel said. “I did not say I absolutely would not pay it. Only that it was more than I thought.”

“Think as much as you like. When you’ve made up your mind, come see me.”

“I will do so. And in the meantime-”

Hendrick grinned. “Of course I’ll say nothing to the lady. I understand you well enough, and now that we have each other’s secrets, you need not wonder if you can trust me or no.”

Miguel took his hand once more. “I offer you my thanks. Knowing that I may depend upon you has put my mind at ease.”

“I’m happy to serve you.” He blew out a cloud of smoke and returned to the tavern.

A light mist had begun to fall; it was just the sort of weather for a villain who might hide himself in fog and dark. The rain mixed with his perspiration, making him feel heavy and encumbered in his clothing. Nevertheless, having spoken to Hendrick made him more comfortable already. He had options; he could concoct a strategy of his own. Joachim had not outmatched him.

Perhaps, he considered, it was not necessary to have Hendrick give Joachim a thorough beating. Now that he had almost commissioned the job, he winced at its brutality. If there was a way to avoid it, it would be best avoided. After all, he had not sought out Hendrick to harm Joachim but to make himself feel safer, and the simple act of having discussed the option of the beating rid him of many concerns. He might see that Joachim came to harm at any time he wished; having that power, the righteous thing would be to spare the creature. Mercy, after all, was one of the seven highest qualities of the Holy One, blessed be He. Miguel, too, could aim to be merciful.