David Liss - The Coffee Trader

So Daniel was in debt. That explained why he insisted on receiving Miguel’s money right away. Well, it was no matter. Miguel forged a reply, which he gave to the girl to send off. She hesitated a moment, and only when pressed did she explain that the senhora had requested his company.

Hannah lay propped up, her head wrapped in a bluish cloth and her skin pale and wet with perspiration, but she appeared to be in no great danger. She was stretched out comfortably on that proper bed of hers, long enough that she could lie flat on her back, unlike the cupboard bed that tortured Miguel. This one had been built of an elaborate oak frame that rose above her. Among the wealthy Dutch, these new beds had become the fashion, and Miguel vowed he would buy one for himself the moment he left his brother’s house.

The bed had no curtains to part, so she lay there for him to see, her eyes wide and sorrowful. “We should talk quickly,” she said, her face grave but without accusation. “I don’t know where your brother has gone, so I don’t know when he will return.”

“I suspect I know where he has gone,” Miguel observed. “He’s gone to see Parido.”

“That may be,” she said.

Miguel took a step closer. “I only want to say that I am sorry for what happened to you, and for your distress. I never meant for you to be hurt. I promised you would not.”

She smiled slightly. “Your brother made more of it than was necessary. I was frightened for a moment, but I soon recovered. I have felt the baby moving all day as she always does. I have no fears there.”

She, Miguel noticed. Would she dare speculate on a girl child in front of Daniel? Did her speaking of it in front of Miguel constitute an intimacy?

“I am very happy to hear there are no lasting consequences.”

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t do more. I found a note, and I don’t know what it said, but I hid it thinking it might do you harm. Your brother took it from me.”

“I know. It was of no importance.”

“Do you know who left that vile thing there?”

Miguel shook his head. “I wish I did, but still, I thank you for your efforts. I’m sorry,” he said, taking a sharp breath, “that I behaved so poorly. I wish to discuss this matter with you again. Perhaps another time. When you are rested.” He had not planned to, but he took her hand in his and held it tight, feeling its coolness, the contours of her smooth skin.

He expected her to pull away, to chastise him for his unforgivable presumption, but she looked up at him as though this gesture of devotion were the most natural thing in the world. “I am sorry too-that I was so weak-but I knew nothing else.”

“Then we shall have to teach you what you want to know,” he told her kindly.

Hannah turned her head away for a moment, burrowing into her pillow.

“I must ask you something else,” he said, rubbing her hand with his, “and then I’ll let you rest. You mentioned Madam Damhuis. What more did you wish to tell me?”

Hannah remained motionless, as if she might pretend not to have heard him. Finally she turned back to face him with her reddened eyes. “I hardly even know. She was speaking to some men when I saw her, and I scarcely looked at all. But she thought I had seen something I ought not to have.”

Miguel nodded. “Did you know the men? Did they appear to you of the Nation or Dutch or something else?”

She shook her head. “I can’t even say that. I think they were Dutch, but one might have been a Jew. I am not certain.”

“You did not know them? You had never seen them?”

“I think one was her servant man, but I can’t say.” She shook her head. “Senhor, I was too frightened to see them.”

Miguel knew the feeling well. “I’ll let you sleep,” he said. He knew he should not do it, he told himself not to, that he would regret it, that it would only bring trouble. But he did it anyway. Before gently setting her hand down upon the bed, he raised it to his lips and softly kissed her warm skin. “And thank you, senhora.”

He didn’t wait for a reply but hurried out of the room, fearing he might cross paths with his brother on the stairwell, but no such thing happened.

Hannah closed her eyes, not knowing what to think, or even how. Miguel had forgiven her. He understood her. He had taken her hand and kissed it. Could she dare to hope for more than that? Oh, what had she done to deserve such mercy? She slid a hand down to the comforting bulge of her belly, caressing this unborn child, this daughter, whom she would protect from all the evil that threatened them both.

When she opened her eyes, Annetje stood before her. Her face was immobile, jaw thrust outward, eyes little more than slits. Where had she come from? Hannah had heard no one climb the stairs. The girl could do that; she went in and out of rooms like a ghost.

“You told him,” Annetje said, so quietly Hannah could hardly hear her.

She briefly considered lying, but what good would it do? “Yes,” she said. “I thought it important he know.”

“You foolish bitch,” she hissed. “I told you to keep quiet.”

“You must not be angry with me,” Hannah said, hating the tone of pleading in her voice, but there were things far more important than that tiny shriveled thing she called her pride. “The doctor said that I must not grow warm in temper, lest I risk the child.”

“The devil take your child,” Annetje said. “I hope he does, along with the rest of you heathen Jews.” She took a step closer.

Hannah pulled the comforter up to protect herself. “He won’t betray us.”

Annetje now stood over her, looking down with her cold eyes, green as the eyes of an evil spirit. “Even if he does not, do you think the widow will honor his silence? And do you think he is so clever that he can avoid betraying you, even without so meaning? You’re a fool, and you ought never to be allowed to have a child in your care. I came here with the intention of thrusting a knife up your quim and killing that wretched child of yours.”

Hannah gasped and pushed herself backwards.

“Oh, calm yourself. You are as timid as a rabbit. I said I came up here with that intention, but I have since changed my mind, so you needn’t move about like that. I only hope you are grateful that I am not seeking a more fitting punishment. And you’d better hope that the senhor is as good at keeping secrets as he is at learning them, because if you are betrayed, you can be sure I’ll not help you. If need be, I’ll tell your husband all I know, and the lot of you may go to the devil.”

Annetje hurried out of the room. Hannah listened to her feet slap clumsily against the stairs and then, in the distance, the slam of a door.

Hannah took a deep breath. She felt her pulse pound in her temples and she concentrated on soothing her anguish. But even more than fear she felt confusion. Why did Annetje care so much if Miguel knew about the widow? What did it matter to her?

Hannah shuddered. Why had she not seen it before? Annetje was in the widow’s service.

Within two days the doctor permitted Hannah to rise from her bed, but things had grown uncomfortably tense in the house. No one spoke more than a few words at a time, and Miguel remained out of the house as much as he could. On Shabbat he invited himself to the home of a West Indian merchant with whom he maintained a friendly acquaintance.

Not all had turned sour, however. He had received a message from Geertruid saying that she had gone to visit relatives in Friesland. She would be back in Amsterdam any day, but in the meantime she had heard that her man in Iberia had secured agents in Oporto and Lisbon and now traveled to Madrid, where he felt sure of success. The news was good, but nevertheless troubling in light of Hannah’s story. What secret could Geertruid have that she wanted kept from her partner? Did he dare trust her? Did he dare do otherwise?