The Coffee Trader

He had it. He understood it. It was his. Now he had to begin.

With his back straight, his pace measured-Miguel thought of a murderer he had once watched walking to the hanging scaffold erected yearly in the Dam-he pushed his way toward the portion of the Exchange where the East Indian merchants congregated. There, among the group of Jewish traders, he found his friend Isaiah Nunes.

For a man so young, Nunes had already proved himself a remarkably capable factor. He possessed invaluable contacts within the Dutch East India Company, who fed him news and gossip and no doubt profits as well. He obtained goods other merchants could only wish for, and he did so frequently, and in doing so always looked as guilty as a man trapped under his lover’s bed while her husband searched the room.

Despite his nervous disposition, Nunes chatted easily with a group of merchants, most more than twenty years his senior. Miguel marveled at the paradox of his friend, at once anxious and so eager. When the price of sugar had plummeted, Nunes alone of all Miguel’s friends had volunteered his help. He had offered a loan of seven hundred guilders unbidden, and Miguel had repaid this money within weeks with funds borrowed from Daniel. Nunes might shrink from attracting Parido’s attention, he might do nearly anything in his power to avoid the scrutiny of the Ma’amad, but he had proved himself in an hour of crisis.

Now Miguel approached his friend and asked if they might exchange a few words. Nunes excused himself and the two men moved over to a quiet corner, cool in the shadow of the Exchange.

“Ah, Miguel,” Nunes said. “I heard you had a bit of luck with whale oil. I’m sure your creditors are already off scribbling notes to you.”

The power of rumor never ceased to amaze him. The trade had only happened moments before. “Thank you for taking the taste of victory from my mouth,” he said, with a grin.

“You know, that whale-oil upheaval was Parido’s doing. His trading combination was behind it.”

“Really?” Miguel asked. “Well, how fortunate for me that I happened to stumble upon his machinations.”

“I hope your stumbling has not hurt his machinations. He hardly needs any excuse to be angry with you.”

“Oh, we’re friends now,” Miguel said.

“I heard that too. It is a strange world. Why would Parido go out of his way to help you? If I were you I’d be on my guard.” Nunes’s voice trailed off as he looked at the clock on the Exchange tower. “Have you come to try your fortune in the East for these last few minutes?”

“I have a project I wish to pursue, and I might need someone with your particular contacts.”

“You know you can rely on me,” Nunes told him, though perhaps without the warmth Miguel would have liked. In all likelihood, Nunes would want to avoid doing too much business with Parido’s enemy, even if the parnass now professed friendship.

Miguel took his time to consider how he wished to begin his inquiry, but he could think of nothing clever, so he began directly. “What do you know about the coffee fruit?”

Nunes remained silent for a moment as they walked. “Coffee fruit,” he repeated. “Some East India men acquire it from Mocha, and much of that is traded in the Orient, where the Turks drink it as their wine. It’s not very popular in Europe. Most of what I see traded on this Exchange is sold to factors for London, with a little for men in Marseilles and Venice. It’s taken on some appeal at foreign courts as well, now that I think about it.”

Miguel nodded. “I know of some parties who have shown an interest in coffee, but it is a delicate matter. It is difficult to explain fully, but there are those who would see this trade fail.”

“I understand you,” Nunes said cagily.

“Let me be blunt, then. I wish to know if you can import coffee berries for me-a large quantity-twice what is brought in now during a year’s time. And I wish to know if you can keep this transaction secret from all prying eyes.”

“Certainly it can be done. I think about forty-five barrels come in each year, and these are sixty pounds each. Coffee is selling now at just over a half guilder a pound, which is thirty-three guilders a barrel. You’re asking for ninety barrels, yes? At just under three thousand guilders?”

Miguel tried not to think about the enormity of the sum. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Quantities are hardly unlimited, but I think I can get ninety barrels. I’ll speak to my East India contacts and commission them to bring it in for you.”

“I must emphasize the importance of secrecy. I wouldn’t want even the sailors to know what they carried, for how many deals are made and lost owing to their loose lips?”

“Oh, that is nothing. I need only instruct my factors to mislabel the manifest with a more common commodity. I make such maneuvers more often than not. I would not be in business long if I could not keep such things secret.”

Miguel wished to clap his hands with joy, but he held himself in check. Show nothing but calm, he told himself. Look slightly bored, as though these plans are hardly of interest. “This sounds promising. Once I place my order, how long will it take for the goods to appear in a warehouse here in Amsterdam?”

Nunes considered the question. “To be safe, I’ll need two months, perhaps three. It may take a little time to collect the amount you want. And Miguel, I can keep things silent here, but I ca

“I understand.” He almost said no matter but stopped himself. Best not to reveal too much. Nunes could be trusted, but that didn’t mean he should know more than was necessary. “My buyer has accounted for that possibility.”

Nunes ran a hand along his close-cut beard. “It occurs to me that the Company has taken a renewed interest in coffee too. The port of Mocha, where coffee is now bought, is crowded with ships from the East. It can take days for a ship to obtain its consignment.”

“But you say you can get what I require?”

“The Company likes to hoard its supplies. I’ll tell you something else: the Turks, you may know, have made it a crime punishable by death for any man to remove a living coffee plant from their empire. They wish no one to grow and sell the fruit but themselves. The world knows what a wily lot they are, but I can tell you they are but lost little lambs compared to the Dutch. A sea captain named van der Brock has managed to smuggle a plant out, and now the Company is begi

Miguel nodded. “Once the crop begins to yield, the Company will want to build a market in Europe.”

“Precisely. I won’t ask you what you are pla

“I consider it a bargain well struck,” Miguel told him.

They slapped their right hands together, formalizing the agreement. Nunes must certainly have felt he would make a little money on this deal and might even hope that his friend’s interest signified a shift in the markets he might exploit.

Miguel could not recall when he last felt such excitement, so even when he heard that the price of brandy had improved at the last minute-and if he had held on to his futures he would have made four or five hundred guilders-he hardly cared. What did such petty sums mean to him? In a year’s time he should be one of the richest men among the Portuguese in Amsterdam.

from

The Factual and Revealing Memoirs of Alonzo Alferonda