The Coffee Trader

After searching a half dozen taverns, Miguel called on Ricardo at his home. The broker was notorious for hiring the cheapest servants he could find, and the creature who opened the door must have been a rare bargain: well into her last years in life, she was hunched and trembling. Her eyes were mere slits, and she had trouble propelling herself forward.

“What is it?” she asked Miguel in Dutch. “You here for the Jew’s supper?”

Miguel smiled brightly. “Certainly.”

“Come in then. The rest are already eating. The Jew doesn’t like for the people he invites to be late.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Miguel asked, as he followed her along at her shuffling pace, “that as you speak of ‘the Jew,’ you are speaking to yet another Jew?”

“Take that up with him,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”

The woman led him down a long, brightly tiled hallway and into a spacious room, furnished with hardly more than a large table. The walls, however, were thick with paintings: portraits, landscapes, biblical scenes. Miguel recognized one portrait, a painting of Samson, as being in the style of that curious fellow who had lived in the Vlooyenburg and was in the habit of paying poor Jews to model for him.

The models, however, were the only poor Jews who graced the inside of this house; surrounding the table, which seemed to Miguel to have relatively little food on it, were some of the wealthiest men of the Portuguese Nation, including Solomon Parido. From the volume of the conversation, Miguel guessed that Ricardo had been more liberal with his wine than with his food.

The broker, who had been laughing at something, now looked up and saw Miguel standing with the old servant.

“It’s another Jew for you,” she a

“Lienzo.” Ricardo spat. “Surely I didn’t invite you here.”

“You told me to come join you and your friends for a merry feast, so here I am.”

Parido raised his glass. “Let us toast Lienzo, then. Amsterdam ’s most unca

Ricardo pushed himself to his feet. “Walk into my private chambers for a moment.” He lurched forward, stumbling briefly, and then, after taking a breath, seemed to have regained his balance. Miguel bowed at the guests and followed.

Ricardo let him up a narrow half flight of stairs to a smallish room, furnished with a writing table, a few chairs, and piles of papers that rested on the floor. The windows had been pulled shut, and the room was nearly entirely dark. The broker opened one of the shutters so there was just enough light for them to see each other, but hardly more than that.

“I’m begi

“And I think,” Ricardo said, “that you may be more of a rascal than I had first suspected. What do you mean coming here while I am entertaining my friends, a category, I might point out, that certainly does not include you?”

“I had no idea you had friends here. I was merely looking for you in some obvious places. Had you not hired your serving girl out of the graveyard she might screen your visitors a little more thoroughly.”

Ricardo lowered himself into a chair. “Well, what is it you want? Speak quickly, but if it is about that cursed money again, I will have to tell you what I’ve told you before: you’ll get what you have coming in due time and not before.”

Miguel chose not to sit but, instead, paced back and forth in the room like an advocate making a speech before the burgomasters. “I have thought about what you’ve said and found it wanting. You see, I am owed money, and if I ca

Ricardo’s mustaches twitched with superior amusement. “You may think so, but we both know there is nothing you can do about it.”

“So you say. You believe I won’t risk the anger of the Ma’amad by going to the Dutch courts, and I won’t go to the Ma’amad because one of its members might lead the council against me. That, at any rate, is what you think. I suppose you also know about my recent encounter with the council and my daylong banishment, but because those proceedings are held secret, you don’t know what was revealed. So let me tell you this: my enemy on that council betrayed himself and revealed his antipathy for me to the other parnassim. That man would be unable to lead the council against me.”

Ricardo made a hissing noise like a snake. “Very well. If you want to take that chance, you may bring your complaint forward. We will see what happens.”

Miguel nodded. “I thank you for your courtesy. I am sure the council will find this case very interesting. As it will find it interesting when it learns that you have hidden behind that man’s protection in order to avoid giving me my due. That will be very embarrassing for him, and I’m sure he will resent your having put him in so awkward a position. But,” Miguel said, “then again, he may not resent it at all. As you say, we’ll see what happens.”

Ricardo pulled himself to his feet. “Are you threatening me, senhor?”

Miguel belched out a laugh. “Of course I am. I am threatening you with the very thing you have challenged me to do. Not much of a threat, really, but it does seem to have you agitated.”

Ricardo nodded rapidly, as though discussing something with himself. “You don’t want to bring this before the Ma’amad,” he said.

“No, I don’t, but if you give me no choice, I will do it, and watching you and Parido squirm will prove more than ample compensation for my trouble. I have nothing to lose in this, Ricardo, but you do. You can pay me, you can give me the name of your client, or you can allow the Ma’amad to compel you to do both while embarrassing you and making Solomon Parido your enemy. It is your choice, but I intend to request a hearing first thing in the morning. You might want to make your decision soon.”

Miguel turned to leave, not that he thought Ricardo would let him but his statement required a pretended exit.

“Wait,” Ricardo said. He slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.”

“I’m waiting. I’ve been doing a great deal of it.”

“I understand.” He held up a hand in a stay-your-tongue gesture. “Here is what I will offer you. I will tell you the name of my client, and you may pursue your debt yourself, but you must not tell him I was the one who betrayed him. And you must not say anything to Parido. He doesn’t know I’ve used his name in this, and I would have him continue to not know.”

Miguel swallowed hard. At last this money would be his. And he had won-something that happened far too infrequently of late. “I agree,” he said.

Ricardo sighed. “Very well. Understand that my client instructed me very clearly to keep this information a secret. It was not my choice or my doing.”

“Just give me the name.”

“I said I would. The name,” he said, “is Daniel Lienzo.” He let out a squealing little laugh. “It is rather fu

Miguel picked up a stack of papers and threw them at Ricardo, scattering his notes and ledgers and correspondence all over the room. By doing so he hoped to indicate that he did not, in fact, find it as amusing as Ricardo did.