The Coffee Trader (11 page)

He needed a moment to collect his thoughts, which were jumbled and sluggish. Standing still in the midst of the Exchange, merchants and brokers pushing past him like gusts of wind, he repeated his scheme back to himself to make sure he could fully articulate it in all its glory. He engaged in a silent dialogue, a session of interrogation as intense and merciless as any Ma’amad inquiry. If he were to be struck on the head and lose consciousness and sleep until the next day, he wanted to be certain that he would remember this idea as easily as he remembered his own name.

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 cannot say how quiet this business will be regarded in the Company. Once my factors start buying coffee in large quantities, someone will notice and the price will go up.”

“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 beginning its own plantations on Ceylon and Java. It hopes to produce enough to gain leverage with oriental trading partners. But it must have other plans as well.”

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 planning, but I think we might make a pact. I’ll be happy to let you know what news I hear of the trade if you will think first of me as your supplier here on the Exchange—provided you don’t mention this to anyone.”

“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

After I had been cast out of the community, most of my friends and associates would have nothing more to say to me. Many shunned me because they feared the power of the Ma’amad, others because they were but cattle who could not for a moment imagine I would have been put under the
cherem
unjustly. And, if I am to be honest as I have promised, there were those who believed I had cheated them or used them ill and were delighted to see no more of Alferonda.

Men who owed me money boldly refused to pay, as though the ruling of the Ma’amad somehow superseded all civic law and personal honor. Old business contacts returned my notes unopened. Parido’s influence left me without a livelihood, and though I had some money saved, I knew it would not last me long.

I cannot say precisely how I fell into lending money at interest. An inquiry here, a promise there, and one morning I awoke and could not longer deny that I had become a moneylender. The Torah speaks ill of usurers, but the Talmud teaches us that a man may bend the Law in order to live, and how else was I to live if those responsible for upholding the Law unjustly took away my livelihood?

There was no shortage of my kind in Amsterdam. We were as specialized as taverns, each of us serving one particular group or another: this lender serves artisans; that one, merchants; yet another, shopkeepers. I resolved never to lend to fellow Jews, for I did not want to travel down that path. I would not want to have to enforce my will on my countrymen and then have them speak of me as one who had turned against them. Instead, I lent to Dutchmen, and not just any Dutchmen. I found myself again and again lending to Dutchmen of the most unsavory variety: thieves and bandits, outlaws and renegades. I would not have chosen so vile a bunch, but a man has to earn his bread, and I had been thrust into this situation against my will.

I knew at once that I would have to be something of a villain if I were to see my money returned, for I lent to those who earned
their
bread by taking what did not belong to them, and I had no reason to believe my capital would be any more sacrosanct than a traveler’s purse or shopkeeper’s strongbox. The only way to force these men to make good on their promises was to let them fear the consequences of not doing so.

Sadly, Alfonzo Alferonda is not a villain. He cannot find it in his heart to be harsh and cruel and violent to his fellow man, but what he lacks in cruelty he compensates for in guile.

I let it be known, therefore, that I was not a man with whom to trifle. When the body of a nameless mendicant was found floating in a canal, it was no hard thing to circulate a story that there floats a fool who thought he could avoid paying Alferonda. When an impoverished fellow broke his arm or lost an eye in some unfortunate accident, a few coins in his hand easily persuaded him to tell the world that he wished he had paid Alferonda in a timely fashion.

Though I believe the Holy One, blessed be He, has granted me a warm face, one full of kindness, it was not long before the thieves of Amsterdam trembled at my countenance. A scowl or a raised eyebrow was enough to make the gold flow.

When I confronted a debtor who truly could not pay me, I made him believe that here, for the first time in his life, Alferonda had decided to show a measure of mercy, a mercy so tentative and fragile that even to think of abusing it would be the greatest madness in the world. This thief would pay me before he would put food into his own mouth.

These small deceptions fooled my audience easily. Thieves are, by nature, simple and easily duped, inclined to believe in monsters and ogres. Some, when they paid me, even believed I knew the contents of their purses, the locations of their paltry stashes, as though I were more witch than moneylender. I did nothing to make them believe otherwise. Alferonda is no fool.

I knew my name was spoken in the most unflattering terms among my fellow Jews in the Vlooyenburg, but I also knew I was blameless in the sight of the Lord—at least, as blameless as a man who lends money to thieves can ever hope to be.

10

Miguel met Geertruid in the Three Dirty Dogs, a tavern near the docks where great ships lay at anchor, packed with goods desired the world over. The day was warm and uncharacteristically sunny, and Miguel paused to look at the ships glimmering in the light reflecting off the harbor. Some of the vessels were great monsters from ports around the world, ships whose captains knelt in prayer while their pilots maneuvered the treacherous waters of the Amsterdam port. These giants were awesome to behold, but not nearly so awesome to Dutch eyes as the smaller
vliebooten
—flyboats—sleek little vessels that were handled with far more agility by a smaller crew and yet held more cargo than the massive ships of other nations. Thanks in part to these maritime miracles, the Dutch now stood supreme not only in trade but in transport, for who would not want his goods shipped in Dutch bottoms when such conveyances reduced costs by as much as a third?

The Three Dirty Dogs was infrequently visited by Jews—its patronage consisted of warehouse workers and owners—and Miguel knew that any man of the Nation who saw him there would have his own secrets to keep. It had become a regular habitation for Geertruid, whose husband had been part owner of one of those great buildings along the Brouwersgracht.

The windows of the tavern had been placed strangely toward the ceiling, and bright sharp-angled shafts of sunlight crisscrossed the dusky interior. Most of the tables were occupied, but the space was not crowded; groups of men sat in small clusters. Near the door someone read a news sheet aloud in a booming voice while a dozen men listened and drank.

Geertruid sat at the back, dressed in gray skirts and a blue bodice, modest and nondescript. She did not go to the tavern to make merry today but to do business, and she wore no bright colors with which to attract attention. She puffed at a pipe and sat in close quarters with her man, Hendrick, who whispered something conspiratorial when he saw Miguel.

“Good afternoon, Jew Man,” the Dutchman said with what might have been genuine warmth. He was a tricky one; he might present himself as a villain one instant and the grandest man in the world the next. “Join us. How have we managed all this time without you? We have been as parched as the desert without your company.”

Miguel sat. The knowledge of his impending wealth vied in his heart with the chafing impression that Hendrick mocked him.

“You look cheerful,” Geertruid told him. “I hope your month closed well.”

“Marvelously well, madam.” Miguel could not contain his grin.

“Ah, I’d been hoping that smile on your face meant you have some firm plans to do business with me.”

“It might mean that too,” Miguel answered. He hardly liked to give his name or the time of day with Hendrick around. “But we need not discuss these things at this moment.”

“What sound is this?” Hendrick grinned and leaned to the side with a hand cupped to his ear. “Someone calls my name? Well, then, I’ll let you get on with your chatter, for I have no interest in things of business. That’s a Jew’s affair, and I’ve Christian matters to look after.”

“Whoring or drinking?” Geertruid inquired.

He laughed. “That’s between me and my Maker.”

“Then I shall see you on the morrow,” Geertruid told him, squeezing his hand gently.

Hendrick pushed himself to his feet and swayed violently toward Geertruid. He snatched the side of the table to steady himself. “Rot these crooked floors, eh, Jew Man? Rot them, I say. Rot them.” He paused for a moment, as though waiting for Miguel to rot the floors.

A woman who saw her servant or lover in such a state might have shouted in anger or blushed in embarrassment, but Geertruid had already turned away, her attention arrested by some story read by the man with the news sheet. Therefore she did not see that after Hendrick had taken a few uneasy steps toward the door, he spun around, almost so quickly that he fell over but, instead, caught himself on Miguel’s shoulder.

The brawny man’s breath smelled remarkably sweet for a man who had been drinking beer and feasting upon onions, but his mustache was slick with grease, and Miguel shrank back from the disquieting intimacy.

“Last time I saw you,” he said directly into Miguel’s ear, his voice hardly more than a whisper, “a man asked me as I left if I might be your acquaintance. Some Jew fellow, I believe. Asked me if I’d be interested in helping him out a bit.”

Miguel looked at Geertruid, but she paid them no attention at all. She was laughing aloud at something in the news sheet, and much of the tavern laughed with her.

“I think this fellow must have been some rogue, out to trick both you and me,” lied Miguel. Who could this Jew fellow be, Parido? One of his spies? Daniel? Joachim, somehow pretending to be a Jew?

“Just as I thought. Besides, I won’t squeeze a friend’s friend. It’s not my way.”

“I am glad to know it,” Miguel murmured.

Hendrick patted his shoulder once more, this time a bit harder, something just short of a blow, and then swayed off, knocking one table and then another on his way out.

Miguel wondered if perhaps he should have thanked the fellow, both for the information and for not, as he had so menacingly phrased it, putting the squeeze on him. But Miguel had no mind to go about thanking men such as Hendrick for the harm they didn’t do.

“Well, now, beautiful madam,” Miguel said, to summon Geertruid’s attention. “We have much to discuss, haven’t we?”

She turned to face Miguel, flashing something like surprise, as though she had forgotten that anyone sat at her table. “Oh, senhor. I long to hear what you have to say.” Geertruid pressed her hands together. Her left eye showed a sudden twitch. “With any luck you have been thinking about coffee as much as I have.”

Miguel called for a beer while Geertruid brought out a small leather pouch containing the sweet tobacco she favored. “I have,” he told her. “You have seduced me with your proposal.”

She beamed at him. “Have I now?”

“I’ve been lying awake thinking of it.”

“I never knew my ideas had such an effect on you.”

The serving boy placed a tankard before Miguel. “So, let us discuss particulars.”

Geertruid finished refilling her pipe, lit it with the oil lamp on the table, and leaned forward. “I love to talk of particulars,” she said, in a breathy voice. She puffed at her pipe, sending forth clouds of smoke. “I won’t pretend to be surprised to hear you are with me, however. I knew from the beginning that you were my man.”

Miguel laughed. “Well, before we proceed, I thought we should work out a few details. If I am to enter into trade with you, I should like to know the conditions.”

“The conditions will depend on your plan. You do have a plan, don’t you? Without a sound idea, my capital will hardly be put to good use.”

A genuine laugh escaped Miguel’s throat, but his emotions ran somewhat higher than he demonstrated. Geertruid had the capital. That was the very thing he needed to hear.

“Madam, I’ve devised a plan so clever you will think you’ve gone mad. This idea of mine.” He shook his head. “Even I can scarcely believe it.”

Geertruid set aside her pipe. She pressed both palms upon the table and leaned in toward Miguel. “Tell me everything.”

So Miguel told her everything. He spoke of his idea with a kind of clarity he had not known he possessed—from the earliest details of the planning, to the many layers of execution, to the final vastly complicated and yet elegantly simple conclusion. His tongue flowed easily, perhaps because of the beer, yet he never stammered or slurred or stumbled. He spoke like an orator, and before he was halfway through his explanation he knew he had her.

Geertruid remained silent for a moment after he had finished. Finally she sat back. “Remarkable.” She ventured to take a sip of beer. She took another sip and looked up with the appearance of a woman who has just been awakened from an unplanned nap. “You have taken my most optimistic hopes and rendered them laughable. Do you think such a thing can work? Why, the very size of it—I can hardly take it all in.”

Miguel felt himself grinning like an imbecile. His life was changing before him. How many times does a man stand by foolishly while his life changes form, with no idea that anything out of the ordinary transpires? But for a man to rise to greatness by his own plan and to know the moment that this greatness begins—that was a glorious thing to be savored.

“We’ve a great deal to do, it’s true. We’ll have to plan this business down to the minute. We’ll have to hire agents—at least a dozen of them—to act for us where we cannot act ourselves. It is all coordination, orchestration. But, once done, the business will take care of itself.”

She slapped the table with her hand—not hard, but hard enough to send Miguel’s nearly empty tankard rattling. “By the grace of God, this scheme of yours is—well, I cannot even say.”

“However.” Miguel cleared his throat before beginning anew, trying hard to get the smile off his face. This was, after all, a serious topic. “However, it will take money. We must clarify that part of the arrangement.” This was the moment he had dreaded. Had Geertruid merely been talking to sound impressive, or did she have access to sufficient capital, as she had hinted? Without money, they could do nothing.

She picked his hand up gently, as though fearing it might fall and shatter were she to drop it. “I have been my own mistress long enough to understand that capital is but one element of the business. Do not think because I put forth the money that you will suffer for it. I propose a split of fifty percent. With all the capital in the world I could not do this thing without you. Is that not the way in Amsterdam, the way that has made this city great? We rule the world because we have devised joint stock companies and corporations and trading combinations to share the danger.” She gave his hand a good squeeze. “And the wealth.”

“The thing of it is,” Miguel said hesitantly, “I cannot make any moves in my own name—owing to some small debts. If these niggling creditors were to learn of the business, they might make demands on me that could prove disruptive.”

“Then we’ll use my name, virginal as an infant’s. It hardly matters what name we use.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “We should perhaps be clear on the degree of the togetherness and determine to keep our business from everyone, including our nearest friends.”

“You mean Hendrick.” Geertruid laughed. “He hardly understands the nature of a transaction so complex as buying a prune pie. I would never tax his brain with such a thing as this, even if it were not a secret. You needn’t worry there. And even if he were to catch some wind of our plan, and even if he were to understand it, he would never tell a soul. There is nowhere to be found a man with more loyalty.”

He paused to consider how he wished to word his next concern. “We have not yet discussed the requirements of this plan or the scope of your resources.”

“My resources have their limits,” Geertruid agreed. “How much do we require?”

Miguel spoke quickly, wanting this most difficult part resolved. “I believe that, in order to perform these tasks, I’ll require of you no more than three thousand guilders.”

He waited. A man could live in great comfort for a year on three thousand guilders. Could Geertruid have so much at her disposal? Her husband had left her an estate of some value, but did she live the life of a woman who could summon three thousand guilders upon command?

“It’s not easy,” Geertruid answered, after a thoughtful pause, “but it can be done. When will you need it?”

Miguel shrugged, trying hard to contain his glee. “A month?” Best to act as though three thousand guilders were of no importance. In fact, seeing how easily she agreed to the sum, he at once regretted not having asked for more. Had he requested four thousand, he might have used the extra money to pay off some debts and provide a little room to breathe—surely a legitimate business expense.

Geertruid nodded with great seriousness. “I’ll arrange for the funds to be transferred to your account at the Exchange Bank, so you may proceed without the world knowing that my hand is thrust in with yours.”

“I know we don’t like to look into each other’s affairs, but now that we are business partners, not merely friends, you will understand if I am curious about a thing or two.”

“I would be surprised if you were not,” Geertruid answered happily. “You wonder how I can produce so great a sum so easily.” She remained cheerful, careful that Miguel not even suspect a hint of bitterness. The question, after all, was certainly proper.

“As you’ve brought it up, I must admit curiosity.”

“I haven’t buried it in my cellar,” Geertruid said. “I propose to sell off some holdings. It may take a few weeks to be certain that I obtain the best prices, but I can raise the funds without undoing myself.”

“Would you like for me to broker these matters for you?”

She clapped her hands together. “I should be delighted if you would do so. It would relieve me of a great burden.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Yet I wonder if you should. I know you fear your evil council. Do you wish to do anything in public that might link our partnership more than necessary?”

“The council is not evil, only overzealous, but I take your point. Have you other men to whom to turn?”

“I’ll take care of everything.” Geertruid rolled her head back, looked toward the ceiling, and then turned to Miguel. “It must have been the will of God that brought us together, senhor. I am in awe of you.”

“Soon the world will be in awe of us both,” he told her.

This plan, this child of Miguel’s mind, seemed to him so simple he could not believe that no one had thought of such a thing before. Of course, it required certain conditions. A man had to make his move at just the right time in the life of a commodity, and this was the time, he knew with ferocious certainty, for coffee.

First, Miguel would arrange to bring a large shipment of coffee into Amsterdam—a shipment so large it would flood the market, which was now very small and specialized—in this case, ninety barrels. No one would know of this consignment, so the first stage of making money involved the element of surprise. To take advantage of this secret, Miguel would purchase a large quantity of puts, guaranteeing him the right to sell at the predetermined price of approximately thirty-three guilders per barrel.