The Day of Atonement (18 page)

A light rain fell, and the air was warm and humid. Buzzing insects swarmed around my face, and though I told myself the effort was futile, I continued to wave them away. I tried to stay dry by hugging the buildings on the uphill side of the Street of the Trinity, not at all far from a house where I lived as a small child, before we moved when I was five or six years old. I recalled these buildings, and recognized the most unexpected details—a missing brick or the floral pattern in a set of tiles. Everything seemed so familiar, but also remote and impossibly distant. Even the people I passed on the street seemed only vague and ghostlike. These were nothing but shadows, illusions, half formed in dreams.

I had things to do, so I shut my eyes to anything familiar and entered the
taberna
to which Inácio had directed me. As I walked into the room, I felt a curious contempt for these New Christians. With each trade and business deal, these men stretched out their necks for the butcher’s blade. Each one of them would sigh with relief when his neighbor was dragged off to the Palace dungeons.
It is not me. Not today
. Portugal lived and died by New Christian trade with
other nations, and yet the New Christians themselves were grist for the Inquisition’s mill.

I approached the barman, hardly more than a boy, with a prominent Adam’s apple and a long head with narrow, slitted eyes. He studied me with curiosity, but no alarm. Englishmen were likely not common here, but neither were they unknown.

“Do you speak English?” I asked him.

“All New Christians speak English a little,” he answered.

I looked around with the grin of a child looking upon rope dancers. “Portugal’s Jews! How marvelous. Tell me, my good New Christian. Have you porter?”

“No porter. Port.” The barman smiled at his own humor. “We speak English, but this is not England.”

I slapped my hand upon the countertop. “There’s port aplenty in England, I assure you. Give me a glass, if you please. I am new to Lisbon.”

The man poured the wine into a pewter cup. “I never make this guess.”

“You mock me,” I said.

“I make joke with you,” the barman said, raising an eyebrow. “May I not?”

“I’ll be damned for a Frenchman before I resent a man for a good-natured quip,” I said. “But let it not cut to the bone, or then we shall have a disagreement.” I raised the cup and for a moment had the perverse desire to say the blessing for wine. What would happen? How would these men react? Would they know Hebrew when they heard it? I thought it unlikely. The Inquisitors believed, or pretended to believe, that every New Christian kept secret volumes of the Talmud stashed under floorboards, but I had never seen so much as a Hebrew letter before my arrival in England.

I raised the cup in salute to the barman and took a sip. “By the devil, you keep the best drink for yourselves! This is superior to the finest port I’ve had in London.”

The barman smiled and shrugged his thanks.

I drank again and smacked my lips. “I’m looking for a man called Nobreza. I understand he wishes to do business with an English factor.”

“I do indeed,” said a voice behind me. “But you are not a factor, are you, sir?” The English was accented, but otherwise flawless. I turned. Eusebio Nobreza was a man with dark hair and eyes, tall, regal in appearance and confident in expression. He wore long mustaches in the style of a
fidalgo
, and a woolen suit of dark brown, drab in color but expensively made.

Because he was a decade or so older than I, Eusebio and I had had little congress in my youth, but I recollected him well enough. He had always been impatient around children and had made a point to shoo me away like a stray dog. As a man in his early twenties, he had been self-impressed and vain of his appearance. Time, however, had etched some lines upon his face that gave him an air of dignity he’d lacked ten years earlier.

“I am new to the city, yet it is but a matter of time before I am admitted to the Factory,” I explained. “I am now in the process of establishing contacts among men of significance, and your name has been mentioned more than once, senhor.”

“You flatter me,” Eusebio said with an affected bow. “Sit at my table and we shall see what we can learn about each other.”

I followed him to where an older man sat. He shared Eusebio’s narrow eyes and sharp nose, though his hair and mustaches were white, and his hands trembled as he set down his glass of wine.

“My father, Luis Nobreza,” the younger man said.

I bowed to him, recollecting that this older Nobreza had done business with my father. He had seemed ever kind and generous in those days, always offering raisins and dates to the children of his business associates.

“I was told to speak to Senhor Nobreza,” I said. “How can I be certain you are not the man recommended to me?”

The older man shrugged as if indifferent to the matter. “I am done with trade, I fear. My health is poor and I tire easily. My son now manages our affairs.”

“I am certain his considerable skill was learned from you,” I said.

“Hmm,” the old man said. “An Englishman who flatters like a Spaniard. What wonders shall we witness next?”

“I am indeed lucky to have learned from so great a man as my father,” Eusebio said. “And now he sits by my side to make certain I don’t forget his lessons.”

Was there some bitterness in this? I wondered. Was it something I could use to my advantage? I decided to press the matter. “I too have learned from the experience of my elders. A wise man knows who most deserves his praise.”

“Indeed. Sir, can I call for something for you to eat? The ham is excellent.” The younger Nobreza gestured toward the smoked hams and dried pork legs hanging from the ceiling like talismans against evil.

I studied him. “Ham, you say.”

Eusebio scowled, but his irritation was almost comic. “It is always thus with you Englishmen. I know not what you’ve heard, but we are Christians. We eat like Christians.”

I laughed. “I confess, I have never quite understood your circumstances though I have heard of them. Are you Christian by choice, or are you coerced?”

Eusebio cocked his head. “I will reply, but what of your religion? Did you join it by force or by choice?”

“In England, no man is coerced into his faith,” I assured him.

“But
when
did you choose?” Eusebio asked. “We worship as our fathers did, and they as their fathers. Is that choice?”

I nodded slowly, as if considering these matters for the first time. “You raise a fine point. I shall have to think on it. And I thank you for
your offer of food, but I shall decline. At this moment, I am only hungry for gold!”

“The single-mindedness of the English,” said the younger man.

“It is what makes them so useful,” said the older. “What sort of business do you wish to do, Mr. Foxx?”

I leaned back and did my best to appear thoughtful. “I have property, sir. Very sound property.”

“But no ready cash,” Eusebio speculated. “You wish for me to advance you money that you might trade with it.”

“Yes. You have come right to the heart of the matter.”

Eusebio smiled. “I have dealt with newly arrived Englishmen before, and your circumstances are not unusual. I am always eager to lend money to a solid man who will return the investment, but I am less eager to engage in business with a man for whom no one will vouch. The lands that will act as surety are very far away.”

“I can offer documents—” I began.

“Documents are made out of paper, and they are of little value when the lands in question are so distant,” Eusebio interrupted.

I was not willing to argue the point too vigorously, since it was, in fact, my intention to forge any documents I might require. “The difficulty,” I said, “is that everyone feels much the same. How am I to establish myself if I cannot find someone who will take a risk?”

“I am afraid that is your concern, not mine,” the younger man said without a hint of satisfaction. “If you seek men who love risk, you must visit Amsterdam. Here in Lisbon, caution is the guiding principle.”

“I am sure you understand,” Luis said, in a more conciliatory tone, “that the wheels of commerce must turn with all deliberation if they are to keep turning at all. My son can little afford to give you credit until your worth is established.”

“My father’s way of business served him well for many years,”
Eusebio said. In other words, it was a way of doing business that kept him solvent and out of debt. Dismissed, I rose, thanked both the Nobrezas, and went back over to the barman. I drained my glass of port and ordered another as I considered my options. There were none and unless I could find a man more desperate to lend money, I would have to grow used to the idea that I would not be leaving Lisbon any time soon.

I now found myself in the awkward position of courting projects but with no money to invest and courting investors while commanding no projects, but I had no choice other than to hope the timing of each effort would resolve favorably. I returned to Inácio, hoping for the name of another New Christian, since Eusebio was unwilling to do business. Inácio merely shook his head.

“They are all fearful,” he said. “You know how it is with them. Take my advice. Go back to that
taberna
. Spend some time. Spend some money. Get Nobreza to trust you. You won’t find a better prospect.”

I consulted with Settwell, who agreed that Eusebio was a good prospect, though perhaps not the man he would have chosen first. Nevertheless, Settwell thought it better to stick with Eusebio now that I had approached him, lest I appear fickle. I tested the waters with Kingsley Franklin as well as he sat eating his dinner in the common room of his inn. Franklin leaned back and placed his hand on his great stomach.

“I envy you, young sir,” he said. “Striking up new business, making conquests. The money. The whores.”

“There are no whores involved in my question,” I said. “I wish only to know if you are familiar with Nobreza.”

“I did business with the father,” Franklin said. “He was always dependable. The son was a bit weak, but that could serve your interests. If you are looking for someone to bend to your will, he might be your man.”

I returned to the New Christian
taberna
, and though Eusebio still showed no interest in doing business, after a week or two he did regard me with a friendly smile and a nod. It was little enough progress, and I wanted more, so I was encouraged when, two weeks after our initial meeting, I received an invitation from Rutherford Carver to meet him at the Three Speckled Hens to discuss possible uses for my ready money—should I secure a loan and find myself in possession of any.

Making my way through the crowded coffeehouse, I found the Carvers sitting alone at a table, drinking wine and discussing a story in a London newspaper—one fairly well used and evidently rather old. With one hand Mr. Carver wiped his perspiring brow with a handkerchief while waving the other through the air as he articulated some point. His wife nodded, giving him her full attention.

Mrs. Carver looked, if anything, more striking than I recalled. She wore an ivory gown, cut low in the front to expose a generous swath of her creamy bosom. Atop her head sat an undersized hat, like something one would find upon a child’s doll, and under that, her orange hair spilled out upon the shoulders of the gown like wine upon a tablecloth.

I bowed to them, and they invited me to sit. Mr. Carver poured me a glass of wine. “So very grand to see you again, Mr. Foxx. How are you liking Lisbon?”

“I like it very much,” I said, “though I am ready to begin making some money.”

“Spoken like a true man of business,” Carver said, laughing heartily as though he had said something extraordinarily clever. His pale face reddened with the effort, and his eyes moistened. “I do advise patience. These things can’t be rushed. You must establish yourself first, though a man such as you, with property, need not be in any hurry.”

“I should describe myself as eager, not hurried,” I said.

“The game of it!” He laughed again and slapped his hand upon the table. “The thrill of the hunt, eh? I know your mind, sir. I know it like I know my own. But you must wait until you are established. That is the thing here, sir. Reputation. Name. These are the sum of the Factory man.”

I laughed politely along with Rutherford, even as I observed, from the corner of my eye, how Mrs. Carver turned her pretty face away, her pale skin flushing. Did her husband embarrass her, or did she merely wish to create the illusion that he did?

“Tell me, sir,” I said, once all the laughter about nothing had died down, “how can I establish myself when everyone waits until I am established? It is a bit of a paradox, is it not?”

Mr. Carver spread his hands, as though the great mystery had just unfolded itself before us.
“A vida em Lisboa,”
he intoned in utterly unaccented Portuguese. “That is life in Lisbon.”

Mrs. Carver turned to me, her movements languid and unconcerned. “It is the difficulty all new men find. You will have to be bold. That is what separates the successful merchants from the ones who grow weary of the effort and slink back to England. Are you bold, Mr. Foxx?”