Here was a handsome situation. How could I avoid cutting off his little fingers—fingers he volunteered for their severing—without revealing myself to be the sort of man who simply re-frained from those sorts of cruelties? I truly believed he had forced my hand and I had no choice but to cut off the man’s fingers—though, being merciful, I was prepared to cut off only one. How else could I save my fierce reputation? I know not what dark path I might have followed if I had not been rescued by the most unlikely of men.
As I stared at the old fellow and contemplated his fate, I heard the slap of metal on wood. I and my Dutchmen turned and saw a figure standing in the dim light, erect as a royal guard. It was none other than Solomon Parido.
“Here is the ten guilders he owes you,” he said coolly. “I won’t allow this thing to transpire.”
“I had no idea you possessed such charity in your heart,” I said.
“I cannot stand by and see a man mutilated by so cruel a beast. This display sickens me, but I am at least gratified to know that the moral judgment I made of you has proved sound.”
“Senhor, the air circulates poorly in this room, and I fear your sanctimoniousness will suffocate us all. Nevertheless, I’m sure our friend here is grateful for your intervention.”
The old thief, knowing an opportunity when he saw one, chimed in. “Ten guilders is but the principal. You have neglected the interest.”
Claes and Caspar looked at me, awaiting orders. I did not want this farce witnessed, so I sent them all out of the room. I told the Dutchmen to free the thief with a slap or two for good measure, and they were gone. I sat facing my old enemy in the thin light of a musky closet. I had not had private words with Parido since my exile. There had been a few barbs exchanged on the street or in taverns where we crossed paths, but nothing like this.
It occurred to me that here was a fine opportunity for revenge. Why could I not have Claes and Caspar remove his little fingers or give him a slap or two for good measure? But that was not the sort of revenge I craved.
“Have you come to apologize to me?” I asked. I gestured for him to sit on one of the old stools in the room and lit my pipe by dipping a large splinter into the oil lamp and then into the packed bowl.
Parido remained standing, too great a man to place his ass on a stool that one such as I might use. “You know I haven’t.”
“I know you haven’t,” I agreed. “Well, then. It must be something for you to come here. I believe it to have worked this way: you had your Ma’amad spies track me to this place and you thought it perfect, for surely no one would see you enter or leave. You were willing to tear open your purse for that old thief because you could not imagine a more private meeting than this, and you were willing to take the opportunity when it presented itself. So now that we know all that, let us move on.” I blew smoke at him. “What do you want, Parido?”
His dignity would not permit him to swat at the smoke, but I could see him struggling not to gag. “I have questions for you to answer,” he said.
“I suppose then we’ll see if I feel like answering, but I can promise you nothing. You see, Parido, I can’t think of any reason why I should want to help you or provide you with answers about anything. You treated me as no Jew should treat another. This is not the Ma’amad chamber of the Talmud Torah, this is the belly of Amsterdam, and if I decide you are never vomited out, no one will hear from you more.”
“Don’t threaten me,” he said evenly.
I admired his courage and laughed at his stupidity—perhaps I had not secured my villainous reputation as carefully as I ought. He had every reason to be frightened yet did not seem to know or care. I only shrugged in return. “I suppose we’ll see what’s a threat and what isn’t. In the meantime, I am nothing short of astonished at your pluck, showing up as you have, as though I might be happy to forgive your wrongs.”
“I won’t defend my actions. I have only come to ask you if you encouraged Miguel Lienzo to pursue a trade in whale oil, knowing that his trade would harm me while keeping that possibility hidden from Lienzo himself. In other words, did you use him as your pawn?”
Quite the contrary: I had gone so far as to warn Miguel Lienzo about just this sort of thing, but I was not about to tell Parido that much. “Why should you ask me that?”
“Because that is what Lienzo says.”
Ah, Lienzo, I thought. Using my name to his advantage. Well, why should he not? Surely Parido cornered him, and, rather than risking himself, he blamed the souring of Parido’s finances on Alferonda the way peasants blame the souring of milk on imps. The parnass could do me no more harm than he already had. I was in no danger. I therefore did not feel any anger toward Miguel, who had only been behaving prudently.
I shook my head. “I would have done so if I could have, but I will not commit the sin of lying to protect any man. I had nothing to do with any whale-oil futures of yours. I suspect Lienzo is protecting himself or protecting another man by suggesting that it was me.”
But, you may wonder, if I did not resent Miguel for taking liberties with my name, why did I not protect him? Why did I expose him to Parido’s anger when I might so easily have absorbed that anger myself?
I did so because I could not risk a rapprochement between the two. Far better that Miguel should face Parido’s wrath.
22
During his brief period of exile, Miguel thought it best to avoid other Jews of the neighborhood. Their stares and whispers would only sour his victory. Men who had suffered temporary bans always hid themselves away in their homes until they were again free to go about their business. They lurked about like thieves, they closed their shutters, they ate their food cold.
Miguel had too much to do and hadn’t the luxury of hiding in his cellar for the day. He sent a note to Geertruid, telling her he wished to meet the next afternoon. He suggested the Golden Calf. That disgusting little place where they had first discussed coffee might not suit his taste, but at least he knew Geertruid’s cousin did not serve other Jews, and on the day of his cherem he wished for secrecy. Geertruid wrote back and suggested instead another tavern, one near the warehouses. As it promised to be equally obscure, Miguel sent his agreement.
After sending out letters to his agents, Miguel prepared a bowl of coffee and took a moment to think about his most pressing needs: how to raise five hundred guilders to complete the amount Isaiah Nunes required. Instead of obtaining the missing money, he might transfer to Nunes the thousand that remained to him at the very end of the week. Nunes would not notice, or he would not be able to speak of it until the beginning of next week. Being too cowardly to face Miguel directly when it came to such awkward things as debt, he would send a letter requesting the remaining amount, and then—since Miguel planned to ignore the request—he would send another note a few days later. Miguel would return a vague reply that would give Nunes some hope that the money was forthcoming at any moment. So long as he avoided running into his friend, he could extend the payment date for weeks before Nunes grew angry enough to threaten him with courts or the Ma’amad. Clearly this matter of five hundred guilders was not nearly so dire as he had led himself to believe.
In a much brighter mood, he indulged himself with a Charming Pieter pamphlet he had read only twice before. He had not even set the water for his second bowl of coffee to boiling before Annetje appeared from around the winding staircase, her head cocked at an impish angle Miguel mistook for lust. He had not been feeling amorous, but with a free morning before him, there was no reason why he could not summon some enthusiasm. Annetje, however, only wished to tell him that the senhora awaited him in the drawing room.
Why should she not summon Miguel to speak with her? She had never done so before, but Hannah could not see that there was anything improper in having friendly relations with her husband’s brother. Daniel would be at the Exchange, and he needn’t know anything of it, even if it were improper, which it was not. And of course she could count on Annetje’s silence. The maid, if she
had betrayal on her mind, had far deeper wells from which to draw.
Miguel entered, dressed in his austere Dutch attire, and bowed slightly. His eyes were sunken and the skin below them dark, as though he hadn’t slept in days.
“Yes, senhora?” he said, in a voice that managed to be both weary and charming. “You honored me with a summons?”
Annetje stood behind him and grinned like a bawd.
“Girl,” Hannah said to her, “fetch me my yellow cap. The one with the blue stones.”
“Senhora, you have not worn that cap in a year’s time. I cannot say where it is.”
“Then you had better start looking,” she answered. She would hear about that later. Annetje would lecture her, tell her mistress it was wrong to speak to her so, threaten and tease her. But Hannah would face those problems when they arose. For now, Annetje would not dare disobey in front of Miguel.
“Yes, senhora,” she replied, in a convincingly subservient tone.
“It is best to give her a task so she does not spend her time at keyholes,” Hannah said.
Miguel took a seat. “She is a well enough girl,” he answered absently.
“I’m sure you know best.” Hannah felt herself redden. “I must thank you for taking the time to sit with me, senhor.”
“It is I who should thank you. Conversation with a charming lady will pass the time far more amiably than will books and papers.”
“I had forgotten that you have those things available to you. I had thought you must be sitting alone and in silence, but your learning frees you from dullness.”
“I’ve thought it must be terrible not to read,” he said. “Is it a loss you feel?”
Hannah nodded. She liked the softness in his voice. “My father thought learning improper for me and my sisters, and I know Daniel thinks the same, should we have a girl child, even though I have heard the rabbi, Senhor Mortera, say that a daughter may engage in learning for which the wife has no time.” She lifted her hand, to place it upon her abdomen, but then changed her mind. She had become conscious of growing big, of the swelling pressing against her gown, and while it was a sensation that usually comforted her, she did not want Miguel to think of her as nothing more than a woman growing big with child.
“They say it is not so among the Tudescos,” she continued, half afraid that she prattled like a fool. “Their women learn to read, and they are given holy books translated into the common tongue. I think that way is better.”
A strange thrill shot through her body, as though she had just thrown herself off a bridge or before a speeding cart. Never before had she dared to say such things aloud. Miguel was not her husband, of course, but he was her husband’s brother, and for now that seemed to her dangerous enough.
He stared at her. At first she thought she saw anger, and she pressed herself into her chair in preparation for the sting of rebuke, but she had misread him. His eyebrows raised slightly, a little smile upon his lips. She saw surprise, amusement too, and maybe even delight.
“I had never thought you had such opinions. Have you discussed them with your husband? He might very well permit some learning.”
“I have tried,” she told him, “but your brother does not wish to hear me speak on matters of which I know nothing. He asked how I can have an opinion on something of which I am entirely ignorant.”
Miguel erupted into a raspy laugh. “You cannot fault him for his logic.”
Hannah reddened, but after an instant she realized that Miguel mocked not her but Daniel, and so she joined him, and together they laughed at her husband.
“May I ask a favor of you?” she said, and then squirmed uncomfortably at the sound of her own words. She had thought to wait longer before mentioning it but found she grew impatient and nervous. Best to have it said.
“Of course, senhora.”
“May I once again try that coffee-tea you let me drink before?” What else could she do? She dared not steal any more of Miguel’s diminishing supply, and she had eaten all the fruit she’d taken. Besides, now that she knew that it was supposed to be a drink and not a food, she did not think there would be as much pleasure in grinding down the berries with her teeth.
Miguel smiled. “It would be my great pleasure, so long as you recall my request of your silence.” Then, without waiting for her reply, he rang the bell for Annetje, who appeared too rapidly to have been searching through Hannah’s trunks. She allowed her eyes to lock with Hannah’s, but Miguel alone spoke to her, reminding her of how to prepare the drink. When the girl left, Hannah could feel her face turn hot, but she was almost certain that Miguel did not notice—or that he was most adept at pretending not to notice, which was nearly as good.
Hannah burned in the heat of his attention. He smiled at her; he met her eyes; he listened when she spoke. This is what it would be like to have a husband who loved her, she thought. The women in stage plays must feel thus when they talked to their loves.
Still, she knew it was but fantasy. How long could she talk with him? How long before a clever man like Miguel recovered from his stumble and moved into his own house, leaving Hannah alone with her husband? Not alone, of course. There would be, God willing, her child, and her child—her daughter—would be her salvation.
“Were you to marry again and have children,” she asked, “would you allow your daughters to learn?”
“I must be honest with you, senhora, and tell you that I have never thought about it. I always assumed your sex cared nothing for learning and was happy to be spared the pains of study, but now that you tell me otherwise I would look at the matter with new eyes.”
“Then you and I are of a mind.”
After moving to Amsterdam, Daniel had been busy with his studies, learning the ancient tongue and the Law, and Hannah thought she should do the same. If she was a Jew, she should know what it meant to be a Jew. She could not know how her husband might respond to such a thing, but she had hoped he would warm to her display of interest. She considered the wording for days, playing out conversations in her mind. Finally, one Shabbat night, after they had engaged in the mitzvah of marital relations, she decided she should never find her sleepy and sated husband in a more receptive mood.
“Why have I not been taught the Law, senhor?” she asked.
There was only a vague hastening of his breath.
“I have thought,” she continued, speaking hardly above a whisper, “that I too might learn to read and understand Hebrew. And perhaps I might learn to read Portuguese too.”
“Perhaps you might learn to transform rods into serpents and to part the waters of the sea,” he had answered, rolling away from her.
Hannah lay there, afraid to move, gritting her teeth with anger and shame. He must have felt some remorse for dismissing her, for a few days later, when he returned home in the evening, he pressed into her hands two silver bracelets.
“You are a good wife,” he said to her, “but you must not wish for more than what belongs to a wife. Learning is for men.”
“It must be,” she now said to Miguel, “that learning is not forbidden to women, else the Tudescos would not allow it, for they have the same Law, do they not?”
“It is not forbidden,” Miguel explained. “I am told that there have even been great Talmudists among the ladies in times past. Some things belong to Law, and some things belong to custom. It is written that a woman may be called to the Law, but her modesty ought to forbid her from answering. But what is modesty?” he asked, as though puzzling out the question himself. “These Dutch-women know nothing of it, and yet they do not feel immodest.”
Annetje now arrived with the bowls of coffee. Hannah breathed in the scent and salivated at the thought of drinking. More than its flavor, she loved how it made her feel. If she had been a scholar, she would have been able to unravel any point of Law. Had she been a merchant, she could have outwitted any man upon the Exchange. Now, she again lifted the bowl to her lips and tasted the engaging bitterness, a taste, she realized, th
at made her think of Miguel. This is the taste of Miguel, she told herself: bitter and inviting.
She waited for Annetje, who flashed all sorts of knowing looks, to leave before she began to speak again. “May I ask you what happened between you and the council?”
Miguel opened his mouth in surprise, as though she had spoken of something forbidden, but he also appeared pleased. Perhaps he found her boldness exciting. How bold should she be?
“It is nothing of substance. There were some questions about business partners. Some on the council do not like the people with whom I trade, so they placed me under this cherem for a day as a warning. These are pretty questions from so pretty a woman.”
Hannah turned away so that he would not see her blush. “Do you suggest that a woman should not ask such questions?”
“Not at all. I delight in an inquisitive woman.”
“Perhaps,” she suggested, “you delight in an inquisitive woman in the same way you delight in defying the council.”
Miguel smiled warmly. “I think you may be right, senhora. I have never much cared for authority, and I love to see it challenged—be it the authority of a husband or the Ma’amad.”
Hannah felt herself redden again, but met his gaze all the same. “When you were married,” she asked, “did you love to see your wife challenge you?”
He laughed. “Most times,” he said. “If I am to be honest, I must say that I am as prone to grow comfortable in authority as any man. That is no reason why I should not be questioned, however. I might have followed my father’s example and never studied the ways of our race had I not thought this way, for it is what I love best about the teachings of the rabbis. Everything must be questioned and disputed, looked at from all angles, examined and held up to the light. The parnassim and men like—well, like many men I know—forget that. They wish to see things always as they are and never ask how they might be.”
“And is this the reason, your delight in challenge, why you were called before the Ma’amad? My husband tells me you have defiled Holy Law.”