The Coffee Trader

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.

When news of the shipment spread, the price of coffee would drop and Miguel would profit handsomely from the difference in price, as dictated by the puts, but these profits would only whet his appetite, a small first course in the larger feast ahead. By that time, Miguel and Geertruid would have hired agents to do their bidding on the dozen or so most active import commodity exchanges in Europe: Hamburg, London, Madrid, Lisbon, Marseilles, and several others he would carefully select. Each agent would know his own task but not that he was part of a larger scheme.

A few weeks after their shipment arrived in Amsterdam, once the rest of Europe had learned that the coffee market was flooded and the price had now dropped at every exchange, these agents would move. Every man would buy all the coffee upon the market at its now artificially lowered price. They would act at a single time-this was the part so brilliant it made Miguel need to empty his bladder just to think of it. If word were to reach London that a man sought to buy all the coffee in Amsterdam, the price in London would soar, making the acquisition unprofitably expensive. It was the simultaneity that Miguel embraced as his most clever stroke. Before anyone knew what had happened, he would own all the coffee in Europe. The price would be his to dictate as he pleased, and they would be in a position to give the law to the importers. They would have that most sought-after of powers, a rare thing upon which unimaginable fortunes are built: a monopoly.

Maintaining the monopoly would require some skill, but it should be possible to manage it, at least for a while. The East India Company, which imported the coffee, would find itself in a position to break Miguel’s control of the prices, but only if it could dramatically increase the amount of coffee on the European market. True, the Company had plantations in Ceylon and Java, but it would be many seasons before those crops yielded significant quantities, and to deplete its warehouses in the East would mean sacrificing a trade of far more importance. The Company would have no motive to act for some time; it would be content to watch and wait. It would plant and it would hoard. Only when the Company had enough coffee to break his hold would it strike.

Let it strike, Miguel thought. Five, ten, perhaps even fifteen years will go by first. The Company had the patience of a spider; by the time it moved, Miguel and Geertruid would be immeasurably wealthy.

Perhaps long before that time the Ma’amad would learn of Miguel’s partnership with Geertruid. What could it say once he had donated tens of thousands of guilders to charity? Miguel was only a few months away from the kind of wealth that most men only dream of, but already he could hold it in his hand and know its taste. It tasted savory indeed.

So great was his enthusiasm that later that night as he lay in bed, when he recollected that he had utterly forgotten to meet Joachim Waagenaar as planned, Miguel felt only the slightest twinge of regret.

from

The Factual and Revealing Memoirs of Alonzo Alferonda

I talk about myself too much. I know that. I’ve looked over the pages I’ve penned, and what do I see but Alferonda and Alferonda? To this objection my readers will surely say, “But my dear Alonzo, what more interesting subject can there be but your life and your opinions?” Fair enough, dear readers. You have swayed me with your gentle arguments. But there are other things to write about, reasons why I began this memoir in the first place.

For one thing, there is coffee.

Not so long ago, in the time of my boyhood, coffee was like any other exotic powder or dried berry you might find in an apothecary’s musty cabinet. It was given in small doses for diseases of the blood and bowels. Too much is poison, they would say. Even now, as this elixir spreads like a murky tide across Europe, the apothecaries cry out to drinkers to stay their hands. Great quantities of this medicine will make you weak, they say. It dries out the blood; it leads to impotence and infertility. Coffee leads to nothing of the sort, I promise you. I consume it in great quantities, and my blood is as robust as that of a man half my age.

It has always been looked on dubiously, this poor drink that only wants to improve us, to make us more than we are. It first became known among the men of the Orient, who were suspicious of its marvelous effects. Those of the Mohammedan faith shun alcohol, so they had no experience with drinks that change a man’s disposition. Over a hundred years ago, in the land of Egypt, the viceroy summoned the great imams to debate whether coffee was permitted or forbidden by the dietary code of their sacred teachings. Coffee is like wine, one imam declared, and is therefore forbidden. But who could agree or disagree, these all being righteous men who had never themselves tasted wine and could only guess. They knew wine makes a man sleepy, yet coffee makes him alert. Therefore coffee could not be like wine.

Another shouted that coffee is black, and the beans, when roasted, are like dirt. The eating of dirt was forbidden by Mohammed and therefore coffee is forbidden. But another argued that since fire purifies, the process of roasting the berries makes them not unclean but rather cleanses away that which was once unclean in them. In the end they could only say that coffee was neither forbidden nor permitted, but was mekruh, undesirable.

Of course, they were mistaken. Coffee is nothing if not desirable. All men desire its power, and when it first emerged there were those who desired the wealth it might bring. One such man, of course, was Miguel Lienzo, the benefactor of my youth. How good he had been to my family, providing us with warning about the Inquisition when no one else thought to save us! Did he do this for profit? No, there could be none. Did he act out of love? He barely knew us. He did it, I believe, because he is a righteous man and delights in thwarting the plans of evildoers.

I had no desire to make him uncomfortable, so when I formed a friendship with Lienzo in Amsterdam, I did not embarrass him by recollecting the kindness he had done my family. Instead, I did some small business with him, joined him at taverns and eateries, and studied with him at the Talmud Torah until the time of my exile.

When I saw him we talked of little of consequence. Then one day he informed me that he wanted to enter into the coffee trade. I knew about coffee from the years I had sojourned in the East. I knew that a man who drinks coffee is twice as strong, twice as wise, and twice as cunning as the man who abstains. I knew that coffee unlocks doors in the mind.

And I knew other things too. I knew things I was not quite prepared to tell my friend Senhor Lienzo. Not because I wanted him to fail, oh, no. Nothing of the sort. I held on to my secrets because I wanted him to succeed, and I had every reason to believe that this new coffee venture could be just the thing I needed.