Paris: The Novel (21 page)

He was twelve years old when he began to have doubts. He hardly knew why himself. Perhaps it was a talent he had for mathematics that
did not find much outlet in the physician’s art. Perhaps there were other causes.

And then there were the patients. Sometimes his father would take Jacob on his visits, and let him watch him examining people; and afterward he’d explain to him the treatment he was recommending, and why. Jacob became quite good at spotting ailments and suggesting remedies. His father was pleased with his progress, and Jacob was proud.

Yet as time went on, he began to find that he didn’t enjoy it. First he was surprised, then concerned. The fact was, he didn’t want to spend his life with sick people. He admired his father very much, and he’d always hoped to be like him. But perhaps he wasn’t.

What should he do? He had no idea. And since he couldn’t explain his feelings in a satisfactory way, he’d felt too embarrassed and guilty to mention them to anyone. Certainly not his father.

So he tried to put the matter out of his mind. He told himself that he was being childish. And this was no time to behave like a child. For very soon he was to become a man.

The bar mitzvah that lay ahead of him was a serious but simple observance. All the Jewish families he knew celebrated it the same way. On the Sabbath following his thirteenth birthday, he would be called in the synagogue to read from the Torah and to recite the blessings. Unlike in some other communities, this would be the first time he’d be allowed to do so. Afterward, at the family house, there would be a small gathering of family and friends to celebrate the occasion.

Jacob was looking forward to it. He was well prepared for the religious part of the proceedings. He could read Hebrew just as well as he could Latin. From that day, in theory at least, he could be considered an adult. He was determined, therefore, to put aside these foolish uncertainties about his life before the day arrived.

It was a month before his bar mitzvah that he went for a walk with his mother’s cousin Baruch.

His father didn’t like Baruch. Jacob could see why. Baruch was about his father’s age, but there all resemblances ended. Baruch was corpulent and inclined to be loud and argumentative. He had little respect for scholarship. But he wasn’t stupid. Jacob knew that his mother’s cousin was richer than his father. Baruch was a moneylender.

He didn’t often come to their house, but he’d looked in to see Jacob’s
mother that day, and as he was leaving he’d said: “So why don’t you walk with me, Jacob?” He’d turned to his cousin. “Your son never talks to me.”

“I never see you,” replied Jacob.

“Go and walk with your cousin Baruch,” his mother told him.

It was a fine afternoon. They’d walked out through the nearby postern gate and followed a lane that led toward the big compound of the Templars. Trying to make conversation, Jacob had asked Baruch about what he did.

“I lend money,” said Baruch. “Then I try to get it back.”

“I know this,” said Jacob.

“So what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. How you do it, I suppose.”

“How does your father cure people? He gives them medicines they think they need. Then they get better. He hopes. I give people money they need. Then they get richer. They hope. I hope. Otherwise they can’t pay me back. It’s obvious.”

Jacob considered.

“So how do you decide whether they’re a good risk?”

“That is a good question.” Baruch seemed to soften a bit. “Maybe you’re not so stupid after all.” He paused. “You need security. The man has to pledge something for the loan, so you have to figure what it’s worth, and whether he really owns it. And you need a good head for numbers. If the risk is high, you’re going to need a higher interest rate to protect yourself. Are you understanding me?”

“I think so. You have to calculate.”

“Yes. But you know what. It’s not just that. It’s an art as well. You really have to understand the man’s affairs. And you have to judge his character. Sometimes that’s the most important thing of all. Character.” He shrugged. “So maybe it’s like being a physician. It’s instinct, you know. I’m a money physician. I look after people’s lives. It’s a terrible occupation.” He looked at Jacob to see how he was taking it.

“I think it’s interesting,” said Jacob frankly.

“It’s not so bad.”

“The Christians call it usury.”

“The Jews call it usury. It’s in the Torah. Thou shalt not lend money at interest. It says so.” He paused a moment. “You know something? The Torah is very good at telling you what not to do. But if there is no profit
to be had, no interest, then there is no reason for anyone to lend, and so nobody can borrow anything. They can steal it from their grandmother, but they can’t borrow it.” He smiled. “But there is an escape clause. A Jew is not allowed to lend at interest to another Jew. But it doesn’t say that you can’t lend to someone who is not a Jew. So we can lend to Christians.”

“And the Christians are allowed to borrow from us.”

“By the same logic. They say they mustn’t lend at interest, because it says so in the Bible. But if a Jew is prepared to lend, then that’s all right. They say the Jew is probably going to hell anyway, so who cares? It’s one of the few occupations they allow us to follow, which is very convenient for them.” He made a dismissive motion with his hands. “They get the money. We go to hell.”

“But the Christians lend money too,” Jacob objected. “What about the Italian moneylenders, like the Lombards? I heard that they’re sanctioned by the pope himself.”

“Ah. But they don’t charge interest.”

“So how can they have any profit?”

“They charge a fee instead.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Mathematically? There is no difference. But the word is different.”

They were coming close to the huge compound of the Knights Templar now, and they had stopped to gaze at it.

“How is it the Templars are so rich?” Jacob had asked Baruch.

“They had huge land grants. For generations. They don’t pay taxes. And they lend money. The king owes them a fortune.”

“They lend for a fee, then,” Jacob said. “No interest.”

“Of course,” Baruch replied. “Actually,” he went on, “the Templars are interesting. They lend money. But that’s only part of it. They’re brilliant.”

“Why?”

“Look at their building. It’s an impregnable fortress. There’s probably more gold in there than any other building in France. It all got started when they transported bullion out to the Holy Land for the crusaders to use. They kept the money in fortresses out there, too. But that was just the start. Since then, they’ve built fortified bullion stores all over Christendom. So what’s so clever about that?”

“I suppose then they have bullion ready for any purpose, in any country.”

“True, but that’s not the point. The point,” said Baruch, “is that when you travel, you don’t have to take a lot of money with you. No armed guards. No fear of getting robbed. You just deposit your bullion with the Templars in London or Paris, get a receipt, and that gives you credit to draw on the Templars’ bullion deposits wherever you’re going. The Templars will charge you a large fee for the service, but it’s worth it. You’ve saved yourself a fortune in security.”

“Did the Templars invent this?”

“No. The old merchants around the Mediterranean have been holding credit balances with each other since time out of mind. But the scale of the Templars’ operations is stupendous. They’ve got enough stashed in some of their forts to pay for an army.”

“They must have to transport bullion themselves, sometimes,” Jacob said.

“Yes. But who’s going to attack a bullion shipment guarded by the Temple Knights. You’d have to be an idiot. Those bastards fight only to the death.” Baruch chuckled. “Funny, isn’t it: The only knights who always fight to the death are the ones protecting the money.”

Jacob had nodded and smiled. Yet his mind was in a whirl.

No doubt his cousin Baruch just thought he was having a chat with a boy who was going to be a physician. But his words were having a much more profound effect than he could have imagined.

As he’d listened to Baruch discourse on the art of moneylending, it had felt to Jacob as if someone were opening a door in front of him. This was an occupation that would use all his talents. This was the challenge he’d always been looking for. He just hadn’t known it. And with this realization came that wonderful sense of peace that comes to everyone when they find their natural metier. I could do that, he thought. That’s what I want to do.

And when Baruch had described the huge, international capacity of the Templars’ dealings, he had felt a sense not just of affinity, but of inspiration. It wasn’t only the scale that was fascinating. The efficiency of the operation, the intellectual economy, struck him forcibly. The endless possibilities of a credit system that spread all over Europe seemed to him one of the most beautiful and exciting ideas he had ever encountered. What could be better, what could be more interesting, than to take part in the workings of the universal world of money, the lifeblood of all enterprise,
that knows no foolish boundaries, but can flow unimpeded from kingdom to kingdom? Though he did not quite know how to formulate the idea, he had just been given a glimpse of the wonders of finance.

“Could I come and work for you?” he suddenly asked Baruch.

“I thought you were going to be a physician,” the big man said in surprise.

“I don’t think so,” said Jacob.

“You had better talk to your father.”

Jacob promised that he would.

But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He meant to. He was certain what he wanted. But telling his father that he was going to turn his back on his birthright and wanted to work with a man his father didn’t like … It wasn’t so easy.

The next week he met Baruch in the street.

“Did you tell your father?” Baruch asked.

“I’m going to.”

“You can change your mind, you know.”

“No. I want to work for you.”

“I can talk to him if you want.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Don’t leave it to your bar mitzvah.”

But still he’d put it off. Each time his father smiled at him approvingly, or his mother said, “We’re all very proud of you,” it grew harder to broach the subject. How could he disappoint them all? And as the days went by he began to think that maybe it would be better to get through the business of the bar mitzvah and talk to his father about it afterward.

And so he’d let it drift, and drift … until the day.

He’d read well in the synagogue. They were all very pleased with him. That evening there were about twenty people in their house. His parents, their closest friends, the rabbi and Baruch had also been invited.

Baruch had looked at him questioningly, but Jacob had whispered, “I decided to talk to him after this is over.”

And everyone was congratulating him, and one of the neighbors’ wives said, “Just look at Jacob’s eyes. You have wonderful eyes, Jacob. Those are real physician’s eyes, just like your father’s.” And another of their friends chimed in, “He’s going to be a wonderful physician.” And someone said
to Jacob’s mother, “You must be very proud of him.” And his mother said she was.

So for a moment, only the woman Cousin Baruch was talking to heard Baruch say: “He isn’t going to be a physician.”

“What do you mean?” she said, so that several people turned to look. “Of course he’s going to be a physician.”

“Suit yourself,” said Baruch. “I’m just telling you he doesn’t want to be a physician.”

Jacob’s mother heard that.

“What are you talking about, Baruch?” she demanded impatiently. She liked Baruch better than her husband did, because he was her family, but she didn’t like him that much.

Baruch shrugged.

“I’m just saying he doesn’t want to be a physician. He wants to work for me. Is that so terrible?”

“No he doesn’t.”

“Ask him.” He pointed to Jacob. And everybody looked at Jacob. And Jacob looked back at them, and wished that the ground could open up and swallow him forever.

“I am very disappointed in you,” his father said later that night. “I am sorry that you don’t want to be a physician, because I think you would be a good one. But to go behind my back … You talk to Baruch, with whom we are not close, before you even talk to your own father. Then you make a mockery of us all. Honor Thy Father and Mother: You break this commandment, on the very day of your bar mitzvah. Shame on you, Jacob. I hardly know whether to call you my son.”