The Jewel Trader Of Pegu (8 page)

Joseph, what irony that an Israelite stood before the king of Pegu speaking on behalf of the Republic that tolerates our people in small numbers, from charter to charter
.
I spoke for the very Gentiles who oblige me to walk quietly in the shadows behind heavy gates and have bricked our windows facing their world, so that we do not pollute their sacraments with even our silhouettes. I think God has a sense of humor and may not always be the stern ruler that the rabbis proclaim.

Our audience ended when the king gave me a small gold cup and five pieces of Chinese damask in shades of red and blue. Win was much pleased, as it is not the king’s custom to give gifts to foreigners. Win believes Nandabayin was moved by the quality of the emeralds and amber. For my part, I think the king was humored so by our form of government that his gifts were small payment for the laughter I brought, especially in these times when laughter, like rice, is in dwindling supply. Of most importance to our enterprise, the king ordered that forthwith I do not have to pay any taxes on our transactions.

Relieved and excited, like children who had won praise from an adoring father for remembering without mistake their first prayers, we walked back to my house reliving every moment of our audience.

Win thinks word will travel quickly that the king finds favor with me and our enterprise, and we should get first look at the stones that arrive from Capelan. However, before we parted, he cast a shadow over my enthusiasm.

—Your affairs will go well in Pegu,
he said,
if you do what is expected
of you.

And I knew he was not talking about our business.

I leave that struggle for another day and go to sleep tonight a companion of kings.

Your loving cousin,

Abraham

21 December 1598

Dear Joseph,

What I feared has happened. Win has asked me again to deflower a bride.

This time, though his words were not sharp, it is clear the consequences of my refusal will greatly endanger our business here.

The groom is the son of one of Win’s brothers-in-law, and this fellow is determined that I and only I can perform this service for his son’s bride in three days’ time. This is a propitious house in his eyes. To shed the bride’s first blood here, he says, will bring good fortune to his line. Last spring his other son died on another of Nandabayin’s ill-fated campaigns. This son is the last bearer of his seed, the last hope for a grandson. How can I convince him that the bamboo walls and floor of this house are no stronger than those at the homes of other foreigners, that the sun shines on my house no more brightly than on theirs, that its roof is no better protection against the monsoon rains than is theirs? Against superstition, reason is an orphan.

My refusal has become the talk of the market and the trading house. The women, when they are not haggling over the price of eggs and fruit, have turned my one refusal into many. You might think this loose chatter has blackened my name dark as the teeth of the crones who spread these rumors. Just the opposite. My refusal has made me a saint in their foolish eyes. My many rumored denials are seen as a sign of the respect and kindness with which I would treat the nervous brides. The other foreign traders see this as sport, while my market adulators claim that I, unfettered by lust, must be a Buddhist disguised in a barbarian’s skin. The more my imagined denials multiply, the more my services are in demand.

Among the Europeans, who knew well the Genoese, my refusal has become the stuff of lewd jokes.

—
Abraham, if you don’t want them, send them my way for a little
gallop on my stick.

—
I’ve got the hoe, if you don’t, to till their herb patch.

Once they get started it doesn’t take long for the jokes to turn to baiting our people. —
Cut too much off?
Or—
You people are a stiff-necked race—I guess that’s the only thing that’s stiff.

You people—
when I hear those words I know nothing good will follow. The old hate will bubble up. I let it pass, as I have always—

why roil the waters in this small pond? The Gentiles are spectators to our affairs here, it is Win upon whom I depend.

If I lose Win’s loyalty, I imperil our entire venture. I have come too far and been away too long to jeopardize our enterprise. I cannot put Uncle’s money at risk. I would not waver, if I alone bore the consequences of my refusal, but others beyond myself may pay for my actions. Win does not indulge in insults like the Gentiles.

He honestly believes our business will suffer if I do not reconsider.

He knows the truth of my singular refusal, but the rumors of the market have seeped into ears at the palace. He says that persons in positions of influence near the king find my behavior insulting. I am a guest of the king and a recipient of his favor, and in these troubled times they say I should not bring disorder to the affairs of his people.

I cannot believe these courtiers are deaf to the ill will spoken toward the king by the people of the city. My refusal could add but a drop to this spreading sea of discontent. Yet it does not take a scholar to understand a proverb Win says has been long repeated here,

“There are three chances in a dragon’s stare; there is but one in a king’s.” I have seen the king’s anger visited upon those he believes have turned against him.

You know I am not cut from hero’s cloth and do not have the wisdom or the will to be a martyr for our faith. I only wish to return and live the quiet life I have led. I think less about myself than Uncle, who has raised me and entrusted the future of the family to me. I think of Win, who likely will bear the brunt of royal anger if the whispers from the palace are true.

A man of his faith, Win tries in his heathen way to reason me to his side. He does not want me to be reborn on some lesser plane of existence. He thinks deflowering a bride is an act of merit, not only for me but also for himself as my broker.

—Ab… ra… ham, how could your god set before you such a narrow path? If he is a just god, he will judge you by your pure heart, by your
good intentions. You have no lust in your heart. It is only your body, a
worthless container of blood and excrement.

I wish I had been a better student and not daydreamed when our tutor and the rabbis spoke. Their words could guide me now. I cannot imagine there is a mitzvah that commands me to commit adultery for the sake of rubies and sapphires. Was the woman who for-nicated for apples to give to the poor praised or censured? I cannot remember. What I remember, though it is fuzzy in my mind, is that before Eve took the first bite, there was no physical desire between her and Adam. Their touching was pure and unpolluted. Touching their private places was as innocent as touching the fingers of their hands. Do I remember the lesson correctly, or drowning in stormy waters am I trying to make a raft from a twisted branch?

It is late and I am alone. I have no one to turn to and can only turn to myself.

Your cousin,

Abraham

24 December 1598

Dear Joseph,

I have not eaten for two days. I can keep nothing down. Plain rice tastes bitter as wormwood. My stomach turns at the sight of it, as if it were alive with maggots. Last night, weakened from hunger, tired and restless from fitful sleep—I do not want to believe what I saw was anything but the delusions of an anguished mind—I stood frozen, unable to enter my room. The bead curtain had become a wall of writhing snakes. I needed to sleep and could see my mat, but the snakes blocked my way. I retreated to the verandah and slumped against the railing. I prayed to the Holy One, blessed be He. I took deep breaths to calm my thumping heart. I closed my eyes and, like a blind man with arms outstretched, I pushed through the curtain and sprawled exhausted on the mat.

Win has grown worried. This morning he saw my pale face and the dark circles under my eyes. He asked me to hold out my hand.

He looked at my hand, then into my eyes, and stared again at my hand. If my hand had trembled up and down, my condition was surely the work of the household spirit that I must have insulted without knowing. If my hand had trembled side to side, a witch had put a spell on me. But though I was weak, my steady hand told Win that the cause of my illness lay within my body itself. He told me to lie down and sent Khaing for a doctor. A small, thin fellow, who serves the princes of the king’s court, came with a large brown sack strapped across his chest. He looked himself in need of powder and potions. He held my hand, put his fingers under my armpit, behind my ears, and against my throat, and pressed his palm with surprising strength against my belly. He ordered Khaing to boil some water. He spread a red cloth on the floor and took several bamboo phials from his bag. He rubbed bits of bark, dried leaves, and seeds between his hands and poured the coarse powder into a cup of hot water. The brew tasted earthy and thick, and he made me drink it all, down to the sludgy dregs. Almost at once, I could feel my body heating up, the sweat beading on my forehead, and I fell into a heavy sleep and did not wake until dusk.

I am better, but I am not well. No doctor can cure me. I must decide, but no path is straight and free of dangers.

Do you remember at the party the night before I left, these many months ago, how I tried once again to join in the dancing and the merriment? I plodded in my awkward way, always one step behind the beat, whether the Piantone or the Canary. The merriment of others is like mother’s milk to you: you throw yourself into the joy of the moment with ever greater vigor. For me, all that unre-strained good cheer is like a breeze that snuffs out a candle. I tried to be one with the music and the merriment, but I soon grew tired and withdrew to a corner to watch the others lost in the music and good cheer. An observer. That is who I am. I want to remain an observer.

Your cousin,

Abraham

The city shone under a full moon my first night here—a good sign for my anxious heart. The stars say it will be auspicious to meet the man I will marry the day after the next half-moon, and so I must wait another two days. It is not wise yet for me to walk the streets, so I sit on the verandah of his uncle’s house and watch the strangers in this city parade by. I have seen more people in the last four days than in all the years of my life. From what lands do they come that they wear white robes that cover their bodies from head to foot? What are they hiding, what demon tattoos are they concealing? Large men in dark pants and shoes that look heavy as stones drag themselves from shade to shade, gasping for breath, their hands fluttering with cloths to wipe their pale faces flushed red. They do not belong in this land. Why are they here? Have they fled the anger of a vengeful king or a heartless father? Or do dreams lead them here? What treasure are they seeking that they would suffer so?

I am curious about these strangers. When I am married and know better the streets and life of the city, I will pass these men with my eyes and ears wide open. I will stand in the market and observe their ways. I won’t talk to them, but I will ask my husband to tell me what kind of men they are.

I seek no dreams here. The village was life enough for me. In our village a young girl dreamed one night she was the king’s wife.

She ate off gold dishes. She drank from golden cups that sparkled with rubies. Her feet never touched the floor, and she slept on silk clouds that floated above the polished floors of the palace. Everyone in the village laughed at her: she had never been beyond the paddy fields, the only prince she had ever seen danced on strings at festival time. How could she dream of the palace in Pegu? How could she dream of gold dishes, when all she ate from were banana leaves?

I haven’t dreamt of the future. How can anyone see the future?

Last night, as I slept, some images did come to me. I was in the paddy field. I held a young green rice plant in my hand. A cloud moved across the sun, and the air was cool. My dog sat guarding the field. I waited for something to happen. I waited for my dream to begin, but it didn’t.

27 December 1598

Dear Joseph,

I trust that you do not share all my letters with Uncle but select the news fit for his ears. My descriptions of our business, of course, and the strange ways of these people are topics he will find of keen interest. My personal travails and the sexual customs of the Peguans are best kept to ourselves, especially what I now write. I hesitate to even share these intimacies with you, dear as you are to my heart.

The Day of Atonement lies months away. Writing the words helps map the contours of my soul, hidden to me until now. I see myself better in the words I write, than if I were to let these events pass in silence.

As you have already guessed by my words, I chose to deflower the bride of Win’s nephew. The doctor’s potion had brought me sleep, but my dreams brought me no counsel. The walls of the room pressed in on me. I sought guidance in the cool quietness of the streets, when most of the city still slumbered. I walked slowly, my body still weak from little food and lack of sleep. Uninvited by any object seen or sound heard in the waking city, a Talmudic sage joined me. He whispered words I had long forgotten: A man who seeks both the world and justice is like a man grasping a rope by both ends.

—
Let one of them go,
he said. —
If you do not relent a little, the
world cannot endure.
I have relented. I believe in my heart I did it for Uncle and our enterprise. Not for my carnal pleasure. The Holy One, blessed be He, will be the judge.

She arrived at dusk, when birds were in full throat and the air was still. She stood at my door, her head down, her eyes looking at her feet. Win stood at one side, her parents at the other. She was dressed in a bright red cotton skirt and a red tunic that covered her breasts—I was glad for that modesty. It made these first awkward moments feel like the serious rite I had told myself this would be.

She smelled of strong perfume, and her hair glistened with fragrant oils. A garland of jasmine flowers and orchids circled her chignon.