The Jewel Trader Of Pegu by Jeffrey Hantover Read Free Book Online Page A

and burned. These people talk of their Buddha’s compassion. I can say no more.
    Abraham

----
    19 November 1598
    Dear Joseph,
    I now know why those old women smiled. I have seen and heard much on my travels, but these Peguans, for all their incense and prayers and bowing before their golden gods, rank highest for their disregard of all that is sacred before the Holy One, blessed be He.
    Because what was asked of me was so foreign to what any moral man, Israelite or Gentile, could imagine, I have been blind to hints and clues that only now I understand—the old women selling fruit across the way, their smiles and laughter muffled by wrinkled hands, and the sly smiles of traders telling me that the Genoese was a gentle man and his house a happy one. And to think I had come to hold this fellow in good repute and was pleased to walk in his footsteps. I thought it could bring only advantage to our business. When Win told me more than once that he knew I, like the Genoese, would do what was expected of me, I said of course.
    I thought Win, in his imperfect Italian, spoken slowly like water dripping from a gutter spout, meant only that I would meet my obligations as a trader. Words, I am learning, may not always be the best way to speak.
    I do not mean to tease you by circling slowly around what happened. I am not a man who blushes easily, especially for all the nakedness I have seen since leaving Venice, but these are matters not easily spoken of. After sundown on the Sabbath, Win arrived at my house—this in itself was unusual, for the entire day was one of rest for him as well as me. Behind him on the verandah stood a man and two women. All were dressed in fine cloth, not their everyday cotton. The younger woman, who I soon learned was the daughter of the man and older woman, sparkled with rings on her fingers, gold bangles on her arms.
    Her hair, pulled back into the bun women wear here, was freshly oiled and smelled of jasmine flowers. Two bejeweled gold orna-ments, the shape of cranes, peeked from either side of the bun.
    When she saw me, she bowed her head. Win smiled and gave me evening greetings in his language.
    —
Are you ready to take this bride?
he said.
    —
Take her where?
I asked in ignorance and innocence.
    —
She has come humbly for you to take her maidenhead.
    I said nothing, and Win frowned like a stepmother at my silence, thinking I did not understand his words. My confusion and displeasure clear, he said—
This is the custom in Pegu. Her husband waits for
her return.
    I stammered and, speaking Italian in my anger, could only repeat
    —
What is this… what is this?
Peguans feel it impolite to show one’s temper, and Win, seeing my face redden, motioned for me to go inside. He bowed to the bride’s father and mother and followed quickly behind me, almost stepping on my heels.
    —
Abraham, I beg your pardon for not having told you earlier of the
family’s arrival.
    —
How could you ask me to deflower this young girl?
    Now it was his turn to be confused.
—It is our custom that brides from good families have a foreigner take their maidenhead. It is an honor
to both. The Genoese performed this service for many. He was gentle and kind. He was “uncle” to many brides in Pegu. Brides who passed through
this house have borne their husbands healthy sons. The spirits protect this
house and bring prosperity to those who dwell here.
    —I am not a Christian, I am not like the Genoese. He was moved by
lust. I am bound by the Law. My God forbids it.
    —He was not a bad man. You foreigners are protected from the dangers of first blood. You will bring good fortune to this marriage—your god too
must think it a meritorious deed.
I raised my hand in front of my lips so he would not blaspheme the Holy One, blessed be He, any further.
    —
Am I to send her away? That will shame her and her family.
    —This will bring me shame,
I said, both my voice and hands trembling.
—Is there no one else who will do this for