The Serpent of Venice (10 page)

“Come, Lancelot Gobbo,” said Shylock, waving me out of the stripe of shade where I reclined against the front wall of his house. “I go to make a loan and secure the bond of the esteemed Antonio Donnola, merchant of Venice. Come, boy, carry my papers. Come and learn business.”

Into the very nest of vipers I’d only recently escaped. So be it.

I followed Shylock out into the afternoon, carrying a carved wooden box that held parchment, ink, and quills. As it turned out, with age Shylock had lost the close vision to read and write his own contracts, so had to have Jessica do it at home or pay a notary. My ability to read and write gave me value. I thought it best not to inform him that across the lagoon on the glass-making island of Murano, they had begun to make small lenses, called spectacles, that rested in a frame across the bridge of the nose, which might correct one’s reading vision.

We crossed the island through a narrow path, where the buildings were so close that they were buttressed over the alley on their upper floors with oak arches. It was cool in the alley, and the breeze off the Adriatic washed the city smell away, so stepping out into the sun on the city side of the alley, filled with the activity of boats and traders, was an assault on the senses. And I, disguised in the long dark gabardine, felt sweat blossom and stream down my back. The heat and humidity of the Venetian summer made me long for the green, rain-swept, sheep-flecked hills of England. At least there are no horses in Venice, and the sewage drops through the floors of homes and is washed away with the tides, so as salty and fish befouled as Venice can be, it is less odiferous than Paris or London on a summer’s day.

Shylock led me across a dock and into a gondola and gestured for me to sit across from him as the gondolier ferried us across the wide
tronchetto
toward the entrance of the Grand Canal. The water had a cloudy blue-green translucence that made it look as if it were lit from below. I saw something dark moving beneath the water, too deep to make out, perhaps it was just the shadow of the gondola, but before I could ask the gondolier about it, Shylock drew my attention.

“So,” said he. “You are English?”

“Aye, signor. Born and raised at Dog Snogging on Ouse.”

“I see. But old Gobbo, your father, he is Venetian?”

“Mum was English.” She was. Drowned herself when I was but a babe, but as English as St. George himself, although I thought it best not to mention that to the Jew, as the Hebrew pantheon has sod all in the way of saints.

“An English Jew, then. Well.” He stroked his beard. “You know about our people in York? The townspeople of York borrowed money from the Jews, then when the crops failed, blamed the misfortune on our people. They locked all the Jews in the castle keep and burned them.”
^*

“Oh, right, I was sick that day, if I remember correctly. Sad.” I looked into the well of the boat, sadly, I hoped.

“It was a hundred years ago,” said Shylock with a shrug. “They do not allow our people to own property, but they hate us for lending our moneys at interest to make our way.”

“Well, Yorkshire, county of gormless
^†
gits, innit? Arsehole of all Blighty
^‡
for my money.” Dog Snogging was bang in the middle of Yorkshire of course, so if Yorkshire was the arsehole of Britain, then I, born and raised there, was—well—being less than sincere.

As the gondolier swung the boat into the mouth of the Grand Canal, which swarmed with small boats, something hit the gondola and our oarsman was knocked off his feet. He caught himself on the oar before he went in the drink, but once righted he looked around for the offending craft, but it had not been another boat that had jostled our vessel.

“Did you see?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “Rock?”

“There are no rocks in the canals.”

“Dolphin?” said Shylock.

“We see dolphins all the time,” said the gondolier. “I’ve never heard of one hitting a boat.”

“Well, they’re the most spiteful of the large fishes, aren’t they?” said I, with the great authority that comes only from countless years of knowing fuck-all about fucking fishes. I did not think it a dolphin.

“Jews,” said the gondolier, spitting into the canal, dismissing our silliness.

There you have it. Taken as one of the tribe without so much as a bug’s knuckle trimmed off the willy. I’d throw that in Jessica’s face when I saw her again—well, so to speak.

“Does a Jew not pay you?” said Shylock, evidently not enjoying my induction into the tribe as much as I.

The gondolier was suddenly very intent upon navigating to the dock by the Rialto Bridge.

“Does my Jewish money not spend in the market?” Shylock stood up in the boat and faced the gondolier, trying to get him to meet his gaze. “Would you have me give your fee, my Jewish coin, to a beggar at the dock rather than have it befoul your Christian hand? What say you?”

“No offense was meant, Shylock,” mumbled the gondolier as he churned the long boat in between two tall mooring poles. “You are my most steady fare, signor.”

“Good day, then,” said Shylock, tossing a copper coin to the boatman as he stepped off. “We will find another way home this evening.”

“Just going to wander till then,” said I, stepping onto the dock with my wooden box. “Just two Jews. Wandering.” I felt a song coming on. “Wandering Jews.” I suppressed the urge to rhyme. “Two Jews amused.” Somewhat suppressed.

“Stay close, boy,” said Shylock.

I hurried up the dock to join him in the bustling square of the Rialto, keeping my head down, my face hidden by my floppy yellow hat. As someone used to attracting attention to himself, wearing bells, and carrying a smugly profane puppet, the anonymity was more difficult than I anticipated. There was irony and mirth lurking everywhere, and it was my holy duty as a fool to point it out, nay, chase it out of the corners and poke it until it giggled.

I caught up with Shylock. “That bit with the boatman was rather Old Testament,” said I.

He wheeled on me, stopped, and assumed the posture of one about to lecture. I had seen it before. Everywhere. “Since the time we were first chosen, Lancelot, suffering has been the lot of our people, but still, we must take our lessons from the prophets. And what do we learn from the story of Moses confronting the pharaoh? When Moses did call down the ten plagues upon the Egyptians? What do we learn from this, young Lancelot?”

“As plagues go, frogs are not so bad?” I was raised in a nunnery. I know Testaments Old and New.

“No, what we learn is,
do not fuck with Moses!
” He patted my arm. “Come.”

I found that suddenly I quite liked the old Jew. I felt bad at the suffering that was about to befall him, even, perhaps, by my hand. By keeping it to myself, was I turning on my tribe?

A handsome young merchant wearing a purple cravat hailed Shylock, waved him to come into an archway where a group of men were gathered.

“Bassanio,” said Shylock. “He came to me as an agent for Antonio, who would borrow money. You know this Antonio, Lancelot?”

“I know of him.”

“Ah. Yes. Know this. I do hate him with all my being and I would have him undone. Does this shock you?”

“No, signor,” said I. “I am sure he has given you reason for your ire.”
Having somewhat to do with his being a massive festering twat!
I hastened to not add, lest I reveal my own substantial prejudice. Still, it appeared that Shylock and I were, indeed, brothers in arms, even if he did not know it.

We followed Bassanio into the arch, where Antonio held court with a group of young men. All seemed too tall or too light of hair to be Jessica’s Lorenzo. The merchant was dressed in higher finery than his companions, silks and damask—higher finery, I thought, than appropriate when about to ask an enemy for a loan. I kept my eyes to the ground, my hat covering most of my face. If discovered, I could make no escape on the chopines, and I’d never be out of them in time to elude Antonio’s entourage, but by God’s cloud-cushioned balls, I would slash the fish knife across the inside of Antonio’s thigh before I went down, and he would watch his fine hosiery spoilt as his life ran between the pavers in red rivulets. But there were three men to undo, three on whom to wreak revenge, so better the knife stay nested in its sheath of rags in Jessica’s boot, which I wore as well. (Yes, I have small feet. The rest is myth. No one finds you clever.)

“Antonio,” said Shylock, with a nod. “You do not borrow. I heard you say it when you denounced my business.”

“I never do, Shylock, for myself. But I break custom to supply the ripe wants of my friend. Did he tell you the amount?”

“Aye, three thousand ducats.”

“For three months,” marked Antonio.

“Yes, yes, for three months. I had forgotten. But word is on the Rialto that all of your fortunes are at sea. You have an argosy bound for Spain, another in the Black Sea, and a third bound for Egypt. All subject to the temper of the sea and attacks from Genoans and pirates. I should bear your risk without reward? Yet you have called my charging interest evil.”

“Charge what you will. My ships and fortunes shall all be returned within two months, a month before my bond is forfeited.”

“Three thousand ducats; tis a good round sum,” said Shylock, stroking his beard in thought.

“Tis a sick elephant’s shitload,” I whispered. “Are you daft?”

“Shhhhhh, boy,” said Shylock.

“Sorry,” said I. They’d all looked to me when I spoke, even Antonio, and there was no spark of recognition in his eye, nor did he see the fire in mine. His gaze stopped at the shore of my outfit and “Jew” was all he saw. Unworthy of a second look. I began to fancy my yellow hat.

Shylock said, “Signor Antonio, many a time in the Rialto you have berated me about my moneys and my usances. Still, have I born it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever and cutthroat dog, and spit upon my Jewish gabardine, and all because I use what is mine own.”

Shylock threw his arms out as if receiving a revelation and continued, “Well now—now it appears you need my help. You say, ‘Shylock, we would have moneys.’
You
say this.
You,
that did spit upon my beard and kick me as you might kick a stray dog in your threshold. What should I say to you? Should I not say, ‘Hath a dog money? Is it possible a cur can lend three thousand ducats?’

“Or should I bend my knee, and with the bated breath of a slave, say to you, ‘Oh, fair sir, you spit on me Wednesday last. You spurned me another day. Another you call me dog, and for these courtesies, allow me to lend you moneys?’ Should this I say?”

Antonio had been backed against the wall as Shylock spoke, as if the old Jew was pissing on his shoes the whole time he spoke and the merchant avoiding the stream. Now he came forward.

“And I am likely to call thee dog again, to spit on thee again, to spurn thee again. If you will lend this money, lend it not as a friend, but to an enemy, and should I break my bond, take relish in exacting your penalty.”

Shylock smiled and waved his hand as if dismissing the whole exchange, even as if Antonio’s anger was a gnat born of imagination. “Listen to you, how you storm. I would be your friend, good Antonio.” Another smile, as if the hatred hurled between them had been but a vapor. I relaxed in my own anger for a moment, for it was apparent, even if only to me, that Shylock was the master of this deal. “I will loan you your three thousand ducats, for three months, and take no interest for my moneys, and you may say that I have forgiven your offenses and shown you kindness.”

“There
is
kindness in his offer,” said Bassanio.

“Yes,” said Shylock. “Now, go with me to a notary and there seal your bond. My servant has my papers here. And for merry sport, to mark our friendship, if you do not repay me on a certain day, let us say that you shall forfeit—”

“His Johnson!” said I, somewhat surprised I had spoken.

“A moment,” said Shylock, holding up a finger to mark his place. “I would have words with my servant.” He put his arm around me and walked me away.

“Are you mad?” whispered Shylock.

“Saw off his knob with a dull knife while he screams for mercy,” said I, rather more loudly than Shylock’s conspiratorial tone suggested was appropriate. This bit was not so surprising to me, but in for a penny . . .

“You, boy, will be silent and carry my papers and let me do my business.”

“But—”

“I know you are not who you say you are,” whispered Shylock. “Would you have me tell
them
?”

“Proceed,” said I, bowing and waving him back into the fray.

“Ha!” said Shylock, returning. “The boy can be simple. I employ him as a kindness to his poor blind father. Now, Antonio, as I was saying, my moneys, with no interest, for three months, but as a jest, should you not repay me upon the date, let us say that I, take, uh—” Shylock again spooled his hand as if trying to reel in an idea floating above. “A pound of flesh, cut from your body, from a place of my choosing.” The smile.

Antonio laughed, threw his head back. “Yes! I’ll seal such a bond, and say there is much kindness in the Jew.”

“No!” said Bassanio. “You shall not seal such a bond for me. I’d rather do without the lady.”

“Fear not, my good friend.” Antonio squeezed Bassanio’s shoulder and his hand lingered there as he whispered, but loudly enough for us all to hear. “I will repay the debt a month before the bond is due and we shall all have a good laugh at the Jew’s frivolity.”

“Yes, boy,” said Shylock. “What value is a man’s flesh to me? Surely not that of a beef, or goat, or mutton. There is no profit in this for me, but only a gesture of good faith from Antonio. How say you, good Antonio?”

“Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. Lead on.”

Shylock grinned, then quickly assumed his visage of serious business and trudged away, Antonio behind him. The entourage moved away from the wall in turn and I fell in beside the tallest.

“Tell me, friend. Is one of you gentlemen called Lorenzo?”