55th Thread: My father’s trade
It was the first time he took me along. We walked down their busy street, which was lined with every variety of shops and boutiques. Finely dressed men took their hats off to him, bowed their heads when they crossed path. He said, ‘This is my daughter’. They bent towards me, patted my head:
‘What beautiful golden curls.’
As they walked on, he whispered:
‘This one is hoping for a loan from me.’ And: ‘I took most of this bitter old man’s customers away.’
The small girl was proud her father made such an imposing impression. His hair was dark, with a coppery shine, his nose straight, his cheeks wide. When he laughed, his teeth shone, strong and white, because they ate well. He could lift a keg with one hand, to impress his stevedores, as he needed not do any manual labor. He wore gold chains Over his blue velvet coat hung heavy gold chains. She held onto his hand for protection but out of pride too. Before they reached the sea, they stopped at a shop fragrant with exotic woods and essences. The merchant rushed from the backroom with a flurry of smiles and bows. Her father bent over the canvas bags, smelling and fingering spices as if he were performing a religious rite. He purchased them by the quintal, or so it seemed to me. As an afterthought, he bought me a little man made out of twigs. It looked as if it had been picked in a hedge but tasted sweet when chewed.
As soon as we left the shop, we ran into a bishop who preached occasionally at our parish church. My father kissed the prelate’s ring.
‘Bless my humble person, Your Excellency.’
‘I bless you, my son, but you will only find the favor of the Almighty when you renounce your impious commerce.’
While he was not as portly as my father, the bishop commanded respect with his dignified bearing and rich clothing. He was tall, slightly stooped, with short gray hair.
‘Your Sainthood, these women and children are pagans, I give them a chance to learn the true religion and get baptized.’
A faint smile appeared on the bishop’s face.
‘Of course, it goes without saying, you have most at heart the salvation of their souls. An offering to our patron saint will encourage him to support your pious efforts.’
‘With pleasure, Your Excellency, naturally.’
Having passed a few fishermen’s huts, we reached the harbor. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm:
‘You see, here stood just a small village, not so long ago. Look at the beautiful buildings we built thanks to our trade. Ships from all over the world dock at our new harbor.’
We walked along the quay of white marble until we reached a ship larger and better rigged than the others. As soon as my father arrived, a clerk came out of a warehouse to meet us. He took us aboard, and opened a hatch. Out came the pagans, chained to one another. They looked like animals, with their long, dirty hair, which the women wore loose down their backs. Children of every age hid behind them. There were no men, just a few young boys. The women’s necks were strangled by chains, their ankles caught in vices that scraped their skin. Bruises and scuffs showed through the holes of their clothes. While many were blond like me, I thought their slanted eyes and fleshy mouths coarsened their faces. My father pointed out two young women that were prettier. Clasping each other tightly, whether from fear or cold, they stared at me with an expression I could not make out. Was it despair or envy or malevolence?
‘I’ll only keep those two for my trade. The rest will be sold through another merchant. The slaves are prized chiefly as servants nowadays, they have become too expensive to use in the fields or in the docks.’
He approached the two young girls, made them stand up, turn around. He lifted their skirt to their thighs, squeezed their chests.
‘I’ll make a good profit with these hussies. If you like, I’ll give you a slave, a shy little girl you can order around.’
‘I don’t want a little girl, I want these two.’
He let out a great laugh that shook the silver coins in his pocket.
‘This is no merchandise for little girls! Their sale will contribute to your dowry, dear child. We would not want you to wed a beggar from the market, would we? You need a doge, or a prince! Or at least, the son of a notable, with a stable full of horses, and a beautiful brocade cape.’
But instead, he chose to marry me up country for a match that suited him best. And yet I prefer our isolated castle to the corrupt bustle of the harbor, even if I miss the sight of the sea.
Father gave his orders for the unloading of the slaves, then we left. He took hold of my small hand.
‘Are you happy now that you’ve seen my wares?’
‘No.’
