A conspiracy of paper: a novel - By David Liss Page 0,62

uncle only has your best wishes in his heart,” I attempted. “Did you enjoy the amusements of town with your late husband?”

“His trade with the East made it necessary that he be abroad for long periods of time,” she responded without emotion. “We spent only a few months in mutual company before he embarked for that voyage on which he was lost. But in that time, he showed himself, upon the issue of diversions, to be much of his father’s spirit.”

In my discomfort I found myself digging my thumbnail into my index finger. Miriam had placed me in a difficult position, and I wagered that she was too clever not to know it. I sympathized with her for her confinement, and yet I could hardly disagree with the rules set forth by my uncle.

“I can say from my own experience that London society is not always the most welcoming to members of our race. Can you imagine how you might feel were you to attend a tea garden, strike up a conversation with an amiable young lady, one you might wish for a friend, and then discover that she had nothing but the most contemptuous things to say on the topic of Jews?”

“I should seek out a less illiberal friend,” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand, but I saw by the diminished sprightliness of her eyes that my question had not left her unaffected. “Do you know, Cousin, that I have changed my mind, and desire a glass of that wine.”

“If I pour it for you,” I asked, “would that not be labor, thus breaking the Sabbath law?”

“Do you then think of pouring wine for me as labor?” she inquired.

“Madam, you have convinced me.” I stood and filled a glass, which I handed to her slowly, that I might watch her delicate fingers carefully avoiding all contact with my hand.

“Tell me,” she said after taking a measured sip, “how does it feel to return to your family?”

“Oh,” I said with an evasive laugh, “I do not feel myself to be returning so much as visiting.”

“Your uncle said that you prayed with enthusiasm this morning.”

I thought on how I had seen her watching me through the latticed gate. “Did you find my praying enthusiastic?” I inquired.

Miriam did not understand me or pretended not to. “It should have been very enthusiastic indeed if I could have heard you in the ladies’ gallery.”

“As I was feeling enthusiastic, I saw no reason the synagogue should not benefit from my mood.”

“I find you flippant, Cousin,” she said with amusement rather than annoyance.

“I hope you take it not amiss.”

“May I ask you a question of a rather private nature?” she asked.

“You may ask me what you like,” I told her, “so long as I may do the same.”

My comment was perhaps a bit ungentlemanly, for she paused for a moment and appeared uncertain of how to continue. Finally she offered an expression that was not so much a smile as a thoughtful pressing together of her lips. “I shall call that a fair bargain. Your uncle, as you know, is a very traditional man. He seeks to shelter me from the world. I do not enjoy being cloistered, however, and so I try to learn as best I can.” She was silent for a moment, contemplating either my words or the wine. “I was never told of the reason for your break with your father.”

I had rarely spoken of the details of my rupture with my family to anyone. Part of my desire to speak of it with Miriam had to do with a wish to form a bond of trust with her, but part of it was simply the need to speak about these matters. “My father had hopes that I would follow him into business, become a licensed broker like himself. Unlike my older brother, I was born here in England, which meant that I was a citizen and would be exempt from the alien taxes, and I would be able to own land. It made sense to my father that José should return to Amsterdam to manage family affairs there, and I should remain here. But I was not very skillful at doing what was expected of me as a child. I often found myself embroiled in street fights, as often as not with Gentile boys who had tormented us only because they misliked Jews. I cannot say why I was so inclined. Perhaps because I grew up without a