The Serpent of Venice

“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?”

“No, Jew, but Lorenzo is a friend of ours. Why do you seek him?”

“I have a message for him.”

“We are meeting him tonight at Signora Veronica’s. You can tell me.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” said I. “I must give the message only to Lorenzo in person.”

“I am Gratiano, close friend of Lorenzo. Ask anyone, they will tell you that we are as brothers.”

“I cannot,” said I.

>

Gratiano bent in closely and whispered, “I know about Lorenzo and the Jew’s daughter.”

I nearly stumbled and fell off my chopines. “Fuckstockings, can no one keep a bloody secret in this steaming piss pot of a city?”

Jessica was not going to be at all pleased with her new slave.

*This actually happened in York in 1190.

†Clueless.

‡Great Britain.

NINE

Two Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety-nine Golden Ducats

I followed Shylock down walkways along narrow canals to the landing at St. Mark’s Square, where we would catch a ferry home, across the tronchetto. Since we’d left the notary with Antonio’s signed bond, Shylock had not said a word about knowing who I was. I was carrying a small cask of wine, and although it was not terribly heavy, keeping balanced on Jessica’s platforms was some challenge.

“So,” said I. “Just chopping random bits off a bloke, something you Jews do a lot then?”