“Kill the Jews! Burn the Ghetto! Drive the dogs into the sea!” Córdoba had become a giant mouth, vituperating and threatening the Jews. “Kotikokura, before long, there will be much slaughter here. We must seek fairer shores. Come!”

THE snow fell leisurely, in tiny flakes like confetti. The sun shone, but a little dimly like an eye opening after sleep. The bells of all the churches rang. The people threw their hats into the air, shouting: “Long live the King!” A regiment of infantry preceded by officers on horseback passed by, laughing and calling their women. Children turned little wooden toys that made a deafening noise.

We entered a wine-shop crowded with people.

“What say you, Magister, to the notion that the earth is round and that we can reach the Indies by water?”

The Magister, an old shriveled up individual, toothless and almost gumless, piped: “Nonsense! There is nothing about it in Aristotle.”

“But Marco Polo, Magister, claims– —”

“Who is Marco Polo? Who is anybody? Aristotle never said that the earth is round!”

“Cristóbal Colón is pledging his head and the heads of all his sailors– —”

“Nonsense!”

“They say that the Queen is willing to sell her jewels to finance his wild expedition.”

“Women are always credulous.”

“If it prove true, Spain will become the richest nation in the world, rivaling Rome in the days of her greatest glory.”

“If—If—” the Magister repeated. “I have always taught my pupils to detest that word! The earth is flat. Aristotle– —”

A Jew entered. He was short, stout, and breathed heavily through his mouth. His beard, the color of carrots, sprinkled with threads of white, did not hide his heavy sensuous lips. His eyes, small and deeply set, shone like beads which supplant the lost luminaries of stuffed birds. His kaftan was threadbare and covered with grease spots.

“The Jew! The Jew!” a few called out.

“Make him eat pork.”

“Give him the cross to kiss—the circumcised dog!”

“Put him on the rack!”

One of the soldiers pulled the Jew’s beard. The other spat in his face. The Jew wiped himself and remained unperturbed.

The Innkeeper seemed unusually cordial to him.

“Give me another month’s time, Abraham. I could not get the money together. What with the wars, and my wife’s sickness– —”

Abraham waved his hand. “I know. I know. I have not come for that. I am looking for two merchants that have recently arrived in Granada.”

“Two merchants?”

Abraham espied us.

“They look like foreigners, do they not?” he asked the Inn keeper.

The Innkeeper nodded. “Yes. With all the crowd here, I did not notice them.”

“Will you ask them to be good enough to meet me outside?”

Abraham walked out. The Innkeeper came over. “Señores,” he whispered, “the Jew who has just been here—he is the richest merchant in Granada—begs to speak to you. He is waiting outside.”

“Very well.”

Abraham bowed several times, his small stubby hands upon his belly.

“Welcome, señores, to Granada. Welcome! Welcome!”

He reminded me of Don Juan’s parrot.

“The gentlemen come from a long journey, do they not?”

“Yes, a very long journey.”

He rubbed his hands. They produced no noise, as if they had been oiled.

“India?” he asked, smiling obsequiously.

“Yes.”

“Ah, how fortunate am I to have the honor of speaking to gentlemen who come from India! Was the trip very long?”

“Very long.”

“And dangerous too, I presume.”

I nodded.

He clicked his tongue. “How much courage is required to travel! How many are lost on the way!”

I nodded.

“Marco Polo tells such terrible things, señor—but such marvels, too.”

“I have not read his book.”

“No? Is it possible? ‘Mirabilia Mundi’ he calls it. I have not read it either. It is written in Latin. We are allowed to read only the holy language, señor. But a friend of mine, a bishop– —” he grinned, “he owes me some money—related Marco Polo’s adventures to me.”

I looked at his boots, torn and muddy up to his knees. He smiled, raising his palm. “We must not judge by appearances, señor. But ask about Abraham in Granada, and outside of Granada—and you will hear what you will hear.” He pulled my sleeve. “I do business even with Her Majesty, the Queen.” He walked away a step or two, and bowed. He approached again. “With Her Majesty.”

“Indeed?”

“I do not mean that I go to the palace or that I am invited to the royal banquets.” He laughed. His teeth were yellow and long as wisps of hay. “But I supply the money. I am not such a rich man. But I can manage. It is not easy, but I can manage. A nobleman transacts the affairs with Her Majesty and I supply the money.”

The snow ceased falling. The sun shone like a newly gilded platter. Soldiers and civilians, arm in arm, vociferated their joy, now considerably augmented by Bacchus.

“Señor,” Abraham said suddenly, “come with me. Away from the crowd. I have a proposition which I am sure will interest you. Only who can speak in this noise? Will you come, señor? I know a small wine-shop where we can speak at leisure.”

“I am not particularly interested in the business.”

“Of course, señor. But if something wonderful is presented to you.”

I deliberated for a few moments. “All right, let us go.”

He tried to keep pace with me; his large flat feet kept at a wide angle, stamped the ground like the flapping of a giant bird’s wings.

The wine-shop was a dingy place in a cellar. The proprietor, a Jew whose face was overshadowed by his enormous nose, bowed so low to us that I feared he would strike his head against the stone floor.

We entered a small room. Abraham ordered wine and instructed the proprietor not to permit anyone to disturb us.

Abraham filled the cups.

“You will like the wine, señor. It is very old. You cannot find a better vintage in Granada. The scoundrel charges me enough good money for it.”

Abraham smacked his lips and rubbed his hands. “So! Now we can talk better.”

“What, in short, is the business in which you would like to interest me, Abraham?”

“A gentleman’s time is very valuable, I know, and life is too short to spend in such company as mine. I shall come to the point at once.”

I nodded.

“I do not know whether the earth is round or flat. What has Abraham to do with such matters? That he leaves to sailors and queens and wise people. Abraham must provide money—isn’t it so?”

I nodded.

“But he does not live in Zipangu where the chamber-pots—forgive the expression—are made of gold. He lives in Spain where even Her Majesty finds a lack of that beautiful metal. And if she finds a lack of it, why should not Abraham?”

I nodded.

“Well, your time is precious, señor, and I am jabbering away. Well—this is the business: Her Majesty—may she prosper forever—wishes to sell her jewels that a certain sailor or admiral, Cristóbal Colón, an Italian or a Portuguese, may buy enough boats and hire enough men to go to India by water.”

“By water?”

“He says that the earth is round and if a man travels far enough on the sea, he will reach the other side of the world. I do not understand it, but I know that the Queen’s jewels are worth many times the money asked for them. But there is not a man in Granada who has the required gold. The wars have impoverished everyone, señor—everyone.”

“What makes Cristóbal Colón think that the earth is round?”

“Who knows, señor? The Queen is convinced. That is sufficient. Besides, for more information about the matter, I can refer you to Don Ricardo in whose care the jewels are at present—provided, of course, you are really interested in the business and are able to furnish the funds.”