Free The Venetian by Mark Tricarico Page A

“Surely…”
    “Very little has changed,” Chaya finished for him.
    “The truth is,” Bercu interjected, “that we do not know from one day to the next how the Republic will feel about us. We have been expelled from Venice on numerous occasions, treated like enemies, only to have the edict later revoked when our particular talents are required. It is not a way of life which,” Bercu glanced over to his daughter who seemed far away, “we can…embrace.” He smiled ruefully. “It is however the life we are apparently fated to live, and so we must do what we can.”
    “I’m sorry. I did not know.”
    “Ah,” Bercu waved away Paolo’s apology. “It is not for you to be sorry. We serve a purpose you see. The alliance between the Republic and its citizens has been an uneasy one. Popular hostility has historically been directed at the State, however the Jews have proved to be able deflectors of that anger. We seem to efficiently absorb the resentment reserved for our rulers and are thus…valued by them.” A sardonic smile graced his lips. “And so.” There seemed little need to complete the thought.
    “But,” he brightened, “we do perform an essential role in maintaining Venice’s position as the finest trading partner in the world. No other group has been more instrumental in the opening of new trading possibilities, especially with the Ottoman Empire. And,” Bercu raised a finger, “the widespread availability of credit brought by the Jews has also lessened poverty throughout the Republic to a great degree. While we will never be acknowledged for this, we can still be proud of it.”
    “No good deed goes unpunished,” mumbled Chaya.
    “Some say that Jews are too aggressive in business,” Paolo countered, playing the other side. He didn’t like the idea of believing things that were not true, of being duped. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of what had passed for truth for so long. Too many of his illusions had been shattered already.
    “Yes, many do indeed say this. The State places a heavy tax burden on Jews, far more than any other group. To be, as you say, aggressive in business, is the only way we can meet such a burden.” Bercu smiled wearily. It was a funny thing, to feel something so desperately in the marrow of your bones and yet be unable to make another understand. He doubted that Paolo would ever grasp it, and Bercu had no such expectation. They were from two different worlds, only occupying the same space. The words he spoke to Paolo were just that, words to a young man, but to Bercu each word represented a real moment in time, moments when strung together formed a life lived in fear and uncertainty.
    They were trapped Paolo realized, and he was beginning to feel a little of that himself, as though he were being slowly maneuvered into a dark corner. Nothing too obvious however, just a notion, like a faint breath on the back of one’s neck but no one there when you turn.
    “My friend Yosef,” Bercu said, “he runs a pawnshop, as do I. The only manner of business we are permitted outside of moneylending. His pawnshop, all pawnshops, must be located in a street not too central or busy. This is so noblemen might feel more comfortable about entering to do business with us.”
    Chaya was watching her father now, a curious look on her lovely features. Paolo sensed that Bercu was a man who rarely let those he loved witness his troubles, making light of his burden even as it slowly crushed him. He could feel the sadness of the man.
    “We serve a noble purpose,” he said, “yet we are not allowed to exist.”

Eleven
    T he stench of the canal was suffocating and only darkened Francesco’s already bitter mood, the rot he smelled making him think of what he was doing. How very maudlin . He was a man of the world on the brink of history and had no time for such foolishness. He would leave right and wrong to the philosopher poets who endlessly debated the soul of man while gnawing on their