The Moors Last Sigh

devices failed, his desperation was so great that he was obliged to come, grinning mightily, to plead with his maddened mother. – For what? – What else? Her treasure chest.

    Abraham swallowed his pride and came a-begging, which in itself told Flory all she needed to know about the strength of her hand. He had made a boast he could not make good; spinning-straw-into-gold, that kind of old-time stuff; and was too proud to admit his failure to his in-laws, to tell them they must mortgage or sell off their great estate. They gave you your head, Abie, and see, here it is on a plate . She made him wait a little, but not too long; then agreed. Capital needed? Jewels from an old box? Then OK, he could take. All speeches of gratitude, explanations of temporary cash-flow problems, disquisitions upon the especially persuasive properties of jewels when sailors are being requested to risk their lives, all offers of interest and pecuniary profit were waved away. ‘Jewels I am giving,’ Flory Zogoiby said. ‘A greater jewel must be my reward.’
    Her son failed to grasp her meaning. Certainly, he radiantly vowed, she would receive full recompense for her loan, once their ship came in; and if she preferred to receive her share in the form of emeralds, then he would undertake to select the finest stones. Thus he babbled; but he had entered darker waters than he knew, and beyond them lay a black forest in which, in a clearing, a little mannikin danced, singing Rumpelstiltskin is my name  … ‘This is by-the-by,’ Flory interrupted. ‘Return of loan I do not doubt. But for so risky an investment only the greatest jewel can be my prize. You must give me your firstborn son.’
    (Two origins have been suggested for Flory’s box of emeralds, family heirloom and smugglers’ hoard. Setting sentiment aside, reason and logic recommend the latter; and if they are right, if Flory was speculating with the gangsters’ stockpile, then her own survival was in doubt. Does it make her demand less shocking that she risked herself to gain the human life for which she asked? Was it, in fact, heroic?)
    Bring me your firstborn  … A line from legends hung between this mother and this son. Abraham, aghast, told her it was out of the question, it was evil, unthinkable. ‘Wiped that stupid smile off your mouth, Abie, didn’t I?’ Flory grimly asked. ‘And don’t think you can grab the box and run. It is in another cache. You need my stones? Give me your eldest boy; his flesh’n’skin’n’bones.’
    O mother you are mad, mother. O my ancestor I am much afeared that thou art stark raving nuts. ‘Aurora is not expecting as yet,’ Abraham muttered weakly.
    ‘Oho-ho Abie,’ giggled Flory. ‘You think I’m crazy, boy? I’ll kill and eat him up, or drink his blood, or what? I am not a rich woman, child, but there is enough food on my table without consuming family members.’ She grew serious. ‘Listen: you can see him when-when you want. Even the mother can come. Outings, holidays, these also are OK. Only send him to live with me so I can do my level best to bring him up as the thing you have ceased to be, that is, a male Jew of Cochin. I lost a son; I’ll save a grandson at least.’ She did not add her secret prayer: And maybe, in saving him, rediscover a God of my own .
    As the world fell back into place, Abraham, in the dizziness of his relief, the great hunger of his need, and the absence of an actual pregnancy, acquiesced. But Flory was implacable, wanted it in writing. ‘To my mother, Flory Zogoiby, I hereby promise my firstborn male child, to be raised in the Jewish ways.’ Signed, sealed, delivered. Flory, snatching the paper, waved it above her head, picked up her skirt and capered in a circle by the synagogue door. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven … I stay here on my bond . And for these promised pounds of unborn flesh she delivered Abraham her wealth; and, paid and bribed by jewels, his last-chance argosy set sail.
    Of these privy matters, however, Aurora was not informed.

    And it came to pass that the ship was brought safely to port, and after it another, and another, and another. While the world’s fortunes worsened, the da Gama-Zogoiby axis prospered. (How did my father ensure his cargo’s protection by the British Navy? Surely it is not being suggested that emeralds, contraband or heirloom, found their way into Imperial pockets? What a bold stroke that would have been, what an all-or-nothing