Page 32 of City of Stone and Silence

“You saved my life.”

“Let’s not be dramatic,” I say, looking at the table. “Even if they’d taken you in, I’m sure your family would—”

“Nobody knows I’m here,” he says. “Certainly not my father. He’d have me beaten black and blue if he found out.”

“Well. I’m glad I saved you a beating, then.”

“It’s not just that. I—”

The server chooses that moment to reappear, getting down on her knees beside the low table to ask for our order. This appears to throw Garo completely off stride, so I intervene. I order two portions of each of my favorites: soup dumplings, crispy fish rolls, and the sort of fried pork dumplings that the street vendors charmingly refer to as “dead mice” for their vaguely rodent-like shape. Garo looks on as though I’m performing some great feat of scholarship, and leans forward over the table after the server leaves.

“Sorry,” he says again. “This is all a little new to me.”

“What is?”

He waves a hand. “You know. All of this.”

“Restaurants?” I say it half-jokingly, but he gives an earnest nod.

“At home we’d be served in our chambers, or in the hall if we had guests.” He looks around at the other patrons. “Do you know when we’re supposed to pay? Is it before we eat, or after?”

“After.” I stare at him for a moment. This is the point at which Isoka would say rotting aristos, especially if she thought I wasn’t listening, but I’m more bemused than anything. Obviously, I didn’t go out to restaurants with Ofalo, but … “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a fair question, I suppose.” He sighs. “What I want to be doing is the same thing as you. I think.”

“What do you think that is?”

“Doing something for these people.” He lowers his voice again. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You work at the hospital.”

“I do,” I say, cautiously.

“Back home everyone talks about helping the people. My friends do, anyway.” He shakes his head. “A bunch of … of rich layabouts, sitting in silk robes eating off silver plates, wondering how they can help. Every so often they’d find some beggar who the servants had vetted to make sure he was clean and worthy, and make a great show of sending him off with a bag of gold. Then everyone would congratulate each other.” Garo takes a deep breath. “I may be … inexperienced, but I know that isn’t going to solve any problems.”

I nod. We pause, for a moment, as a pair of servers lay the table with wooden plates covered in steaming dumplings. Garo looks intrigued, and grabs a soup dumpling immediately.

“You want to wait a little bit,” I say, “or—”

He gives a squeak as he bites into it, and I sigh.

“Or you’ll burn yourself.” I pour him a cup of tea. “Here.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Again.”

“So,” I say. “Why are you and your First Ward friends so worried about people down here?”

“I…” He looks worried. “For some of them it’s … fashionable, I suppose. You know, the sort of thing people talk about at dinner.”

“For the sake of argument, assume that I don’t,” I say, fighting back a grin.

“It’s like … the Plight of the People.” I can hear the capital letters. “The Moral Decay of Modern Society. And how it’s our duty to Give Back, and to Lead by Example.” He squares his jaw. “I used to laugh at all that, you know. When I was younger. But then I started reading about what actually happens down here! Families crammed into tenements, thick with fleas, nothing but rice and weak soup for dinner.…”

He trails off, and I realize my incredulousness must show in my expression.

“Of course,” he says, looking down at the table. “You must think I’m ridiculous.”

“I don’t.” Not entirely, anyway. I take a few moments to sort through my feelings.

What I want to say is, it’s so much worse than you can imagine. Where I grew up, people killed one another over a half bowl of rice, or a place to sleep, because that rice or a bunk in the warm for a night could mean the difference between making it through another winter or not. Every spring, when the snow melted, we’d find street kids in the alleys, frozen as hard as icicles.