Caprisi stood. He touched each of the children on the head, as if blessing them, and then marched out. Field saw, as he passed, that he was upset and angry.
The American did not slow down until they were back at the rickshaw. “Do you see now?” he asked.
Field didn’t know how to answer.
“You see the great city we’re building? We’re always fucking congratulating ourselves on how marvelous it is . . .”
“Would it be any better if we weren’t here?”
“Don’t hide behind false moral choices, Field. At least it would be their city.” Caprisi sighed. “She was begging outside my apartment with all her children, looking even worse than tonight. Her husband is an addict and he stole some opium from one of Lu’s men, so if he’s found he’ll be executed. His family probably will, too, as a warning to others.”
“So you went to see Lu.”
“They’re small-fry, nothing to him. I said I would pay for what he had stolen.”
“But he said no?”
Caprisi nodded.
Field looked at his colleague, relief and regret threatening to swamp him. “I’m sorry.”
“After all that we’ve said, you doubted me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
Field crossed his arms defensively. “I was watching Granger on the telephone a couple days ago, after our first visit to the factory, and it suddenly occurred to me that if someone had called Lu to warn him that we were going to the factory—I mean if Granger had—then the operator would have made a record of it.”
“And?”
“The call came from your telephone.”
“And you think I made it?”
“Not anymore.”
“But you have thought that?”
Field said nothing for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You’ve been a friend to me—the only one who has—and I’m just so sorry.”
There was another uneasy silence. Then Caprisi took hold of Field’s hand, shaking it hard. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Field. That’s it now, all right?”
Field felt his heart flooding with relief and warmth. “That’s it.” They clasped each other in a bear hug, then stepped apart, awkward in their newly rediscovered affection.
“You know . . .” Caprisi stopped as a trolley full of night soil was wheeled past and they were both forced to take a step back. The smell, which caught at the back of their throats, hung in the air long after the cart had passed.
Whatever he had been going to say, the American thought better of it.
“What will become of them?” Field asked.
“Of who?”
“That family.”
“Does it matter?”
“To you.”
Caprisi said, “But does it
“If they’re lucky.” Field hesitated, his throat dry. “Lu says he has found homes for some of the children from the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage and takes them away . . .”
“And?”
“He must have found homes for them, mustn’t he? It’s not possible that he just . . . disposes of them?”
“Field, this city is run by big business for big business. They pretend it’s part of the empire when it suits them, and if you’re American or British, then fine, but anyone else . . . Look around you.” Caprisi shook his head. “You think they care what Lu does with his own kind? You think your uncle or the French actually care how many little boys Lu takes away and abuses and dumps in the canals? You think what he does with them would make them pause over their breakfast served on silver salvers for a single fucking second? What do you think would be happening to ten times that number if Lu didn’t fund the orphanages in the first place? You’ve seen people dying in the streets. What do you think happens to the children once they’ve gone?”
Caprisi’s voice had become hoarse with bitterness. He climbed into his rickshaw.
“Caprisi.”
“It is all right, Field.”
“No it’s not.”
