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to push funds provided by governments and NGOs to the user level. Using a personalized implantable chip, dubbed the ‘charity chip,’ each recipient has the power to access funds for necessary purchases such as food, clothing, and other basic needs while drastically reducing the overhead of the program.’ ” Doctor Barilla’s voice trailed off to an inaudible whisper as he read on.
    Julio finished storing the files and stood in front of the filing cabinet hoping Doctor Barilla would finish reading the article and explain it to him.
    “Fascinating,” said Doctor Barilla. “The program here in Lima is the prototype. If it works here, the UN wants to expand it to other countries.”
    “How will they know if it works?” asked Julio.
    Doctor Barilla slipped off his reading glasses and sat back in his chair. “I guess if they can help enough needy children from starving to death.”
    “How does it work?”
    “It looks like they put a chip in each of the children and then load the chip with money for food.” He put his glasses back on and moved close to the screen. “They have a name for it . . . the charity chip.”
    Julio wasn’t enamored with the idea of being implanted with a chip, but if meant that he could eat every day like he did last night, he might be willing. “Do you think I should go see Isak Blixt?” he asked.
    Doctor Barilla picked up the card from the desk and offered it to Julio. “It looks legitimate, but you can’t be too careful when it comes to dealing with these foreign parasites.”
    Julio took the card and shoved it into his pants pocket.
    “By the way, Julio, nice job with the sutures today. You’ll make a great surgeon someday,” he said with fatherly smile.
    Julio blushed and nodded. “Do you have any appointments tomorrow?” He knew that nobody made an appointment.
    “Appointments?” Doctor Barilla laughed. “Let me check my calendar.” He punched a few keys on the computer. “It appears my calendar is clear tomorrow.”
    “Since you don’t have any appointments tomorrow, maybe you can come with me to Caritas.”
    The smile left the doctor’s face. He reached for his coffee and took a big swallow. He leaned back in his seat and looked away. After a long pause, he let out a heavy sigh. “Julio, I am an old doctor with, shall we say, an unpleasant past.” He shook his head. “Anybody that knows my history will never take my questions seriously.”
    “Everybody in the neighborhood knows your history, and they still come to you.”
    “They come to me because they can’t afford to go anywhere else.”
    “I trust you.”
    Doctor Barilla sighed even deeper than before. “I don’t understand why, after what happened with your mother.”
    “It wasn’t your fault,” said Julio. Even though Julio and Raúl had lived in the unused floor above Doctor Barilla since the night Mamá had died, Julio had never told him those words. “She would have died anyway that night. There was nothing you could do.”
    Doctor Barilla looked at him in disbelief. Then his eyes clouded over and his bottom lip quivered slightly. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Julio. That is kind of you to say.”
    Julio shrugged. “So, will you come with me tomorrow?”
    Doctor Barilla smiled. “If I don’t have any patients tomorrow morning, I will go with you.” He sipped his coffee and added, “ Si Dios quiere. ”

C HAPTER F IVE
    La Calle
    (The Street)

    B y the time Julio got back upstairs he found two bags of picaras. Raúl had eaten everything else. He grabbed the cookies and shoved them into his backpack. He was glad he had taken the time to help Doctor Barilla, but now he felt anxious, like he was behind schedule. Two bags of cookies wouldn’t be enough food for the day. He needed to hit the streets.
    He grabbed his backpack and skateboard and hurried down the stairs. The metal door scraped against the uneven concrete as he shoved open the door, and he was greeted by typical winter