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‘I don’t know what to suggest, unless you are prepared to go into the city.’
    â€˜Is there a bus?’
    â€˜Number 42, but it doesn’t run on Sundays.’
    â€˜So we cannot in fact go into the city. And there is nowhere nearby where we can eat. And all the shops are closed. What then do you suggest we do?’
    The man’s features harden. He tugs at the dog’s lead. ‘Come, Bruno,’ he says.
    In a sour mood he heads back to the Centre. Their progress is slow, since the boy keeps hesitating and hopping to avoid cracks in the paving.
    â€˜Come on, hurry up,’ he says irritably. ‘Keep your game for another day.’
    â€˜No. I don’t want to fall into a crack.’
    â€˜That’s nonsense. How can a big boy like you fall down a little crack like that?’
    â€˜Not that crack. Another crack.’
    â€˜Which crack? Point to the crack.’
    â€˜I don’t know! I don’t know which crack. Nobody knows.’
    â€˜Nobody knows because nobody can fall through a crack in the paving. Now hurry up.’
    â€˜I can! You can! Anyone can! You don’t know!’

CHAPTER 5
    DURING THE midday break at work the next day he takes Álvaro aside. ‘Forgive me if I raise a private matter,’ he says, ‘but I am becoming more and more concerned about the youngster’s health, and specifically about his diet, which—as you can see—consists of bread and bread and yet more bread.’
    And indeed they can see the boy, sitting among the stevedores in the lee of the shed, munching dolefully on his half-loaf moistened with water.
    â€˜It seems to me,’ he continues, ‘that a growing child needs more variety, more nourishment. One cannot live on bread alone. It is not a universal food. You don’t know where I can buy meat, do you, without making a trip to the city centre?’
    Ãlvaro scratches his head. ‘Not around here, not around the docklands. There are people who catch rats, I have heard tell. There is no shortage of rats. But for that you will need a trap, and I don’t know offhand where you would lay your hands on a good rat trap. You would probably have to make it yourself. You could use wire, with some kind of trip mechanism.’
    â€˜Rats?’
    â€˜Yes. Haven’t you seen them? Wherever there are ships there are rats.’
    â€˜But who eats rats? Do you eat rats?’
    â€˜No, I wouldn’t dream of it. But you asked where you could get meat, and that is all I can suggest.’
    He stares long into Álvaro’s eyes. He can see no sign that he is joking. Or if it is a joke, it is a very deep joke.
    After work he and the boy make their way straight back to the enigmatic Naranjas. They arrive as the proprietor is about to let down the shutters. Naranjas is indeed a shop, as it turns out, and does indeed sell oranges, as well as other fruits and vegetables. While the proprietor waits impatiently, he selects as much as the two of them can carry: a small pocket of oranges, half a dozen apples, some carrots and cucumbers.
    Back in their room at the Centre he slices an apple for the boy and peels an orange. While the boy is eating these he cuts a carrot and a cucumber into slim cartwheels and lays them out on a plate. ‘There!’ he says.
    Suspiciously the boy prods the cucumber, sniffs it. ‘I don’t like it,’ he says. ‘It smells.’
    â€˜Nonsense. Cucumber has no smell at all. The green part is just the rind. Taste it. It’s good for you. It will make you grow.’ He eats half the cucumber himself, and a whole carrot, and an orange.
    The next morning he revisits Naranjas and buys more fruit—bananas, pears, apricots—which he brings back to the room. Now they have quite a stock.
    He is late for work, but Álvaro does not remark on it.
    Despite the welcome additions to their diet, the feeling of bodily exhaustion does not leave him.