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with a knowing smile.
    “I…I couldn’t take it. It’s almost all your money. You need it to start your new life. I couldn’t.”
    “ Stupido ! Oh, sorry, sorry. I get angry. But you and Teresa; the children. This is my new life. Do I need money to live this life? You give me home here. So, this money I must give to you.”
    “Terry would never accept it.”
    “Allen! You know you must never speak of this to Teresa. Money is problem of men.”
    “But how can you, when you know what the money is for?”
    “What for is money? It is so we can live together in my new life. So we live happy.”
    Again, Janus was left speechless by Joe’s offer. It wasn’t just the generosity of it. The man wasn’t judging Janus or the way he’d gotten himself into this situation. He had understood that if Janus was up all night worrying about it then it was a real and pressing need. The rest wasn’t his business. Janus wondered if a man could train himself to think this way.
    “If I said OK, if ...how long would it take you to get your hands on it?”
    “Allen. Money is in shoe box in my closet. Where do you keep your money?”
    Janus let out a short laugh that couldn’t conceal the tears that streamed out of his eyes, so he turned away again in embarrassment. Maybe it was the amount he had drunk that night; maybe it was because he was in truly desperate straits, but Janus realized that he was actually considering taking Joe’s life savings. That realization brought on a sickening feeling.
    He’d always been proud of his financial success, his professional achievements; of making sure his family had the best of everything. But he’d put everything at risk and now his best chance to avoid losing it all was this man who had so little to his name. For Joe to show such generosity was too much for Janus, so his reaction was only normal.
    Janus despised him more than he thought possible.
     
    August 29, 2037:
     
    Joe stood at the bay window, and thought of how strange it felt to finally be in Montreal. Teresa, Allen and the boys were all out for the day, as they always were during the week. Joe didn’t mind being alone in their large house, but knew he’d have to get out and explore his new city soon. Richard, their oldest son, had shown him how to use the local metro-buses, which seemed to run on an arbitrary schedule, and Teresa supplied him with a list of com numbers he could call if he ever got lost.
    But he certainly wasn’t about to step outside today, not with that filthy rain that looked like it was never going to stop. The noxious steam rose off the pavement in front of Allen and Teresa’s home like a poisonous cloud that threatened to kill anyone who stepped outside. Joe shivered and let his gaze wander down along the brown streaks that stained the glass, and his thoughts drifted to the gentle summer rain that once fell on Miramare, carried in on the warm breeze from the Adriatic.
    It had been three weeks since he’d moved, and Canada was taking some getting used to. He knew that when the wind blew north from the industrial city of Trieste the air in Miramare was as toxic as any major North American city. Nevertheless, the happier memories of his youth coloured any images which he retained, and it was sometimes an effort for him to remember that the country he’d fled was far from idyllic.
    Beside the pollution from which no country could escape, Joe’s native land was under the grip of black-shirted military policemen. He was saddened to find that Canada had its own military police, even if they wore nice suits and blended into the background. The surveillance cameras on every street corner meant that there was no need for security policemen to stay out in the foul air all day.
    Joe sipped at his tea, scalding hot the way he always drank it, although it lacked the honey he so loved. He watched as a garbage truck trundled down the street, the roar of its engines rattling the window-panes, its diesel fumes pouring