what the caffeine comes in. Coffee—that’s a given. Diet Coke—that’s how you separate out the true believers.”
Milada smiled. She wasn’t certain whether the boy was trying to be funny on purpose. The waitress returned and took their orders, picked up the menus, and left.
Troy toyed with his water glass, spinning it around on its coaster. “Not to get too personal, but do you consider yourself a religious person?”
“No,” Milada replied bluntly.
“You mean, you haven’t ever thought about, say, whether you existed before you were born, whether the soul continues after death—”
“Those are as much philosophical questions as religious questions.”
“Then do you consider yourself a philosophical person?”
Milada said again, “No.”
Troy gave her a guarded look. “Not even the purpose of life? Your place in God’s creation?”
“A long time ago, I spent a century thinking about it. Not any more.”
“And what conclusion did you come to?”
“The purpose of life is business.”
Troy raised his eyebrows.
“I am serious. Religion preaches values, ethics, love of your fellow man. But where do those virtues touch everyday life? Other than in our own homes? In commerce. Yes, we aspire to loftier pursuits—to art, music, literature. To the priesthood. To lives of charity and self-sacrifice. And how do we pay for them? What must we sacrifice at the end of the day? Not only our lives and honor, said Thomas Jefferson, but our fortunes. The Good Samaritan, when he asked the innkeeper to watch over the man he rescued along the road to Jericho, he left the man with an expense account.”
Troy objected. “But business by itself is hardly virtuous. Without a foundation of belief, isn’t life reduced to little more than a series of economic transactions?”
Milada nodded. “Yes, business is hardly virtuous. Neither am I. It is not the place to expect sainthood. Or even fair play. But it is the place to practice. Immediate gratification tempts. But patience rewards in the long term. That and the miracle of compound interest.” She smiled to herself. “Now, if you are looking for a more Manichean philosophy of life, I would have you ask Zoë.”
The waitress and busboy arrived with the dinners. The two set out the sushi and tempura, miso and rice. Troy thanked them in Japanese. The waitress grinned and bowed in return.
Milada cradled her miso bowl and sipped the hot, salty tea. She hadn’t tasted miso in a while. She had forgotten how much it reminded her of blood.
Troy dipped a slice of the sushi roll into the soy sauce. He used chopsticks with a practiced dexterity. “Zoë?” he said, picking up the thread of the conversation.
“The younger of my two sisters.”
“What does she think the purpose of life is?”
“Killing people she doesn’t like.”
The surprised look on his face was followed by a suspicious expression that his leg was being pulled. Milada shrugged. “She battles evil, if you like. Rather haphazardly. I agree, I can think of better occupations.”
“Is she a police officer or soldier or something like that?”
“Something like that.”
The sushi wasn’t bad, Milada thought.
“So you believe in evil then.”
“I believe people can be bad, can be cruel. Perhaps can be clever enough to be evil. But even the clever ones eventually end up against the wall like the Ceausescus. Or erased from history like the Gang of Four. Evil accumulates. It eats away at the core. It destroys its host. For evil to survive, it must find some good that justifies its existence. Some higher purpose—if nothing else, making the trains run on time—or else it collapses almost as soon as it begins. So kingdoms rise and fall. In the meanwhile, a well-run corporation outlasts any government. And most nations.”
“Which means you do or don’t believe in the devil?”
“I believe there is evil enough in ourselves. I’ve never met the creature myself. I have met a few of his foot soldiers. And in their time most were thought to be—and thought themselves to be—good and decent men.”
Troy nodded.
Milada said, “I knew someone once, a person who did evil with purpose and intent.” Briefly, she looked past Troy, through the window at the shadowed sidewalk, at a man and woman pushing a stroller, a boy coasting by on a skateboard. “She thought she was doing the right thing. Or perhaps was doing the only thing she could do. Or perhaps was merely frightened. Fear and ignorance are so easily confused in the moral imagination.”
They ate in silence until Troy asked, “What about God?”
“Were I to believe in God, a personal God, as Christians would have