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“Lost. All lost except the court lady carved from ivory, which I found.”

“Why were your folks always losing things?”

He shrugged. “It was nobody’s fault.”

“Were they artists?”

“My mother was, of a kind. She worked with thread and needles on elaborate embroidered scenes. My father was a humble tailor. Your mother’s cookies go with tea.”

“So do these cakes,” I said, and took a third, though I didn’t really want it. The tea was better with honey, but it wasn’t Co-Cola.

“Your mother has great talent.”

“You’ve heard her sing?”

“Yes, at the club where she works.”

I couldn’t picture him in such a place. “You mean … Slinky’s?”

“That is correct. I only went there once. They wanted me to order alcoholic beverages. From time to time, as seemed required, I asked for a martini.”

“I think martinis are pretty potent.”

“Yes, but I do not drink. I paid for the martinis but left them untouched. For some reason, this disturbed the management. I felt that I should not go back again.”

Something about the way he spoke, the formality of his sentences and the lack of slang, was familiar to me, as if I’d known someone else who spoke in this manner, not stilted but with grave restraint.

“Did Mom see you at Slinky’s?”

“No. I sat in a corner table, far from the stage. I did not wish to intrude, only to listen. I am boring you.”

“No, sir. It’s pretty much the opposite of boredom. Where did you and your folks live in California?”

“First in Los Angeles. Later in a place called Manzanar.”

“Palm trees and beaches and always warm. I might want to live there when I’m grown up. Why did you leave?”

He was quiet, staring into his tea as though he could read the future in it. Then he said, “I was able to get work here. Work is life and meaning. Sloth is sin and death. At the end of the war, I was eighteen and needed work. I came here from California to work.”

“You mean World War Two?”

“Exactly, yes.”

I calculated. “You’re almost forty, but you don’t look old.”

Raising his stare from tea to me, he smiled. “Neither do you.”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“It sounded honest. Honest is good.”

I was blushing again, but still black, so he couldn’t know.

“Now I am boring myself,” he said. “I must be boring you.”

I thought maybe this worry about boring me was his way of politely putting an end to our visit, and I realized that I hadn’t even raised the subject that had inspired me to bring him cookies.

Looking at the ceiling, I said, “It’s so quiet here, so peaceful. I hope the new lady in Six-C doesn’t ruin your quiet.”