Barefoot children ran in and out of darkened homes, watching them and calling excitedly to one another. Women stood idly in the doorways, gazing at them with piqued curiosity, many smiling through the gauzy filter of old memories. Young men stiffened, some smiling, others raising their chins, their eyes growing hot with undefinable defiance, a sense of invasion. They were all near enough to feel, close enough to reach out and touch, and in many of their faces Condley could see the temptation to do just that.

A shirtless, ageless man in shorts and plastic sandals smiled at Dzung from one little table, where he was nursing a glass of tea and dragging on a cigarette. Deep red burn scars covered half his face and much of his chest. Shrapnel had cupped away part of one calf muscle. Old scratches of tattoos garnished his forearms. He waved comfortably to Dzung. Dzung called to him and waved back, then leaned forward to Condley.

“My friend. Airborne soldier, very good! He fight for my father, five years.”

The cyclos shook and clattered along the broken concrete road. It was so narrow that they could no longer travel side by side. Condley heard Muir call nervously from behind him.

“Brandon, honestly, I have to call Hawaii before the office closes. Shouldn’t we be getting back?”

Children were following them, some calling out to them. “Hello! Hello! What’s your name?” Condley waved back, to their delight answering in Vietnamese. They had become a chattering, laughing entourage.

Condley turned back to Dzung. “Is your house far away?”

Dzung smiled, moved by the honor Condley was about to bring to his family. “Close.” He hesitated for a moment, knowing that in the tradition he should offer but afraid of losing face if he had misunderstood Condley’s intentions. “Cong Ly, you come my house? I show you my new baby.”

“Duoc,” answered Condley. “I would like that.”

Dzung again called to Luong, his voice now electric with excitement. In less than a block they turned once more, the trail of children merrily following them, and were on the broken concrete lane that led to Dzung’s home. After another thirty yards Dzung suddenly stopped, dismounting from his cyclo.

“My house,” he said, smiling shyly and gesturing to Condley’s left toward a dark entranceway that held no door.

Condley climbed out of his seat and tested his legs after the jouncing ride. He pushed through a flock of chattering children, making his way to Muir, twenty feet behind. An even larger crowd was gathering as Dzung’s whole neighborhood poured into the narrow alleyway. The older people with memories of the past stared incredulously, as if Condley and Muir had washed up on an isolated beach.

Muir clung to the rails of his cyclo, viewing the crowd as a dangerous mob. Condley reached him, pulling an arm and patting him on the shoulder.

“Easy, big fellow. These are our people.”