“You are late,” said Manh, lighting a cigarette. He held his cigarette all the way down between his first two fingers next to the palm, and pushed his palm against his chin when he took a drag. He looked as though he had copied his smoking style from the villain in an old movie, in order to make him look mysterious.

“I had a customer,” answered Dzung blandly. “One hour, one dollar. I needed the money.”

“When you are summoned by the Interior Ministry you are expected to report immediately,” said Manh. “Or maybe you think your time is more valuable than mine?”

“You are paid a salary either way,” shrugged Dzung. “What else do you have planned today, other than interrogating me?”

Manh’s eyebrows lifted, as if he were confirming an unspoken suspicion. “Your records from the camps indicate that you are frequently insolent.”

“It was only an hour,” sighed Dzung, knowing what was coming. “I made ten thousand dong. Not even a dollar, actually. Not enough to buy shoelaces for your pretty leather shoes.”

Manh stiffened in his chair, an indication that the formalities were over. “You should not be speaking to me like this!” He touched the telephone on his desk, a threat. “Your attitude disturbs me. It indicates that you learned very little in the camps. I can have you sent back with one phone call. Do you doubt that?”

Dzung forced a conciliatory smile. The Game had begun, and he was very adept at playing it. “Then let me apologize, Manh. I know that if I were to show you disrespect I would be insulting the revolution. And I have come to terms with the revolution.”

Manh seemed immediately pleased. He stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray, then lit another one as he flipped through the hundreds of pages that Dzung knew made up his own personal file.

“You are smart,” said Manh, indulging Dzung. “You went to college.”

“Da Lat,” smiled Dzung with small irony. His face lit up with a passion that was more a remembrance than an actual emotion, a dim light from long ago. “It was an excellent education. Very good training. Tactics. Leadership. Engineering. English. That’s why I make such a good cyclo driver.”

“Yes,” said Manh, knowing Dzung was being sarcastic. Da Lat had produced the old regime’s best military leaders. Its graduates were despised by the communist government. “So we are both very smart. And after reading your file I am even willing to admit this, Dzung. You are probably smarter than I am.”

A pulse of defiance charged through Dzung, despite his position of forced humility. He couldn’t hold it back. He smiled. “How would I know, Manh? Perhaps you should show me your file. But you know that many people on the street believe those who work for the government are stupid.”