Back outside a half hour later, he was surprised that Dzung was not waiting for him at his usual post under the shade tree just across the street from the hotel. He stood in front of the hotel for several minutes, chatting with the doorman, watching and waiting for Dzung. And then finally he began to walk toward the Rex.

He had walked less than a block when he saw Dzung pedaling toward him in the busy street, as always leaning gracefully side to side as he powered his cyclo in the midst of a stream of motorbikes and cars. Condley waved, catching Dzung’s eye, a small thrill filling his heart at the sight of his friend, just as it always did whenever he first returned to Sai Gon.

Dzung sat high in the seat and braked his cyclo, holding his right arm out and looking behind him to make sure he was not rear-ended by a careless Honda or a speeding taxi. Then he pulled onto the curb where Condley stood waiting for him. He managed a small smile, but Condley immediately saw the fresh lines that marred his friend’s face and the apprehension in his eyes.

“I was looking for you!” said Condley, climbing onto the seat of Dzung’s cyclo. “Dzung khoe khong?” he asked as he always did, wanting to know if his friend was doing well.

“Da, khong khoe, Cong Ly,” said Dzung, losing his forced smile and looking far off into an unknown horizon. It was the first time Dzung had ever said that he was not well. “My baby, he die already.”

“I’m very sorry.” Condley studied Dzung’s face for a moment, trying to read the depths of his sorrow. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Khong,” said Dzung immediately, snapping his head as if the very question had the impact of a stun gun. “Thank you very much, Cong Ly, but it is all taken care of.” He forced a smile back onto his face, pointing toward the road. “Where we go today, Cong Ly?”

“Are you sure?” asked Condley, still searching his friend’s face for clues. “Do you need money? Is your family all right?”

“No problem, Cong Ly.” Dzung fidgeted a bit, staring out at the road. “Everything copacetic,” he said, using a slang phrase from their shared, long-ago war. “Only I am very sad. Buon qua.” He worked up another smile. “So where we go?”

It was Sunday. The government offices were closed, but Condley had business to discuss. “We go to Colonel Pham’s house.” He gave Dzung a quick look, remembering the resistance of a few weeks before when he had first made that decision, but saw no sign of it now.

“Duoc,” said Dzung simply, his face expressionless again. And in seconds they were in the midst of a heavy flow of traffic.