Dzung’s face tightened with its own burden, the dread that had not left him since his first day at the shooting range with Manh. His eyes became intense, staring at the back of Condley’s head and imagining what it would look like if a bullet broke it apart. Was that what Manh wanted him to do? And despite his promise, could he really do it? He had things to say, but he could not bring himself to mouth the words. If he began he would be unable to stop, and if he said too much it would be all over. At least with his silence he still had options. Finally he compromised, muttering an avoidance. “Viet Nam no good for you, Cong Ly. No good. Maybe you should leave.”

“Thuong Viet Nam,” said Condley with a quiet passion, staring out at the broiling, chaotic streets. I love Viet Nam. “Thuong Viet Nam nhieu qua.” I love Viet Nam too much.

“No, Cong Ly. Too much trouble here. Just leave.”

“I have work to do, Dzung. You know that.”

“You do that work for a very long time. Maybe you go home, let somebody else do it now.”

“Home?” Condley chuckled, looking around him. “Maybe the Vien Dong is my home.”

“No, Cong Ly. I am sorry to say this, but you are not Vietnamese. Viet Nam will never be your home.”

Condley gave him a strange glance now. “You’re always asking me to stay.”

They had left Dien Bien Phu and were maneuvering slowly through broken streets and dead-end corridors, heading for Colonel Pham’s villa. Dzung removed his baseball cap and pushed his face into one shoulder and then the other, wiping sweat as he pedaled. He knew he had already said too much, and he did not want these thoughts on Condley’s mind as he met with the colonel. For if the colonel heard any part of them, who knew how they might be later communicated to Manh?

“You are my good friend. I only want you to be happy, Cong Ly. And sometimes I think Viet Nam is not a happy place.”

They had reached Colonel Pham’s villa. Condley stepped down from the cyclo and stood for a moment, looking deeply into Dzung’s face. Tragedy rested on it, as visible as the sweat that now poured down its hollows, gathering in Dzung’s already soaked T-shirt.

“Please tell your wife I am very sorry about your baby.”

“Cam on, Cong Ly,” said Dzung. And at that instant he knew he was safe, for Condley in his unending empathy had taken his words as nothing more than simple grief. “I wait here?”

Condley looked over the villa wall toward the house. Mrs. Pham was waving to him from her doorway. “Come back in an hour,” he said to Dzung. “If I’m not outside the gate waiting for you, just keep going.”