He had arranged to meet Colonel Pham in the lobby for lunch. Walking downstairs into the huge, expansive lobby, he was surprised to see the colonel walking into the hotel on the arm of a young Eurasian woman. She was smiling happily, pointing here and there as she walked with the colonel, clearly enthralled by his presence. Her physical makeup was a wild, almost slapdash mix of Russian and Vietnamese—reddish hair over Asian eyes on a pale face that was wide and heavy-cheeked, a small, squat body that nonetheless carried itself on powerful Slavic legs.

Finally the colonel noticed Condley. He nudged the young woman, pointing excitedly, and walked quickly to Condley, all the while chattering to her in Russian. His face was beaming with pride.

“My youngest daughter,” he said. “This is Sasha.”

“I thought Van was your youngest daughter,” said Condley.

“Van is my youngest Vietnamese daughter,” answered Pham, looking oddly at Condley, as if the distinction should have been self-evident. “Sasha is the youngest of all my daughters.”

The young woman giggled delightedly, taking a step forward and offering her hand to Condley. She held his hand for a long moment, staring deeply into his eyes. Then she spoke a seductive, teasing sentence in Russian that caused the usually stoic colonel to burst into uncontrolled laughter.

“She says, you must marry her sister Van. Then maybe we can all come to America and live together with family-reunification green cards.”

“Let me check out the regulations on that for you,” teased a stunned but recovering Condley. “When we get back I’ll call Maria.”

“Who is Maria?” asked the colonel.

“My immigration expert.”

Condley looked at the girl with an almost morbid fascination. The colonel piercingly read his expression and grew serious again. “Her mother is dead now,” he said. “But while I was in Russia she was my . . . vo be,” he said, using the Vietnamese expression that meant a “lesser wife,” a title honored and accepted in the Vietnamese culture. “I was here by myself and so it was proper that I have another wife. Sasha’s mother accepted this reality. So did Van’s mother. There is no shame. No problem.”

“You must have missed her very much,” said Condley.

Pham nodded, speaking to Condley with a rare, deep emotion. “So, Cong Ly, now you know why I understand you. And yes, why I accept your emotions for my daughter Van. I lived in Moscow for five years, just as you lived in Sai Gon during the war. When I returned to Viet Nam I left behind people that I loved. I had to accept that I probably would never see them again. It took nothing away from my feelings for my family in Viet Nam or for my country, but I am forever torn in two. I am richer for it. But I will never be fully whole. Like you, Cong Ly. Never whole.”