“They claimed he was a communist, but he said he was neutral. That the old government was corrupt, and the slaughter had gone on too long. He said.”

“Maybe,” shrugged Dzung, looking around him a bit nervously as he pedaled, wishing to be done with Condley’s vocal speculation.

The air was terrible from Condley’s perch on the cyclo, filled with dust and slick with fumes. It was growing dark, with an equatorial quickness that always stunned him. The traffic had thinned as they left District One. They passed a hospital and then a school. Dzung was laboring now, his body leaning side to side, putting extra weight against the pedals as he worked his cyclo uphill through the traffic. A few minutes later Dzung turned onto the wide boulevard of Dien Bien Phu. The cyclo coasted a bit, enabling him to breathe more easily. Almost alone on this stretch of road, Dzung finally nudged Condley, with what he knew was a subtle, laughing taunt.

“So why you like his restaurant?”

“I don’t like his restaurant. But I have to make a report to Colonel Pham and he’s eating there tonight.”

“Colonel Pham,” chided Dzung, unable to hold back any longer. “He no good, Cong Ly.”

“He’s okay.”

“He VC,” said Dzung, reverting to the term for the communists that was used during the war.

“Yeah,” said Condley, “he’s VC. But he’s a good VC.”

“VC no good, Cong Ly. You know that.”

“He’s okay, Dzung. I’ve worked with him for three years now.” Dzung said nothing. “We found the body of an American soldier yesterday. In Quang Nam Province.”

“Very good, sir.”

“I am giving Colonel Pham the report.”

“I am happy for you.” Dzung paused a bit, thinking about it as he pedaled. “After you find all the Americans do you leave Viet Nam?”

Condley had never thought about that. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Then maybe you don’t find them all.”

Condley looked back and caught his friend grinning once again. He laughed, and then Dzung laughed too, in a way that only two former soldiers can laugh about the dead.

“They’re pretty hard to find, Dzung.”

“That’s true, sir. Or else you would have found all of them already. So please take your time.”

In the darkness Dzung turned suddenly into an alleyway that joined the boulevard. At the end of the tree-shrouded lane was an old French villa that had been turned into the Kieu Hoa restaurant. The Kieu Hoa was famous, one of the two or three most elaborate restaurants in all of Sai Gon. But Condley had to force back his bile as he dismounted from Dzung’s cyclo and started for the door.

Some memories never die, as hard as we try to smile them away.