Trapped in his little bubble, Dzung felt strangely free. He thought for a long time about the way the rain had smelled, musty and alive, where it mixed with the river behind the porch of his childhood home, and then of the young foreigner who yesterday rode with him for an hour and did not pay him, and finally of how every day his smallest child faded further from him, slowly, slowly dying. But he could change none of these things. So mostly he thought of how pure and safe he felt inside the canopy as the rain washed over and around him.

Cong Ly was back. A taxi had taken him to the hotel from Tan Son Nhat airport late last night. The word had gotten out on the street early that morning, passed along among the hustlers and cyclo drivers, letting Dzung know that his well-paying friend was once again in Sai Gon. And so Dzung had posted himself across from Condley’s hotel three hours before, on duty just as surely as if he were standing watch in a foxhole during the war.

Finally the rain left the city, with the same suddenness that had marked its arrival. The sky brightened and the sun began to bake the streets. The cars and motorbikes drove endlessly by, splashing through fresh puddles. The hustlers and the hawkers emerged from their hideouts, calling and laughing to one another, comparing how deeply they had been soaked. Dzung unbuttoned his canopy and folded it back as if emerging from a cocoon. Then he sat again on the seat and lit a cigarette, silently watching and waiting.

In a few minutes he saw a small commotion at the hotel’s front door. It was Condley, joking playfully with the doorman. Dzung brightened, tossing away his cigarette and jumping down from his perch on the cyclo. He waved happily, with the bright face of a small child.

“Cong Ly! Cong Ly!”

“Hey, Dzung! Manh khoe khong?”

“Da, khoe! Khoe!” said Dzung, letting Condley know that things were fine. For otherwise, where would one begin?

Condley crossed the street, shaking his hand and slapping him on a narrowing shoulder. Dzung reversed the seat on his cyclo, patting it to indicate that it was dry, and gestured for Condley to climb aboard.

“Where we go today, Cong Ly?”

“I have to take a taxi.” Dzung’s face fell noticeably, as if he had just been fired. “Only for a little while,” said Condley. “I have to go to Thu Duc. Too far for you!”

“I can take you to Thu Duc!”

“No, on your cyclo that would take at least an hour each way. I need to be there very soon.”

Dzung nodded, accepting the limitations of his cyclo. “Why you go Thu Duc, Cong Ly?”

“I go to the golf course at Binh Trieu.”

Dzung started laughing. “Binh Trieu golf course no good, Cong Ly, you know that.”