It was a bitter shot, and Condley knew it as he watched Dzung walk back across the street toward his cyclo. And both of them were still stinging from it when he returned an hour later.

Dzung pedaled Condley up Hai Ba Trung to Dien Bien Phu Street. It was a long journey through dense, noxious traffic. Dzung was sweating heavily. He did not seem happy. In fact, for the first time ever, Dzung seemed to be in a sulk. Condley, on the other hand, could barely restrain his excitement.

It was December, the month of chap ma, a time to look after the resting places of the dead. Only then could the living enjoy the New Year’s celebration of Tet that would follow. The Vietnamese cared for family above government and on a par with God. In fact, dead family members became deities, worshiped and indulged by the living, looked to for advice and often for consolation. In Viet Nam the ghosts were never far away. And after decades of struggle, there were a lot of ghosts.

To be invited to the Phams’ house at such a time had a deeply personal meaning. And from the colonel’s parting comments, Condley sensed that Van herself had played a role in his invitation. Twice Condley had attempted to ask Dzung’s advice about visiting Pham’s house during chap ma, and both times Dzung had declined to give it, telling him only that each family was different and that Condley should watch and listen to Mrs. Pham.

Condley had known Dzung might be offended by this visit, but he was surprised at the depth of his friend’s resistance. He decided on a different tack as a way to reassure Dzung of his loyalty, something he had been thinking about for some time.

“Dzung,” he said as they left the madness of Dien Bien Phu and took a narrow, quieter street. “I’m thinking about buying a car.”

Dzung seemed startled at first. He wiped sweat off his face with a casual, practiced move of one shoulder, pushing his shirt into his eyes. Then he regained the smile that had become his lifelong, postwar mask, the face that saved his face.

“Very good, sir. The street too loud, too hot for you!”

“Too slow,” said Condley as they pushed along toward yet another side street.

“Yes, sir,” agreed Dzung, swaying side to side as he navigated old potholes. “I am very slow. Cham qua. And you are a very important man now.”

“Some days I need to go to Bien Hoa. And then maybe after that Thanh Da or even Vung Tau. I can’t do that in a cyclo.”

“Very good, sir.”