“What about one dollar?” Jules asked the kid. He pulled out a crisp dollar bill and dangled it in front of the kid. The kid lunged for it. Jules let him.

“Three dollah!” the kid said while pocketing the buck.

“Jules, you idiot! I can’t believe you’re entertaining him!”

Kate ran back.

“Keep your stupid book,” she told the kid. “He already gave you a dollar . . . Now, please, get lost!” Kate pushed the boy away from Jules, but his feet held the ground. He grabbed ahold of Jules’s arm like a barnacle.

Together Jules and Kate tried to pluck the boy’s fingers off Jules’s arm one by one. When they succeeded in freeing his arm, the boy wrapped his legs around Jules’s knee. Then the skinny tentacles came back with a vengeance, locking themselves in the crook of Jules’s arm.

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous!” Jules laughed, almost enjoying it. “Help!”

They looked around to see if people were staring at them but the locals were minding their own business. Perhaps in Saigon, this was bookselling.

“Maybe you should try to walk home like this,” said Kate. “It’s all your fault, you know. Just watch your wallet.” She turned to the little Vietnamese boy, “Hey, can’t you tell you’re not wanted? He already gave you a dollar! Why do you keep bothering us? Why do you have to be such a fucking little creep?”

She charged ahead and made it to the steps of the Notre Dame cathedral, which resembled an Etch A Sketch version of the Parisian original. The little boy suddenly released himself from Jules and sprinted after her, shrieking: “You Vietnam whore?”

His words hit her in the gut. “What did you say to me?” She faced the boy squarely. He reached barely higher than her waist but could have been anything from six to thirty years old.

“You Vietnam whore?” the boy repeated, defiant.

Before she could stop herself, she’d slapped the boy’s face. He appeared to be a veteran of hard knocks and didn’t even flinch.

“Kate! What are you doing?” Jules ran to her, glancing around nervously. “We could be arrested for this! He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying!”

The boy snickered. “Whore!”

Kate shoved the kid and kicked him hard in the shins. He buckled to the ground, by the cathedral steps. As Jules ran over, she kicked him again.

“Kate!”

“I’m American, okay, you little piece of shit!” she screamed at the kid. “Fuck you to hell, you fucking rat!”

Jules held her back while she struggled. The boy curled up into a protective ball like an aardvark. His vertebrae showed through his T-shirt, a notched serpent.

As Jules led Kate away, the little boy picked himself up and brushed the street dust off his legs.

“Don’t look back,” Jules told Kate. “Keep your eyes on the road ahead.”