On the fourth sultry day, Jules and Kate split away from the others and headed for French-style glacés at the celebrated Fanny ice-cream stand in the center of town. The ice cream was nothing special by North American standards, and it liquefied as soon as they stepped out of the shade. As they walked back to their hostel, licking their cones, a scrawny, barefoot boy in a faded Bart Simpson T-shirt leapt out from behind a tree across the street and sped toward them like a brown torpedo, crying: “Gra-gree! Kwai-Meri-Can! Gra-gree!”

“Fuck! Three o’clock!” Kate said, without turning. “Wanna make a run for it?”

Jules, surfer blond and California friendly, turned instinctively to look.

“No! Don’t make eye contact with him!” whispered Kate.

But it was too late; the boy knew that he’d hooked Jules, and started trailing him, tugging at the back of his T-shirt, yelling, “Gra-gree! Gra-gree!”

Jules looked at Kate and shrugged. He offered two sticks of gum to the little boy. Up close, they saw that his Bart Simpson shirt was a crappy knock-off with the eyes drawn too far apart. The boy took the gum but continued to walk close to them, his voice getting more cracked and demanding.

“Gra-gree! Kwai-Meri-Can!” He plucked at the pale hairs on Jules’s arm.

“Oww!” But it made him giggle all the same. “That hurt, little man!”

The boy grinned at the laughter he provoked. He tried it again.

“What’s he want, you think?” Jules looked at Kate.

“How should I know? I don’t speak Vietnamese. Just watch your pockets.”

“Gra-gree . . .” the boy pleaded pathetically and pulled out of his shorts a thick pamphlet in clear plastic. He showed it to them but gripped it tight with his rough, chapped hands as if Jules or Kate might try to run off with the valuable document. They looked at it. It was a murky photocopy of Graham Greene’s The Quiet American, two paperback pages smeared across each sheet, the whole thing stapled together crudely.

“Oh, I see now . . . Kwai Meri-Can . . .” Kate tugged at Jules’s arm. “Let’s go. Come on. Now.”

The kid grabbed Jules’s other arm, glaring at Kate. “Five dollah!”

“You gotta be kidding!” Kate said to the boy. She tugged at Jules to leave, walking on ahead of him.

“Five’s way too much, dude,” Jules said helplessly. “No five.”

“Jules! Don’t even talk to him . . . Come on!”

“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.