“You know that, and I know that,” I said. “But the ladies of the night do not. I guarantee that one small trickle of doubt in their mind will curb their overenthusiasm. The Great Lightness will welcome the dawn with a smile on his face. You watch.”

And so he did.

Siri had taken to reading diary excerpts to his staff in the evenings. Mr. Geung and Tukta were addicted. It was like following a radio drama, they said, without the drama. They all knew that Crazy Rajhid was secretly listening in the shadows of the riverbank. And with every mention of Taigou, the teakettle-wearing dog, Ugly growled deeply beyond the shutters of the shop. It occurred to Siri that they were probably hosting Vientiane’s first post-American book club.

“Even with the funny stories it’s still dull,” said Daeng.

“We’re getting to know the characters,” said Siri.

“Siri, there’s an invasion going on all around. The Japanese are rampaging through Singapore. They’ve already purged Malaysia of its ethnic Chinese, and here we are hearing about a group of peculiar noncombatants living a dull life in Thakhek. And, to be honest, I’m starting to think that even if you did turn to the last page, they’d still be peeling turnips and scrubbing toilets. And we don’t know why a pilot is digging ditches two thousand kilometers from the nearest action.”

“It’s coming, Daeng. Trust me. How about one more page before we turn in?”

“I don’t know,” said Daeng. “There’s some rather interesting mold growing on the back garden wall I was hoping to watch this evening.”

“One more page. One more page,” chorused the staff.

Siri laughed, turned the page, and read:

12/16/1942

I was walking along the riverbank marveling at the thought you could swim to another country and that everything was so different on the other side.

“He certainly does a lot of riverbank walking,” Daeng interrupted.

“Do you want me to read this or not?” Siri asked.

“Yes, please,” said Daeng. “But I bet you a week’s income he meets someone who’s sad.”

“Daeng?”

“Sorry.”

Ahead I could see the outline of Captain Jame Nomishige with his one eye and one leg. His head was bowed. He seemed to be deep in thought so I decided to walk past him. But he looked up and called to me.

“Major Toshi,” he said. “May I ask you a question?”

“See? Not sad at all,” said Siri.

“Just read it,” said Daeng.

“Of course,” I replied.

“I am old now,” he said. “As you know I am an expert in my pastime.”

“Of course I know,” I said. “You are a grand master of shogi. You have won many Japanese chess competitions.”

“I only aspire to be a grand master, Major Toshi. But I have not been able to reach that next level; the echelon above technical skill. When I lose, and I do not lose often, I am defeated by people who overcome me at a psychological level. Every week I play against a general who passes through Thakhek with his unit. I lose to him regularly even though I’m certain my approach is technically sound.”