Once in the restaurant, Madam Daeng made a batch of noodles to soak up the whisky and put something in everyone’s stomach for the ride home. Only Civilai, still blaming the snails, forwent the meal.

“I think we need to approach the girl,” he said.

“What girl’s that?” Phosy asked.

“The blonde,” said Civilai. “Acting second secretary at the American embassy. Looks gorgeous. Speaks fluent Lao. She was standing at the bar. I’ve met her at a few functions recently.”

“He has these hallucinations,” said Siri.

“In a room with two hundred men you really didn’t notice one attractive woman?” Civilai asked.

“Even in a room with two hundred women I’d only notice Daeng,” said Siri.

Daeng smiled and squeezed his hand.

“I was making all that up about his ardor,” she said.

“At last,” said Siri. “Why do you feel the need to approach the blonde, Civilai?”

“She has acting experience,” said Civilai. “We need her for the film.”

“In what role?” Siri asked. “Ours is the story of the nation through the eyes of two young revolutionaries not unlike ourselves. How many pretty blonde Americans featured in the birth of the republic?”

“We could write in a part for her,” said Civlilai.

“As what?”

“I don’t know. She could be the CIA.”

“All by herself?” asked Siri.

“Why not?”

“I think you’ll find most women in the CIA back then were making coffee and typing,” said Madam Daeng.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what she does,” said Civilai. “How many commercially successful movies have you seen that didn’t have a glamour interest?”

“I believe we have one or two beautiful Lao women in major roles,” said Dtui.

“That is admirable,” said Civilai. “But if we’re aiming at the international market . . .”

“Lao women aren’t attractive enough?” said Daeng.

“They . . . you are lovely in the domestic sense,” said Civilai, “but we need sexy. We need . . . we need a Barbarella.”

Only Siri and Civilai knew who Barbarella was, and Siri wasn’t about to disagree with his friend’s choice. There followed a testy five minutes as the old boys tried to define sexy and explain why even the most attractive Lao in her finest blouse and ankle-length phasin skirt would not qualify. They dug themselves deeper into the muck with every comment. The discomfort was only eased when Civilai felt the need for one more visit to the toilet.

“Time for us to go pick up Malee,” said Dtui. She stood to leave. “She’s with a neighbor and they’ll want to get to bed.”

Despite his lofty position, Chief Inspector Phosy and his wife were still billeted at the police dormitory until their modest government house was completed. To his wife’s mixed disappointment and admiration, he’d refused to move into the palatial two-story abode of his predecessor.

“Come husband,” she said.

“I’m fine to drive the Vespa,” said Phosy.