“Some of the most successful revolutions and coups in history have been funded by the drug trade. It’s how the French maintain their presence in Indochina. You and your Communist buddies could get in on the ground floor.”

“Siri, communism is all about empowering the workers, not debilitating them. When we take over from the French, the first thing we’ll do is burn their opium crops.”

“I admire your faith,” I said, even though I didn’t give it much of a chance.

“So anyway, what brings me here?” he asked.

“My postcard, I presume.”

“It gave up so little information.”

“I didn’t want the French postal service to be the first to know.”

“Excellent. I have an exclusive, and you want my advice.”

“More, your blessing,” I said.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, no, what?”

“I sense a liaison.”

“More than a fling,” I said. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

Civilai whooped and held up four fingers to the waiter.

“Does she know you have fifty centimes to your name?”

“She does. But she also has fifty centimes to hers. So between us we have one franc, which is the beginning of a fortune.”

“Have I met her?” he asked.

“Yes, on your last trip to Paris. You and your Mademoiselle Nong joined us for the matinee of Mata Hari at the Louxor.”

“Not the Lao beauty with the tight sweater?”

“The very same: Bouasawan.”

“Why would a girl whose figure outperforms every erotic postcard on sale along the banks of the Seine agree to marry you?”

“I’m a catch,” I said.

“You do know she’s a Communist?”

“So are you.”

“No, I mean she’s a Communist said very loudly. I recall she discussed her motivation with Nong that day. She came to Paris for the sole purpose of joining the Party. She’d already memorized the manifesto before she arrived. She signed up with the CPF even before she registered at Ancienne. Nong believed she was a fanatic.”

“Passion is a wonderful thing.”

“I hope she can find time for you amid her obsession.”

“This from a man who’s leaving in a week to muster a proletariat and turn Indochina red?”

“I’m enthusiastic,” he said, “not fanatical. I like to call myself a middle-path socialist. I appreciate the concept and the potential of communism. I think it could work to unite our people against the French. But I don’t decorate my apartment with hammer and sickle wallpaper. I don’t send photos of myself in a swimsuit to Lenin.”

“You know she doesn’t do any of that.”

He was starting to irritate me.

“Don’t get defensive, little brother,” he said. “I’m just offering my opinions.”

While the waiter was putting the new glasses on the table, Civilai knocked back the drinks he already had.

“How can I not be defensive when you disparage my choice of bride?” I said.