The countryside appeared empty. When they did pass villagers, there was more a look of surprise in their faces than anything else. Helen didn’t know what she expected to see, nothing had changed-only the same barren fields and plots of banana trees and patches of scrub that had always been.

Matt sat in the middle and rolled a joint, passing it back and forth among the three of them. He wore metallic blue-tinted sunglasses that reflected Helen’s image back to her.

“When did you first come here?” he asked.

“Why’re you wearing those glasses?” she asked.

“You should have seen her. A schoolgirl practically wearing bobby socks,” Tanner said.

Matt took a deep drag on the joint and held his breath for a minute. “When?” he finally squeaked out, still holding smoke in his lungs.

“We need to stop and eat,” Tanner said.

“I’m starving. What did you bring?” she said.

“Whatever I could find. Some chips. Mangoes. C-rations,” Matt said.

“Who would bring C-rations?” Tanner yelled.

“They’ll keep,” Matt said.

“Jesus.”

“You know what-you do it next time, Mr. Gourmet.” Matt turned around with his knees in the seat and burrowed in a bag behind the seat. A can flew out the open window.

“What’re you doing?” Tanner yelled.

“You said you didn’t want C-rations.”

A bag of potato chips flew out. Helen pressed herself into the door. “I came at the end of ’sixty-five. I dropped out of college to come. I worried the war would be over by the time I graduated.” She shrugged, but Matt and Tanner were still arguing. “I wanted to find out what happened to my brother. The pilot refused to land so the crew pushed the men out from ten feet up. He broke both ankles and while he was stuck in the mud the enemy shot him. He died like an animal.” MacCrae had shielded her from the ugly details but over the years, she had found them out. The relief of feeling nothing at those words.

“Fucking pigs.” Matt took a long drag off the joint. The smoke emptied out of his mouth with a gasp.

“You’re like, drawing attention to us, throwing things out the window,” Tanner said to Matt.

“I’m hungry,” he said, flinging himself back down into the seat.

Her story, told at long last and at such cost, seemed already forgotten by both of them. Minutes passed.

“So why’d you stay so long?” Matt said.

Helen was silent. “Because it seems like you’re doing the most important work in the world. Leaving was like dying.”

They drove on in silence until they heard the soft thunk, thunk, thunk of another flat tire.

“Jesus,” Tanner said.

They pulled off near a small hut, hidden from the road by a bamboo thicket. Tanner pulled out the jack and a new tire while Matt wandered off toward the building.

“Where are you going?” Tanner yelled. “Why don’t you help me?”

“I’m taking a piss, okay?” Matt said.

“Why’s he going to the hooch? Asking for a bathroom?” Tanner shook his head. “He’s resourceful, that boy.”

A few minutes later, Matt reappeared around the corner of the hut and waved them over. Up close, Helen saw that his eyes were marbled with red veins from lack of sleep and smoke. They followed him to a small dirt yard in the middle of which lay a struggling but still alive goose.

“His wing and his leg are broken,” Matt announced in a dreamy voice.

The animal labored to get away but only made dusty circles in the dirt. Its black eye looked dull, but when Matt moved closer, the bird made a gritty, hissing noise at him.

“How can you tell?” Tanner asked.

“I grew up on a farm, man,” Matt answered. “And it’s about lunchtime.”

Tanner snorted.

Helen looked from one of them to the other. “Don’t we need to get going?”

“We need to eat,” Matt said. “Give me an hour.”

“I’m still working on that damned tire. Go ahead,” Tanner said. “Are you sure that thing’s not diseased? Doesn’t have rabies?”

“Birds don’t have rabies, man.”

Helen regretted coming with these two, couldn’t stand their squabbling any longer. Their recklessness made her afraid. She had lasted this long because she took only calculated risks. With the fall of Saigon, she’d done her bit. Covered the takeover, and should have gone home. Cambodia was a whole other thing. “I need to get out of here. I need to get to Linh.”

Both of the men turned to look at her.

Helen wiped her face. “Never mind.”

Matt’s attention went back to the goose. “Maybe he fell out of a cart or was run over. He’ll be dead in a few hours and then he’ll go to waste.”

Helen walked off and sat in the shade of the hut while Matt made quick, expert work of beheading the goose, plucking the quivering body, then chopping it up to cook over an open fire. The whole spectacle disgusted her, but after the pieces began to fry, releasing the smell of cooking meat, she felt a stab of hunger and realized she was starving. The body always betrayed one’s best intentions. Memory of the recently flopping body, the head and neck thrown a few feet away in the tall grass, vanished, and instead she remembered Sunday dinners at home when Charlotte cut slices of white meat and put them on china plates as thin as flower petals and passed them down the table.

Matt grinned and brought Helen big, dripping chunks of breast and thigh wrapped in paper. She ate it down fast, laughing with the two men over how good it was, wiping the grease off her mouth and chin, then wiping her hands against her pants but unable to get the oily residue off.

Matt sat next to her holding a drumstick and attached thigh in both hands, biting off enormous mouthfuls of steaming meat.

“So how did you end up with a Vietnamese?” he said.

She smiled and took another bite of meat. “Ask Tanner. He’s made a hobby out of analyzing my love life.”

“Not bad chow, huh?” Tanner asked, taking a long drink from a bottle of whisky.

Helen nodded. “It’s good.” Matt gave her another handful of breast meat. She took a long pull off the bottle and handed it back.

“Linh’s okay in my book,” Tanner said. “He’s a good photographer, and he keeps his nose clean. Doesn’t seem to resent the fact that he’s treated like a second-class citizen in his own country. That most of us suspect him of being a Red.”

“That’s big of you,” Helen said.

“What I’m saying is that Linh is a realist. Of course he loves you; he got the prize. Darrow thought it was all owed to him. He kidded himself he was here for a higher purpose when he was just grubbing around for a byline and an award like the rest of us. Darrow would have put you on that chopper and come out here himself.”

The truth of it stung Helen.

The sky was a high, pale blue with long wisping tails of cloud. The only sound their chewing and the rustling of paper.

“Where the hell did you learn to cook like that?” Tanner finally asked.

Matt looked at the two of them. “Truth time? My old man beat me so hard I decided I better run away if I wanted to stay alive. Went to North Dakota at fourteen years old and cooked in a greasy spoon till I was eighteen.”

“Why North Fucking Dakota?”

“I once heard my mama say nobody in their right mind would ever go to North Dakota. So I thought the odds were good they wouldn’t find me.”

“Did they?” Helen asked.

“Never even looked. Best time of my life.” Matt bowed his head. “Found an Indian woman who worked the cash register. Made love to me every day for four years until she found out I lied about my age. Kicked me out, can you believe it? She did things-”

“We don’t want to hear about your squaw,” Tanner said.

Helen’s mind was buzzing with alcohol. The sense of urgency pouring out of her. “So then what did you do?”

“Came to Vietnam,” Matt yelled and clapped his hands.

She didn’t want to know but had to ask. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.” He arched his eyebrows. “Why? Interested?”