Bao Dai said. They were on the mattresses: Bao Dai squatting, Zorro curled like a fetus, the little girl asleep. “What are you talking about?” “Tits. Nice ones. I had a little feel. Your wife’s.” “I don’t have a wife. I’m divorced. I told you. Anyway, she’s in California.” Bao Dai smiled and shook his head. “I had a little feel. How could you walk away from tits like those?” He stopped smiling. “But you were always good at finding tail, weren’t you?” No answer. “I asked you a question.” “I don’t know.” “Don’t be modest. You had a nose for it. Right? Poontang—you know what I’m talking about.” No answer. “Was your wife a good fuck?” Bao Dai tried to remember his last erection, not a puny little stirring, but a hard-on. He couldn’t. All he could remember was Corporal Trinh’s yellow cock and what Corporal Trinh did to him in the Year of the Pig, or maybe before that, in the year of some other animal. “I asked you a question.” “What?”
