James and Tony approached the net from opposite ends of the court. Their time was almost up.
“My backhand’s a mess,” Tony said. He was breathing hard. His face was flushed.
“Have you tried hitting a two-handed backhand?” James said.
Tony shook his head. “I can’t switch now. Too late for that. Guess I’ll start slicing it more.”
“Your slice is pretty good. It’s hard to attack a good slice.”
They walked along the net and stopped at a wooden bench. Tony sat down and took off his cap and drank from his bottle of water. James dried his face and arms with a towel. He stretched the muscles in his right leg. He’d strained something. Tony asked him what time it was.
“Close to four by now,” James said. “We got here around two thirty.” He took his phone from his bag and looked at the screen. “Five to four.”
Tony took in a deep breath and exhaled the air through pursed lips. He looked a bit dazed. James said:
“Plans tonight?”
“Chau wants to go for drinks. You?”
“I don’t know. What sorta drinks are you talking?”
“Cocktails. Yer welcome to join us. Is Giang free?”
“No, she’s doin somethin with her family.”
“You don’t partake?”
“Only when she asks me to.”
James untied his shoes and looked beyond the court at the Saigon river. Some kind of barge was sliding across the water, going north. To the west, menacing dark clouds were amassing. Rain soon. Very soon.
“I think we’re meeting a couple a Chau’s friends,” Tony said. “What d’you say?”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
Tony stood as James sat down. He took up his racquet and swung his backhand in slow motion. Then he moved to the baseline and bounced a ball and hit a backhand over the net. It sailed long. The next one did the same.
“So fucking bad,” Tony said with anger.
“I think maybe yer bringin yer shoulders up prematurely,” James said.
Tony made his way back over to the bench. “Whatever.” He turned and looked at the sky. “We better go.”
They collected their gear and stuffed it into their bags. James reflected. He was certainly the better player now. That was clear. His game hadn’t improved any, he didn’t think, so it must be that Tony’s had dropped off considerably. Anyway, it didn’t matter. He’d given up caring about tennis.
“How much do they charge here again?” Tony asked.
“I don’t know. It seems to be different every time.”
Tony called to the man who owned the courts. “Anh ơi, bao nhiêu ạ?”
The man walked over and told them what they owed. James handed Tony some cash from his bag. Tony paid the man. They picked up their bags and walked slowly to the parking lot. James felt a raindrop.
“Good timing,” Tony said.
“Indeed. Looks like a nasty one.”
They got on their bikes and starting their motors drove two abreast past a small outdoor market that skirted the riverfront. The area was neglected and a little run-down. Not very pleasant. James preferred the courts in District 2, but Tony complained about the price. Coming to the main road they stopped.
“Well, lemme know about later,” Tony said. “It’ll be somewhere in D1.”
“Will do.”
James reached his apartment a few minutes before the sky opened up. A bastard of a storm. Giang was already gone. She’d had the good sense to shut the windows before she left. James was always forgetting to do things like that. He flicked on some lights and fed the black cat, moved to the bedroom, got out of his sweat-drenched tennis clothes, took a hot shower. He shaved. Then he dressed and lay down on his bed with his Vietnamese grammar book.
He woke up, sweating and slightly confused, around seven o’clock. The black cat was sitting beside him, purring with her eyes closed. The storm was finished and the sky was a starless black. James opened a window to the harsh, grating sound of a woman singing karaoke nearby. One never got used to it, the karaoke. After combing his hair James went to the kitchen to look for something to eat. He found nothing. Some ants were exploring the countertop. He couldn’t be bothered to do anything about that. He’d go meet Tony and Chau. Yes—it was better than nothing.
___
Tony was sat at a table with Chau and two Vietnamese girls James hadn’t met before. Tony introduced them and James immediately forgot their names. Tony handed him the menu. James looked it over. He indicated Tony’s glass.
“What’s that there? Manhattan?”
“Yessir.”
James turned to Chau, who smiled at him. “Em uống gì?” he said.
“Bee’s knees.”
“Ah.” James studied the menu again. When the waiter came over he ordered a sidecar.
“Not too much triple sec, please” he said.
The waiter didn’t understand.
“Not too sweet. Not so much triple sec. Cointreau.” He appealed to Chau. “Can you tell him go light on the triple sec?”
She translated. The waiter nodded and moved briskly to the bar.
“The drinks’re pretty good here,” Tony said. “And reasonable.”
James nodded. They were in one of Saigon’s many “hidden” cocktail bars. Speakeasies. Whatever they called it. The bartenders wore waistcoats. Swing flowed from the speakers. Photos of the Rat Pack adorned the walls. After a few minutes James remembered that he’d been to this bar once before. Maybe a year ago. He’d come with Giang and Lauren and Richard. Yes, Richard had been with him that night.
James lit a Jet cigarette and half-listened as Tony and Chau discussed their upcoming trip to Japan. James had never been to Japan and so had nothing to contribute. He spoke a little to Chau’s friends who both wore low cut cocktail dresses. One of them was a Việt kiều; she’d grown up in Orange County. Now she lived in Saigon. They spoke of California. James had been there once. He’d gone hiking in Joshua Tree. She’d never been, but she’d like to go. So, what did James do? Taught at a secondary school. Was he on summer break now? Yes, he was. Would he do any traveling? Possibly Indonesia in August. Who with? Girlfriend. And so on. The other girl didn’t say much. Twice James made eye contact with her. She was beautiful and James wanted her. The fact that he couldn’t have her irritated him.
They ordered a second round and then a third. After that they left for an izakaya. Tony would be all about Japan leading up to his trip, and for a couple weeks afterwards, James knew. That was Tony. At the restaurant he, Tony, ordered two bottles of decent saké. James insisted on paying for them. Chau protested but Tony gladly took the money. After dinner they sat around drinking plum wine. The girls didn’t care for it, so James and Tony took the lion’s share. Soon they were the only party left.
“Well,” Tony said, “what now?”
James looked at his watch. After eleven. Chau’s friends had gone home.
“Whatever,” James said agreeably.
Tony turned to Chau.
“Em mệt quá,” she said. “You boys do what you want.”
“You’ll get a cab home?” Tony said.
Chau nodded, yawning.
“A’right.” Tony regarded James. “Any preference?”
“I’m fine with anything.”
“Let’s slum it,” Tony said. That meant beer at a quán nhậu.
“Works for me.”
Tony and James stood with Chau on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant until her taxi arrived. Then they drove to the canal.
“How about this one?” Tony asked. They’d stopped in front of a place that James knew well. It was crowded in spite of the late hour.
“Sure.”
They took a table outside near the street and ordered 333. For a while they didn’t talk, just drank. A small child hawking tissues and chewing gum accosted them. James waved him away and lit a cigarette.
“I haven’t been out this way in a while,” Tony said.
“Me neither.”
“What’d you think a that place?”
“What place? The izakaya?”
Tony nodded.
“I was there once before. It’s not bad.”
“I wonder how it compares to the real thing.”
“You’ll find out soon.”
“Couple weeks.” Seizing the opportunity, Tony eagerly detailed his and Chau’s itinerary. Tokyo, Kyoto, the Japanese Alps. A few other places that James didn’t catch. They’d be in the country nearly three weeks.
“That sounds neat,” James said when Tony had finished.
The waitress, a young girl with fair skin and long slender limbs, brought out two more cans of beer. She asked whether they wanted food. James told her they didn’t. His eyes followed her as she walked back to the kitchen area.
“Mind if I bum one?” Tony asked, reaching for James’ cigarettes.
“Go for it. But I thought you quit.”
“I did.”
They finished their beer and ordered more. This time the waitress brought them a plastic bucket filled with ice and cans of 333. “Cám ơn em nha,” Tony said, and began flirting with her in Vietnamese. She took it in stride. James slugged his beer and dropping the empty can on the ground crushed it with his foot. He crossed the road and urinated into the canal. Returning to the table he pulled another beer from the bucket. An old woman approached bearing a basket of fruit and rice crackers. Tony bought some mango off her. He offered it to James, who shook his head.
“I been here before,” Tony said, chewing mango. “I remember this view of the canal.”
“Yes.”
“I met you here with Richard one night.”
“That’s right.”
“Musta been over a year ago.”
They drank in silence. James felt removed from the normal sequence of time. It passed without his noticing. As though he were asleep. A young Vietnamese who was sitting at the next table over stood up and walked to the curb and puked abundantly into the street. His friends were much amused. James took two more cans of 333 from the bucket and set them on the small wooden table. He lit a cigarette. At length Tony spoke.
“Are you still in contact with Lauren?”
“Not really,” James said. “She moved back to England.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. But it makes sense. It musta been a major blow for her.”
“I would imagine so.”
“Mind if I—?”
“Go ahead.”
Tony took a cigarette from James’ pack and lit it. They slugged their beers. James pulled another two from the bucket. Tony said:
“I wonder why he did it.”
James shook his head, but said nothing.
“I would never of expected it from him. Really. Anyone but him. Well, not anyone, but you know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“And the timing. Two months before their wedding?”
James nodded absently.
“How d’you get to that point. I wonder.” Tony was speaking to himself now. “How do you get there without showing it someway. I never saw it. Richard, of all people.”
James lit a cigarette. It occurred to him that he had a headache. A great big pounding one. The pain wrapped itself around his head, enveloped it. All that booze. It was going to his head. Must be the booze. He asked Tony whether he had a headache.
“A headache? Not at the moment. Why?”
“Never mind. You know, this beer used to have only two threes.”
“I know.”
“They changed it after the war. Put in one more three.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“To divorce it from its colonial roots, I guess. To renew it. A new identity. It was a French brew originally. It was popular among American GIs.”
Tony kept quiet.
“They left the logo alone, though,” James said. “Just gave it one more three. I dunno. I find that interesting. Another three. Ba Ba Ba instead of Ba Ba. You’d think they’d make it Bốn Bốn. But then four’s an unlucky number, of course. Means ‘death’ in Chinese or something. Sometimes I wish I could add another three. To myself. Y’know?”
Tony wasn’t listening.
“Y’know what I mean, Tony?”
“What did you say?”
“One more three.”
“What about it?”
“The change. The ah renewal. There are times …” James couldn’t finish the thought. He said, “That friend a Chau’s was somethin.”
“Which one?”
“Don’t remember the name.”
“The American?”
“No. Other one.”
“Ah, Yen. She’s got a boyfriend. Her family’s rich.”
“That figures.”
“You like her, huh?”
“No. I dunno her. Dunno what I’m saying. Time is it?”
Tony looked at his phone. “After four.”
“We the last men standing?” James had shut his eyes. His palm was pressed against his forehead.
Tony looked behind him. There was a small party of Vietnamese hanging around. “No.”
“Damn.”
“Should I call for the bill?”
“And then what?” James said.
“What d’you mean?”
“After getting the bill. We go home and go to sleep and wake up in the morning feeling like hell. Then we have tomorrow. The routine. Lunch, dinner. Bowel move. Sleep. Another tomorrow. And it just goes on. Right? The repetition. Never stops, does it. It’s tyranny. That’s what I mean. The tomorrows. It gets t’me sometimes.”
“Yer plastered.”
“Could be.”
“I’ll get the bill.”
“You’ll get the bill.” James closed his eyes. A sinking sensation. Not altogether unpleasant. An hour later he felt Tony’s hand on his shoulder. But it had only been a moment.
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Cert’nly.”
“I can take you.”
“Bullshit.” James stood up, swaying. “I my bike.”
“We can come back for it.”
“Don’be silly.”
“Alright,” Tony said. “But you let me know when you get home. I want signs of life. You hear me? Signs of life.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
For a kilometer they drove side by side beneath the soft orange spray of the street lamps, cradled by the gently sweeping curves of the canal. It was quiet out save for the sound of their motors. They drove another kilometer together. Then James peeled off toward his apartment.
“Signs of life!” Tony shouted.
James drove on. He felt as though he were floating, just a little bit, as though gravity had let up some. Behind him, a pale grayness gathered in the sky. Night was moving on. A new day loomed. Another day. Another tomorrow. James shifted gears and drove on, faster. His eyes were narrow and focused. Again faster. He would make it home before the sun came up. Had to. One day at a time.
–
Michael Howard’s work has appeared in a wide variety of print and digital publications, Halfway Down the Stairs among them. He lives in Vietnam.
© 2026, Michael Howard
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