Better to make a deal than fight, far better. The zealous boys on their mopeds won’t be here forever. They’ll age, they’ll mellow and take the little presents. And then I’ll be back. Me or my sons. We can afford to wait. We endure, like the mountains. So yes, I’ll treat with them; have them in for tea; smile and smile.
Meanwhile, the helicopters swarm back and forth, frantic little bees, bearing the proud generals to safety Don’t they know? Remember Saigon—it’s only a matter of waiting.