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nodded. ‘Yeah.’
    â€˜Are you sure? Because I could call your dad or—’
    â€˜I’m okay. If you need to go, then go.’
    â€˜Okay. If you’re sure.’ I stood and looked north towards the bridge.
    â€˜Where you off to anyway?’
    â€˜The bank. Very exciting.’
    â€˜Can I come with you?’
    â€˜To the bank? If you like.’
    He stood and we began to walk. After a minute he said, ‘How come you told that guy you were American?’
    â€˜I am.’
    â€˜You’ve got an Aussie accent.’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose I do. People rarely notice that here. It’s enough to find someone who speaks the same language.’
    â€˜So you are Australian?’
    â€˜Originally, yes, but I haven’t lived there for nearly twenty years.’
    â€˜How old were you when you left?’
    â€˜Old enough to have my accent set for life, it seems.’
    â€˜Ten? Twelve?’
    â€˜I was seventeen, Mr Nosey. Any other questions?’
    â€˜Yeah. Why did you drag me away back there? I can look after myself, you know.’
    We had pressed through the tourists milling around the bridge entrance, but the path was still busy with travellers, merchants, scam artists and locals going about their business. I stopped walking and nodded towards the lake wall. We leant against it, looking out over water the colour of overcooked peas.
    â€˜You’re not in Sydney, Cal. You can’t interfere like that.’
    â€˜Sydney or not, hitting women is wrong.’
    â€˜It’s not a question of that. It’s about how things are handled. You need to trust the Vietnamese to deal with men like that one.’
    â€˜But they weren’t dealing with him! They were standing around watching like it was a footy match.’
    â€˜No. They were witnessing. They were waiting until it was over, making sure he didn’t seriously hurt her, making sure he knew he was being observed. They’ll leave when it’s over and they’ll tell everyone they know. Maybe someone will tell the police, but more likely someone will tell that young man’s mother or the father of the girl he was abusing, and he’ll have to answer to them.’
    â€˜Or maybe no one will do anything and he’ll go home and belt her a little bit more.’
    â€˜Maybe. But your intervention wouldn’t change that. If anything it would make things worse for her. No man likes being shown up in front of his girl and you being amakes it that much more humiliating.’
    A breeze rushed past our backs and we sighed in unison. I smiled at him but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the stone wall, picking at it with his fingernails. I noticed the display on his watch and said, ‘The bank closes in a minute.’
    â€˜How far is it?’
    â€˜Five minutes.’
    â€˜We could run?’
    â€˜Or we could skip right to the finding of a cool dark room and drinking beer part of the afternoon.’
    â€˜Lead the way,’ he said.
    The Grog Hut was the closest pub with air-­conditioning and cold beer and for a millisecond I considered it, but the idea of introducing Cal to Julian and Mario was terrible. I got on with both of them well enough, but I get on with every­body well enough. That I can share a beer and a laugh with someone is no indication of their character. Julian and Mario, for example, were, like surprisingly many expats in Hanoi, unapologetically racist. Oh, they wouldn’t use that word for themselves, but they believed that Vietnamese men were lazy, backward and corrupt and that Vietnamese women were gold-digging whores. I don’t know what they thought of Vietnamese–Australian teenagers, but I had a pretty good idea as to what Cal would think of them, and given he was willing to confront an angry stranger in the middle of a street mob, there was a better than even chance he wouldn’t hold back when confronted with a couple of