"You talk like a European, Thomas. These people aren't complicated."
"Is that what you've learned in a few months? You'll be calling them childlike next."
"WelL..inaway."
"Find me an uncemplicated child, Pyle. When we are young we are a jungle of complications. We simplify as we get older." But what good was it to talk to him? There was an unreality in both our arguments. I was becoming a leader-writer before my time. I got up and went to the bookshelf.
"What are you looking for, Thomas?" "Oh, just a passage i used to be fond of. Can you have dinner with me, Pyle?"
"I'd love to, Thomas, I'm so glad you aren't mad any longer, I know you disagree with me, but we can disagree, can't we, and be friends?" "I don't know. I don't think so."
"After all, Phuong was much more important than this."
"Do you really believe that, Pyle?"
"Why, she's the most important thing there is. To me. And to you, Thomas." "Not to me any longer." "It was a terrible shock today. Thomas, but in a week, you'll see, we'll have forgotten it. We are looking after the relatives too.'* "We?"
"We've wired to Washington. We'll get permission to use some of our funds." I interrupted him. "The Vieux Moulin? Between nine and nine-thirty?"
"Where you like, Thomas." I went to the window. The sun had sunk below the roofs. The trishaw-driver still waited for his fare. I looked down at him and he raised his face to me.
"Are you waiting for someone, Thomas?" "No. There was just a piece I was looking for." To cover my action I read, holding the book up to the last light:
"I drive through the streets and I care not a damn^ The people they stare, and they ask who I am; And if I should chance to run over a cad, I can pay for the damage if ever so bad. So pleasant it is to have money, height ho! So pleasant it is to have money."*
"That's a funny kind of poem," Pyle said with a note of disapproval.
"He was an adult poet in the nineteenth century. There weren't so many of them." I looked down into the street again. The trishaw-driver had moved away. "Have you run out of drink?* Pyle asked. "No, but I thought you didn't. . "
"Perhaps I'm beginning to loosen up,"* Pyle said. "Your influence. I guess you're good for me, Thomas."
I got the bottle and glasses-1 forgot one of them the first journey and then I had to go back for water. Everything that I did that evening took a long time. He said, "You know, I've got a wonderful family, but maybe they were a
bit on the strict side. We have one of those old houses in Chestnut Street, as you go up the hill on the right-hand side. My mother collects glass, and my father-when he's not eroding his old cliffs-picks up all the Darwin manuscripts and association-copies* he can. You see, they live in the past. Maybe that's why York made such an impression on me. He seemed kind of open to modern conditions. My father's anisolationist."
"Perhaps I would like your father," I said. "I'm an isolationist too." For a quiet man Pyle that night was in a talking mood. I didn't hear all that he said, for my mind was elsewhere. I tried to persuade myself that Mr. Heng had other means at his disposal but the crude and obvious one. But in a war like this, I knew, there is no time to hesitate: one uses the weapon to hand-the French the napalm bomb, Mr. Heng the bullet or the knife. I told myself too late that I wasn't made to be a judge-1 would let Pyle talk awhile and then I would warn him. He could spend the night at my house. They would hardly break in there. I think he was speaking of the old nurse he had had-"She really meant more to me than my mother, and the blueberry pies she used to make!" when I interrupted him. "Do you carry a gun now - since that night?" "No. We have orders in the Legation.. ." "But you're on special duties?"
"It wouldn't do any good-if they wanted to get me, they always could. Anyway I'm as blind as a coot. At college they called me Bat - because I could see in the dark as well as they could. Once when we were fooling around..." H'e was off again.* I returned to the window.
A trishaw-driver waited opposite. I wasn't sure--they look so much alike, but I thought he was a different one. Perhaps he really had a client. It occurred to me that Pyle would be safest at the Legation. They must have laid plans, since my signal, for later in the evening: something that involved the Dakow bridge. I coudn't understand why or how: surely he would not be so foolish as to drive through Dakow after sunset and our side of the bridge was always guarded by armed police.
"I'm doing all the talking," Pyle said. "I don't know how it is, but somehow this evening. .
."
"Go on," I said, "I'm in a quiet mood, that's all. Perhaps we'd better cancel that dinner."
"No, don't do that. I've felt cut off from you, since.. well..."
"Since you saved my life," I said and couldn't disguise the bitterness of my self-inflicted wound.
"No, I didn't mean that. All the same how we talked, didn't we, that night? As if it was going to be our last. I learned a lot about you, Thomas. I don't agree with you, mind, but for you maybe it's right-not being involved. You kept it up all right, even after your leg was smashed you stayed neutral."
"There's always a point of change," I said. "Some moment of emotion..."
"You haven't reached it yet. I doubt if you ever will. And I'm not likely to change eitherexcept with death," he added merrily.
"Not even with this morning? Mightn't change a man's views?"
"They were only war casualties," he said. "It was a pity, but you can't always hit your target. Anyway they died in the right cause."
"Would you have said the same if it had been your old nurse with her blueberry pie?"
He ignored my facile point. "In a way you could say they died for Democracy," lie said-,
"I wouldn't know how to translate that into Vietnamese." I was suddenly very tired. I wanted him to go away quickly and die. Then I could start life again-at the point before he came in.
"You'll never take me seriously, will you, Thomas?" he complained, with that schoolboy gaiety which he seemed to have kept up his sleeve for this night of all nights. "I tell you what-Phuong's at the cinema-what about you and me spending the whole evening together? I've nothing to do now." It was as though someone from outside were directing him how to choose his words in order to rob me of any possible excuse. He went on,
"Why don't we go to the Chalet? I haven't been there since that night. The food is just as good as the Vieux Moulin, and there's music."'
I said, "I'd rather not remember that night." "I'm sorry. I'm a dumb fool sometimes, Thomas. What about a Chinese dinner in Cholon?"
"To get a good one you have to order in advance. Are you scared of the Vieux Moulin. Pyle? It's well wired and there are always police on the bridge. And you wouldn't be such a fool, would you, as to drive through Dakow?"
"It wasn't that. I just thought it would be fun tonight to make a long evening of it." He made a movement and upset his glass, which smashed upon the floor. "Good luck," he said mechanically. "I'm sorry, Thomas." I began to pick up the pieces and pack them into the ash-tray. "What about it, Thomas?" The smashed glass reminded me of the bottles in the Pavilion. bar dripping their contents. "I warned Phuong I might be out with you." How badly chosen was the word 'warn'. I picked up the last piece of glass. "I have got an engagement at the Majestic," I said, "and I can't manage before nine."
"Well, I guess I'll have to go back to the office. Only I'm always afraid of getting caught."*
There was no harm in giving him that one chance. "Don't mind being late," I said. "If you do get caught, look in here later. I'll come back at ten, if you can't make dinner, and wait for you." "I'll let you know."
"Don't bother. Just come to the Vieux Moulin-or meet me here." I handed back the decision to that somebody in whom I didn't believe: you can intervene if you want to: a telegram on his desk: a message from the Minister. You cannot exist unless you have the power to alter the future. "Go away now, Pyle. There are things I have to do." I felt astrange exhaustion, hearing him go away and the pad of his dog's paws. (3"