He replied seriously and literally, '"Grieved to report your son died soldeir's death in cause of Democracy.' The Minister signed it."
"A soldier's death," I said. "Mightn't that prove a bit confusing? I mean to the folks at home. The Economic Aid Mission doesn't sound like the Army. Do you get Purple . Hearts?"*
He said in a low voice, tense with ambiguity, "He had special duties." "Oh yes, we all guessed that." "He didn't talk, did he?"
"Oh, no," I said, and Vigot's phrase came back to me, 'He was a very quiet American.' "
"Have you any hunch," he asked, "why they killed him? and who?" Suddenly I was angry; I was tired of the whole pack of them with their private stores of Coca-Cola* and their portable hospitals and their wide cars and their not quite latest guns. I said, "Yes. They killed him because he was too innocent to live. He was young and ignorant and silly and he got involved. He had no more of a notion than any of you what the whole affair's about, and you gave him money and York Harding's books on the East and said, 'Go ahead. Win the East for democracy.' He never saw anything he hadn't heard in a lecture-hall, and his writers and his lectures made a fool of him. When he saw a dead body he couldn't even see the wounds. A Red menace, a soldier of democracy."
"I thought you were his friend," he said in a tone of reproach.
"I was his friend. I'd have liked to see him reading the Sunday supplements at home and following the baseball. I'd have liked to see him safe with a standardised American girl who subscribed to the Book Club."*
He cleared his throat with embarrassment. "Of course," he said, "I'd forgotten that unfortunate business. I was quite on your side. Fowler. He behaved very badly. I don't mind telling you I had a long talk with him about the girl. You see, I had the advantage of knowing Professor and Mrs. Pyle.. "
I said, "Vigot's waiting," and walked away. For the first time he spotted Phuong and when I looked back at him he was watching me with pained perplexity: an eternal elder brother who didn't understand.
CHAPTER III
(1)
The first time Pyle met Phuong was again at the Continental, perhaps two months after his arrival. It was the early evening, in the momentary cool which came when the
sun had just gone down, and the candles were lit on the shalls in the side streets. The dice rattled on the tables where the French were playing Quatre Vingt-et-un* and the girls in the white silk trousers bicycled home down the rue Catinat. Phuong was drinking a glass of orange juice and I was having a beer and we sat in silence, content to be together. Then Pyle came tentatively across, and I introduced them. He had a way of staring hard at a girl as though he hadn't seen one before and then blushing. I was wondering whether you and your lady," Pyle said, would step across and join my table. One of our attaches. .." It was the Economic Attache. He beamed down at us from the terrace above, a great warm welcoming smile, full of confidence, like the man who keeps his friends because he uses the right deodorants. I had heard him called Joe a number of times, but I had never learnt his surname. He made a noisy show of pulling out chairs and calling for the waiter, though all that activity could possibly produce at the Continental was a choice of beer, brandy-and-soda or vermouth cassis. "Didn't expect to see you here. Fowler," he said.
"We-are waiting for the boys back from Hanoi. There seems to have been quite a battle. Weren't you with them?" "I'm tired of flying four hours for a Press Conference," I said He looked at me with disapproval. He said, "These guys
are real keen.* Why, I expect they could earn twice as much in business or on the radio without any risk." "They might have to work," I said. "They seem to sniff the battle like war-horses," he went on exultantly, paying no attention to words he didn't like. "Bill Granger-you can't keep him out of a scrap."
"I expect you're right. I saw him in one the other evening at the bar of the Sporting."
"You know very well I didn't mean that." Two trishaw drivers came pedalling furiously down the rue Catinat and drew up in a photo-finish outside the Continental. In the first was Granger. The other contained a small, grey, silent heap which Granger now began to pull out on to the pavement. "Oh, come on, Mick," he said, 'come on." Then he began to argue with his driver about the fare. "Here," he said, "take it or leave it," and flung five times the correct amount into the street for the man to stoop for.
The Economic Attache said nervously, "I guess these boys deserve a little relaxation." Granger flung his burden on to a chair. Then he noticed Phuong. "Why," he said, "you old so-and-so, Joe. Where did you find her? Didn't know you had a whistle in you.*
Sorry, got to find the can.* Look after Mick." "Rough soldierly manners," I said. Pyle said earnestly, blushing again, "I wouldn't have invited you two over if I'd thought. .
."
The grey heap stirred in the chair and the head fell on the table as though it wasn't attached. It sighed, a long whistling sigh of infinite tedium, and lay still. "Do you know him?" I asked Pyle. "No. Isn't he one of the Press?"
"I heard Bill call him Mick," the Economic Attache said. "Isn't there a new U.P.*
correspondent?" "It's not him. I know him. What about your Economic Mission? You can't know all your people-there are hundreds of them."
"I don't think he belongs," the Economic Attache said. "I can't recollect him." "We might find his identity card," Pyle suggested.
52
For God's sake don't wake him. One drunk's enough. .anyway Granger will know." But he didn't. He came gloomily back from the lavatory. Who is the dame?" he asked morosely. ''Miss Phuong is a friend of Fowler's," Pyle said stiffly. We want to know who.
. ."
"Where'd he find her? You got to be careful in this town." He added gloomily, "Thank God for penicillin." "Bill," the Economic Attache said, "we want to know who Mick is."
"Search me."* "But you brought him here." "The Frogs can't take Scotch. He passed out."* "Is he French? I thought you called him Mick." "Had to call him something," Granger said. He leant over to Phuong and said, "Here. You. Have another glass of orange? Got a date tonight?"
I said, "She's got a date every night." The Economic Attache said hurriedly, "How's the war, Bill?" .
.. "Great victory north-west of Hanoi. French recapture two villages they never told us they'd lost. Heavy Vietminh casualties. Haven't been able to count their own yet but let us know in aweek or two."
The Economic Attache said, "There's a rumour that the Vietminh have broken intoPhat Diem,* burned the Cathe-chased out the Bishop."
"They wouldn't tell us about that in Hanoi. That's not a victory."
"One of our medical teams couldn't get beyond Nam Dinh,"* Pyle said.
"You didn't get down as far as that, Bill?" the Economic Attache asked. "Who do you think I am? I'm a correspondent with
53
an Ordre de Gireulation* which shows when I'm out of bounds. I fly to Hanoi airport. They give us a car to the Press Camp. They lay on a flight* over the two towns they've recaptured and show us the tricolour flying. It might be any darned flag at that height. Then we have a Press Conference and a colonel explains to us what we've been looking at. Then we file our cables with the censor. Then we have drinks. Best barman in IndoChina. Then we catch the plane back." Pyle frowned at his beer.
"You underrate yourself, Bill," the Economic Attache said. "Why, that account of Road 66--what did you call it? Highway to Hell-that was worthy of the PUlitzer.* You know the story I mean-the man with his head blown off kneeling in the ditch, and that other you saw walking in a dream..."
"Do you think I'd really go near their stinking highway? Stephen Crane* could describe a war without seeing one. Why shouldn't I? It's only a damned colonial war anyway. Get me another drink. And then let's go and find a girl. You've got a bit of tail. I want a bit of tail* too."