The Quiet American by Graham Greene Page A

the U. K. I only mention this as showing the strength of my objection. I don’t think you have found me a bad correspondent, and this is the first favour I have ever asked of you.” Then I looked over my article on the battle of Phat Diem, so that I could send it out to be posted under a Hong Kong date-line. The French would not seriously object now-the siege had been raised: a defeat could be played as a victory. Then I tore up the last page of my letter to the editor: it was no use-the ‘private reasons’ would become only the subject of sly jokes. Every correspondent, it was assumed, had his local girl. The editor would joke to the night-editor, who would take the envious thought back to his semi-detached villa at Streatham and climb into bed with it beside the faithful wife he had carried with him years back from Glasgow. I could see so well the of house that has no mercy-a broken tricycle stood in the hall and somebody had broken his favourite pipe; and there was a child’s shirt in the living-room waiting for a button to be sewn on. ‘Private reasons’: drinking in the Press Club I wouldn’t want to be reminded by their jokes of Phuong.
    There was a knock on the door. I opened it to Pyle and his black dog walked in ahead of him. Pyle looked over my shoulder and found the room empty. “I’m alone,” I said. “Phuong is with her sister.” He blushed. I noticed that he was wearing a Hawaii shirt, even though it was comparatively restrained in colour and design. I was surprised: had he been accused of un-American activities? He said. “I hope I haven’t interrupted. . .” “Of course not. Have a drink?” “Thanks. Beer?”
    “Sorry. We haven’t a fridge, we send out for ice. What about a Scotch?”
    “A small one, if you don’t mind. I’m not very keen on hard liquor.”
    “On the rocks?”
    “Plenty of soda-if you aren’t short.” I said, “I haven’t seen you since Phat Diem.” “You got my note, Thomas?”
    When he used my Christian name, it was like a declaration that he hadn’t been humorous, that he hadn’t been covering up, that he was here to get Phuong. I noticed that his crew-cut had recently been trimmed; was even the Hawaii shirt serving the function of male plumage?
    “I got your note,” I said. “I suppose I ought to knock you down.”
    “Of course,” he said, “you’ve every right, Thomas. But I did boxing at college-and I’m so much younger.” “No, it wouldn’t be a good move for me, would it?” “You know, Thomas (I’m sure you feel the same), I don’t like discussing Phuong behind her back. I thought she would be here.”
    “Well, what shall we discuss-plastic?” I hadn’t meant to surprise him. He said, “You know about that?” “Phuong told me.” “How could she. . .?”
    “You can be sure it’s all over the town. What’s important about it? Are you going into the toy business?”
    “We don’t like the details of our aid to get around. You know what ‘Congress is like-and then one has visiting Senators. We had a lot of trouble about our trachoma teams because they were using one drug instead of another.” “I still don’t understand the plastic.” His black dog sat on the floor taking up too much room, panting its tongue looked like a burnt pancake. Pyle said vaguely, “Oh, you know, we want to get some of these local industries on their feet, and we have to be careful of the French. They want everything bought in France.” “I don’t blame them. A war needs money.” “Do you like dogs?” “No.”
    “I thought the British were great dog lovers.” “We think Americans love dollars, but there must be exceptions.”
    “I don’t know how I’d get along without Duke. You know, sometimes I feel so darned lonely. . . .” “You’ve got a great many companions in your branch.”
    “The first dog I ever had was called Prince. I called him after the Black Prince. You know, the fellow who.. .” “Massacred all the women and