The Quiet American

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Authors: Graham Greene
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in an agony of embarrassment. “I had to tell you—I’ve fallen in love with Phuong.”                   ‘.
    I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He was so unexpected and so serious. I said, “Couldn’t you have waited till I got back? I shall be in Saigon next week”
    “You might have been killed,” he said. “It wouldn’t have been honourable. And then I don’t know if I could have stayed away from Phuong all that time.” “You mean, you have stayed away?” “Of course. You don’t think I’ll tell her- without you knowing?” “People do,” I said. “When did it happen?”
    “I guess it was that night at the Chalet, dancing with her.”
    “I didn’t think you ever got close enough.” He looked at me in a puzzled way. If his conduct seemed crazy to me, mine was obviously inexplicable to him. He said, “You know, I think it was seeing all those girls in that house. They were so pretty. Why, she might have been one of them. I wanted to protect her.”
    “I don’t think she’s in need of protection. Has Miss Hei invited you out?”
    “Yes, but I haven’t gone. I’ve kept away.” He said gloomily, “It’s been terrible. I feel like such a heel, but you do believe me, don’t you, that if you’d been married-why, I .wouldn’t ever come between a man and his wife.”
    “You seem pretty sure you can come between,” I said. For the first time he had irritated me.
    “Fowlair,” he said, “I don’t know your Christian name...?”
    “Thomas. Why?”
    “I can call you Tom, can’t I? I feel in a way this has brought us together. Loving the same woman, I mean.” “What’s your next move?”
    He sat up enthusiastically against the packing-cases. “Everything seems different now that you know,” he said. “I shall ask her to marry me, Tom.” “I’d rather you called me Thomas.” “She’ll just have to choose between us, Thomas. That’s fair enough.”
    But was it fair? I felt for the first time the premonitory chill of loneliness. It was all fantastic, and yet, and yet . . . He might be a poor lover, but I was the poor man. He had .in his hand the infinite riches of respectability.
    He began to undress and I thought, ‘He has youth too.’ How sad it was to envy Pyle.
    I said, “I can’t marry her. I have a wife at home. She would never divorce me. She’s High Church-if you know what that means.”
    “I’m sorry, Thomas. By the way, my name’s Alden, if you’d care...”
    “I’d rather stick to Pyle,” I said. “I think of you as Pyle.” He got into his sleeping bag and stretched his hand out for the candle. “Whew,” he said, “I’m glad that’s over, Thomas. I’ve been feeling awfully bad about it.” It was only too evident that he no longer did.
    When the candle was out, I could just see the outline of his crew-cut against the light of the flames outside. “Good-night, Thomas. Sleep well,” and immediately at those words like a bad comedy cue the mortars opened up, whirring, shrieking, exploding. “Good God,” Pyle said, “is it an attack?” “They are trying to stop an attack.” “Well, I suppose, there’ll be no sleep for us now?” “No sleep.”
    “Thomas, I want you to know what I think of the way you’ve taken all this-I think you’ve been swell, swell, there’s no other word for it.” “Thank you.”
    “You’ve seen so much more of the world than I have. You know, in some ways Boston is a bit-cramping. Even if you aren’t a Lowell or a Cabot. I wish you’d advise me, Thomas.” “What about?” “Phuong.”
    “I wouldn’t trust my advice if I were you. I’m biased. I want to keep her.”
    “Oh, but I know you’re straight, absolutely straight, and we both have her interests at heart.” Suddenly I couldn’t bear his boyishness any more. I said, I don’t care that for her interests. You can have her interests. I only want her body. I want her in bed with me. I’d rather ruin her and sleep with her than, than .

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