Beyond was a group of farm-buildings: the lieutenant went in first, bugging the wall, and we followed at six-foot intervals in single file. Then the men, again without an order, scattered through the farm. Life had deserted it -not so much as a hen had been left behind, though hanging on the walls of what had been the living-room were two hideous oleographs of the Sacred Heart and the Mother and Child which gave the whole ramshackle group of buildings a European air. One knew what ‘these people believed even if one didn’t share their belief: they were human beings, not just grey drained cadavers.
So much of war is sitting around and doing nothing, waiting for somebody else. With no guarantee of the amount of time you have left it doesn’t seem worth starting even a train of thought. Doing what they had done so often before, the sentries moved out. Anything that stirred ahead of us now was enemy. The lieutenant marked his map and reported our position over the radio. A noonday hush fell: even the mortars were quiet and the air was empty of planes. One man doodled with a twig in the dirt of the farmyard. After a while it was as if we had been forgotten by war. I hoped that Phuong had sent my suits to the cleaners. A cold wind ruffled the straw of the yard, and a man went modestly behind a barn to relieve himself. I tried to remember whether I had paid the British Consul in Hanoi for the bottle of whisky he had allowed me.
Two shots were fired to our front, and I thought, ‘This is it. Now it comes.’ It was all the warning I wanted. I awaited, with a sense of exhilaration, the permanent thing.
But nothing happened. Once again I had “over-prepared the event.” Only long minutes afterwards one of the sentries entered and reported something to the lieutenant. I caught the phrase, “Deux civils.”
The lieutenant said to me, “We will go and see,” and following the sentry we picked our way along a muddy over-grown path between two fields. Twenty yards beyond the farm buildings, in a narrow ditch, we came on what we sought: a woman and a small boy. They were very clearly dead: a small neat clot of blood on the woman’s forehead, and the child might have been sleeping. He was about six years old and he lay like an embryo in the womb with his little bony knees drawn up. “Malchance,” the lieutenant said. He bent down and turned the child over. He was wearing a holy medal round his neck, and I said to myself, ‘The juju doesn’t work.’ There was a gnawed piece of loaf under his body. I thought, I hate war.’
The lieutenant said, “Have you seen enough?” speaking savagely, almost as though I had been responsible for these deaths: perhaps to the soldier the civilian is the man who employs him to kill, who includes the guilt of murder in the pay-envelope and escapes responsibility. We walked back to the farm and sat down again in silence on the straw, out of the wind, which like an. animal seemed to know that dark was coming. The man who had doodled was relieving himself, and the man who had relieved himself was doodling. I thought how in those moments of quiet, after the sentries had been posted, they must have believed it safe to move from the ditch. I wondered whether they had lain there long-the bread had been very dry. This farm was probably their home.
The radio was working again. The lieutenant said wearily, “They are going to bomb the village. Patrols are called in for the night.” We rose and began our journey back, punting again around the shoal of bodies, filing past the church. We hadn’t gone very far, and yet it seemed a long enough journey to have made with the killing of those two as the only result. The planes had gone up, and behind us the bombing began.
Dark had fallen by the time I reached the officers’ quarters, where I was spending the night. The temperature was only a degree above zero, and the sole warmth anywhere was in the blazing market. With one wall destroyed by a bazooka and the doors buckled, canvas curtains couldn’t shut out the draughts. The electric dynamo was not working, and we had to build barricades of boxes and books to keep the candles burning. I played Quatre Vingt-et-un for Communist currency with a Captain Sorel: it wasn’t possible to play for drinks as I was a guest of the mess. The luck went wearisomely back and forth. I opened my bottle of whisky to try to warm us a little, and the others gathered round. The colonel said, “This is the first glass of whisky I have had since I left Paris.”
A lieutenant came in from his round of the sentries. “Perhaps we shall have a quiet night,” he said.
“They will not attack before four,” the colonel said. “Have you a gun?” he asked me. “No”
“I’ll find you one. Better keep it on your pillow.” He added courteously, “I am afraid you will find your mattress rather hard. And at three-thirty the mortar-fire will begin. We try to break up any concentrations.” “How long do you suppose this will go on?” “Who knows? We can’t spare any more troops from Nam Dinh. This is just a diversion. If we can hold out with no more help than we got two days ago, it is, one may say, a victory.”
The wind was up again, prowling for an entry. The canvas curtain sagged (I was reminded of Polonius stabbed behind the arras) and the candle wavered. The shadows were theatrical. We might have been a company of barn-stormers.
“Have your posts held?”
“As far as we know.” He said with an effect of great tiredness, “This is nothing, you understand, an affair of no importance compared with what is happening a hundred kilometres away at Hoa Binh. That is a battle.” “Another glass. Colonel?”
“Thank you, no. It is wonderful, your English whisky, but it is better to keep a little for the night in case of need. I think, if you will excuse me, I will get some sleep. One cannot sleep after the mortars start. Captain Sorel, you will see that Monsieur Fowlair has everything he needs, a candle, matches, a revolver.” He went into his room. If was the signal for all of us. They had put a mattress on the floor for me in a small storeroom and I was surrounded by wooden cases. I stayed awake only a very short time- hardness of the floors was like rest. I wondered, but largely without jealousy, whether Phuong was at the flat. The possession of a body tonight seemed a very small thing- perhaps that day I had seen too many bodies which belonged to no one, not even to themselves. We were all expendable. When I fell asleep I dreamed of Pyle. He was dancing all by himself on a stage, stiffly, with his arms held out to an invisible partner, and I sat and watched him from a seat like music-stool with a gun in my hand in case anyone should interfere with his dance. A programme set up by the stage, like the numbers in an English music-hall, read. “The Dance of Love. ‘A’ certificate.” Somebody moved at the back of the theatre and I held my gun tighter. Then I woke.
My hand was on the gun they had lent me, and a man stood in the doorway with a candle in his hand. He wore a steel helmet which threw a shadow over his eyes, and it was only when he spoke that I knew he was Pyle. He said shyly, “I’m awfully sorry to wake you up. They told me I could sleep in here.”
I was still not fully awake. “Where did you get that helmet?” I asked.
“Oh, somebody lent it to me,” he said vaguely. He dragged in after him a military kitbag and began to pull out a wool-lined sleeping-bag.
“You are very well equipped,” I said, trying to recollect why either of us should be here.
“This is the standard travelling kit,” he said, “of our medical aid teams. They lent me one in Hanoi.” He took out a thermos and a small spirit stove, a hair-brush, a shaving-set and a tin of rations. I looked at my watch. It was nearly three in the morning.
Pyle continued to unpack. He made a little ledge of cases, on which he put his shaving-mirror and tackle. I said, “I doubt if you’ll get any water.”
“Oh,” he said, “I’ve enough in the thermos for the morning.” He sat down on his sleeping bag and began to pull off his boots.
“How on earth did you get here?” I asked. “They let me through as far as Nam Dinh to see our trachoma team, and then I hired a boat.” “A boat?”
“Oh, some kind of a punt-I don’t know the name for it. As a matter of fact I had to buy it. It didn’t cost much.” “And you came down the river by yourself?” “It wasn’t really difficult, you know. The current was with me”. “You are crazy.”
“Oh no. The only real danger was running aground.” “Or being shot up by a naval patrol, or a French plane. Or having your throat cut by the Vietminh.” He laughed shyly. “Well, I’m here anyway,” he said. “Why?”
“Oh, there are two reasons. But I don’t want to keep you awake.”
“I’m not sleepy. The guns will be starting soon.” “Do you mind if I move the candle? It’s a bit bright here.” He seemed, nervous.
“What’s the first reason?”
“Well, the other day you made me think this place was rather interesting. You remember when we were with Granger... and Phuong.” “Yes?”
“I thought I ought to take a look at it. To tell you the truth, I was a bit ashamed of Granger.” “I see. As simple as all that.”
“Well, there wasn’t any real difficulty, was there?” He began to play with his bootlaces, and there was a long silence. “I’m not being quite honest,” he said at last. “No?”
“I really came to see you.” “You came here to see me?” “Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked up from his bootlaces 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 . . . look after her damned interests.” He said, “Oh,” in a weak voice, in the dark.