The Quiet American

Phuong.

Do you know where he is?

He told me to wait here.

He would meet me

after he had dinner with you.

Yes, he was supposed to, but he didn't.

Perhaps he's still at the American legation.

I have been to the legation. No one is there.

Well, so many last minute things to do.

I understand you're both

leaving for America very soon.

Well, he can't be much longer.

Come upstairs and wait.

I can wait here.

There's nothing improper about it.

I'm sure he would approve.

I will wait here.

Of course, there's always the chance

that he might be at the river front

watching the American supplies unload.

Perhaps.

Well, some of them might be his.

Now he's going home,

he'll want to make sure

that they fall into the right hands.

- What did you tell them?

- Where I shall be.

If he should return while I'm gone.

What's all the chatter and giggling about?

They think I have come back to you.

- Mr. Fowler?

- I'm Fowler.

My eyes are no longer young.

Can you identify her for me?

Mine are no younger than yours.

You know who it is.

They wouldn't let her come in with me.

There are those who complain

about being kept in,

and those who protest at being kept out.

In the search for justice,

one becomes depressed

at the unpopularity of the pursuant.

You can't have brought me here at 1 :00

in the morning to ease your depression.

How long have you been with her tonight?

I found her outside my flat a short time ago.

- She was waiting for someone.

- Who?

Why don't you ask her?

Where had she been before that?

I'm prepared to answer questions

only about myself.

I'm not an informant.

Uh, (CLEARS THROAT) at 6:00,

you had a drink at the Continental.

The waiters remember.

At 7:
30, you walked with a colleague.

The correspondent of The New York Times,

obviously a man of high character,

to the Majestic Hotel. He remembers.

Then you hired a cyclo-pousse.

The driver remembers.

And arrived at the Vieux Moulin

restaurant about 8:20.

You had dinner by yourself,

you left about a quarter to 10:00.

Several old ladies remember

that you arrived at your home about 10:00.

And that you did not come out

until after a short time ago.

Vigot, it's far too late

and I'm much too weary to play at charades.

What do you want?

-- Entrez.

Merci.

Sugar?

No.

At the restaurant,

you were impatient about the, uh,

waiter's slowness in bringing the bill.

- Yes, I had a 10:00 appointment at my flat.

- With whom?

That should be none of your business.

Sanctity of the press.

Well, of course.

You could withdraw my card of identity

and bar me from news conferences.

The country at war,

it is not easy to maintain legality, you know.

I do my best.

Well, at 10:
00, I was expecting

a young American at my flat.

He'd sent a message late in the afternoon.

He wants to see me

about something important.

Have you any idea what?

Everything is important

to this young American

but he didn't show up.

Hmm.

And, uh, when you found her

outside your flat,

she was waiting for the...

The same young American?

She's worried about him.

Is it true what one hears that they were,

how do you say,

sweethearts,

and they were going to be married?

They are going to be married

as far as I know.

Yes.

Yet, up to no more than a month ago,

forgive the indelicacy of a policeman,

the same young lady

was equally devoted to you.

That, I must insist, is none of your business.

For more than two years,

up to a month ago,

the deep mutual devotion of this

young lady and you was very well known.

Mr. Fowler, what do you know

about the young American?

Now please answer my questions.

Believe me, it is serious.

You know as much as I do. Probably more.

Nationality, American. Age, young.

Very young.

Occupation,

I've never clearly understood what it is.

One of those American groups,

there seem to be hundreds of them,

that stretch helping hands

around the world,

holding out packages of hope.

The name of his escapes me.

Friends for Free Asia.

Oh, very likely.

And he believed it literally.

He'd work at the profession of friendship

as if it were law or medicine.

He was a friendly young man, then?

Not one of those noisy, bellowing lads

at the Continental bar.

A quiet American.

Very quiet.

Un Amrican bien tranquille.

How did he die?

What makes you think he's dead?

A foolish policeman's question, Vigot.

For one thing,

you just spoke of him in the past tense.

He was found in the water.

Under the bridge to Dakow.

Did he die what's called a natural death?

Highly unnatural.

The Vieux Moulin restaurant

is right beside the bridge.

Are you sure I didn't slip out long enough

to have killed him?

I'm sure of that.

She didn't do it.

Come and see. She's waiting for him still.

Now one of my reasons to...

For asking you to come was to suggest that

the shock would be more gentle

if you were to tell her in private.

Away from the eye of a policeman.

That's human of you.

One has one's moments.

Mr. Fowler,

would you mind identifying him?

Uh, it's not very pleasant,

but it's a necessary function.

I would think you'd ask some

medical official to identify him properly.

Perhaps you're not as sure

as you say of my innocence.

Your methods are dramatic, Vigot,

but a little old-fashioned.

The medieval concept of the criminal

confronted by his crime will betray himself.

The stairs are badly lighted.

Be careful you do not slip.

You see, they don't reopen in my presence.

The wounds.

They're supposed to bleed again

before the eyes of the guilty.

But then, they're frozen.

They didn't have refrigeration

in the Middle Ages.

He did not die from his wounds.

He was drowned.

We found the mud of the river in his lungs.

They should have let it happen quickly.

They?

Whoever.

You cannot help us at all?

Is it all right to smoke in here?

Who's there to object?

You recognize him?

Excuse me.

He was so determined to do good.

To people, to countries, to continents.

To the world.

Well, he was in his element now.

With the whole universe to improve.

When was it? Only a few months ago.

A lifetime ago, one might say.

It was at the Continental, I remember.

In the momentary cool

which comes to Saigon

when the working day is done.

Phuong was prolonging

her usual pre-dinner milkshake.

I was comparing the Indochinese war

being won in the newspapers at home

with the one being lost

by the French in the north.

We sat in silence.

Content to be together.

- Mr. Fowler?

- Oh, hello.

Joe Morton and I are having a drink

up on the terrace.

Would you and young lady care to join us?

Of course.

Oh, this is Ms. Hei. Ms. Phuong Hei.

- Enchante.

- How do you do?

Her unfinished milkshake

seems to be the problem.

May I?

Have you tried the milk bar

across the street?

The milkshakes are much better than here.

Uh, each morning at 11 hours,

I go there to have milkshake.

Each night at six hours, we go here.

I like there, the milkshake more better.

Bravo!

To date, her longest consecutive passage

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