The Quiet American Page #10

Was the dog with him when

you last saw the American?

No.

When was that?

Well, I told you.

No, you told me only that you expected him

to come to your flat at 10:00.

When did you see him last?

Well, this morning...

Well, yesterday morning now.

Just after the explosion at the Continental.

Just after that senseless, heartless murder

of dozens of innocent...

Yesterday morning.

And you didn't see him again?

No.

Alors...

You must be extremely weary.

The driver waits for you.

- Good night, Mr. Fowler.

- Good night.

Where have you been?

To where he lives.

His automobile is there, but he's not.

What did they want, la S?ret?

What did they say? Where is he?

He's dead, Phuong.

He's dead.

How was he made dead?

Somebody killed him.

Who?

They don't know.

Why?

They don't know.

Where are you going?

You can't just walk the streets.

Police will pick you up.

Then they will have him and me.

-- Phuong, don't leave me alone.

You don't seem to be uncovering

much damaging evidence.

There is nothing more damaging

than the American soft drink.

Would you care for one?

His taste in music on the other hand

was excellent.

Debussy, of course.

Strange country, America,

what one thinks of it depends always upon

which American one has in mind

at the moment.

Have found the rest of her belongings?

Of the young lady? They are not here.

Oh, she must've picked them up already.

And left behind a valuable collection

of picture books?

No, the more logical assumption is that

the rest of her belongings

were not here to begin with.

Of course.

The wedding had to be suitable

for the family trade.

Passed by the censor boards.

Separate residence to the end.

Marriage being the end.

Would you mind if I took

these picture books with me?

I'm afraid I would.

They weren't his.

And they are not yours.

All right.

- - Once more now.

- One more?

- - Why though?

- This is an English lesson.

No, no, no.

- You have your turn next.

- - Oh, no.

- - No, no.

- All right wait a minute.

- - Come a little, come over here.

- Okay.

Now one word.

- Say prune.

- Prune.

Very good,

little closer, now once more.

Prune.

Very good, now once more.

Prune.

I like this word.

What word?

Pru...

Baby,

nobody in Texas says prune

the way you say prune.

Now, we can understand why

he did not use his car last night.

It had been drained of gasoline.

You may call it petrol with me.

Forgive me, I was thinking American.

But, obviously it was considered

necessary for him

either to walk or to use a cyclo-pousse.

So that he could be more quietly killed.

It's an old device, but they seem

to be unusually devoted to it, eh?

Whoever.

I am reminded of another time when

the car of the American

suddenly would not function.

Less than two months ago,

don't you remember?

Do you have a... Oh, no, never mind.

I remember also that you...

You were good enough

to offer the American a ride

in a car that was rented for you

by your assistant.

Perez?

- Dominguez.

- Ah, Dominguez, yeah.

And curiously enough,

that car too ran out of petrol, huh,

which forced you to spend the night

under a communist attack.

That was when the American

saved your life, was it not?

I didn't ask him to.

I told him he was being a fool.

Ah, it's depressing how much

the human being does

instinctively what is foolish.

And whereas...

Mr. Fowler,

knowing how deeply you must regret

the murder of a friend, who saved your life.

Even over your objection.

And having thought about it

through the night,

can you be now of any help to me?

Sorry, I didn't think about it

through the night, I was extremely tired.

I slept deeply.

Then as a man of untroubled sleep,

as a reporter,

do you have any views?

Perhaps he was killed by the communists.

They've murdered

plenty of people in Saigon.

Distinct possibility, but why?

Perhaps they didn't like his friendship

for General The.

The French may have murdered him

for the same reason.

Remote possibility.

After all, The has been fighting

both the French and the communists.

Well, perhaps the Cao Dai's killed him to

punish General The for leaving their army.

Perhaps General The killed him

because he knew the Cao Dais.

Perhaps he was murdered

because someone wanted his money.

But, at any rate, we have ruled out suicide.

You're not thinking up some

new electronic third degree?

No, by what chain of thought I cannot say,

but I've been thinking suddenly

about the American's dog.

Oh, did you find it?

It was never lost.

- Well, you told me that it was...

- I told you that we were not looking for it.

When did you find it?

Last night in the mud not far

from the American.

I suppose it refused to leave the body.

They killed it too.

I'm truly sorry to hear that.

Mr. Fowler,

I would like to know why you lied to me.

The American visited you yesterday.

Not long before he was killed.

What gives you that idea?

Where you live at the foot of the stairs

the floor is being repaired,

the workmen finished laying the cement

at half past 4:
00 yesterday afternoon.

Then they went on to another job.

There must be many floors in Saigon

being repaired with cement.

With the footprints of a dog that match

exactly the ones of the poor dead beast?

I have nothing to tell you.

Nothing at all.

Perhaps later then.

After you have become more uninvolved.

You do think I killed him.

No.

Then why is so important whether I saw

the American again yesterday before I...

Before he died.

Mr. Joe Morton's office.

Hello, Miss Hei, don't hang up.

Listen. I have been ringing

your flat for 20 minutes.

Have you told Phuong

not to answer the phone?

Well, you stop lying to me,

I know she must be there.

Where is she then? Tell...

Yes, yes, I know you have a job to do.

I intend to go on bothering you

as much as I want.

Until I find Phuong.

Oh. Won't you have a drink?

Oh, perhaps a little English whiskey-soda,

thank you.

I understand you are not going home,

that your newspaper permits you to stay.

I only received that letter this afternoon.

When did you read it?

This morning.

Well, it is fortunate it arrived

after the killing rather than before.

Yes, you...

You would've had quite a case against me.

Is that why you think

I was concerned in his death?

That my motive was wanting Phuong back?

-- Now that the American is dead...

Could I have a little more soda?

Has she come back to you?

Or that my motive was revenge

for losing Phuong.

You did not kill him, Mr. Fowler.

But you and I know who did.

Actually, you'll never find the man.

Or men who killed him, Vigot.

He was killed at long distance.

As much by an idea as anything else.

An idea?

All his life,

they saturated him with this idea,

from books and slogans, church pulpits,

lecture platforms.

An idea so repugnant

that he was killed for it?

You would've made a good priest, Vigot.

What is it about you

that would make it so easy to confess?

If there were anything to confess.

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