The Quiet American Read Online Free PDF

Press Conference,”
    I said He looked at me with disapproval. He said, “These guys are real keen. Why, I expect they could earn twice as much in business or on the radio without any risk.” “They might have to work,” I said. “They seem to sniff the battle like war-horses,” he went on exultantly, paying no attention to words he didn’t like. “Bill Granger-you can’t keep him out of a scrap.”
    “I expect you’re right. I saw him in one the other evening at the bar of the Sporting.” “You know very well I didn’t mean that.” Two trishaw drivers came pedalling furiously down the rue Catinat and drew up in a photo-finish outside the Continental. In the first was Granger. The other contained a small, grey, silent heap which Granger now began to pull out on to the pavement. “Oh, come on, Mick,” he said, ‘come on.” Then he began to argue with his driver about the fare. “Here,” he said, “take it or leave it,” and flung five times the correct amount into the street for the man to stoop for.
    The Economic Attaché said nervously, “I guess these boys deserve a little relaxation.”
    Granger flung his burden on to a chair. Then he noticed Phuong. “Why,” he said, “you old so-and-so, Joe. Where did you find her? Didn’t know you had a whistle in you. Sorry, got to find the can. Look after Mick.” “Rough soldierly manners,” I said.
    Pyle said earnestly, blushing again, “I wouldn’t have invited you two over if I’d thought. . .”
    The grey heap stirred in the chair and the head fell on the table as though it wasn’t attached. It sighed, a long whistling sigh of infinite tedium, and lay still. “Do you know him?” I asked Pyle. “No. Isn’t he one of the Press?”
    “I heard Bill call him Mick,” the Economic Attaché said. “Isn’t there a new U.P. correspondent?” “It’s not him. I know him. What about your Economic Mission? You can’t know all your people-there are hundreds of them.”
    “I don’t think he belongs,” the Economic Attaché said. “I can’t recollect him.” “We might find his identity card,” Pyle suggested.
    For God’s sake don’t wake him. One drunk’s enough. .anyway Granger will know.”
    But he didn’t. He came gloomily back from the lavatory. Who is the dame?” he asked morosely. “Miss Phuong is a friend of Fowlair’s,” Pyle said stiffly. We want to know who. . .”
    “Where’d he find her? You got to be careful in this town.” He added gloomily, “Thank God for penicillin.” “Bill,” the Economic Attaché said, “we want to know who Mick is.” “Search me.” “But you brought him here.” “The Frogs can’t take Scotch. He passed out.” “Is he French? I thought you called him Mick.” “Had to call him something,” Granger said. He leant over to Phuong and said, “Here. You. Have another glass of orange? Got a date tonight?”
    I said, “She’s got a date every night.” The Economic Attaché said hurriedly, “How’s the war, Bill?”                    
    .. “Great victory north-west of Hanoi. French recapture two villages they never told us they’d lost. Heavy Vietminh casualties. Haven’t been able to count their own yet but let us know in a week or two.”
    The Economic Attaché said, “There’s a rumour that the Vietminh have broken into Phat Diem, burned the Cathe-chased out the Bishop.”
    “They wouldn’t tell us about that in Hanoi. That’s not a victory.”
    “One of our medical teams couldn’t get beyond Nam Dinh,” Pyle said.
    “You didn’t get down as far as that, Bill?” the Economic Attache asked. “Who do you think I am? I’m a correspondent with an Ordre de Gireulation which shows when I’m out of bounds. I fly to Hanoi airport. They give us a car to the Press Camp. They lay on a flight over the two towns they’ve recaptured and show us the tricolour flying. It might be any darned flag at that height. Then we have a Press Conference and a colonel