Chapter 5 Chapter Four

1 From the cathedral bell-tower the battle was but as vivid as a scroll, as fixed as a panorama of the Boer War in an old weekly Illustrated London News.A plane drops supplies to an isolated outpost in a limestone mountain.These strange, weather-eroded mountains on the Annan province border look like piles of pumice stones.The plane always glides to the same spot to be dropped over and over again, so it's as if it never moved, and the parachute always floats to the same spot, halfway off the ground. On the plains, the mortars fired continuously, and the smoke they released was as solid as stone, and the flames in the market place formed a pale gray in the sun.The small bodies of the paratroopers who jumped down were moving in single file along the canal, but from this height, the paratroopers appeared to be motionless.Even the Catholic priest sitting in the corner of the bell tower reading a prayer book did not move.Seen from this distance, the war was very rule-based and well-organized.

Before dawn, I came here from Nanding on a landing craft.We couldn't go ashore at Navy Pier because the enemy had completely surrounded the city, six hundred yards away the enemy had cut off Navy Pier, so we had to sail into town along the burning market Come.We were an easy target in the bright light of the flames, but oddly enough no one fired at us.All was silent except for the stalls, which were burning and slapping down.By the river, I could hear the movement of a Senegalese sentry. Before this attack I had known Fa Diem well--a long, narrow street lined with wooden stalls, with canals, churches, and bridges every hundred yards.At night, everything is lit only by candles or small oil lamps (Fa Diem has no power plant, only the French officer barracks have electricity).The streets are full of people day and night, making a lot of noise.This place, in its quaint medieval way, had always been the liveliest city in all of Vietnam under the patronage of the prince who was also bishop, but this time, when I landed and walked towards the officers' barracks, it was a deserted city. Dead silence.The ruins, the broken glass and the smell of burnt paint and plaster, and the long street, so empty at first sight, reminded me of a thoroughfare in London, early in the morning, after the air-raid sirens were cleared: you'll see There is a sign that reads: "Unexploded Bomb!"

The walls in front of the officers' barracks had been knocked down, and the houses across the street were in ruins.I heard Lieutenant Perot talk about what happened when I came down the river in a landing craft from Nam Dinh.He was a serious young man, a Freemason.The incident seemed to him like a trial for the superstitions of his congregation.Bishop Phat Diem once traveled to Europe, where he learned to worship the Virgin of Fatima, the Virgin whom Roman Catholics believe had once appeared to a group of Portuguese children.After the bishop returned to his country, he built a shrine in the cathedral to worship the Virgin, and parade every year to celebrate the Feast of Our Lady.Relations between the bishop and the colonels in charge of the French and Vietnamese armies have been tense since the day the authorities disbanded the bishop's personal army.This year, the colonel—whom he sympathized with the bishop because his country was more important than Catholicism to both of them—made a gesture of goodwill and walked with his senior officers on Marian Day in person. The front of the procession.

Never before have so many people gathered in Fa Diem to celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of Fatima.Even many Buddhists—who make up half the population—are not willing to miss out on the fun.Those who believed in neither God nor Buddha thought that all those banners and censers and glittering monstrances would somehow keep their homes safe from war.Only the brass band was left of the bishop's army, and this time they would lead the way.Following the colonel's order, the French officers, pretending to be pious, like children in a choir, followed the brass band through the city gates into the cathedral area, past the small pool in front of the church door, and the small pool in the middle of the pool. A pure white statue of the Sacred Heart stands on the island, and then passes under the bell tower with oriental-style corridors on both sides, and enters the wooden cathedral. More like a Buddhist temple than a Catholic church.People came from all over, from the villages between the canals, from the water towns of the Low Countries.Green seedlings and golden crops in these water towns have replaced tulip flowers and churches with windmills.

No one noticed that Viet Minh agents also participated in the parade.That night, the main force of the Communist Army broke through the pass on Lime Cliff Hill and entered the Tonkin Plain.French sentries on the hill above watched helplessly.At the same time, these advance agents are also working in Fayan City. Four days later, with the aid of paratroopers, they forced the enemy to retreat half a mile from the city.It was a losing battle: no journalists were allowed in, and no telegrams were allowed to go out, since the newspapers were only allowed to carry news of victories.If the authorities knew I was here for an interview, they would have stopped me in Hanoi, but the further you get from headquarters, the looser the controls.Once you are within the enemy's line of fire, you are a welcome guest—a threat to the Hanoi staff, a concern to the colonel in Nam Dinh, but a mere threat to the lieutenant at the front. A joke, a pastime, an object of interest to the outside world, so that there were a few such happy moments when he could make a little pretense of himself, and even view the casualties of his subordinates with false heroic brilliance.

The priest closed his prayer-book and said, "Well, it's over." He was a European, but not a Frenchman, for the bishop could not bear a French priest in his parish.He said a little apologetically, "I ran up to the bell tower, you know, to get some peace and quiet from those poor people." The sound of the mortars seemed to be getting closer, and perhaps the enemy was finally returning fire.Finding the enemy was inexplicably difficult: there were more than a dozen narrow fronts here, and between the intertwined canals, farm houses and rice fields, they had countless opportunities to strike.

Just below our clock tower, the inhabitants of the whole city are standing, sitting, or lying down.Some were Catholics, some Buddhists, and others who did not believe, all with their most valuable possessions—a cooking stove, a lamp, a mirror, a wardrobe, mats, a An icon—fleeing into the cathedral quarter.Here in the north, it is freezing cold after dark, and the cathedral is already packed: there is nowhere to live, and even the steps leading up to the belfry are taken.From time to time, more people crowded through the gates with their babies and household belongings.They believe that no matter what their beliefs are, they will always be safe here.While we were watching, a young man in Confederate uniform and armed with a rifle pushed in: a priest stopped him and took his rifle.A priest next to me explained, "We are neutral here. This is the domain of God." I thought to myself, "There are some strange poor people in Heaven, frightened, hungry and cold"—"I really I don't know what we're going to feed these people," the priest said to me—"you'd think a great king would do better." But then I thought, "Wherever you go , all the same—not that the strongest kings have the happiest people."

Many small shops have opened up below.I said, "It's like a big market, isn't it, but there's not a smiley face to be seen." "Last night," said the priest, "it was very cold for them. We had to shut the door of the monastery, or they would come in and crush us." "Are you guys warm in here?" I asked him. "It's not very warm. If a tenth of them went in, we wouldn't have room there," he went on. "I know what you're thinking. But it's important that we have a few of us. .There is only one hospital in the whole city of Fayan, and our nurses are these nuns."

"And where's your surgeon?" "I'll do my best." That's when I saw a lot of blood on his black robe. He said, "Did you come here for me?" "No. I came up to get my bearings." "I'm asking you this because a man came up last night. He's going to make a confession. You see, he's a little frightened of the dead people he saw around the canal. You can't blame him." "Is it bad around the canal?" "The paratroopers came down and got those guys in the crossfire. Poor man. I thought you might be thinking the same."

"I'm not a Catholic. I don't think you can even call me a Christian." "It's strange how fear scares people." "It doesn't scare me. Even if I believe in God, I still hate the idea of ​​repentance. Kneeling in one of your little rooms. Expose yourself to another. You'll have to forgive me, Father." , though I think it seems pathological—even cowardly—to do so.” "Well," he whispered, "I reckon you're a good fellow, and probably don't have much to confess." I looked along the houses in the church, and there were canals on both sides, and the houses stretched out to the sea in equal parts between the canals.

On the second bell tower, the flames flickered.I said, "Your church is not completely neutral." "Perfect neutrality is impossible," he said. "The French have agreed not to interfere with the church quarters. We can't expect anything more. The man you saw shooting was a Foreign Legion post." "I'm going down. Good-bye, Father." "Goodbye and good luck. Watch out for those who shoot coldly." There were so many people downstairs, I had no choice but to squeeze out of the crowd, walk past the small pond and the white statue of the Sacred Heart with arms made of sugar, and walked all the way to the long street.I could see nearly three-quarters of a mile to the right and to the left.On both sides, on such a long street, besides me, there were only two living people—two soldiers in camouflaged steel helmets, holding Stern-type light machine guns, moving slowly along the street.I say living people, because there was a dead body lying in front of a house, with its head down on the street.There was no other sound, only the buzzing of flies gathered around the dead body and the creaking of the two soldiers' leather boots were getting farther and farther away.I walked quickly past the dead body and turned to the other side.A few minutes later, I looked back, and there was only me and my shadow left.There was no sound or smell anywhere, only the sound of my own footsteps.I felt as if I were a target in range.Then it occurred to me that if something happened to me on this street, it would be hours before anyone would notice: the flies had gathered around me in great swarms during those hours. I walked through two canals, turned a corner, and walked towards a church.There were more than a dozen people sitting on the ground, all paratroopers in camouflage, and two officers were looking at a map.When I walked up to them, no one paid me any attention. A soldier with a walkie-talkie antenna said, "Let's go now," and they all stood up. I asked them in my poor French if I could follow them.This war had one favorable condition. A European face turned out to be a passport on the battlefield: a European would not be suspected of being an enemy spy. "Who are you?" the lieutenant asked me. "I'm a war reporter," I said. "Is it American?" "No, British." He said, "It's a small operation, but if you'd like to come with us..." He began to take off his helmet. "No, no," I said, "that's for fighters." "up to you." We set out in single file behind the church, with the lieutenant leading the way, to the bank of a canal, and we stopped for a while to let the soldier with the walkie-talkie communicate with the patrols to the left and right.Mortar shells flew over our heads and exploded out of sight.We added a few more people behind the chapel, and there were now more than thirty people.Pointing to the map with one finger, the lieutenant whispered to me, "According to information, there are three hundred people in this village. Maybe they are assembled here for tonight's operation. We don't know yet. At present, no one has found them yet." " "How far is it from here?" "Three hundred yards." There was another word on the radio, and we continued on in silence, a straight canal to the right, low bushes and crops to the left, and bushes beyond. "No trace of the enemy," the lieutenant murmured, with a reassuring wave of his hand, and we moved on again.Forty yards away lay another canal ahead, with a broken bridge, without railings, except for a plank.The lieutenant made a gesture and told us to disperse.We squatted down, facing the unknown terrain beyond the bridge thirty feet above us ahead.The soldiers looked at the river, and suddenly, as if someone had given an order, they all turned their heads away.For a moment I didn't see what they saw, but when I did, I suddenly thought for some reason of the country tavern on the embankment, and the showgirls and the whistling young soldiers, and Pyle said " That's not appropriate at all." The canals are full of dead bodies: at this moment it reminds me of a pot of Irish lamb stew with too much meat.The dead bodies piled on top of each other: a human head, gray and black like a seal, like a shaved, nameless convict, rose to the surface like a buoy in the harbor.There was no blood in the river: I guessed the blood had gone away.I don't know how many dead bodies there are: they must be caught in the crossfire and trying to get back.I think every single one of us on the shore at this point was thinking, "This game can be played with two." I also looked away, neither of us wanting to be reminded how worthless we are, and death is coming How fast, how simple, how silent.Even though my sanity wanted to die, I was as scared of the action as a virgin.When it comes to death, I also want to have the proper precursors so that I can be prepared.What are you going to do?I don't know, how to prepare?I don't know either, other than to take one extra look around, to see the little thing I'm about to leave behind. The lieutenant sat beside the soldier with the walkie-talkie, staring wide-eyed at the ground between his feet.The walkie-talkie started crackling, with some instructions.Then he sighed, and stood up as if awakened from sleep.There was a curious intimacy and friendship about the demeanor of these soldiers, as if they were all equals, working together on the same job they had been doing together for an unknown amount of time.No one waits for someone to give an order and what to do.At this moment, two soldiers walked towards the plank bridge, trying to walk over the broken bridge, but the weight of their weapons made them unable to stand still.They had to ride on the planks, moving forward a few inches at a time.Another soldier found a flat-bottomed boat in a clump of bushes down the canal.He managed to paddle it to the bank where the lieutenant was standing.The six of us got into the boat and he started pushing for the other side, but we ran into a lot of dead bodies and the boat stopped.He pushed it out with a bamboo pole and sank into the huge pile of human flesh mud.A dead body came up to the surface and leaned against the side of the boat, like a swimmer lying in the sun.Then our boat struggled out and got to the opposite bank.We hurried ashore, and no one looked back.No one is firing at us: we are still alive: death may have retreated, perhaps as far as the next canal.I heard someone behind me say very seriously, "Gottsetdank." Except for the lieutenant, this group of soldiers is mostly German. There was a cluster of farm houses over there.The lieutenant walked in first, clinging to the wall, and we followed each other in a single file, six feet apart.Next, the soldiers dispersed in the fields without receiving orders.The place was lifeless—not a single hen was left, although in what had once been the living room there were still two vulgar lithographs on the walls, the Sacred Heart and the Sacred Heart. It was the Madonna and Child, which gave the mass of crumbling houses a European air.Even if you don't agree with what these people believe, at least you know what they believe: that they are human beings, not just gray and black corpses drained of blood. When fighting, most of them just sit down, do nothing, and wait for someone else.There's no guarantee of how much time you'll have to live, so it doesn't seem worthwhile even as a train of thought.The Sentinels went out, as they always did.At this time, there is a little movement in front of the enemy.The lieutenant made a mark on the map and radioed our position.A midday silence fell, not even the mortar fire.There are no planes in the sky.A soldier was stirring the mud in the compound with a branch.After a while, we seemed to have forgotten about the war.I hope Fenger has sent my suits to the laundry.A cool wind ruffled the straw in the yard.One soldier walked primly to the back of the barn to piss.I tried to remember if I had paid for a bottle of whiskey that the British consul in Hanoi had asked me to take away. Directly in front of us, someone fired two shots.I thought, "Here it is. Here it comes." That was just the little warning I needed.I await that eternal thing with a sense of excitement. But nothing happened.Once again I was "overprepared for that big event".It was not until a long interval of several minutes that a sentry came back and reported something to the lieutenant.I only heard these two words from the side, "neuxCIVi1S." The lieutenant said to me, "Let's go and see," and we followed the sentry, walking carefully along a muddy, grassy path between two fields.Twenty yards from the farm house, in a narrow ditch, we met what we were looking for: a woman and a boy.They were clearly dead: the woman had a neat patch of clotted blood on her forehead, and the child was almost asleep.He was about six years old, and he lay there with his skinny little knees bent as if in a mother's womb. "tal Chance," said the lieutenant.He bent down and turned the child over.There is a holy tablet hanging around the little guy's neck.I thought to myself, "This amulet doesn't work." Underneath his body, there was a piece of bitten bread.I thought, "I hate war." The Lieutenant said, "Have you seen enough?" He said it roughly, as if I were responsible for these two lives.Perhaps in the view of the soldiers, it was the civilians who paid him to hire him to kill, and the civilians put the crime of murder in the military cigarette pouch, thus escaping responsibility.We walked back to the farmhouse and sat down in silence on the haystack out of the wind.The wind, like an animal, seems to know that it is getting dark.The soldier who played with the stick was urinating, and the soldier who had urinated was playing with the stick.I thought to myself that the mother and son must have thought it safe to walk out of the ditch during those silent moments after the sentries had been posted.I don't know if they hid long in that ditch—for the loaf was dry long ago.The farmhouse may well have been their home. The radio rang again.The lieutenant said wearily, "They're coming to bomb the village. The patrols will be withdrawn tonight." We got up and started walking back, and then weaved around the mass of dead bodies and crossed the river in a row. Filed past the church.We didn't actually go very far, but the patrol seemed to go on for quite a long time, and the only result was that the mother and child were killed.The planes had taken off and the bombing began behind us. By the time I got back to the officers' barracks, it was already dark.I will spend the night there.The temperature there was just one degree above zero, and the only place that was warm was the burning marketplace.In the barracks a wall had been knocked down by the rockets, and the doors were knocked down, and canvas curtains could not keep out the gusts of wind.The generator didn't work, so we had to use boxes and books to keep the candles from blowing out.I played four one two one one with a Captain Sorel on Communist notes: I couldn't bet on wine because I was a guest in the army mess.My luck fluctuates tiresomely.So I opened my bottle of whiskey, to warm us up, and the rest crowded round."This is the first whiskey I've had since leaving Paris," said the colonel. A lieutenant also walked in after going out to inspect the sentry situation. "Perhaps a quiet night tonight," he said. "They won't attack until four o'clock," said the colonel. "Have you got a gun?" he asked me. "No" "I'll get you one. Best to keep next to your pillow." He added graciously, "I'm afraid you'll find your mattress rather hard. At half-past three, the mortar The artillery is about to begin. We want to break up the enemy's assembled forces." "How long do you think this battle will last?" "Who knows? We can't bring any more troops in from Nam Dinh. It's just a diversionary fight. We got some support two days ago. If we can hold out with that support, then you can Said, this is a victory." At this time, the wind picked up again and blew straight into the house.The canvas curtains were raised (which reminded me of Polonius being stabbed to death behind the scenes), and the candles flickered.Dark shadows flickered, like acting.We're more like a touring troupe. "Can you hold your sentries?" "As far as I know, I'm still holding on." He looked very tired and said, "It's nothing, you know, compared to the battle in Heping Mansion, which is a hundred kilometers away, it's nothing important. It's just over there." It's a big fight." "How about another drink, Colonel?" "Thank you, no more. It's very good, your English whiskey, but it's better to save a little in case you need it at night. If you'll excuse me, I want to go to sleep. When the mortar fires, the Just can't sleep. Captain Sorell, please look after Mr. Fowler and get him everything he needs: a candle, matches, a revolver. "With that, he walked into the room. It was also a signal for all of us.They put a mattress on the floor for me in a small storage room.All around me are wooden boxes.After a while, I fell asleep—the floor was hard, but it was a good resting place.I thought to myself, I don't know if Feng'er is at home, but, strange to say, I don't feel jealous at all.Possessing a body seems like a small thing tonight—perhaps because I've seen so many bodies this day.Those bodies belonged to no one, not even to themselves.All of us are sacrificing.After I fell asleep, I dreamed of Pyle.He danced alone on the stage, stiffly, with his arms outstretched around an invisible partner.I sat on a stool that looked like a piano and watched him dance, with a pistol in my hand in case anyone should interfere with his dancing.There was a program posted next to the stage, like the ones posted in English music halls, and it said: "Dance of Love, Class A." There was a movement in the back of the theater, and I gripped my pistol.At this time, I woke up. I was pressing the pistol they had lent me in my hand, and I was standing alone in the doorway, holding a candle in my hand. He wore a steel helmet, which cast a dark shadow over his eyes.I didn't know it was Pyle until he spoke.He said timidly, "I'm very sorry for waking you up. They told me I could sleep here." I'm not fully awake yet. "Where did you get that steel helmet?" I asked. "Oh, they lent it to me," he said vaguely.He dragged an army backpack in behind him and began to remove a fleece-lined sleeping bag from it. "You're well equipped," I said, trying to figure out why he and I were all here. "It's a standard travel sleeping bag," he said, "from our medical aid team. They lent me one in Hanoi." He pulled out a thermos and a small alcohol stove, a hairbrush and a shaving set And a can of dry military rations.I look at my watch.It was almost three o'clock in the morning. 2 Pyle continued unpacking.He stacked several wooden boxes on top of each other and put his shaving mirror and other utensils on top of each other.I said, "I doubt you'll ever get water." "Oh," he said, "I have enough water in my thermos in the morning." He sat down on the sleeping bag and began to take off his shoes. "How on earth did you get here?" I asked. "They made me run all the way to Nam Dinh to see our trachoma treatment team, and then I hired a boat." "A boat?" "Oh, a kind of flat-bottomed boat—I don't know what it's called. In fact, I had to buy that boat. It didn't cost me much." "Did you make it down this river alone?" "It's actually not that difficult, you know. I'm going down the river." "You're crazy." "Oh, nothing. The only real danger is the fear of being stranded." "Or shot and killed a naval patrol boat, or strafed a French plane. Or cut the neck of the Viet Minh." He laughed out loud, embarrassed. "But I'm here at least," he said. "for what?" "Hey, there are two reasons. I don't want to disturb your sleep, though." "I don't want to sleep right now. The cannon's about to go off." "I'll move the candle, okay? It's bright here." He seemed a little nervous. "What's the first reason?" "Oh, you made me think Fa Diem was a pretty interesting place the other day. Do you remember the day we were hanging out with Granger...and Feng Er?" "Remember, how is it?" "I thought I should come and see it. To be honest, I'm kind of ashamed of Granger being such a fool." "I see. Is it that simple?" "Oh, there's no real difficulty, is there?" He started playing with his shoelaces.We were silent for a long time. "Honestly, I'm not honest," he finally said. "Not honest?" "Actually, I came to see you." "You came here to see me?" "yes." "why?" He looked up in a moment of embarrassment, and stopped playing with his shoelaces. "I have to tell you—I'm in love with Feng'er." I couldn't help laughing out loud.He was so unexpected and so serious.I said, "Can't you wait until I go back? Next week, I'm going back to Saigon." "Next week, you might be shot," he said. "That's not an aboveboard approach. Besides, I have to wait for so long. I don't know if I can restrain myself from getting close to Feng'er." "You mean you haven't been close to her all this time?" "Of course not. You think I'll tell her first—without you knowing?" "That's what most people do," I said. "When did this happen?" "I suppose it was when I danced with her that night at the country tavern." "I thought you were never close to her." He looked at me a little confused.If his behavior seemed stupid to me, mine obviously seemed inexplicable to him.He said, "You know, I think it's because I saw the girls in the whorehouse. They are all so beautiful.Well, she might as well be one of them.I want to protect her. " "I don't think she needs anyone's protection. Did Miss Xu ask you out to play?" "Appointment, I didn't go. I haven't been close to them." He said gloomily, "It's very bad. I think it's mean, but trust me, okay?If you're married—then I'm never going to break in and break up couples. " "You seem pretty sure you can break in?" I said.He made me angry for the first time. "Fowler," he said, "I don't know your Christian name...?" "Thomas. What?" "May I call you Tom? I kind of think it brings us closer. I mean, two people in love with the same woman." "What are you going to do next?" He leaned against the boxes and sat up eagerly. "Now that you know, everything seems different," he said. "I'm going to ask her to marry me, Tom." "I'd rather you call me Thomas." "She just has to choose one of us, Thomas. That's fair." But is it fair?For the first time, I shuddered, feeling the loneliness in the future.It's all fantastic, and yet... He may be a clumsy, dull lover, but I'm a pauper.He had infinite decency at his disposal. Pyle started to undress, and I thought to myself, "He's still young." Jealousy of Pyle, what a sad thing. I said, "I can't marry Feng'er. I still have a wife in China. She will never agree to divorce me." She's a High Churchman--if you know what that means. " "I'm sorry, Thomas. By the way, my name is Alden, if you'd like to know..." "I'd rather still call you Pyle," I said. "I thought you were Pyle." He got into his sleeping bag and reached for the candle. "Shh," he said, "I'm glad it's over, Thomas. I've been feeling bad about it for a while." Obviously, he wasn't feeling bad now. When the candle was blown out, all I could see was the outline of his scrubber head against the firelight outside. "Good night, Thomas, get a good night's sleep," he said, like a cue in a bad comedy, when the mortar went off, screeching, and then exploded. "My God," Pyle said, "is it an offense?" "It's an attack they want to stop." "Well, I reckon we can't both sleep right now." "I can't sleep well." "Thomas, I want you to know what I think about the way you're looking at it all - I think you're brilliant, brilliant, there's no other word to describe you." "Thank you." "You've seen a lot more of the world than I have. You know, in some ways, Boston's kind of-- narrow. Even if you're not a Lowell or a Cabot. Give me some advice, Thomas." "About what?" "About Feng'er." "If I were you, I wouldn't trust my opinion. I'm biased. I want to keep her." "Oh, but I know you're straightforward, absolutely straightforward. Both of us have her best interests at heart." Suddenly, I could no longer bear this childishness towards him.I said, "I don't care about her interests. You can care about her interests. All I want is her body. I want her to sleep with me. I'd rather destroy her and sleep with her than take care of Her damned interests." He said "Oh" in a very faint voice in the dark. I went on, "If all you care about is her interests, then for God's sake, leave Feng Er alone. She'd rather have a good..." than any other woman." A mortar blast silenced the Anglo-Saxon expletive from those Boston ears. However, there was an unquenchable naivety about Pyle.He had decided he wanted me to be good, and I had to be good.He said, "I know why you feel bad, Thomas." "I'm not feeling bad." "Oh, yes, you are suffering. I know how I would suffer if I had to give up Feng'er." "But I haven't given up on her." "I'm quite carnal too, Thomas, but if I could see the wind happy, I'd sacrifice all hope of the carnal." "She's happy now." "She can't be happy — she can't be happy in the situation she's in. She needs kids." "Do you really believe her sister's nonsense..." "Sometimes a sister knows better..." "She's just trying to sell you that idea, Pyle, because she thinks you're richer. My God, she's a good sell." "I only have my salary." "Oh, but the exchange rate of your currency is better anyway." "Don't be so mean, Thomas. There's a lot of that sort of thing. Let's hope it happens to someone else instead of you. Is this our mortar?" "Yes, our mortars. You make it sound like she's really going to leave me, Pyle." "Of course," he said uncertainly, "she might like to live with you." "那你又怎么办呢？" "我会申请调走。" "你干吗不现在就离开，派尔，别在这儿惹麻烦呢？" "那就对她不公平啦，托马斯，"他相当认真地说。我可从来没有见过一个对自己惹起的麻烦抱有如此好动机的人。接下去，他又说道，"我可不认为你很了解凤儿。" 好几个月以后，那天早晨醒来，凤儿躺在我的身边，我想道，"你派尔又了解她吗？你能料到现在这种局面吗？凤儿如此快乐地睡在我的身边，而你却死了？"时间自会进行报复，但是报复往往是如此辛酸。我们大伙儿要是不强求了解，接受这一事实：没有人会了解另一个人，没有妻子会了解丈夫，没有情夫会了解情妇，也没有父母会了解孩子，那么我们大伙儿会不会生活得更好些呢？也许，这就是人们为什么发明了上帝——一个能了解一切的神。也许，如果我希望被人了解或是了解别人，我也会哄骗自己去信仰上帝，但是我只是一个记者，上帝是为社论撰写人存在的。 "你肯定有不少事情需要了解吗？"我问派尔。"哦，看在上帝份上，咱们来喝杯威士忌吧。争来争去，声音太响啦，没法多争沦。" "现在喝酒太早了点儿，"派尔说。 "已经他妈的太晚啦。" 我倒出两杯酒。派尔举起他的一杯，透过威士忌酒睁大眼睛望着蜡烛光。每逢有一枚炮弹爆炸开来，他的手就颤抖一下，然而他却不顾危险，糊里糊涂地从南定跑了来。 派尔说道，"这事很奇怪，我们两人都不能说祝你好运。"于是，我们什么话也没有说，就把酒喝下去了。