your work,” he said unctuously. “Remember God loves the truth.” “Which truth?” I asked.
“In the Caodaist faith all truths are reconciled and truth is love.”
He had a large ring on his finger and, when he held out his hand I really think he expected me to kiss it, but I am not a diplomat.
Under the bleak vertical sunlight I saw Pyle: he was trying in vain to make his Buick start. Somehow, during the last two weeks, at the bar of the Continental, in the only good bookshop, in the rue Catinat, I had continually run into Pyle. The friendship which he had imposed from the beginning he now emphasised more than ever. His sad eyes would inquire mutely after Phuong, while his lips expressed with even more fervour the strength of his affection and of his admiration-God save the mark-for me.
A Caodaist commandant stood beside the car talking rapidly. He stopped when I came up. I recognised him-he had been one of The’s assistants before The took to the hills.
“Hullo, commandant,” I said, “how’s the General?” “Which general?” he asked with a shy grin. “Surely in the ‘Caodaist faith,” I said, “all generals are reconciled.”
“I can’t make this car move, Thomas,” Pyle said. “I will get a mechanic,” the commandant said, and left us. “I interrupted you.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Pyle said. “He wanted to know how much a Buick cost. These people are so friendly when you treat them right. The French don’t seem to know how to handle them.” “The French don’t trust them.”
Pyle said solemnly, “A man becomes trustworthy when you trust him.” It sounded like a Caodaist maxim. I began to feel the air of Tanyin was too ethical for me to breathe. “Have a drink,” Pyle said. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”
“I brought a thermos of lime-juice with me.” He leant over and busied himself with a basket in the back. “Any gin?”
“No, I’m awfully sorry. You know,” he said encouraging-ly, “lime-juice is very good for you in this climate. It contains-I’m not sure which vitamins.” He held out a cup to me and I drank. “Anyway, it’s wet,” I said.
“Like a sandwich? They’re really awfully good. A new sandwich-mixture called Vit-Health. My mother sent it from the States.” “No, thanks, I’m not hungry.” “It tastes rather like Russian salad-only sort of drier.”
“I don’t think I will.” “You don’t mind if I do?” . “No, no, of course not.”
He took a large mouthful and it crunched and crackled. In the distance Buddha in white and pink stone rode away from his ancestral home and his valet-another statue- pursued him running. The female cardinals were drifting back to their house and the Eye of God watched us from above the Cathedral door.
“You know they are serving lunch here?” I said. “I thought I wouldn’t risk it. The meat-you have to be careful in this heat.”
“You are quite safe. They are vegetarian.” “I suppose it’s all right-but I like to know what I’m eating.” He took another munch at his Vit-Health. “Do you think they have any reliable mechanics?” “They know enough to turn your exhaust pipe into a mortar. I believe Buicks make the best mortars.”
The commandant returned and, saluting us smartly, said he had sent to the barracks for a mechanic. Pyle offered him a Vit-Health sandwich, which he refused politely. He said with a man-of-the-world air, “We have so many rules here about food.” (He spoke excellent English.) “So foolish. But you know what it. is in a religious capital. I expect it is the same thing in Rome—or Canterbury,” he added with a neat natty little bow to me. Then he was silent. They were both silent. I had a strong impression that my company was not wanted. I couldn’t resist the temptation to tease Pyle-it is, after all, the weapon of weakness and I was weak. I hadn’t youth, seriousness, integrity, a future. I said, “Perhaps after all I’ll have a
“In the Caodaist faith all truths are reconciled and truth is love.”
He had a large ring on his finger and, when he held out his hand I really think he expected me to kiss it, but I am not a diplomat.
Under the bleak vertical sunlight I saw Pyle: he was trying in vain to make his Buick start. Somehow, during the last two weeks, at the bar of the Continental, in the only good bookshop, in the rue Catinat, I had continually run into Pyle. The friendship which he had imposed from the beginning he now emphasised more than ever. His sad eyes would inquire mutely after Phuong, while his lips expressed with even more fervour the strength of his affection and of his admiration-God save the mark-for me.
A Caodaist commandant stood beside the car talking rapidly. He stopped when I came up. I recognised him-he had been one of The’s assistants before The took to the hills.
“Hullo, commandant,” I said, “how’s the General?” “Which general?” he asked with a shy grin. “Surely in the ‘Caodaist faith,” I said, “all generals are reconciled.”
“I can’t make this car move, Thomas,” Pyle said. “I will get a mechanic,” the commandant said, and left us. “I interrupted you.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Pyle said. “He wanted to know how much a Buick cost. These people are so friendly when you treat them right. The French don’t seem to know how to handle them.” “The French don’t trust them.”
Pyle said solemnly, “A man becomes trustworthy when you trust him.” It sounded like a Caodaist maxim. I began to feel the air of Tanyin was too ethical for me to breathe. “Have a drink,” Pyle said. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”
“I brought a thermos of lime-juice with me.” He leant over and busied himself with a basket in the back. “Any gin?”
“No, I’m awfully sorry. You know,” he said encouraging-ly, “lime-juice is very good for you in this climate. It contains-I’m not sure which vitamins.” He held out a cup to me and I drank. “Anyway, it’s wet,” I said.
“Like a sandwich? They’re really awfully good. A new sandwich-mixture called Vit-Health. My mother sent it from the States.” “No, thanks, I’m not hungry.” “It tastes rather like Russian salad-only sort of drier.”
“I don’t think I will.” “You don’t mind if I do?” . “No, no, of course not.”
He took a large mouthful and it crunched and crackled. In the distance Buddha in white and pink stone rode away from his ancestral home and his valet-another statue- pursued him running. The female cardinals were drifting back to their house and the Eye of God watched us from above the Cathedral door.
“You know they are serving lunch here?” I said. “I thought I wouldn’t risk it. The meat-you have to be careful in this heat.”
“You are quite safe. They are vegetarian.” “I suppose it’s all right-but I like to know what I’m eating.” He took another munch at his Vit-Health. “Do you think they have any reliable mechanics?” “They know enough to turn your exhaust pipe into a mortar. I believe Buicks make the best mortars.”
The commandant returned and, saluting us smartly, said he had sent to the barracks for a mechanic. Pyle offered him a Vit-Health sandwich, which he refused politely. He said with a man-of-the-world air, “We have so many rules here about food.” (He spoke excellent English.) “So foolish. But you know what it. is in a religious capital. I expect it is the same thing in Rome—or Canterbury,” he added with a neat natty little bow to me. Then he was silent. They were both silent. I had a strong impression that my company was not wanted. I couldn’t resist the temptation to tease Pyle-it is, after all, the weapon of weakness and I was weak. I hadn’t youth, seriousness, integrity, a future. I said, “Perhaps after all I’ll have a
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