Peter Kelly
Quick Facts
- Role: Husband of the narrator; civilian Navy intelligence advisor in 1963 Saigon; emblem of the official American presence abroad
- First appearance: The chance encounter on a train that becomes a storybook courtship
- Background: Working-class Irish Catholic, brilliant engineer and lawyer
- Occupation: Colorado School of Mines graduate, Fordham Law top student; recruited to advise on counterinsurgency
- Key relationships: Spouse to Patricia "Tricia" Kelly; foil to Charlene
Who They Are
At once ardently patriotic and devoutly Catholic, Peter Kelly fuses technocratic confidence with an old-world faith that treats geopolitics as a spiritual drama. In Saigon, he stands for the masculine, official, and declarative voice of America—certain, hierarchical, and protective—whose certainty grows more rigid as the city’s moral complexity intrudes. His convictions attach him to the Diem regime and to a clean narrative of good versus evil; his marriage becomes the arena where that narrative collides with ambiguity. In this way, Peter personifies the themes of American Naivete and Imperialism and The Role and Status of Women—the confidence of mission and the confidence of men, both insisting they know best.
Personality & Traits
Peter’s certainty reads as charm when the world cooperates and as paternalism whenever it resists. He is loving, proud, and meticulous, but his protective instinct curdles into control, especially when faith and politics sanctify his decisions.
- Ambitious, brilliant, credentialed: “Top of his class at the Colorado School of Mines, top of his class at Fordham Law.” His résumé isn’t just backstory—it authorizes him to decide for others, at work and at home.
- Devout to the point of cosmology: He believes Fátima’s promise will defeat communism “not… by the superior military power of the West… but by the intercession of Mary.” This conviction turns policy into providence and shuts down debate.
- Paternalistic protector: He treats Tricia as his “charge,” scolding her after the market swarm and later making life-altering plans in secret—acts rationalized as care.
- Initially warm and funny: Early marriage features a “warm, amused, forgiving” gaze; he sings in the mornings. Under pressure, that warmth narrows into a severe, mission-first demeanor.
- Politically rigid: He calls Buddhist self-immolations “political theater,” slotting complex protest into a simple communist plot—an interpretive reflex that safeguards certainty over truth.
- Ordered and presentable: “Newly shaved… tropical-weight suit, white shirt, and thin tie.” His impeccable surface mirrors an inner need for control and clarity.
Character Journey
Peter begins as Tricia’s fairy-tale stranger, the confident man who says the right words at the right time. Marriage amplifies that charisma into daily delight—stories, songs, the glow of shared promise. Saigon then tests his temperament. The city’s contradictions—religious, political, human—press against his binary worldview. He shifts from partner to guardian, from listening to lecturing, from letting the world be messy to insisting it be managed. As Tricia’s experience expands—especially through her friendship with Charlene—Peter hardens. Small secrets appear, then a “first small fissure,” as Tricia learns what cannot safely be said in a house of certainty. His quiet, unilateral resignation and sudden purchase of plane tickets home complete the arc: he will make the world safe by making the decision alone. Years later, his mordant line—“Well, I was right about the regret”—reveals the romance recast as a lesson: the tenderness of that first meeting survives only as proof of his own foresight.
Key Relationships
- Patricia “Tricia” Kelly: Their bond is tender but asymmetrical. Peter loves, provides, and shields; he also decides, defines, and corrects. As Tricia’s moral imagination widens in Saigon, she begins to keep parts of herself off-limits to his certainty. His protective choices—especially leaving without consulting her—turn marriage into guardianship, creating emotional distance even as he insists it is “for the best.”
- Charlene: Peter’s disdain (calling her a “dynamo”) isn’t just about personality; it’s about jurisdiction. Charlene’s initiative and moral complexity challenge his preferred script of the helpmeet and the manageable world. His dismissiveness spotlights the clash between institutional authority and female agency that Saigon makes impossible to ignore.
Defining Moments
Peter’s story is punctuated by scenes where care becomes control and conviction becomes policy.
- Meeting on the train
- “I’m going to spend the rest of my life regretting I never asked you for your name.” A sweeping romantic overture that foreshadows regret as a guiding concept—feeling justifies action.
- The market incident
- After Tricia gives a dime to a girl, he barks, “Never give them money… I thought I told you.” His tone reframes their marriage: from partners in an adventure to ward and warden.
- The dinner debate on Buddhist self-immolations
- He insists the burnings are a communist plot. The moment exposes the limits of his empathy and the way ideology pre-writes his interpretations.
- Declaring Fátima as policy
- His confidence that Mary will defeat communism links private piety to public certainty; it sanctifies U.S. backing of Diem and forecloses moral doubt.
- Resignation and secret tickets home
- Learning of the pregnancy, he quits and buys flights without telling Tricia. It’s the culminating paternal act: safety secured by erasing her say.
- The final “regret” quip
- Years later: “Well, I was right about the regret.” What began as romance ends as an argument won; tenderness becomes a proof point of his correctness.
Essential Quotes
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life regretting I never asked you for your name.”
This line casts Peter as a man who moves decisively to avoid future regret—a self-mythologizing romantic who treats feeling as mandate. In hindsight, it anticipates a pattern: invoking care (or its anticipated absence) to justify taking charge.
“Never give them money,” he said… “I thought I told you. Don’t give them any money.” It was the first time he’d ever spoken to me not as his wife but as his charge.
The public reprimand reframes intimacy as supervision. Peter’s authority asserts itself through correction, and Tricia’s own interpretation of the moment—naming herself his “charge”—marks the shift in power she will increasingly resist.
He believed entirely in the promise of the apparition at Fátima… not… by the superior military power of the West… but by the intercession of Mary.
Peter fuses doctrine and policy, replacing prudential judgment with providence. The sentence reveals how spiritual certainty can underwrite political rigidity, making doubt feel like heresy rather than caution.
He saw the handwriting on the wall… “I want you out of here.” He said, “I want us both out of here.” I said, “The three of us.”
His language of foresight and protection authorizes unilateral action; the switch from “you” to “us” is both tender and controlling. Tricia’s correction—“The three of us”—quietly reasserts her presence and the life he is using to justify her exclusion from the decision.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life regretting I never asked you for your name.” He said, “Well, I was right about the regret.”
The callback turns romance into irony. Peter’s pride in being “right” outlasts the sweetness of the memory, suggesting a man more committed to the correctness of his story than to revising it with his wife’s truth.