by Di Morrissey
Shakily Thu slipped a gold ring on her finger, then tightly rolled the pouch and put it on top of her head, twisting her long hair in a topknot over it.
A large and fast white boat came alongside. Commands were shouted and the trawler slowed. Armed men jumped aboard the trawler, pulling out those hiding on board, demanding money and valuables in broken Vietnamese.
Below in the bow, Van heard his sister scream and he rushed up onto the deck and saw his aunty cowering as a man stood over her demanding her jewellery or gold. But what frightened Van more was the sight of two men dragging Thu up the side of the white boat now tied alongside. She was flung down roughly by two men. Her screams stabbed into his heart and he ran towards the other boat, but one of the pirates laughed and lashed at him with a heavy machete. He felt a sharp sting, blood gushed from his shoulder and he fell down screaming.
On the big boat, Thu was thrown on a pile of canvas, her clothes slashed and ripped from her and men took turns to throw themselves on her, panting and thrusting, ripping into her body as she was held down by her arms, and her ankles spread-eagled.
She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip till it bled to stop from crying out in agony. She had heard Van scream and knew he had tried to rescue her. So she suffered in silence, hoping these men would leave her and that Van would not see or understand the horror that was happening to her. She kept her face averted, eyes shut and head still, suddenly afraid of her hair tumbling down and revealing the pouch tied in it.
It seemed to Thu these men pummelled and pumped and thrust and tore her in two for an eternity. But then it was over and with a kick they shouted at her to get back on the trawler. She staggered to her feet, clutching the remnants of her top and the slashed cotton trousers, now stained with blood.
‘Jump, Thu, jump to us!’ shouted her uncle, standing on the deck ready to catch her.
Stumbling, she swung her legs over the side and crashed through his arms on the rocking trawler as the powerful engine of the pirate boat was gunned and with a surge of white water it roared away.
Uncle took his cotton blanket and wrapped it around Thu, who was frantically looking for Van. Everyone was shaken; all had lost some possessions, but they were grateful they were alive as, silently, the trawler captain restarted the engine and set a fresh course through the rolling sea.
Thu knelt beside Van as Aunty held him, trying to stem the bleeding, murmuring prayers and sounds of comfort.
Uncle begged the captain for help but was dismissed with a wave of the hand. He turned to the others on the deck. ‘Does no one have medicine, bandages?’
They shook their heads, frightened at what had occurred, each now more fearful than ever about what the future held, glad that their family had not had to bear the brunt of the pirate’s brutality.
Darkness fell and Aunty and Thu took turns sponging Van’s face, holding his wound together, mopping at the seeping blood with a cotton blanket and washing it in a bucket of seawater.
Van kept asking Thu what had happened and calmly she kept reassuring him she was all right, whispering in his ear, ‘They never found the pouch with our gold and precious stones.’
Van showed her the cross around his neck and gave a little smile. ‘He protected us.’
Thu winced, trying to blot out the memory of what had happened and ignore the pain in her body and her heart. ‘Yes, it is over now. Soon we will arrive at the happy land. Sleep, Van.’
Thu rocked her young brother in her arms through the night. She hummed him songs her mother sang, and for a little while she felt at peace again, before the nightmare of the men raping her returned.
She dozed off and in the morning light she gazed at the peaceful sleeping face of her brother. But he was dead. Slipped away from her during the long night hours when she’d tried to push away the bad dreams and cling to the memories of everything beautiful she’d known and loved.
She cried and cried, rocking him, holding him tightly to her bruised body. Aunty and Uncle tried to console her, but throughout the day she refused to let Van go. At sunset, when the seas became calm, she agreed. His little body was wrapped in Aunty’s sarong, and Uncle offered up prayers as Thu lifted her mother’s crucifix from Van and hung it around her neck. The boy was slipped silently over the stern of the boat as the family huddled together, facing the land from which they’d fled.
Thu hoped the wise one would guide Van to his next life where there would be happiness and contentment.
She stopped counting the days until one day an island appeared on the horizon. Slowly it came closer: waving palm trees, silver sand and a pristine lagoon. There were figures on the beach to meet them, people speaking Vietnamese, huts and buildings among the trees.
‘This is a new country; this is an island paradise,’ said Aunty.
‘It is only the first stop on our new journey,’ replied Uncle.
‘Where are we?’ asked Thu.
The trawler captain, now friendly and pleased to be delivering his cargo safely, said, ‘This is Pulau Bidong, off Malaysia. I’ve told them that you are refugees; you must stay here until you are processed.’
Looking at the temporary buildings that had sprung up, even a church and a temple made from scraps of tin and wood, Thu wondered how long they would wait here.
Weeks passed. Thu watched the scenic tropical island change from being a rough camp, home to people with nothing but the clothes on their backs who ate any wild creature they could catch, to a much smarter settlement known as mini Saigon. Under the supervision of the International Red Cross and the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, houses, offices, shops, schools, a post office, a church and a temple were quickly constructed. Food became the local currency and entrepreneurs flourished. Malaysian fishermen, although banned from having contact with the island, smuggled goods to quiet coastal spots where refugees would paddle a raft or canoe out to meet them.
Each day Thu would visit the crude cement monument, shaped like a ship’s bow, that commemorated those boat people who didn’t cross the sea safely to this shore. Stone tablets were engraved with the names of family members and Van’s was added.
Uncle Quoc got work as a labourer and was paid in food parcels, and Aunty set up a small hairdressing stall to help feed the family. Thu studied hard with a teacher who had taught in a university in Saigon and began to learn rudimentary English, as they all hoped the day would come when their applications for asylum would be approved.
Thu kept to herself, rarely mixing with people her own age, and only Aunty and Uncle, her family now, knew the shame she felt over what had happened to her. And still she blamed herself for Van’s death.
Then suddenly their struggle on the island was over. They were among the lucky ones to be processed quickly and were taken to the mainland with their few possessions and flown to Australia.
It was a dramatic change. They were cold, overwhelmed by the city of Sydney, did not understand the customs or the language, which sounded to Thu utterly different from the English she had learned from a professor on Pulau Bidong. But soon they connected with friends who had already settled in.
They struggled, worked hard, studied at night, sharing a small house in the inner city. Here it felt like a transplanted Vietnam – the signs were in Vietnamese; the shops were owned by Vietnamese and sold food, silks and clothes that were familiar. Uncle opened a little shop, Aunty worked in a large hairdressing salon and soon they began to save for the day they could bring over Thu’s family.
Thu worked in a shop, though initially she had been mistaken for a boy, being slight and shy with short cropped hair. But by the time she celebrated her twenty-first birthday she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, although she was still shy.
By this time Kevin Fine had already noticed Thu at Mass each Sunday. He asked the priest the name of the Vietnamese family. He was told they were boat people. Hard workers, nice family.
Kevin had never been a believer in fate, but when Thu began walking past
his garage repair shop he would wave and greet her.
At first she merely nodded and passed by, embarrassed by the cheerful greetings from the big Australian man who seemed older and a rather rough character. But then he introduced himself to her uncle and aunty at church and gradually he was able to coax a smile from Thu. When he offered to look at Uncle’s troublesome old car, the friendship was sealed.
On her way to and from work Thu would pause outside the repair shop and try to appear comfortable with Kevin’s good-natured banter. She soon came to realise he had a good heart. He took to dropping around to their house to chat with Uncle and was finally invited to share a meal.
Kevin became a regular in the household. He loved Aunty’s food and slowly Thu came out of her shell and agreed to go to the movies with him. Saturday afternoons became a regular date. Sometimes she took him to different Vietnamese restaurants in Cabramatta, or he took her across the harbour on the ferry to Manly – though being on the water brought back bad memories for her. On one trip Thu shared her experiences of the dreadful sea voyage and how much she missed her family.
Kevin was gently comforting as little by little Thu told him her story. He dropped an arm around her shoulders. ‘You’re in the best country in the world now, Thu. And if you’ll let me, I’ll look after you. We could start a new life together.’
It was an awkward proposal that didn’t register with Thu for a moment as she reflected on what Kevin was saying. ‘You mean, me . . . and you? You mean . . . ?’
‘Get married. What do you say, Thu? I reckon we could make a go of it.’
‘We are very different. Very different history. Different people,’ she began.
‘I’m not hearing a no,’ beamed Kevin. He hugged her. ‘Listen, love, we have a lot more going for us than a lot of couples I know. I’m thirty-one. My mother’s nagging me to settle down. I’ve just been waiting for the right girl to come along. You’re the one.’ He gave her a passionate kiss, unlike the restrained kisses they’d so far exchanged.
Thu, flushed and smiling, began to be practical. ‘What will your mother say about me? And you must speak to Uncle.’
‘Don’t you worry about Uncle. He’ll be sweet, I reckon. And my mum is going to love you, guaranteed.’
Thu spoke to Uncle but when Kevin came to ask for Thu’s hand, Uncle was not as instantly receptive as Kevin had expected. He spoke formally and seemed a little restrained.
Kevin finally took the bull by the horns. ‘What’s the problem? Don’t you think I’ll look after her? We’re both Catholics. She’s had a tough life and she deserves some happiness. We can be happy together. Have a good life,’ said Kevin. The idea Thu might not marry him had made him anxious and brought home to him how much he loved and wanted to protect the girl he thought of as his ‘little bird’.
Uncle lowered his head and clasped his hands. ‘Kevin, I speak for Thu’s father as he is not with us and she wants you to know . . . everything.’
‘What’s to know? I’ll take her just as she is, Uncle,’ said Kevin vehemently.
Slowly, not looking at Kevin directly, Uncle told him about the attack – he could not use the word rape – that Thu had suffered on the boat when they escaped. He finished by saying softly, ‘For some men in our country, she would not be a good wife.’
‘Bullshit! ’Scuse me, Uncle.’ Kevin’s anger and pain over the incident flared again. ‘Poor Thu. She’s already told me. But I love her and that’s all that matters.’
Uncle felt a smile breaking out and he reached for Kevin’s beefy hand. ‘You are a good man, Kevin. Thu is a lucky woman.’
Kevin’s face broke into a huge grin. ‘Bugger me. I’m the lucky one! So it’s all right, we can start planning the big day? Nuptial mass, the full works!’
Uncle nodded and called for Aunty to bring the best rice wine. The men toasted each other and by the time Thu arrived home from work, her future husband and Uncle were flushed and very jovial.
It was a formal wedding. Thu wore a crinoline of lace and a small tiara. Kevin was in a tux with a red bow tie and cummerbund. The reception was at a Vietnamese restaurant with Vietnamese food, Australian beer, and an Italian crooner and his band.
Nine months later Anna was born.
They settled in a house in Budge Street, Maroubra, and within a month Kevin had met Phil Donaldson after the owner of the car yard where Phil worked began to employ Kevin as a mechanic. Discovering they lived in the same street, the men began to socialise. Initially Thu was shy and simply put food in front of the men as they talked cars on the back patio. But when Phil’s wife, Patricia, discovered they had little girls the same age, she insisted they have family get-togethers. And so an enduring friendship was born.
Sandy followed Kim into a large airy building near the port of Hai Phong and was surprised to find they were in a kind of floating, open-air model farm with tanks in the centre. Water was sluicing through the tanks and monitoring equipment was mounted on one platform where a man was dipping a net into the water and dropping small shrimp into plastic tubs.
‘This is an odd place for a shrimp farm, isn’t it?’ commented Sandy. ‘Who owns this one?’
‘It’s a trial model. You know I’ve been involved in research into shrimp farm practices, well, now some solutions are happening.’
‘It’s been an environmental disaster for Vietnam, hasn’t it?’ said Sandy. ‘Even though it’s a booming industry.’
Kim shrugged. ‘Yeah, a big export for the big guys, but at a huge environmental cost to the country. Hopefully projects like this will lead to more sustainable aquaculture management. The head of the research institution involved has come over from France.’
He went to a glass partitioned office where two men were talking, rapped on the door and both were waved inside.
‘Hello, Professor Truyen,’ said Kim.
The professor smiled and extended his hand.
‘This is my associate from HOPE, Sandy Donaldson,’ said Kim introducing her to the visiting Vietnamese professor.
The professor turned to the man at the desk. ‘Kim, this is our French director, Doctor Petiere.’
‘Please, Jean-Claude. Delighted to meet you, and Miss Donaldson.’ His French accent, debonair looks and warm smile oozed Gallic charm.
‘Call me Sandy.’ She smiled, shaking his hand.
Professor Truyen excused himself saying, ‘Jean-Claude will show you where our operation is up to.’
‘So, Kim, have you had a chance to look around? While the problems are still with us, we hope this model will provide a few solutions. Convincing the government, the international donor community and indeed the poor farmers this is the way to go is the next challenge.’
HOPE, like other agencies in the country, had a myriad of projects at various stages of development. While Sandy knew about the work Kim and the HOPE volunteers had been doing with farmers who were struggling to make their shrimp farms profitable and sustainable, she’d been busy with her own projects and hadn’t taken in the details of how it was all going.
Jean-Claude came around the desk. He was in his mid to late thirties, very lean and brown, with dark hair and light-green eyes. Sandy immediately thought that if he hadn’t spoken she would have picked him for a Frenchman anyway. There was just that air of insouciance, of clothes that sat like an Abercrombie and Fitch advertisement – classy, elegant, yet very casual. She noted the blue shirt with rolled sleeves was fine linen with a quality finish, and had a small emblem embroidered in white on the pocket. It didn’t look like a locally made garment. She wished she wasn’t wearing a T-shirt and faded cotton drawstring trousers.
He was smiling into her eyes, noting her quick assessment. ‘And what is your involvement with HOPE? It is an excellent non-governmental organisation. I presume you do not work with Kim or you would have met the professor before, yes?’
‘No, well, I mean yes.’ Sandy was furious that he made her feel flustered. ‘I have been working with HOPE for several years
but not with Kim. My contract has just finished. Sadly I’ll have to leave Vietnam soon.’
‘Hard to tear oneself away from this country. It has a way of getting under one’s skin, eh? Perhaps you will find another opportunity here.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing Sandy along; I always value her input,’ said Kim. ‘I think what you’re doing is important, and more people should know about it,’ he added, trying to ease the slightly uncomfortable connection between Jean-Claude and Sandy.
‘Know about the problem, or the solution?’ asked Jean-Claude, still smiling at Sandy.
‘One follows the other, doesn’t it?’ said Sandy. ‘I’d love to understand more.’
‘Then come with me.’ He led the way to the outside tank. ‘How long will you be in Hai Phong? Where are you based?’
He chatted amiably as Kim stopped to greet the man bending over the tubs of shrimp. Sandy was curious.
‘What is the main problem with the shrimp farms? People hoped that helping farmers set up small ponds as value-add use of their land,’ she said.
Jean-Claude dropped his smiling demeanour. ‘Shrimp aquaculture has developed rapidly here with little foresight, planning or regulation. They haven’t looked at the problems encountered by other countries, such as Thailand, which leapt into this in a big way years ago. Consequently we are now dealing with enormous environmental and social problems.’
‘So what are you doing?’
‘We’re testing better means of raising shrimp using more traditional methods, researching sustainable ways of keeping them healthy without polluting the water or resorting to indiscriminate use of chemicals and antibiotics.’
‘You’re putting me off those nice big tiger prawns I see in our market,’ said Sandy.
‘Indeed. I eat only the shrimp I know are raised in properly run farms.’
‘Well, how do you know that?’
‘There has to be certification and proper labelling. Not an easy order here,’ said Jean-Claude. As Kim joined them Jean-Claude asked, ‘Kim, would you like to see the latest results? Sadly there are some depressing reports from the Mekong. Erosion, deforestation, destruction of mangrove habitats: the overall picture is quite grim. I believe many farmers wish they’d stuck to growing rice. They were swayed by greed, a quick return, and now they are suffering. They’ve lost everything.’
