Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

  ‘I know what I see,’ said Sandy flatly. ‘Look, sleep with him, do stuff with him, live with him if you have to, but don’t marry him. I think you’ll regret it. That’s all I have to say. As a friend.’

  Anna was silent for a moment. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I see a change in you. Don’t be such a door-mat! I think he dominates you too much.’

  Anna sighed. ‘Listen, I don’t want to get into all this stuff. I hear you. Let’s leave it at that.’

  ‘Why? Why don’t you want to get into this stuff, Anna?’ Sandy got up and headed for the fridge in the kitchenette. Then she tried a bit more gently. ‘If you’re the least bit unsure, now’s the time to get out. It’s because I care about you, Anna. I think you’re too good for him.’

  ‘Thanks for those words of advice,’ replied Anna somewhat tartly. ‘You don’t know Carlo. He’s ambitious, got a great personality and has big plans. I’m lucky; he could have any girl he wants. We have fun together, most of the time.’ Anna took the glass of wine Sandy handed her. ‘And what about you, Sands? Where’s all your love-life advice come from? I thought you told me everything. Is there something I don’t know?’

  ‘Not really. I wish.’ She tried to laugh but it sounded hollow. ‘I told you about Andy, Canadian guy that was working here. He did a number on me. Engaged to a girl back home. How was I to know?’ She raised her glass. ‘To blokes. They can be shits sometimes. We just have to find the genuine ones. And, most important, not settle for second best.’

  ‘Ah, it’s too hard, Sands. Forget it. Let’s make the most of our time together here. Neither of us will probably ever come back. So here’s to . . . good times.’ Anna raised her glass and took a large gulp.

  Sandy did the same. But she could tell she’d rattled Anna. And she was glad. She wanted Carlo out of Anna’s life more than ever before. Anna could do better. Sandy might not have seen or talked to Carlo except for a brief visit, but she could see what was happening to her childhood friend.

  Anna felt uncomfortable. Sandy had irritated her and she didn’t like it. She changed tack. ‘I had an interesting talk with Tom before. Did you know he was planning to come back and cover the anniversary of the battle of Long Tan?’

  ‘Long Tan? That’s where Dad was.’ Sandy closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Mum says that’s been the third party in their marriage – bloody Long Tan.’

  ‘Well, I mentioned it to Tom. He wants to talk to your dad.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Good luck. He never talks about the war.’

  ‘Tom says a lot of vets are coming over. Don’t you think it would be a good thing for him to come here?’ asked Anna, glad the conversation had moved away from Carlo.

  Sandy was serious. ‘Anna, you know how my dad has been since we were little . . . moody and stuff. Mum says it’s because of what happened in the war. Dragging that all up . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  Anna saw the sadness in her friend’s face. ‘Okay. But at least talk to Tom.’ She suddenly realised that the cause of the sadness in both their families had to do with this country and its history.

  5

  IN THE COOL COURTYARD at the rear of Barney’s Bar, a few tourists lingered over a late lunch. It was siesta time and Barney took the opportunity to join Tom, Anna and Sandy. He ambled towards them with a cold bottle of lager in his hand.

  ‘Barney looks tired,’ commented Sandy in a quiet voice.

  ‘Hiya. Mind if I join you guys?’ Barney lowered his large frame onto a chair. ‘I’m beat.’

  ‘A busy day?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Most days are busy. Lai is taking a nap. Few problems on the home front,’ he said with a sigh, and took a large drag on his lager.

  ‘Sorry to hear that, Barney,’ said Sandy, who didn’t want to pry.

  But Barney wanted to talk. ‘Hey, not with us. She’s great, we’re great. It’s our daughter in Canada. Having a few relationship problems at university. Lai’s pretty worried.’

  ‘We’ve all been there,’ said Sandy.

  ‘It’s more that she’s with the wrong crowd,’ said Barney. ‘I think we’ll have to go over and try to sort things. Anyway, enough about us, what’re you guys up to? Heading to the central provinces, eh?’

  ‘Yep. I’m taking Anna with me to Hoi An, then to Danang. There’s an orphanage that HOPE has an interest in near there. I guess we’ll go to Hue too.’

  ‘Got to see Hue: magnificent buildings. Though so many were bombed,’ said Tom . . . he paused. ‘Don’t want to rabbit on about the war.’

  ‘Why not? Most of the Australians and the Americans who come in here do nothing else. It’s therapeutic,’ said Barney.

  ‘Were you there before the big 1968 Tet offensive then?’ Sandy asked Tom.

  ‘Yeah, I set out from Saigon to see what was happening in the war right up to the demilitarised zone near Hue which marked the border between the two Vietnams. North Vietnam was in the hands of the communists under Ho Chi Minh. The south was run by an army general, one of several who had held power after President Diem was toppled in an army coup in 1963,’ said Tom. ‘It was clear to me that the Australian effort at Bien Hoa was a sideshow to the fast deteriorating scene up north.’

  ‘How’d you get around?’ asked Barney.

  ‘I hitched rides in choppers, bombers and C-47 transports fitted out with banks of machine guns. Our view that the war was changing was spectacularly confirmed when I saw first hand the massive build up of American forces through the port of Danang.’

  ‘For sure,’ said Barney. ‘What sticks in my mind is that Buddhist monk setting fire to himself to protest against the policies of the South Vietnamese government.’

  Tom looked down into his glass of beer. ‘That photo of him went round the world and had a huge impact.’

  Sandy nodded. ‘The little blue Austin car he drove to Saigon is now in the Thien Mu Pagoda in Hue with the picture of him alight. It’s very moving.’

  Anna was quietly listening. Tom lightly touched her arm. ‘Be sure and go to the pagoda for me. Light a stick of incense and say a prayer.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Tom.’ But she was thinking how little she knew of Vietnamese history. Tom’s reminiscence was another reminder of the many cultural and emotional moments that had assailed her in this country.

  ‘So when are you heading to Saigon, Tom?’ asked Barney.

  ‘Same time as Sandy and Anna leave for Danang. Then I’m home to Sydney. I want to stay longer but I can’t miss my wife’s sixtieth birthday.’

  ‘What are you giving her?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘I’ve bought some nice silk, a few trinkets. Have to give it a bit more thought,’ confessed Tom. Then he asked the young women, ‘Would you like me to call your folks when I’m home? Say I saw you, what a great time you’re having and so on?’

  ‘Sure, that’d be nice,’ said Anna.

  ‘I’ve been in touch with my folks pretty regularly via email,’ said Sandy. ‘But I’m sure they’d appreciate a call.’

  Tom picked some peanuts from the bowl on the table. ‘Sandy, your dad was at Long Tan. What’re the chances of him coming over here for the fortieth anniversary?’ he asked.

  ‘None, I’d say. The war left a lot of scars. He tries to forget it and I don’t think Mum would want old wounds opened up either,’ said Sandy firmly.

  Tom was thoughtful. In spite of Sandy’s warning he’d still like to meet her father. ‘How about I phone your dad, Anna?’

  ‘Go ahead and give him a call. I feel I’ve been neglecting him a bit, so he’d like to hear.’ It occurred to Anna she’d also neglected Carlo because she was so busy and having such a good time.

  ‘So will you be coming back to Vietnam, Tom?’ asked Barney.

  ‘I reckon. I’ll hit Saigon, Vung Tau and head home and be back in the country for the Long Tan anniversary in August.’

  ‘Why don’t you bring your wife with you?’ suggested Sandy.

  ‘Be a great birthday present,
’ added Anna.

  ‘Now there’s an idea. Thanks, girls. I might try to do that. I’ll stay in touch with you, of course.’ He stood up. ‘Have a bit of souvenir shopping to do. Catch you later.’

  Barney watched Tom settle his bill and chat to the young waitress. ‘Temporary staff are proving a big problem. Guess I’ll have to close this joint while we’re away in Canada.’

  ‘That’s a shame. You’ll lose a lot of business. How long do you plan to be away?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘I don’t quite know . . . probably two weeks.’ Barney paused. ‘When’re you two heading home?’

  Sandy laughed. ‘Hey, don’t look at us, Barney. No way could we take this over for you.’

  Anna looked at Sandy. ‘Why not? The chef is here and you have waiters and some bar staff.’

  ‘But the whole business side of things . . .’ Sandy couldn’t believe Anna actually sounded serious. ‘And you have to go back home.’

  ‘I have some leave owing. I can extend my stay. My ticket is good. I just have to tell the office.’

  ‘And what about Carlo?’ Sandy raised her eyebrows.

  Anna’s effervescence evaporated. ‘He won’t be thrilled.’

  ‘Whoa,’ exclaimed Barney. ‘It’s really great of you to offer and it would help us a lot. But I understand you have family, a life . . .’

  ‘Do you think we could handle it?’ asked Sandy, suddenly seeing a way to stay longer in Vietnam.

  ‘Hell, yes. The chef is a bit temperamental, the staff unreliable, but between the two of you – should you agree to do this – I know you could cope. Have a bit of fun. Lai and I would show you the ropes, of course.’

  Sandy and Anna looked at each other.

  Sandy shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’d really help us out,’ said Barney.

  ‘It’s a deal,’ said Anna. ‘Can we start when we get back from our trip?’

  The winding river was narrow this far from the sea. The wooden sampan moved sluggishly, the painted eyes on the prow seeing their way past rice paddies and the leaning stakes of the small shrimp ponds. The man on the stern dipping the long pole into the muddy bottom was dressed like most men on the river – dark pants and loose top, a conical straw hat shadowing his face.

  The narrow old boat was low in the water, laden by a cargo of heavy baskets and boxes under the woven bamboo canopy. The man stroked lazily, in no hurry. He kept to the centre of the river away from the river banks where men and women worked in the fields or around thatched houses or at the water’s edge. No head lifted; no attention was paid to the familiar river scene.

  As darkness fell and the lights of the township glittered in the distance, the boatman bent to his task, pushing more strongly and the little craft surged forward. He passed the edge of a town where cafes, bars and shops shone with light, activity and laughter. He steered out of the colourful reflections on the water and guided the sampan alongside a string of narrow planks that formed a rather unstable walkway to the bank. He tied the craft to a couple of leaning posts and hurried along the planks into the shadows of a dimly lit building.

  Soon two other figures emerged and the sampan was hauled close to the shoreline footpath. The three men unloaded the cargo and carried it on their backs through the gate of an old house. It was a house that had stood by the river for centuries. Floods had been through it and the house had seen many generations of one family live and die.

  The house, which surrounded an inner courtyard, was filled with heavy antique inlaid furniture, paintings, vases, photographs and memorabilia and a large ornate family altar. The interior wooden beams of the house were dark with age, smoke and weather. Stairs, ladders and steps led to other levels where rooms and floors formed the jigsaw that created an imposing and gracious home.

  The men panted with the exertion of handling the weighty baskets so carefully. The moon was rising as the sampan, job completed, slipped silently down the river, a dark shadow on the shining water.

  It was a short flight to Danang, and Anna and Sandy peered down at the beaches as the plane skimmed over the deep-water port.

  ‘The beaches look nice,’ commented Anna.

  ‘There are resorts and hotels springing up. It’s good weather most of the time except for the occasional typhoon during the monsoon season. This used to be a big military base in the war,’ said Sandy. ‘It’s an interesting drive over the high pass into Hue.’

  ‘We’re trying out Hoi An first,’ said Anna. ‘That’s a heritage town too, isn’t it?’

  ‘The ancient town is lovely, untouched. It was a big trading port about five hundred years ago. So many wonderful old buildings were bombed in other parts of the country but Hoi An was lucky to be spared. It’s world heritage listed.’

  ‘So when are we going to visit your orphanage? Is that on the way to Hoi An?’ asked Anna.

  Sandy chuckled. ‘It’s not exactly my orphanage. HOPE helped get it established. It’s outside Danang, down the coast a bit. You can’t help but get attached to the kids. They’re so sweet. Many of them suffer birth defects and were just abandoned. Agent Orange has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Even a generation or two on it’s still affecting people? What’s happening with compensation or some kind of help for them?’ asked Anna. Since she’d been in the country she’d become aware of the claims being made by victims’ groups and Vietnamese government lobbyists for compensation. The Vietnamese wanted the US government to acknowledge that the use of the defoliant Agent Orange had not only affected soldiers but poisoned the countryside and its people.

  ‘Yeah. A hell of a legacy. America is going to admit total liability because of the cost.’ Sandy looked out the window and added quietly, ‘The legacy of that war continues in all manner of ways. Everywhere.’

  Anna nodded but didn’t answer. She knew Sandy was thinking of her father.

  The landing was bumpy. ‘Bit of a cowboy at the helm,’ said Anna with a grimace.

  Sandy quickly spotted the driver holding a placard with their names on it. ‘We’ll get him to twirl us through Danang, but I think we should go straight down to Hoi An.’

  ‘Lunch and a swim sound good to me,’ said Anna.

  Sandy had booked them into a hotel overlooking the river and Anna was glad that it was fifteen minutes out of Hoi An. The streets of Hoi An were packed with tourists on foot and on bikes, crowding the shops and cafes. There was a casual air as though everyone was there to enjoy themselves.

  ‘It’s just like a holiday town. I thought I was relaxed in Hanoi, but this seems to be a real party place,’ Anna said, noticing the abundance of young tourists, backpackers and crowded cafes. ‘Looks fun.’

  ‘We’re booked into a bit of a sleepy joint, but it’s quiet and comfortable. If we want to splurge we could go to the Royal Hotel at Cua Dai Beach,’ said Sandy.

  The spacious units of the River Resort all faced the river and were clustered among palms and lawns landscaped with flowering frangipani and hibiscus trees. Anna and Sandy had a second-floor room, and when Anna flung open the doors to the balcony she exclaimed at the view over the rice paddies and the river where a lone fisherman was pulling a net into his sampan. They were pleased to be at the far end of the resort, away from the noisy pool, dining verandah, hotel spa and bar.

  ‘There’s a small village right next door. What a contrast,’ said Anna, looking down at thatched huts, chickens, a penned pig and several dogs. Sheets of blue plastic sheltered communal outdoor areas where cooking pots simmered and several men lay in hammocks as children played along the sandy paths.

  ‘I think some of the staff come from that village,’ said Sandy. ‘Let’s hit the pool.’

  After a refreshing swim they jumped on the hotel shuttle bus into town and wandered through the maze of shops before heading to the waterfront where colourful cafes lined the path along the river. From balconies and at outdoor tables you could watch the water traffic gliding by.

  ‘Everyone’s got something to sell,’
said Anna as women with laden boats called out, offering all sorts of handicrafts, clothes, fabrics, toys, souvenirs or food for sale. Other sellers pedalled past on bicycles, cheerfully ringing their bells to catch the attention of prospective buyers. The locals smiled and chatted and seemed relaxed about selling their wares, persuading tourists to join tours or to visit a particular shop or business.

  The girls settled at a small cafe at the end of the strip. The front entrance was covered with a thick drooping vine and upstairs a bright red balcony railing added a dash of colour. Sitting at a table just inside, which caught a slight breeze off the river, Sandy ordered cold drinks and studied the menu while Anna read the noticeboard fluttering with For Sale signs, share trips and accommodation and travel tips from backpackers. At the rear of the restaurant was a courtyard with an internet cafe and travel agency. On a blackboard was chalked the daily special: Swedish Meatballs and Beer. At 7pm Karaoke.

  ‘Dishes from around the world. I think I’ll stick to the local food,’ said Sandy, turning over the International Menu to the Regional Specials on the back.

  ‘Me too. I’d love to learn to cook some of these dishes. They’re different from what Aunty used to make,’ said Anna. ‘I never paid much attention.’

  ‘Too busy learning to make pasta?’ queried Sandy with a raised eyebrow, quickly adding, ‘Just joking. This is the place to do it. Cooking schools everywhere.’

  ‘Why don’t we do one while we’re here then?’

  ‘Sure, let’s book in for a course tomorrow. And we have to get some clothes made. Did you bring your favourite shirt and pants?’

  ‘Yes. I’d love some silk outfits in those pretty colours you see everywhere. But there’re so many places, streets of them,’ said Anna.

  ‘I’ve got it covered. Know just the place. We’ll go after lunch.’

  It was Sandy’s turn to pay so while she was talking to the cafe owner about cooking schools, Anna wandered across the cobbled road to the edge of the river. There weren’t so many boats about now or people plying the river to trade and sell. It was siesta time. A sensible idea in the tropics, she thought. But a figure walking along some planks to get into a sampan caught her eye – a slim young man in cut-off cotton trousers, bare chest and the classic cone hat. While she couldn’t discern his features, there was something familiar about his figure and movements. She watched him cast off and push the boat away with the long wooden pole then, midstream, he shipped the pole, crouched in the stern and pulled the starter cord on a small outboard motor. As the boat sped past her, she recognised the young man with the long tiller tucked under his arm. It was Hung from the Harvest Moon junk.