Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

  The group settled down again, making themselves as comfortable as they could.

  ‘When it’s daylight, can we walk home?’ asked Phuong.

  ‘It’s a long way. We’ll have to wait till the water has run off the road and we can drive the car. It won’t be long,’ Sandy comforted her.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said Hong.

  ‘Your car has been washed off the road,’ said the old man in Vietnamese to Sandy. ‘It will be hard to get going.’

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Anna.

  ‘The car is stuffed. Something will get sorted,’ said Sandy more cheerfully than she felt.

  Anna closed her eyes. What a nightmare. Nevertheless, a calmness, a feeling of resignation, came over her. There was nothing she could do. She glanced at Sandy, who was smoothing Phuong’s hair as she chatted to the old farmer. She was seeing her friend in a new light. Sandy had always been the capable and adventuresome one but their escapades had never been, well, life threatening. While she had no idea how they were going to get out of this creepy place, she had every confidence Sandy would find a way.

  Sandy had been listening as the old man quietly told her the history of his family. As he paused, Sandy asked him to tell it in English so Anna could understand.

  ‘My English not so good,’ he said. ‘American English.’

  ‘You fought in the American war?’ asked Sandy.

  He nodded but did not elaborate, except to say, ‘Big fighting south from here. Where you from?’ He studied Anna.

  ‘We come from Australia.’

  He sucked his teeth and nodded his head. ‘Good people. Australian soldiers good men. Not like Americans.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Australian soldier bury our dead. They stop and do this. Many Australian soldiers in Phuoc Tuy.’

  ‘Is that where you were?’ asked Sandy, trying to figure out if he fought for the South Vietnamese or if he was a VC supporting the North in their liberation campaign.

  ‘I fight for my country. Vietnam now free. Good place. Why you come here?’ He motioned to the dozing girls. ‘You help these children?’

  ‘Yes. I worked for an Australian organisation – HOPE – helping Vietnamese people. We raised some money to start the orphanage as many children are left alone and are very sick,’ she said.

  He looked at Anna. ‘You Viet Kieu. Where your family, your ancestors?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ She didn’t elaborate.

  ‘Very bad. Not good you don’t pay respects to ancestors. That one, there. He my ancestor.’ He pointed to the carving of a dragon with the head of a phoenix.

  ‘So tell me more about your family. You were saying they came from Hue? And had some connection with the emperor?’ Sandy picked up the threads of his story.

  ‘Which emperor?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Emperor Tu Duc. Very famous.’

  ‘Yes. We went to his tomb. Really beautiful,’ said Anna.

  ‘So who was your ancestor?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘He was servant at the palace. He one of many, many. They buried the emperor and so must die.’

  ‘The story goes they were all beheaded so as not to reveal where he is really buried,’ said Sandy.

  Anna beat her to the next question. ‘So how do you know what happened to your ancestor if he was killed?’

  ‘He had a wife and she must be worried when he go away to bury emperor. So she cut his hair and kept it.’ He pointed to one of the markers in the wall. ‘She got no bones to bury but his hair in special box there. Hair come back to his village so his family honour him.’

  ‘Very sad story,’ said Anna.

  ‘No. Big honour for our family.’

  ‘So possibly the emperor is buried somewhere between Hue and this province?’ asked Sandy.

  The farmer shrugged. ‘Probably go to mountains. Many hiding places.’

  ‘Too bad your ancestor can’t tell you the location,’ grinned Anna. ‘You’d be a very rich man.’

  The farmer smiled. ‘Maybe. Is better the emperor have all his possessions for the next world.’

  ‘Seems to me he had quite an excess in this life. Might do him good to go without so much in the next,’ Anna said to Sandy.

  ‘I think the karma of one’s deeds counts for more,’ said Sandy, then turned to the proud farmer. ‘And your family? They are farmers too?’

  ‘My son works on rice paddy. I have not enough land to give to number two son. He a fisherman. My girl is married; I have two grandson.’ He smiled. ‘When water go down, you come to my house. We can eat something.’

  ‘That would be good,’ said Anna.

  The girls were trying not to complain at feeling stiff and hungry.

  ‘Is it morning yet?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll go and look and see if we have any phone messages,’ said Sandy.

  The landscape was still watery in the pale morning light. But as she gazed around she could see where the water had receded. The mound of mud that had been the barrier between the rice paddies and the road was discernible. If the old farmer had managed to wade across it, they could too. But where to? The car sounded a write-off as far as transport. She hoped the hire company was understanding and that her insurance would cover any damage.

  Sandy turned on her mobile phone. The battery was nearly flat but there were two messages. One from Kim saying he’d received her message. The other was an SMS from Jean-Claude asking if they were enjoying themselves. She texted back. ‘Not really. We’ve spent the night in a crypt in middle of a rice paddy. Waiting for flood-waters to recede. All OK tho’ we can’t drive. Will walk out soon I hope.’

  She waited a moment in case Jean-Claude replied, and he did almost at once: ‘Send directions to your location. I will try to help.’

  She didn’t know what he could do from Danang as the roads were impassable, but she tried to describe where they were as best she could. She also sent Kim a message asking him to contact the orphanage and tell them they were all safe. She tapped out the message quickly as to talk at any length would have used the last of her mobile battery. At least the word was out there.

  ‘We’ve made contact. Kim is on the case,’ said Sandy cheerfully as she went back into the gloom of the crypt. Light was beginning to filter down the stairs.

  ‘But he’s in Hanoi,’ said Anna.

  ‘Jean-Claude also knows. I think he’s in Danang. I don’t know what he can do but it’s a start. Anyway, at least people know we’re safe.’

  ‘I go look for my buffalo.’ The farmer got up and rolled his rain cape. ‘You come to my house.’

  Sandy’s inclination was not to impose but the girls got to their feet. ‘We would be grateful if your house is not too damaged.’

  ‘It will be mud. But my wife can cook something.’

  ‘Anything hot would be wonderful,’ said Anna.

  They got up and filed out after the farmer who pointed across the soggy paddy. ‘We go that way, near dyke. In middle is all water.’

  ‘Lead on. At least it’s stopped raining.’ Sandy suddenly stopped and made the introductions and shook hands with the farmer, who introduced himself as Mr Nguyen.

  ‘Would you be related to Madame Nguyen who owns a silk shop in Hoi An?’ asked Anna.

  ‘No. Nguyen very common name in my country. Name from emperor dynasty,’ he added with some pride.

  Holding hands with the girls who tucked their skirts and long pants up as high as they could, Sandy and Anna sloshed behind Farmer Nguyen as he set out across his land. There was a lot of damage but he assured them everything would recover quickly. The land was used to being flooded and water drained away quickly. They reached the road which was knee-deep in water, and the farmer in the lead stopped and pointed.

  There was their car, washed off the road into a stand of bamboo but upright and undamaged. Standing next to it was the farmer’s water buffalo.

  ‘Want anything from the car?’ asked Sandy. ‘A swimsui
t perhaps?’

  ‘I’m not going near that beast,’ said Anna firmly.

  The farmer hurried to his animal and, talking calmly to it, nudged its head and the old buffalo trudged behind him, its weighty feet sinking into the soft ground as it waded through the water urged on by Farmer Nguyen. Once the buffalo felt the firmer surface of the road beneath its feet, it stepped along more quickly.

  It was still early but other people began to appear on the road, wading through the water to see what damage had been done as well as seeking fresh supplies.

  Farmer Nguyen turned off and pointed to where terraced fields had been neatly laid out. His house stood on the high side of the slope. It was a solid structure with a thatched roof but the yards around it were in a sea of water which had obviously flowed through the ground floor. As they got closer they could see his wife and daughter-in-law pushing large brooms to clear the mud from inside.

  The family welcomed the girls warmly and after hearing how they’d spent the night, offered them hot tea and a bowl of noodle soup that was warming in a large pot on the stove.

  Sandy thanked them profusely as they stood around tucking into the very welcome food. When they’d finished, the girls asked for brooms and rags and offered to help with the clean-up.

  The chickens were handed down from the coop in the roof and the pig was released. By mid morning the sun had come out and the countryside looked a lot more welcoming.

  ‘It’s still going to be days before we can use the road though,’ said Anna. ‘Where do we go from here? Ask if we can sleep in the vacated chicken coop?’

  ‘I’m going to walk back down the road. I know there is a small town further inland and I should be able to get some help to pull out the car,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you? It’s a bit of a hike.’

  ‘No, you stay here with the girls and the Nguyens. It’ll probably take me a couple of hours. I just wish I could buy some food for them from somewhere,’ said Sandy.

  ‘There might be hawkers on foot. People are very enterprising,’ said Anna. ‘Anyway, there’s plenty of rice here.’

  Sandy went back the way they’d come, noticing the water had gone down in the few hours they’d been at the Nguyen’s farm. She reached the car and carefully unlocked the driver’s door. She was worried about the angle of the car but it was firmly wedged against a wall of muddy soil. She looked at the swimsuits, kites and remnants of their day at the beach and wondered how hard it was going to be to get back to the orphanage, let alone get their flight back to Hanoi.

  She trudged along the road feeling hot and uncomfortable in the steamy humidity as the temperature rose when there was a noise behind her. She turned, wondering what kind of vehicle or motor was running. A boat?

  A motorbike was pushing through the water over the road, sending out a yellow bow wave. It was a big old bike with wide handle bars and fat heavy tyres and it rode high and easy, making steady progress. Sandy waved madly to attract the rider’s attention. It was a hundred metres away when the driver saw her and sped towards her.

  For safety she stepped off the road, sinking into the mud, which threw her off balance. As she staggered to her feet, gluey red dirt smeared up to her armpits, the motorbike slowed and stopped. The rider, a man in equally muddied jacket and goggles, stopped, propped the bike, and pulled off his helmet.

  Jean-Claude beamed down at her. ‘You’re looking particularly elegant this morning.’

  Sandy simply stared at him, the realisation taking a moment or two to sink in. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘On my bike. Your directions were very good.’ He held out his hand. ‘May I help you out of there?’

  Sandy suddenly realised how she must look. ‘Yes, please. I must look a mess. I didn’t know if you were going to stop and I didn’t want to get hit by that wave of water.’

  He reached over, grasped her hand and helped her back onto the road. They stood grinning at each other.

  ‘If I wasn’t so filthy I’d hug you,’ Sandy said. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’

  ‘I was only a little way up the coast at a fisheries conference. Lucky, eh? How was your night in the mausoleum?’

  ‘Actually, not that bad.’ She took the towel he pulled from under his seat and tried as best she could to wipe off the mud. ‘A farmer took us to his house this morning. I was walking back to see if I could find someone to pull our car out.’

  ‘Hop on and I’ll take you back to the farmer’s place. How far from here is the orphanage?’

  ‘Inland about an hour’s drive. I hope they didn’t get hit as badly as we did.’

  He kicked over the motor, which had a strong, throaty roar. ‘The typhoon skimmed the coast and headed back out to sea. It was a pretty narrow corridor of damage. You were lucky to find shelter.’

  Sandy swung onto the broad seat behind him and grasped his jacket as the bike slewed slightly and took off. It was too noisy to speak, so she nudged him and pointed as the Nguyen’s farm came into view. There were more people moving about, on oxen, by horses, pushing bicycles and trying to start a few stalled motor scooters. Life was getting back to normal, but there had been a lot of wind damage.

  Anna was stunned to see Sandy walk in with Jean-Claude. ‘If it wasn’t for the mud on that black jacket I’d say you were our white knight coming to the rescue,’ she joked.

  It was decided that Jean-Claude would make two runs with three at a time on the bike back to the orphanage. The orphanage’s phone line was out, but Kim had sent word via HOPE to the villagers nearby, who had passed on the news that the girls were all safe. The hire car company was contacted and arrangements made for the car to be retrieved and taken back to Danang for repairs. Jean-Claude had collected their possessions from the car and they gave the kites to the Nguyens for their grandchildren.

  The smallest of the girls sat in front of Jean-Claude, another behind him, with Anna at the rear holding onto his jacket. They waved as the bike took off, ploughing along the waterlogged road.

  Jean-Claude returned after lunch to collect Sandy, Phuong and Hong.

  ‘How’re things at the orphanage?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘Bit of the main roof is gone, windows broken, the classroom flooded. Nothing money and manpower can’t fix.’

  ‘Oh dear. Money is a problem.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be a way.’ He smiled. ‘Ready to hit the road?’

  Sandy turned to the simple farm couple who’d been so generous and welcoming. She thanked them, but when she proffered money they shook their heads. Sandy knew the money would be welcome and useful. She turned to Jean-Claude. ‘What good people they are.’

  He shook Farmer Nguyen’s hand and in fluent Vietnamese thanked him profusely.

  ‘Farmer Nguyen’s ancestors are very important. One worked for Emperor Tu Doc,’ said Sandy, knowing how highly the old farmer regarded his ancestor’s claim to fame.

  Jean-Claude gave a slight bow towards the old man. ‘Thank you for being so kind to my friends and the young girls. You have made your ancestors proud.’

  As Jean-Claude negotiated the road back to the orphanage with Phuong balanced in front of him and Hon behind, Sandy held tightly to his leather jacket. She wished she could find a way to raise funds to help the orphanage as she knew how stretched HOPE’s budget was. Once they headed inland, apart from a few broken trees, scattered palm fronds, rubbish, discarded plastic sheets and damage to flimsy stalls and shops, the impact of the typhoon was less obvious. People were busy repairing and cleaning up and picking up the threads of their lives.

  In the village near the orphanage there wasn’t the same water build-up so there was little flooding, but the wind had taken its toll. Nevertheless Sandy was still upset to see the damage.

  As Jean-Claude pulled up everyone came running and the two girls were welcomed back as heroines returning from a big adventure.

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get back for the celebrations,’ said Sandy to the staff.r />
  The woman in charge smiled. ‘The girls have coped very well with a difficult situation. I think they have showed great maturity, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ll say. They weren’t as scared as I was,’ said Anna.

  ‘That’s because they understand respect for ancestors.’

  ‘I know HOPE will try to get some help with repairs as soon as possible,’ said Sandy.

  ‘We will manage. The children have lived in far worse conditions.’

  ‘I’ve got a working bee going,’ said Anna. ‘What are the plans – once you clean up?’ she said, looking at Sandy’s mud-caked clothes.

  ‘Stay and help, I guess. What about you, Jean-Claude? How can we thank you?’ began Sandy.

  ‘It was lucky I was close by. I’m heading off to see some farms and investors before going back to Danang.’

  ‘Investors?’ Sandy’s interest was aroused. ‘Do you think they might be willing to make a donation to the orphanage? For repairs?’

  Jean-Claude smiled. ‘Come with me and ask them. I’ll bring you back this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll wash and change clothes. Is that all right with you, Anna?’

  ‘I’ve plenty to do here. I can’t get as excited about shrimp farms as you. Thanks again, Jean-Claude. By the way, whose bike is it?’ asked Anna. She knew it was the sort of bike Carlo would adore.

  Jean-Claude looked at Sandy. ‘It’s mine. A slight indulgence but it has proved useful in getting around in a country where the majority are on two wheels.’

  Sandy laughed. She wouldn’t have picked the suave Frenchman as a bike fan. ‘Well, we’re glad you have it. Can I buy you lunch as a thank you?’

  ‘Au contraire. I will take you for being so brave. I’ll wait for your transformation.’

  ‘I hope it’s not upmarket – best I can do will be a clean dress.’ She was suddenly glad she’d thrown a sun-dress in her backpack.

  Jean-Claude was familiar with the district, taking detours, weaving through villages until they came to an area outside Danang which was being developed with several multi-storeyed apartments, a huge shoe factory and a shopping complex. He parked outside a building with yet to be occupied shops on the ground floor and offices above. Sandy glanced around at the glass, chrome and mirror fittings trying to imagine the clutter of merchandise typical of Vietnamese shops in these cold and modern surroundings.