Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

  ‘And Anna didn’t take that information with her?’ Tom, the ever-curious journalist, was amazed at Anna’s lack of curiosity.

  Kevin had wondered too, but hadn’t pushed the subject. ‘I figured she’d come to it when she was ready.’

  ‘Maybe Anna will change her mind before she leaves Vietnam,’ said Tom.

  ‘Maybe. I’ll find that envelope with all Thu’s papers in it. You never know. Thanks again for calling.’

  Tom hung up realising that Kevin was right. Anna had to decide in her own time. Tom was thoughtful. Too often when we did want to know answers to questions about our past, those who held the answers were no longer around. Anna had a great opportunity right now, to search for her family, especially with Sandy’s help.

  Sandy’s father, Phil, wasn’t home when Tom rang the Donaldsons but Tom explained to Sandy’s mum, Patricia, why he was ringing and she was eager for news.

  ‘I’m so glad Sandy is having a good time with Anna. They’re very close and it’s been a while since they’ve had time together. Did Sandy say when she might be coming home? She’s a bit vague in her emails.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s made any definite plans,’ said Tom. ‘She and Anna are running a friend’s cafe and have plans to travel around the country a bit more.’

  ‘How is Anna finding Vietnam?’ asked Patricia. ‘I mean, she has a family history there.’

  ‘I spoke to her father and I think he was disappointed that Anna doesn’t show much interest in her mother’s family. Some of them could still be around,’ said Tom.

  ‘What a shame. Her aunt and uncle were lovely people. Suffered terribly; and of course Thu had an awful time when they escaped. But they’re all dead now. Who knows if anyone is left.’

  ‘Kevin said he had papers, even a picture. That’s a start. I’d be wanting to go back to the village they came from and see what anyone knows,’ said Tom. ‘But then, I’m a nosy journalist. As a matter of fact, I am going back. I’m writing a story about Long Tan. It’s the fortieth anniversary.’

  ‘I know. Phil was invited, but of course he won’t go,’ said Patricia.

  ‘That’s a pity. I met some terrific fellows over there who are living there and say more and more veterans are going back. Making the pilgrimage to settle the ghosts, they call it.’

  Patricia Donaldson was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘I really wish he would. Some of his mates are right as rain, got on with things, seem content, happy. Phil, well, he still suffers nightmares, you know.’

  ‘Going back could help him. I’d like to talk to him. Do you think he’d be willing to see me?’

  ‘Oh. My goodness, I don’t think so. Please don’t mention I said anything. He’s a very proud man. Did Sandy speak about him?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘It was my mentioning that I’m doing a story on the Long Tan anniversary which brought it up. In fact, I have a feeling I might have even interviewed Phil in the field hospital at the time. I was thinking it would be a good angle for my story to meet him again. If he was up for that, of course,’ said Tom.

  ‘Dear me, no. I can’t see him ever going back there. And please don’t mention we discussed it, if you do speak to him,’ said Patricia.

  ‘Well, I would like to see him. Could I come over? We don’t have to mention this phone call,’ added Tom.

  Patricia hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t agree, I mean it’s not my place. But if you were just to turn up. Knock on the door, out of the blue. Early one evening, then . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘Sounds like a good strategy. Sandy was very keen I meet you both. And hopefully I will be seeing her when I go back, so . . .’

  ‘Perhaps it’d be best not to mention you’re writing anything,’ said Patricia.

  ‘I’ll come by on Wednesday,’ said Tom.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Ahearn.’

  Tom hung up, struck by the timidity of Patricia Donaldson compared with the strong, outgoing personality of her daughter.

  Tom thought carefully about how to approach Phil Donaldson and finally decided to just play it by ear. He took his tape recorder, just in case, photographs from his recent trip and a brochure put together by Baz and Cranky about the vets’ group in Vung Tau. He arrived with a bunch of flowers for Patricia.

  Phil answered the door and listened as Tom introduced himself, explaining the reason for his visit. Phil reached for the flowers and thanked him, but Patricia was quickly behind him.

  ‘How very nice of you! Do come in and have a cup of tea, won’t you? We’d love to hear about Sandy and Anna first hand.’ She had Tom through the door before Phil could react.

  Seated on the back patio, the tea things ready on a tray, Phil and Tom sat silently as Patricia bustled in the kitchen.

  ‘So, she’s all right over there, then? I don’t understand why she’s hanging around if her job has finished,’ started Phil.

  ‘She and Anna are having a ball. Sandy has a lot of friends; she knows the country well, speaking the language and all. I think it’s opened Anna’s eyes.’ Tom paused. ‘It seems strange to me that Anna isn’t taking the opportunity to find out about her mother’s family.’

  ‘Why should she? They chose to come here and be Australians. She’s not one of them. She has nothing in common with their lifestyle, culture, mentality,’ said Phil. ‘All they want is money if they know where you’re from.’

  ‘That’s a rather jaundiced view, Phil. But then, I guess your opinion is coloured by your time in Vietnam.’ Tom saw Phil’s mouth tighten, but plunged on. ‘I think we’ve met before. I was at Long Tan covering the Col Joye concert. I was at the field hospital with Col and I seem to recall chatting to you.’

  Phil’s face registered fleeting emotions but he swiftly regained his composure and in a non-committal voice said, ‘Yeah. I was there. I talked to a journo. Was that you? It’s a small world,’ he said, adding, ‘I was still in shock. Didn’t hit me for some time, what happened . . .’ his voice trailed off.

  ‘Yeah. It affected a lot of men. Still does,’ said Tom softly. ‘But a lot of them have finally come to terms with it, with themselves.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

  ‘You might like to look at some material a few of the Australian vets in Vung Tau have put together. I met blokes who went back. Made a big difference in their lives,’ said Tom.

  ‘I wouldn’t go back there.’

  ‘What’s helping, too, is that finally Long Tan is being recognised as a pretty important battle.’

  ‘Bit bloody late.’

  ‘Is it? There’s an opportunity to help a lot of veterans, their families and the people of Phuoc Tuy.’

  ‘That’s not my concern.’

  Tom wondered if there was any point in persisting with the taciturn man. He tried to smile. ‘You’re a bit of a challenge, Phil. I’d love to make a small wager on how you’d react to going back to Long Tan.’

  ‘You can forget that. All I wanted was to get out of that lousy place. Why would I want to go back?’

  ‘Do you ever consider why, what it was all for, the consequences?’

  ‘Bloody oath, I do. What a waste of men and money. Stupid political ambitions that conned us all. None of us had any real idea what we were really fighting for . . . Stopping the spread of communism? All the way with LBJ? Saving the South Vietnamese . . . Who were they? What’s it done for them? The country is all commo now. I lost good mates, for what?’

  ‘Then you need to go back, see what it was for, where the country is going. How the people feel. Move with the times, Phil. You’re stuck in 1966. Come back with me and give me your opinion. Good, bad, indifferent,’ urged Tom. ‘There are probably a lot of men who feel as you do. Check it out. It might show you that actually the whole stinking mess did serve a purpose, that it wasn’t a lost cause.’

  Phil didn’t respond for a moment but stared into the distance. Then he said, ‘Tell that to the blokes who died. Not going to bring back my mates, make me feel any better,’ he said.


  Before Tom could answer, Patricia bustled out with the teapot and warm scones.

  ‘Here we go. Tea. Tom, milk? Sugar?’ She looked from Tom to her husband. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘Tom here is trying to persuade me to go and visit that shit-hole of a country where I lost my best mates and lost myself, as well,’ Phil said bitterly.

  Patricia poured milk into her husband’s cup and glanced at Tom, who nodded, before she added milk to his tea. ‘It’s a different place now, love. If so many men are going back there and tourists, it must be . . . a special place.’

  ‘Your daughter is very attached to the country,’ added Tom, stirring sugar into his tea.

  Phil’s eyes blazed. ‘Attached! She’s got no reason, no right, to feel anything about the place. If anything she should hate the place.’ He clamped his mouth shut, holding back the words.

  ‘Like you do?’ asked Patricia. ‘That’s not fair. Maybe we hate what it did to you.’ She took the cloth off the warm scones. ‘There’s jam and cream. I’ll top the pot up.’ She walked away.

  ‘Sandy understands, she really does. I think she’d give her right arm to travel round the country with you. Seeing it now might ease some of the memories you have.’ Tom picked up his tea. ‘I was there too, mate. I went all over the south. I saw what happened to them, and to us. Believe me, this trip has been an eye-opener. I’m glad I went back. And I’m keen to go again. To Long Tan. Many of them are going to be there. And, like you, it won’t be easy for some of them. But they’ve got the guts to go.’ Tom drained his teacup. It had been a difficult little speech.

  ‘It’s not going to change anything.’

  ‘If you go back there? Yes, it will. And then again, if you don’t go, you’ll never know, will you? Seems to me you haven’t got anything to lose by going. You can’t feel any worse than you do now, right?’

  ‘I don’t see that it’s any of your business,’ said Phil, looking into his cup.

  ‘That’s true. I promised your daughter I’d pop in and see you both. I guess I got a bit carried away.’ The implication that Sandy knew her dad wouldn’t take any notice of the invitation hung between them, unstated.

  Tom rose and held out his hand. ‘I’ll be there at that reunion. I’ll tell your platoon mates you couldn’t make it.’

  Phil stood up and briefly shook Tom’s hand, saying gruffly, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  Tom wanted to say something else, some last remark that might change Phil’s mind, something profound, something that would crack open the bottled-up hurt and anger in the man standing opposite him. He searched for the words, but none came.

  ‘I’ll tell Sandy I met you. Thanks for your time. I’ll just say goodbye to your wife.’

  Patricia had been watching from the kitchen and walked with Tom to the front door. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘I couldn’t seem to find the right words.’ He almost smiled. ‘Bit of a let down for a writer.’

  ‘Tell Sandy her dad will be okay. He hangs in there. And I’m here,’ said Patricia.

  Tom looked at the pale quiet woman who had lived for years with a man in a lot of pain, yet had never complained. ‘It can’t have been easy for you.’ For a moment he was tempted to suggest she go to Vietnam and visit Sandy but he figured she was not a woman to do anything without her husband’s acquiescence. She might be the quiet strength of the family, but she’d never step outside the boundaries laid down by Phil’s difficult moods and behaviour. ‘You should talk to some of the other wives sometime. They’ve got stories to share.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ She gave a small smile. ‘We manage. Give Sandy a hug for me. And I hope she’ll be home very soon.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Thanks for the tea.’ Tom pulled the Vung Tau information kit from the folder under his arm. ‘I’ll leave this with you anyway. Good day.’

  Patricia watched Tom drive away. Phil had disappeared into his garden shed. She washed up and put away the tea things, wiped the kitchen bench, then, drying her hands, she pulled open a drawer. Beneath receipts and papers she pulled out an envelope and re-read the letter inside. On the bottom of her shopping list she wrote down the phone number from the top of the letter and returned it to the drawer.

  A little later, she appeared with her shopping bag. ‘I’m going down to the shops. Do you need anything, Phil?’

  He stuck his head outside the shed. ‘No, thanks. You walking or driving?’

  ‘Thought I’d walk. For the exercise. It’s just a few things. I’ll go to the centre later in the week.’

  ‘Righto.’ He disappeared back inside the shed.

  Patricia bought a few groceries, then went into the phone booth next to the bus stop and took out a handful of coins. She spoke for ten minutes and emerged looking rather pleased with herself. She crumpled her shopping list, dropped it in the rubbish bin and walked briskly home.

  Days and nights became blurred for Sandy and Anna as running the cafe swallowed their time and attention. Ho was becoming increasingly difficult and screamed at Carlo if he spent any time talking to Anna or watching him cook. Carlo maintained the chef was stealing food; Ho objected to being ‘spied on’. So Sandy and Anna were relieved when Carlo started disappearing for meetings and making connections with an eye to business opportunities.

  ‘Who’s Carlo meeting with?’ Sandy asked Anna as they carried out the tables and chairs one sunny morning.

  ‘No idea. People he met through those businessmen that came the first night. I think he’s been over to Charlie’s gallery. And he said he was taking Rick to lunch to pick his brains.’

  Sandy didn’t say anything but she couldn’t see Rick having much in common with Carlo. He was the high-art end of the market whereas Carlo, with limited knowledge, was after flashy, fast-turnover merchandise.

  *

  Carlo returned after lunch and announced he was onto something.

  ‘And what might that be?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘Ceramics!’ He swept his arms apart with a flourish.

  ‘You mean bowls, pots, urns, garden tubs?’ asked Sandy. ‘Or art pieces?’

  ‘You got it. Garden stuff. Costs peanuts here; sells for heaps back home.’

  ‘Is that going to be a big outlay?’ asked Anna. ‘And who’s going to buy it?’

  ‘C’mon, Anna, just about every landscaping place you can think of. Water features, statuary, marble stuff. I’m doing a deal. A couple of containers and I’ll make a killing.’

  ‘Where are you sourcing all this stuff? Have you seen it?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘It’s around. I’ve seen samples. I’ll be going to the factories though.’

  ‘Like the ones we saw on the way to Halong Bay . . . Bat Trung, Mr Thinh’s place?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Be prepared for the factories, Carlo. They’re small backyard operations. Not big, slick, mass-production factories like at home,’ said Sandy. ‘So you have to be sure what they produce meets the standard every time. Proper glazes and so on.’

  ‘Who put you onto this?’ asked Anna. ‘It might be good. Don’t you think, Sandy?’ she asked.

  Carlo butted in. ‘Listen, I know a good deal when I see it. I have big plans. There’s furniture, you name it. These people make stuff quick and cheap. I should get some Italian designs for them to reproduce. Cheap but classy.’ He headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll just grab a snack. I’m off to meet the woman who owns the two trucks I’ll be using. She knows all about this stuff.’

  ‘Carlo, get something to eat from the kitchen up stairs,’ called out Anna. ‘Ho is really touchy about you helping yourself in his kitchen.’

  ‘It is Ho’s domain,’ agreed Sandy, as there came a crashing and banging of metal pans and Ho’s shouting above it.

  Before they reached the kitchen to find out what was going on, Ho bolted out waving a large knife. He ripped off his apron, flung it on the floor and stabbed the knife into the top of the bamboo bar, all the while shouting in Vietnamese.
He yelled at Sandy and ran from the cafe.

  ‘What’s going on? Carlo, are you all right?’ Anna raced into the kitchen.

  Carlo was sitting at the small table used for food preparation, calmly slicing a cucumber over a salad. ‘The man’s a nutter,’ he said.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Anna. ‘Why did he get so upset?’

  ‘I said I wanted something to eat. He said I wasn’t to eat his food, so I told him I’d take something out of the box he was stealing from here.’ He pointed at the plastic box Ho took home each night with leftovers and spare food.

  ‘God, like a pair of kids,’ muttered Sandy behind Anna.

  ‘What did Ho say?’ Anna asked Sandy.

  ‘He said he quit. Finished. No more. Mr Barney always let him take the box.’

  ‘It’s no big deal, is it? Taking home food for his family. You shouldn’t bait him, Carlo,’ said Anna. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘That food isn’t for his family. I reckon he sells it,’ said Carlo.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Sandy, trying not to lose her temper and thump Carlo as he sat there unconcernedly munching through his salad.

  ‘Well, I know something you don’t. He gives it to a young kid who has a mini van filled with food stuffs. It’s some sort of scam. I’ve seen Ho handing it over.’

  ‘You mustn’t accuse Ho in front of the staff: he loses face,’ said Sandy. ‘Anna, you’d better start planning the dinner menu.’

  ‘So you don’t think Ho will come back when he calms down?’ she asked.

  ‘Not today. I’ll find out where he lives and go and make the peace. And you’ll have to apologise, Carlo,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Sandy walked out of the kitchen as Anna tried to calm Carlo and get him to admit he’d done the wrong thing, but Carlo shrugged his shoulders. It was no big deal.

  The two waiters crept around the kitchen as Anna started the meal preparation.

  ‘The special tonight is Aussie bubble and squeak and a Thai-fry,’ she told Sandy.

  ‘Sounds hideous. What’s in it?’

  ‘Bubble and squeak is bits of vegetables dipped in a tangy batter and fried and the Thai-fry is like stir fry but with lemongrass, coconut and peanuts. Chicken or beef.’