Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

  ‘We don’t play the game,’ laughed Sandy.

  ‘At least you know where you stand. Come to the table. If you like, the guest bathroom is down there.’

  Sandy washed her hands and peeped into the large bedroom, which looked rather masculine, and a small study that must have been the second bedroom. One wall was lined with crammed bookshelves. For a seafood man, Jean-Claude seemed very cultured.

  They sat at the dining table and over dinner talked of many things. She learned about his family, what a matriarch his mother was and how she had taught Jean-Claude so much about the finer things in life.

  ‘My parents came from well-to-do families. My grandfather did well in Vietnam, although it was difficult for my mother when her parents lost everything and had to start over again back in France. She dislikes my being here trying to help farmers.’

  ‘We have that in common,’ said Sandy. ‘My father hasn’t ever said it directly to me, but he resents my being here too. Sees it as helping his old foe, I s’pose. I hope I don’t ever get into such a closed mindset and refuse to be flexible and move on.’

  ‘That’s something the Vietnamese have taught me,’ said Jean-Claude softly. ‘Not to hold grudges. Let’s have a nightcap.’

  She helped him clear the table and they settled back on the sofa. He put some of his favourite CDs into the machine and they talked quietly, lapsing into companionable silences occasionally. Sandy told him about Carlo and Anna and her disquiet about Carlo being the right man for Anna. As he hadn’t met him, Jean-Claude made no comment but listened carefully to all she had to say. Sandy felt at ease and comfortable with him. His arm was along the back of the sofa and she leaned against him. His soft voice with its seductive accent was like honey, soothing and mellow. She finally uncurled her legs.

  ‘I must go: it’s late. I have to be at the cafe early in the morning.’

  His arm dropped onto her shoulders and hugged her tighter. ‘If you must.’ He nuzzled her ear. ‘It’s been a delightful evening.’

  ‘It has been for me too,’ said Sandy, turning to him as he lowered his head and kissed her gently. It was a tender kiss, not forceful, not demanding. They drew apart in the soft light from the corner lamp and she saw his slight smile and questioning eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him and this time his mouth was seeking and more urgent. She kissed him again and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him.

  It felt natural and exciting. The thrill of passion shivered through her and she did not resist when he led her to the bedroom. She lost track of time as they explored each other, whispered, and surrendered to the sensations of abandonment in their love-making.

  Afterwards he held her tightly and stroked her hair. ‘Spun gold, it’s like sunshine on my pillow.’

  Sandy glanced out at the lightening sky. ‘Daylight – I’d better leave.’ She slipped out of bed.

  ‘Stay. I will take you back early. Sleep a little while; I’ll wake you with coffee.’

  Sandy pulled on her clothes. ‘No, no. Go to sleep. There’s bound to be a fellow sleeping in his cyclo outside. I’ll be fine.’

  She couldn’t explain it to him, but she did not want to stay. It felt too much of a commitment. She’d been down that track before. Giving herself over to falling in love. And the problem had always been that it was someone on the move, from another part of the world. A brief crossing of paths, different cultures, backgrounds and heritage. Both finding themselves for the moment in the same place, coming together, and deep down knowing it was just for now and not forever.

  She wondered what it would be like to have a love affair based solely on sex, eating and existing from day to day – the basic things, finding food, shelter, warmth – without being able to communicate. That would simplify matters and strip things down to the essentials. And do away with the complications that arose from miscommunication, unfulfilled expectations, or the lack of commonality.

  But then she thought back over the evening, how easy it had been talking with Jean-Claude, the comfortable, easy environment, the awareness that here was a man used to the better things in life and yet who was equally at home in the rougher, rural parts of the country.

  Somehow she’d associated Jean-Claude’s family connection with the seafood industry as being a bit coarse – rough fishermen, smelly boats and tough characters, not above acting dangerously or provocatively to achieve their ends. But he wasn’t like that at all. He appreciated culture. He was a citizen of the world.

  Now dressed and anxious to leave, she leaned over the bed where Jean-Claude was drifting off to sleep and kissed him lightly. ‘It’s been lovely. Thank you.’

  He jerked to wakefulness and flung back the covers. ‘Merde. Sorry. I was falling asleep. Wait, I’ll drive you.’

  She gently pushed him back down on the bed. ‘No, no. If I can’t find a cyclo or a taxi, I’ll call you to come down and drive me.’

  ‘You’re sure? Sandy, I’ll telephone you tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s all right, Jean-Claude,’ said Sandy. She blew him a kiss. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  She shut the apartment door and pushed the button for the wrought-iron cage. As it rattled to the ground floor for a moment she hoped Jean-Claude might have thrown his pants on, run down the stairwell and be there at the ground floor to fling open the lift door and sweep her into his arms and insist she return to his bed.

  Instead she found the foyer empty. Once the lobby doors hummed shut behind her she had no way of re-entering unless she buzzed Jean-Claude’s apartment. She went out into the quiet street, the only light a buzzing neon sign on a nearby building. She glanced up at the sky, comforted by the first streaks of pale sunrise.

  Along the street there was a cyclo, its driver curled on the seat under the canopy, a plastic sheet flung over him. Sandy knew that he had a change of clothes and a few simple possessions tucked under the seat that was his home. Gently she shook the handle bars and in Vietnamese asked if he was working and could take her across the city.

  Sleepily the driver flung back the cover, rubbed his eyes and began haggling over the fare. Sandy laughed and against her normal practice agreed to his outlandish price. He pedalled slowly through the near-empty streets. Sandy marvelled at the difference riding through the sleeping city was compared to the hustle and bustle of the day. The metal doors of most shops were locked and bolted. People slept in many of the doorways or in their cyclos. An occasional bar sign flashed, and here and there, a pedlar fanned a small brazier getting ready for a new day. The high-rise hotels and bigger shops had lights glowing but little movement. When they reached Sandy’s block all was dark save for a single light above the gate across the alley. She asked the cyclo driver to wait until she had unlocked the gate, then thrust the required dong into his hands.

  The stairs to her apartment were dark but, after feeling her way up the twists and turns she knew so well, Sandy arrived at her door, key in hand, and was swiftly inside. How small and shabby her apartment seemed compared to Jean-Claude’s, but then she was living as most of the locals did and not in some mock-French extravaganza.

  As she fell into bed the phone rang.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure you were safely home,’ said Jean-Claude.

  ‘Thanks for thinking. And it was a lovely evening.’

  ‘Sweet dreams, chérie.’

  ‘G’night, Jean-Claude.’ She hung up, glancing at the clock to make sure the alarm was set to wake her in time for work.

  *

  Hung paddled Anna and Carlo into the luminous grotto at the base of the karst.

  ‘See, Carlo, isn’t it amazing?’

  ‘Yeah. Weird. Is this a kind of smuggler’s cave, eh?’ he said to Hung.

  Hung laughed. ‘Maybe. Good hiding place for a boat. There are many such places in Halong. Special places. This one my favourite place. Only show special people.’

  ‘Bet he says that to everyone that comes on their boat,’ said Carlo. ‘What else is there to see?’

 
; ‘We can climb to the top of the peak,’ said Anna. ‘It’s beautiful, but best is the little pagoda with the old nun. I so want to see her again. She’s nearly blind and lives there alone. I just felt some sort of connection with her.’

  ‘I’m not climbing a mountain to see some blind nun who probably doesn’t speak English. Any fish in here?’ he asked Hung.

  Anna was disappointed. ‘You don’t have to talk to her; just come up and look at the view.’

  ‘It’s only more of the same, just higher up. I’ll hang with Hung and the others.’ He grinned at the captain’s nephew.

  ‘Maybe Carlo would like to see your village while I’m at the pagoda,’ suggested Anna.

  ‘Sounds good. Okay, Hung?’

  Hung guided Anna onto the path that led to the peak. ‘You do not want me to translate for you?’

  ‘I’ll practise my French,’ answered Anna. ‘She speaks a little English. We’ll manage.’ She just wanted to be in the company of the serene nun again; indeed, she felt a sense of urgency and the need to see her. The image of the little nun and the feelings she’d aroused had popped into Anna’s mind several times since they’d first met.

  The climb was steeper than Anna had recalled, maybe because this time she didn’t stop to admire the view but pushed continuously upwards. When she reached the path to the pagoda, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, she stopped to catch her breath. There didn’t appear to be anyone else up here, so she walked around the pagoda calling out.

  The room where the nun lived was empty, though Anna could smell freshly baked bread. The vegetable patch was well tended and watered, and the fruit trees were flourishing. It really is a mini paradise, thought Anna. Far below, the bay glittered and tourist boats were dotted around the mysterious peaks that shot from the sea.

  Anna walked around the garden to the edge of the cleared land where a bamboo fence held back the untamed trees and undergrowth that spilled down the hillside. On the other side was sheer, bare rockface. She continued across the clearing to the pagoda and slipped off her shoes and stepped inside. It was cool and tranquil. As she walked to the altar the figure of the tiny nun came to the front.

  ‘Hello. Bonjour encore,’ said Anna. ‘I’m Anna. I was here a few weeks ago with my friend Sandy and Hung. You gave me a little green Buddha.’

  The nun broke into a smile and nodded. ‘You come back again. Good, good. Your friend, she speak Vietnamese, she here?’

  ‘No, just me.’ Anna reached out and took the nun’s hands in hers.

  The nun lightly touched her face, reminding herself who Anna was by touch and the sound of her voice. ‘You are well? Happy?’

  Anna nodded. ‘I am happy to see you again. How are you?’

  The nun gave a gallic shrug. ‘Comme ci, comme ça. Visitors are coming. It is good for my English, oui?’ She smiled. ‘Before, not so many. Many days I am here alone.’

  ‘You’re becoming famous,’ said Anna, thinking the little nun probably preferred her solitude before the tourists started coming.

  The nun handed her a bundle of incense sticks. ‘You make prayers and then we sit.’ She walked slowly away, the swish of her cotton garment like a small sigh.

  Anna lit the fragrant sticks and bowed her head. She didn’t make specific prayers for herself or anyone else, but merely stood, letting thoughts come and go, allowing the peace and the sensations of this special place to wash over her.

  She went outside. The sun was bright, blinding her for a moment.

  ‘Miss Anna. I am here,’ called the nun.

  Anna went to the seat beneath the tree that overlooked the vista of the bay, its karsts of rocks partially dressed in green shawls of foliage. In the distance she could see the tender from the Harvest Moon speeding towards Hung’s village. She sat beside the nun.

  The nun lifted an arm and pointed across the huge bay that opened into the South China Sea. ‘Long way to your home. You go home?’

  ‘Yes. Too soon. I would like to explore a lot more of Vietnam,’ said Anna.

  ‘There are many things to find in our country. Some time, you find these things inside.’ She tapped her heart. ‘No this way.’ The nun tapped her eyes and her head. ‘Answers are always in here.’ She smiled as she leaned over and touched Anna’s heart.

  ‘Mmm, I have many questions to think about I suppose,’ said Anna slowly. Carlo, her work, her future, her family: all jostled for attention in her mind. Anna reached down, picked up the little cloth bag she’d brought with her, pulled out a parcel and handed it to the nun. ‘A small gift. I didn’t know what to bring you.’

  The nun clasped her hands together in a gesture of thanks and delight. She lifted the package to her face and inhaled, her face breaking into a smile. ‘Ooh, les fleurs.’

  ‘It’s lavender soap,’ said Anna shyly. She had also brought some chocolate and fruit with her but thought feminine luxuries would be a rarity for the nun who lived so simply.

  The nun opened the package and caressed the cake of soap. ‘Merci.’

  They continued to sit in the sun in silence for a few more moments. Then the nun took Anna’s hand and, looking across the bay, she said, ‘We meditate now. You know?’

  Anna nodded. She had done some yoga classes and knew a little about relaxing meditation but was unsure what the Buddhist nun expected of her. So she shut her eyes and lifted her face to the sun filtering down through the branches. This time there wasn’t the confusion of rushing thoughts and feelings. She felt very calm, detached almost, as if watching a movie.

  She saw lush green rice paddies where a water buffalo slowly trudged, she saw a rubber plantation, coconut trees, a strip of empty beach, thatched roofs of a village, neat white buildings lining a dusty road, people eating, an old woman with a bamboo pole and baskets weaving between the bicycles and motor scooters. She saw two little girls dressed for school, one holding the hand of an older brother and the other holding the hand of the little brother. An old lady waved to them, watching them leave the gate of their white house. It was a scene of everyday living in a peaceful rural town.

  Why did she feel she had seen this place, knew those children? Anna wanted to follow them. Her conscious mind was telling her it was a scene glimpsed in her travels with Sandy, while her subconscious was telling her it was something more.

  She had lost all sense of the time she’d sat there beside the nun, but slowly Anna’s eyelids fluttered open and she drew a long breath as she refocused on the scene before her. She turned and the nun took her hand.

  ‘You saw your home?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘It wasn’t Australia, but it seemed familiar. Maybe some place I’ve seen since I’ve been here. Why would that come to my mind, I wonder?’

  The nun shook her head. ‘You have not been to this place. But you must go. You know where is this place?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘It was very green, pretty houses . . .’

  ‘You know the home of your mother?’ asked the nun.

  ‘My mother?’ Anna stared at her. ‘No, I don’t know where she came from. You think . . . you think I imagined her village? But I know nothing about it. She never talked to me about where she grew up. How would I know what her home was like, where it was?’ Anna felt her voice rise.

  The nun merely nodded and pointed at her heart. ‘In there knows the place of your mother. You must find this place. Is it not why you come to this country?’

  ‘No, not at all! I don’t even know where she’s from.’

  The nun folded her hands calmly in her lap and said simply, ‘Now it is time. You must go there.’ She turned to Anna. ‘You have no memento, nothing of your mother?’

  Anna’s hand went to her throat, to the fine gold chain around her neck. ‘I have this,’ she whispered, and pulled out the chain with the small gold crucifix hanging from it. She leaned forward and showed it to the nun.

  The nun touched the little cross. ‘Who did it belong to?’

  Anna felt close to tears. She felt
ashamed, like a chastised child. ‘It belonged to my mother who brought it from Vietnam when she escaped with her younger brother who died on the journey. That’s all I know. I’m so sorry. I wish I knew.’ A tear fell from her eyes.

  The nun patted her hand. ‘You will know, soon enough. You must make this journey.’

  The nun rose and took Anna’s arm as they made their way back to the pagoda and went inside. She nudged Anna forward. ‘Buddha is listening. Go, make prayers for your family. The family of your mother. It is what has brought you here.’

  When Anna left the pagoda, the nun was waiting. Anna impulsively took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Thank you. I will somehow let you know what happens. I will come and visit you again.’

  The nun smiled. ‘I will know. From my seat over there I can see very far.’

  Anna nodded and set off down the path, understanding what the nun meant about seeing. Despite her near blindness she had inner sight, a knowingness. And for a moment or two she had shared it with Anna. And now Anna knew there was no turning back. She had a promise to keep, to herself, to the nun – and to her mother.

  Captain Chinh spotted her at the small strip of rocky beach at the bottom of the peak and paddled over in his canoe to take her back to the Harvest Moon. Carlo and Hung were still at the stilt village. The other couple had not wanted to go and were ‘resting’, he told her, grinning.

  Anna was glad Carlo was away with Hung. She stretched out in a deck chair to think through the emotions churning inside her. Was this the reason she’d felt the pull to come back here? To see the little nun? It hadn’t been in her mind to find her mother’s family, if any were left, or the place she came from. Or had it been buried so deep in her subconscious that she’d blocked it out? But now it was out in the open, and curiosity began to nibble at her.

  There was no reason why she shouldn’t try to find out where her family had come from, as Tom, Sandy and Rick had suggested. She wondered at her reluctance. She wasn’t ashamed of being half Vietnamese and as far as she knew there wasn’t any stigma attached to her mother’s story other than that the escape on the boat had been a terrible experience and, of course, little uncle had died.