Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

‘Van,’ said Anna softly. She pulled the chain from around her neck and touched the little gold crucifix. Her face crumpled. ‘Read the letter about what happened on the boat. And Van. It must have been so hard for my mother to tell that story to Dad. He’s written it all down.’ Anna shuffled some of the papers, picking up a printed email. ‘Dad also sent me this.’ She handed it to Sandy.

  My dearest Anna,

  Here are the relevant documents and personal papers you asked for the other day. Your mother packaged them up with a note for you many years ago. She told me that one day you’d want to look at your family’s Vietnamese background. In the meantime I was to look after the few bits and pieces she treasured.

  Well, I wasn’t surprised to get your email asking for info. I’d been expecting it, hoping for it, for some time and had everything ready to send – hence the prompt response.

  It may well be a very emotional trip back to that distant past, so chin up.

  I’m very proud of you, my dear girl.

  Good luck, love Dad

  ‘Oh, Anna, how lovely,’ said Sandy, looking at the tears welling in Anna’s eyes.

  Anna nodded. ‘I love my dad,’ she said simply.

  Sandy swallowed and didn’t speak for a minute, then, more briskly, said, ‘Right. Now the big question is where was she from?’ ‘Dad says Mum left Vietnam from a village on an island just off the very bottom of the country. Phu Quoc.’

  Sandy answered, ‘Yes, I’ve heard of it. We’ve been planning to go south to Saigon so we can jump off from there. Now, what are Carlo’s plans? Have you told him yet?’

  Anna looked uncomfortable. ‘Not yet. I thought I’d wait till we had worked out where to go, what to do. It’s not like we have an address or anything. He’ll tell me it’s a wild goose chase. He’s going to Hoi An. On business.’

  Sandy felt she should have probed a bit more about Carlo’s activities. She didn’t like the sound of the businessmen he’d been mixing with, but she’d been so busy with the cafe. Now Anna’s quest was more important. ‘Okay then, let’s start making plans. We’ll go down to Saigon, maybe get a local flight from there.’

  ‘What about your dad, is he coming over for that reunion thing?’ asked Anna.

  ‘I don’t know. Tom sent me an email to say they’d done all they could, and now Dad’ll have to make his mind up. But he’d better do it soon. Anyway, I really don’t think he’ll come.’

  ‘But Tom is coming? Is he bringing his wife?’

  ‘Yep, they’re leaving soon. Maybe we can hook up with them in Saigon. You might have a story for him,’ said Sandy with a grin.

  Anna rubbed her eyes. ‘I don’t know. It seems a long shot, but if I could at least see the place my mother lived, maybe even find their house . . .’

  ‘One step at a time, Anna,’ cautioned Sandy. Surely an island village was a small place. She hoped there’d be someone alive who knew the family and could give Anna some information. The photo would help.

  That evening Jean-Claude rang Sandy to see if she was settled in and she told him about their plans to visit the village where Anna’s mother had lived.

  ‘After all this time, do you suppose she will find any answers? A pity she waited so long. Her family here probably don’t know what happened to her mother and the little brother,’ said Jean-Claude.

  ‘Sure, it’s a long shot and Anna isn’t expecting to find anyone living, but she’s quite excited. She just wants to see where her mother lived. That’s important.’

  ‘It is. It’s how I feel when I go down to the river house where my grandparents lived,’ said Jean-Claude.

  Sandy recalled the beautiful old terrace restaurant as well as the lovely house in Hue. ‘Do you miss your family? You seem so settled here.’

  ‘Ah, but I go to France very often. For business and to see my family. The world is a small place now, eh?’

  ‘If you have money. The global village doesn’t always extend to the poor,’ said Sandy.

  ‘The internet has shrunk our world though. When are you coming to Ho Chi Minh City?’

  ‘Fairly soon. Carlo says he is going to Hoi An. Anna doesn’t think he’ll be interested in coming along to trace her family.’

  ‘Call on me if you need me,’ said Jean-Claude. ‘I like Anna and she’s your friend. So I want to help you.’

  ‘Thanks, Jean-Claude.’

  ‘Let me know your plans so I can adjust mine. I hope you’re comfortable?’

  ‘Of course I am. You must let me buy you dinner as a thank you.’

  ‘I’m happy to help you but I won’t say no to the dinner offer.’

  ‘Terrific, Jean-Claude,’ said Sandy, and felt a surge of affection for him. ‘I’ll let you know our plans.’

  Sandy called in to the HOPE office and told Kim about their plans to try and find Anna’s family.

  ‘I’ve never been to that part of the coast down south, but it sounds like a fishing village. Is that where the refugee boat left from?’ he asked.

  ‘Most probably. That’s the sort of thing we hope to find out. I just had an email from Tom and he’s very keen for us to follow it up. He’s very fond of Anna, I think.’

  ‘Didn’t Anna’s mother have any documents, like a birth certificate and such? Surely they’d have a few more details,’ said Kim.

  ‘No, they probably went without papers or they were taken off them. They were robbed by pirates. And worse,’ said Sandy.

  Kim was thoughtful. ‘I’ve started to wonder about my family history. I’m a mixed-up Hawaiian. I suppose some of my family were sent there to work in canefields and pine apple plantations. It’s never bothered me: everyone I knew was the same. Well, I hope Anna finds what she’s looking for.’

  ‘We’ll let you know. Don’t know how long we’ll be down south.’

  ‘And your father, is he coming to Vietnam?’

  ‘It seemed so for a minute. But he’s procrastinated and may have left it too late. Can’t get all the paperwork done, visas and so on.’ Sandy had mixed emotions about the news from her mother and Tom about her father. She wanted what was best for her dad, but deep down the thought of being responsible for him during what would be an emotional time disturbed her. For the moment, she’d concentrate on Anna’s family.

  They tried to do as much homework as possible, using the internet with Sandy calling her contacts to discuss the best way to go about this search.

  ‘I wish there was a telephone directory system,’ sighed Anna. ‘So many don’t have a phone.’

  Sandy made contact with the provincial governor, but his district covered many villages and towns, and he was of little help. The surname Thanh was not uncommon. He suggested they contact the nearest police station and ‘knock on doors’.

  ‘There doesn’t seem much we can do until we get there,’ said Sandy.

  They booked a flight to Ho Chi Minh City leaving at the end of the week. The night before they left they joined Carlo at Barney’s for dinner. Carlo was driving down to Bat Trung to meet a representative of the Vietnamese company which would make all the arrangements to ship his merchandise to Australia. He’d then go to Hoi An as, he said, he had a lead on some other products. He didn’t elaborate and Sandy didn’t ask. Anna had kept quiet, unhappy that Carlo still insisted she say nothing to Sandy about the antique plates.

  ‘But Sandy could be helpful. She’s my friend; we can trust her,’ Anna had pointed out to him.

  Carlo had been adamant. ‘It’s not just me involved. There’s Hung and his associate – whoever that is. I reckon they’ve got more than they’re telling me. Hung swore me to secrecy. So long as I get my merchandise out of the country, that’s all I care about.’

  ‘So will this company who are shipping the garden pots also send the antique ceramics?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Are you crazy? No, that requires special paperwork. Hung will let me know. But that’s a thought. I could combine them in the same shipment and save money.’

  Barney took Anna to one side. ‘
Good luck with your search. I hope things work out for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Barney. I’m not sure if we’ll find anyone, but I feel I have to try,’ said Anna.

  ‘Listen, thanks too for telling me what Ho does with the food from the kitchen. I never worried about the stuff going out. I figured he needed it, and, hey, anything to keep him happy. He was a handful. But you’ve brought about a big change in him. We didn’t know about his family troubles. He’s a real loner.’

  ‘He has no family anymore so I think he’s trying to make it up to The Family House.’

  ‘Yeah, the nice girl from the house came by. Lai and I will go over and see what else they need. We might be able to help them.’

  ‘That would be great, Barney.’

  Sandy also had a quiet talk with Barney as she went through the paperwork with him and told him about the visit from the protection men and the incident with Carlo.

  ‘He’s replaced the money, that seems in order. But they’d better not try to get extra money or American dollars out of me,’ said Barney.

  ‘I worry about what exactly Carlo’s doing. But you can’t tell him anything,’ said Sandy.

  Barney patted her shoulder. ‘He’ll learn. They’re good people here, but there are many levels of power and corruption. Not that all western companies are squeaky clean either,’ said Barney cheerfully. ‘The bottom line rules. I’m only in business for the hell of it! Lai is the business head. Tell Anna and Carlo to pick her brains, any time. Good luck in the south. Check in when you get back.’

  Saigon was an eye-opener for Anna and Sandy enjoyed showing her around. They stayed in a modest hotel and spent a full day cruising the elegant high-end shops – silks, French accessories, exquisite embroidered linens, lacquerware. They stopped for lunch at The Lemongrass bistro and arrived back in their hotel room to find messages from Jean-Claude and Tom.

  ‘Tom and Meryl arrive in a few days. Great. We should be back from the south by then,’ said Sandy.

  ‘What’s the note from Jean-Claude?’ asked Anna, flopping on the bed among her shopping bags.

  Sandy tore open the envelope he’d sent to the hotel. ‘Oh my gosh, how sweet!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s treating us both to a session at some fabulous spa here. L’Apothiquaire. He says it’s in a cute hundred-year-old building and they use their own handmade products from Bordeaux. We are to relax before setting out on our big adventure.’ Sandy shook her head and grinned at Anna. ‘Nice of him, huh? Let’s book for tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s really nice. We’ll have to get him something as a thank you,’ said Anna, wishing Carlo was as thoughtful. He was good with splashy gifts on public occasions like birthdays and Christmas, always making a big show to family and friends. But he rarely bothered with sweet surprise gestures, which was why the gift of the broken porcelain plate had so surprised her.

  They splurged on a superb dinner, managing to get into the Temple Club, which rarely had empty seats. Anna was entranced with the little alley lined with lanterns that led to the entrance of the former Chinese temple where they were ushered upstairs to a cluster of dark-timbered rooms with antique fixtures lit by red-and-gold lanterns. Reproductions of 1920s advertisements featuring doe-eyed Chinese girls were framed in vermilion.

  ‘All very Indochine, isn’t it?’ whispered Anna.

  ‘The food here is heavenly,’ said Sandy. ‘Different from the food Ho does: more Vietnamese high cuisine.’

  The following day, after visiting L’Apothiquaire, they flew directly to the island of Phu Quoc, landing at a small airstrip in the township of Duong Dong, boldly designated as the capital. The island was barely fifty kilometres long.

  As they flew over it Anna and Sandy exchanged a surprised look. Palm-fringed white sand beaches stretched below them, one seeming to go forever, lapped by an azure sea. A township was dotted with red roofs and past a rubber plantation could be seen a luxury resort. At the far end of the island a pristine beach was deserted save for fishing boats hauled onto the sand where fishermen were repairing their nets.

  ‘It’s a big island: look at the ridges in the centre. Must be as big as Singapore,’ marvelled Sandy. ‘What a find.’

  They settled into their budget accommodation which was close to the beach, fronting a narrow sandy road that wound through the sleepy town. There were some noodle shops and a few simple cafes.

  ‘No bars, no discos, no cinema, power boats, casino, or commercialisation – how brilliant,’ said Anna.

  ‘We can hire a motorbike or there’s a local bus that mooches round the island, though its timetable is a bit erratic,’ said Sandy. ‘Where do we go first?’

  Anna was tempted to opt for a swim but thought they’d better start their search somewhere.

  ‘Let’s get a moto and scoot around the island, get a feel for the place,’ suggested Sandy.

  With Anna perched behind her, Sandy headed the motor scooter out of town, following the coastal road. They were both stunned by the magnificent unspoilt scenery.

  They stopped for lunch at a powdery white beach where a few stalls sold cold drinks and snacks. There was an open-air, thatched-roof shack on the beach with tables under the palm leaves. They ordered the local speciality of small chilli crabs, fish cooked over an open flame, boiled rice served in a woven leaf bowl and a tall glass of green coconut milk.

  ‘What a stunning place,’ sighed Anna. ‘So idyllic.’

  As the owner cooked their meal and served them Sandy chatted to him about the history of the island. It had been colonised by the French in the nineteenth century until the Japanese invaded during World War Two.

  ‘The French tried to keep us and Cambodia wishes to own us as we are located close to it,’ he told them. ‘In the American war thousands of VC prisoners were put in a war camp here. Now many Vietnamese come back here to make holidays.’

  ‘It’s what I imagine the South Pacific and Asia must have been like thirty years ago,’ said Sandy. ‘Are there any people who were here in 1978?’

  The owner, a man in his fifties, looked thoughtful and rubbed his chin. ‘Maybe some people in a village or in the hills in the north. But many people from here escaped. Many boats took people away.’

  Sandy and Anna exchanged a quick look. ‘Do you know anyone who was organising these escapes?’ asked Anna.

  He picked up their empty dishes. ‘I might. Why do you want to know this?’

  Anna quickly explained and he nodded sympathetically. ‘Ah, this might be difficult. Or it might not. I shall ask.’

  Sandy quickly wrote the name of their hotel and their mobile phone numbers on a corner of the food-splattered paper table cloth, tore it off and handed it to him.

  They continued their tour, returning over the northern hills and stopped briefly at a temple dedicated to a local resistance leader who helped sink a French battleship in 1861.

  Back in town they wandered along the simple main street leading to the beach.

  Locals were sitting outside their shops and houses, chatting at the ease of the end of the day before darkness demanded meals and preparations for the next day. Sandy overheard a conversation as they walked past two women. One told the other, ‘The Viet Kieu is looking for the family of her mother.’

  Sandy paused and greeted them politely in Vietnamese and asked how long they had lived there. When they replied all their lives, she asked if they could speak to them. The women smiled and shrugged. One asked Anna a question and she looked to Sandy.

  ‘She wants to know the name of your family,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Thanh. Grandfather Van Thi and Uncle Quoc. My mother was Thu. She was nineteen when they escaped from here on a boat.’

  ‘Where they go?’

  ‘To Australia,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Ah. Australia.’ They sucked their teeth and nodded. One woman pulled out a rolled cigarette from a pocket in the flowered pyjama top that matched her pants. They looked at each other and spoke for a few mi
nutes.

  ‘What are they saying?’ asked Anna tensely.

  ‘The names are not known here. But Mr Hang might know. He helped people escape by boats. Where can we find him?’ Sandy asked the women.

  They conferred and seemed to agree and pointed up the hill. Sandy thanked them and she and Anna turned and began walking in the direction the women had shown them.

  ‘A lot of people left from this island to escape,’ said Sandy. ‘It cost a lot. Money or jewellery were the exit visas. It’s unlikely that any records were kept, but perhaps he knew the family.’

  Mr Hang lived in a modest house on top of a small rise overlooking the sea. A bird cheeped in a bamboo cage outside the green-painted door to the small ochre-coloured house. A teenage girl opened the door and stared shyly at the two foreigners.

  Sandy asked if they could speak to Mr Hang. The girl said her grandfather was busy but she’d ask. She hurried away and shortly after a wiry, bandy-legged older man wearing glasses and a battered khaki pith helmet came to the door.

  Sandy greeted him and told him what they wanted and briefly outlined Thu’s story.

  ‘It was a very long time ago. Many people left from here. We tried to help as many as we could. Then other people came to make money. Their boats were no good.’

  ‘Could we speak with you, please?’ asked Sandy. ‘It means very much to my friend.’ She indicated Anna, who smiled hopefully.

  He nodded agreement and led them through the small house to a back area where he’d been tinkering with a very old bicycle. He drew up three low plastic stools and they all sat down, their knees higher than their bottoms.

  He began as if delivering a lecture, detailing the background to independence in 1975 after North Vietnamese troops marched unopposed into Saigon and by 1976 reuniting the country as the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. Later, tens of thousands of South Vietnamese were put in re-education camps; the private property of Chinese and Vietnamese merchants and upper class people was confiscated and the land was controlled by collectives to create a socialist economy in the south. ‘This was when so many fled from the oppression. Your family too.’