Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

  The girls strolled around the markets commenting on the wonderful local fresh fruit and vegetables and the difference between these and other city markets.

  ‘This was probably the main city where your family used to come,’ said Sandy. ‘Might have been an annual trip or something. Selling things, stocking up. No supermarkets near their village!’

  The thought hadn’t occurred to Anna and she looked about with new eyes. But it was hard to equate some of the kitschy tourist attractions with the way it must have been for her grandparents.

  ‘I’d like to have been here in the 1930s at the Hotel Du Lac, swanning around in a silk tea gown and floppy hat smothered in roses, sitting on the terrace while my lover rowed to me across the lake in a striped blazer and white flannels,’ declared Sandy.

  ‘Maybe Jean-Claude’s grandparents came here,’ said Anna.

  ‘They probably did,’ said Sandy. ‘I’ll ask him next time we talk.’

  ‘Speaking of men, I wonder how Carlo is doing? I’ll check in with him tonight. Tell him we’ll probably be out of contact for a few days,’ said Anna.

  It was bright and sunny when they set off wearing the jackets they’d bought in the market. Sandy and Anna were amazed at how much fitted onto the bikes and they shouldered their backpacks and settled themselves for the ride. Dun led and they zoomed out of town and were swiftly among the rolling hills that looked over the patchwork of pretty valleys with neat vegetable gardens, racing past pine forests, and coffee and rubber plantations. They stopped at a pretty waterfall where a sheet of glittering silver splashed in a clear deep pool. They sat on flat rocks to enjoy afternoon tea while Chip pointed out a rickety bamboo bridge that crossed the falls behind the curtain of water, daring them to try it. Anna preferred to take photos of the spectacular setting.

  Dun pointed towards a pass through the higher ground. ‘Over that side we go down, very steep. Then we turn off from the tourist way and go into different country.’

  It was a tiring afternoon. The girls clung on as the bikes slewed down a rutted steep track, crossing streams and slippery rocks before climbing into thick jungle where the sun didn’t penetrate. Dun pointed to tracks in the mud, which he guessed were made by wild boar.

  ‘Did you say boar or bear?’ shouted Sandy in his ear.

  Dun lifted a hand and swivelled a wrist. ‘Maybe boar, maybe bear.’

  Birds were raucous but unseen as the bikes passed. They were in their territory now. Anna cowered as a group of gibbons shrieked from a treetop and was glad when they came out onto a small plateau into late afternoon sunlight and stopped for a break.

  Anna and Sandy got off the bikes and stretched. ‘Wow, look at that view,’ said Anna. ‘Have to take a picture. We’re on top of the world.’

  Dun pointed to where the edge of the plateau dipped. ‘Over there, we go down a little way to a valley and a small river. The village is in there somewhere.’

  They put on their backpacks but as Chip tried the starter his motorbike spluttered and refused to start. And refused to start several more times.

  ‘Oh great,’ groaned Anna.

  ‘No worries, mate,’ he mimicked and, talking soothingly to his bike, as if to a dear friend, he took out his tool box and tinkered.

  Dun didn’t offer to help, but lit a cigarette and sat on the side of the track. ‘Chip not let anyone touch his bike,’ he explained.

  It took over an hour before Chip’s bike was coaxed back to life and they roared away along an unsealed track winding through lightly forested hills.

  Anna realised that this was virgin territory. In her travels in Vietnam she’d come up against signs of war everywhere – scrap metal merchants waving metal detectors over old battlefields; village memorials and city edifices to war heroes or museums that told of a long history of wars. She had seen amputees: women and children still bearing the signs of the effects of Agent Orange – as did the landscape. Much of it was either still naked and burned or reforested with unnatural woodland or plantations and still hiding untold hundreds of unexploded landmines. Yet this was a place that was serene and seemed untouched by the sorrows of war.

  The small road came to a fork and they stopped.

  ‘Do we toss a coin?’ asked Sandy.

  ‘What’s the map say?’ asked Anna.

  ‘This isn’t on the map,’ answered Dun.

  ‘Anna, you decide,’ said Sandy.

  Anna closed her eyes, swung her arm and pointed.

  ‘To the left. Let’s go.’ Dun revved his bike and set off in the lead.

  But it quickly became obvious that this was not a path used by many vehicles. They were now following another stream and, rounding a bend, they came to a small bridge. A waterfall trickled into a broad pool, which looked to be a place regularly used as the grass and bank were flattened as if animals drank there and there were remains of a fire pit.

  ‘What a great place to stop,’ exclaimed Sandy. ‘Can you drink the water?’

  They went to the pool and Dun knelt down and cupped his hand, tasting the water. ‘Very good. From a spring in the hills. Local people use this. Can’t be too far from a village.’

  ‘Let’s fill our water bottles,’ suggested Sandy. ‘I’d rather take my chances drinking this than well or village water.’

  It was getting late and after crossing the bridge they were riding through a wooded area when Chip suddenly pointed. A dog raced towards them, barking as it ran alongside. Up ahead a figure was trudging beside the road, a man bent under the weight of a huge bundle of twigs and brush wood balanced on his head. Chip stopped and spoke to him and the man, who barely glanced at them, pointed ahead and resumed walking. The two bikes whizzed past him and through the trees in the last light of day they could see dwellings and lights and smell smoke. Dogs came running and barking; foraging chickens flew out of their path.

  The first thing they saw was a tiny stall, a kind of bush kiosk, selling drinks and cigarettes. An old woman in dark blue pyjamas with a quilted jacket over them sat beside the stall, smoking. Then they heard the deep resonance of a gong.

  ‘There’s a temple here,’ said Dun. ‘Do you want to take a look?’

  They parked the bikes and walked past the kiosk where several children stopped playing and stared at them. There was the smell of cooking and through the trees they could see palm-leaf shacks and a few small houses. In the centre of a clearing there was a large rough-wood pavilion-style temple, where half a dozen monks were standing around outside, smoking. The elder monk was lighting incense sticks before a large statue of Buddha. When he struck a large brass gong the younger monks stubbed out their cigarettes, folded their robes across their arms and stepped into the pavilion. They sat in the lotus position on mats and with eyes closed, began chanting prayers in deep throaty tones.

  Anna and Sandy stood watching, fascinated. Anna discreetly took a photograph.

  The old woman from the cigarette stall came over and nudged Sandy and Anna, encouraging them to go and sit with the monks. To Sandy’s surprise, Anna kicked off her shoes, stepped into the rear of the open-sided temple, sat down behind the monks, folded her hands, lowered her head and seemed to become lost in meditation.

  Dun came back from talking to some locals and said quietly to Sandy, ‘We’ve made a wrong turn. The place your friend is looking for is along the other road. We must go back. But it’s too late today so we can stay the night here. It is a rural monastery. Is this okay?’

  ‘I don’t think we have much choice as it’s nearly dark. Who do we speak to?’

  ‘There are two Buddhist nuns who run this place and look after the monks. The young monks stay here for several months and then move on. Come, this way.’

  The nuns were preparing the monks’ evening meal in a simple two-room house with a loft above, and they greeted Sandy warmly. A long table lined with plastic chairs was set outside under a shelter. To one side there were several tiny huts, each just a room big enough for two with a sleeping mat and a small window
. At the rear there was a bathing and toilet block. Through the trees they could see other houses linked by a dirt path. The lives of families, school children and animals all swirled around this small hamlet dominated by the rustic temple.

  A nun showed Sandy where they could sleep and wash and invited the visitors to share their simple meal.

  ‘We have food,’ said Sandy. ‘May we use the kitchen when the monks have eaten?’

  The nun nodded and returned to her duties.

  When the last sounds of the monks’ prayers had rumbled and droned away, Anna joined Sandy.

  ‘That was special,’ said Anna. ‘That chanting vibrated right into me; it calms the mind. I feel really focused.’

  ‘Ready for whatever tomorrow brings, eh?’ said Sandy.

  ‘I am.’ Anna pulled the gold chain from around her neck with the little cross on it. ‘I could feel this against my skin. Like it was alive. Weird. So what are we doing tonight?’

  Sandy looked at Anna’s glowing face. She seemed different somehow. At peace in her heart perhaps, thought Sandy. She realised she’d been worrying about how Anna would react to whatever they might find tomorrow. Now she could tell that Anna would take whatever happened in her stride. ‘We’re staying here; it’s pretty basic. Dun and Chip are getting cleaned up. There’s a bath house. And we can cook in the nuns’ quarters after the monks have eaten.’

  ‘Great. I might just walk around a little bit. Maybe buy some cigarettes for the monks.’

  Sandy watched Anna stroll away, thinking how different she was from the woman who’d first arrived in Hanoi just a few weeks ago.

  The monks ate and then retired early to their sleeping quarters. They would be up at three to meditate and pray till sunrise. The village head man joined the two women as they ate their dinner and nodded enthusiastically as Sandy and Anna asked about the village where Anna’s family came from.

  ‘It is where the school is. Much bigger than here,’ he said. ‘There is a small market, more people. A big bus stops there; it doesn’t come through here. We must ride or walk to the village to catch it.’ He pointed to a converted army truck. ‘The children go to school in that.’

  ‘Sounds quite a fairly big place. Have the same families lived there for many generations?’ asked Sandy.

  He shrugged. ‘Some. But after the war the government moved many people or sent them to re-education camps. Farmers were probably better off than anyone with an education. Your family might not be there anymore. Life was hard.’

  Sandy translated this to Anna, who said, ‘Not all my family left Vietnam. I suppose they couldn’t afford it. As far as I know some of them travelled from here to the coast, to the southern tip, where they left on a boat.’

  Dun spoke up. ‘Vietnam is changing. Not so many changes in the countryside, but even here it is different.’

  ‘Mum was very happy in Australia. But I hope she would be pleased that I am finding out about her home in Vietnam,’ said Anna.

  Afterwards in a hut, Anna and Sandy spread out the groundsheet and rubber mat Dun had provided and covered themselves with a thin blanket.

  ‘My yoga mat is more comfortable than this,’ muttered Sandy. ‘Will you sleep okay, Anna?’

  ‘Yes, I will. It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.’ Anna reached across and found Sandy’s hand. ‘Thanks, Sands, for bringing me here.’

  ‘Whatever you find, I hope it’s what you want,’ replied Sandy.

  ‘I realised when I sat with the monks this evening that it doesn’t matter. I’ve somehow made a connection with my mother just by making this trip. It’s the journey, not the destination. Whatever I find will be okay.’

  ‘I’m glad, Anna. Good night.’

  The next morning the four ate a simple breakfast, thanked the nuns, waved goodbye to the monks and retraced the path to the fork in the road.

  Now they passed through open countryside and the road became wider. They saw people on bicycles, carts drawn by oxen and, at the edge of a field, two young children sitting astride a plodding water buffalo waved to them as the bikes roared past. Eventually they saw in the distance a group of buildings and a busier flow of traffic.

  It was a sizeable village of possibly two thousand people or more. Built around a main market square, it seemed a pretty place. Some houses had a business at the front – motor repairs, food stalls, fruit and vegetable vendors, as well as general merchandise – and there appeared to be several eating houses as well as a cafe with plastic tables and chairs outside. In side streets, trees had been planted and children and dogs played in front of solidly made homes. A police station, a school and a neat pagoda all faced a small park where several men had set up a badminton net and were engaged in an energetic game.

  The two bikes cruised up and down the main street, around the square and down several laneways, then turned back into the centre of town.

  ‘The police station,’ said Sandy. ‘Let’s start there.’

  The officer on duty was a bit taken aback and somewhat surprised at the sight of the two girls. Sandy explained quietly in Vietnamese and in some detail who Anna was trying to find.

  ‘But why? After so long?’ he wanted to know. ‘What documents do you have?’

  ‘Ah, nothing very official,’ said Sandy, knowing the bureaucrats’ love of paperwork. ‘A letter from her mother before she died and a photograph.’

  The officer held out his hand. ‘Show me the letter.’

  Anna shook her head. ‘It’s personal.’

  The policeman, unable to understand her, glared and shrugged his shoulders. This was outside his normal duties.

  But Sandy stepped in, saying smoothly, ‘It’s from her mother who was very sick and knew she wouldn’t see her daughter grow up, get married and have children so she wanted to say many things in this letter.’

  The police officer nodded, his expression not softening, but he didn’t press further. ‘And what is the name?’

  ‘Thanh,’ said Anna, and waited.

  Was it a flicker of recognition on his face, or curiosity? ‘The photograph?’

  Anna took the picture from the folder she’d pulled from her backpack and passed it across the counter.

  He stared at the picture, lifting it closer to study it, then put it back down. ‘I do not know any of these people.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ said Sandy. ‘Is there anyone by the name of Thanh living here?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. It is not so unusual a name in Vietnam.’

  ‘What’s he saying?’ interjected Anna, seeing his slight nod. ‘Is there a local phone book?’

  Sandy was as impatient as Anna but she resisted the impulse to push him along. ‘How or where could we find any Thanh family here?’

  He sucked his teeth and looked thoughtful. ‘The square. There are old men who sit outside Son’s cafe. Thanh Vu Tan goes there. Ask for him.’

  Sandy retrieved the photograph. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  In the sunshine, she pointed back towards the town square. ‘Son’s Cafe next stop.’

  At the cafe two old men were sipping coffee, engrossed in a deep discussion. Newspapers were spread on a table. At another several men were playing cards. Two young women gossiped nearby. Dun and Chip discreetly settled themselves at a table and ordered food and coffee, watched their bikes and waited for further developments.

  Sandy approached the two men with the newspapers and asked if they knew Mr Thanh and they pointed to the card game. Respectfully she asked if she might interrupt the game and inquired if the players knew a Mr Thanh. Immediately three of them pointed to a fourth man sitting beside them. He had white hair, a nut-brown face and sharp black eyes. He frowned and looked uncomfortable at being singled out.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Thanh. We have come from Australia, seeking my friend’s family.’ She gestured towards Anna, who gave a hopeful smile. ‘Do you recognise anyone in this picture? It was taken in Vietnam in the early seventies.’ She passed him the photograph
and all the men leaned over to try to get a look at it.

  Anna watched him, holding her breath. He didn’t react at all. But as she felt her shoulders slump in disappointment, he asked through Sandy, ‘Who are you related to in this picture?’

  ‘Pull up a chair and sit with him; point out who they are,’ whispered Sandy.

  The men made room for Anna to sit next to Mr Thanh.

  Slowly Anna pointed. ‘Thu, my mother.’

  ‘Me,’ translated Sandy in Vietnamese.

  ‘My grandmother.’

  ‘Ba ngoai.’

  ‘My grandfather.’

  ‘Cong noi,’ said Sandy.

  ‘My mother’s brothers and sisters. This is my mother’s little brother, Van. He died on the boat on the way to Australia.’

  ‘Her mother is still in Australia?’ he asked Sandy.

  ‘Her mother died when she was seven years old. She married an Australian,’ answered Sandy.

  As Sandy continued to translate, he looked grave, but said nothing.

  Anna continued, ‘This is my great-aunty and this is my great-uncle. My grandfather’s brother.’

  The old man studied the picture in silence for almost a minute then put it on the table and took a long look at Anna before putting a finger on one of the men in the photograph. ‘This is me. These are my two brothers.’

  Sandy touched Anna’s hand. ‘Anna, this is your great-uncle. Your grandfather and Uncle Quoc’s brother.’

  Anna blinked and they gazed at each other, the old man rather surprised, slightly bemused. Anna bowed her head in a gesture of respect. ‘How do you do, Great-uncle.’

  The man pushed back his chair and rose; Anna did the same. Awkwardly, formally, they embraced. Sandy quickly translated to the others this news and there was an immediate outburst of chatter. The other men stood and shook Anna’s hand and then moved to another table, leaving them alone.

  And so they settled to the details of the story. Great-uncle was polite but not effusive as Sandy translated.

  ‘My brothers and I were born here. Your grandmother came from the north. When she married your grandfather she lived with my parents.’