‘You have been seeking to have your friend’s book published for a long time,’ I said.
‘Not at any price though,’ he said. ‘Look, this is all history – I don’t want it to loom over your life. It’s old business of mine. The future is more important than the past. Let’s talk about something else. Is Mei-Lin showing any signs of becoming a Methodist yet?’
My daughter is at Mosman Methodist Girls School, so Grandfather jokes that she will grow up to be a Methodist. We talked about her until it was time to go to bed.
*
My partner called in the morning. I had just had a bowl of congee at a noodle shop. The Chinese say that the poor like congee because it gives them the taste of what it would be like to be rich and the rich like it because it reminds them of when they were poor. I was drinking coffee, a bad Western habit I learned from Grandfather. No one else had yet arrived at work.
‘Ah Wong, good morning. You are well? Where are you?’ I said.
‘Ah Man, hello. I’m at Chek Lap Kok. I couldn’t get on a Shanghai to Guangzhou flight, so I’ve had to take Dragonair here to pick up another flight to Guangzhou. Aeeyah! It leaves in three quarters of an hour. I hope I’m there in time for the meeting. Chan is not capable of measuring his own genitals without help.’
Chan was the son-in-law of a senior Communist Party official whose cooperation was important to our interests in Guangzhou. We had to give Chan a job for guanxi reasons. His nickname was Fat Fucking Fool.
‘I’m going to Ho Chi Minh City,’ I said. ‘This afternoon or tomorrow depending on who I can talk to in Germany. Best to arrive with as many answers as possible.’
While we spoke, Min-Ho, the company secretary, came in, nodded, and began sorting through letters at her desk. My wife says Min-Ho is the most smartly dressed person she has ever seen, so much so that she frightens men off.
‘They take one look at her and think no, she is too expensive,’ my wife says. She once told Min-Ho this and Min-Ho said she didn’t care. Her family works in the garment business and almost all her clothes are very high quality fakes. As well as being an efficient secretary, she is an excellent source of advice about shopping for clothes and presents.
At ten past ten, an hour after everybody else, Wilson Chi came in. Wilson is the younger brother of someone I was at technical college with.
He was wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses, even though there was no sun. He was carrying what looked like a Japanese comic book. When he took off his Walkman I could hear the noise of Cantopop. Wilson says his ambition is to earn so much money that he has to work only three months a year.
‘You will damage your eyes and be unable to see,’ said Min-Ho. Wilson took off his dark glasses.
Wilson’s job was to set up a web site to enable the factories to order components directly, customers to check orders, and the Hong Kong office to supervise both sides of the process and manage the supply chain. The Germans are very keen on this idea.
‘I was up working till four in the morning,’ he said and then, seeing me standing over my desk and realising that meant I might have been there all night, added, ‘at home of course.’ He held up his laptop case as evidence.
‘I need you to check the remote log-on for the server,’ I said. ‘I’m going to Vietnam and the last time I was there I had trouble getting my email. You said you were going to fix it.’
‘If I remember correctly, I think I said the problem was likely to have been with the wiring in the hotel switchboard.’
‘I had difficulties at the factory also.’
‘There it is very primitive.’
‘As long as we both agree that it doesn’t work, and that it would be better if it did work, and that it is your job to make it work, we are in perfect harmony.’
Wilson sat at his desk and began unzipping his computer carry-case. I felt remorse at having delivered a too-public rebuke. I find it difficult to talk to Wilson. He is not a natural subordinate, which makes me conscious of not being a natural boss. My partner, by nature a more blunt man than I am, handles him better.
I spent the day dealing with the backlog of matters that had built up since my partner’s departure two days before. My partner and I have a rule that whoever is in Hong Kong deals with all the outstanding difficulties, and since one or the other of us is usually travelling, this means that time in the office is usually spent solving problems. As the Americans say, ‘Business is one damn thing after another.’
At 6 o’clock only Min-Ho and Wilson were left in the office. I said goodbye to them, took my bag out of the cupboard, and caught the train to Chek Lap Kok. At the Vietnam Airlines counter there was only a short queue.
‘Could you tell me what type of plane it is, please?’ I asked when it came to my turn.
‘Airbus,’ said the girl. I gave her my ticket and passport. Vietnam Airlines has some old Russian aeroplanes which often crash. When I went through to the departure lounge I called my grandfather. I explained that I had to go to Ho Chi Minh City.
‘I’ll call Lily and keep her up to date,’ he said.
I almost began to say that I would speak to my wife myself. But the exchange of news was not the main reason my grandfather would call Sydney. He had acquired a family only late in his life and was still like a man with a new toy. After speaking to him I rang Sydney.
‘Hello,’ said my daughter. Mei-Lin speaks English with an Australian accent. She is six.
‘How is my little flower?’
‘I came top in a test of drawing and putting words with pictures and the teacher said my tiger was more frightening than a real tiger.’
‘Very good. You must have been working very hard.’
‘It took five minutes. Beth-Ann asked me to go swimming on the weekend at Avalon but Mummy said maybe and I have to ask you.’
‘Of course you can go swimming, dearest. Can I speak to Mummy?’
‘You should call from the office, not from the mobile phone,’ said my wife when she came on the line. ‘It is expensive.’
‘I had to get away quickly. I did not want to miss the plane. Why is she still up?’
‘She wanted to stay up until you called,’ my wife said. ‘I said she could.’
In the background I could hear the television.
‘What are you watching?’
‘Father and Mother are looking at one of their detective programmes. I was studying.’
My wife was a dentist before she had Mei-Lin. Now she was preparing for examinations so that she could qualify to work in Sydney. We wanted to have another baby but she refused to do so until I was at home more.
‘Anyway, I am saving money,’ I said, ‘because if I was not talking to you I would be in the airport shops buying presents.’
‘Then I should let you go now,’ said my wife. We laughed and hung up. I wandered around Chek Lap Kok, walking quickly to get some exercise. Then my flight was called and I boarded the Airbus 320. It was full. The man next to me tapped figures into a laptop until the cabin doors closed. We took off three quarters of an hour late. I had a window seat and as we banked over the harbour Hong Kong was a black bowl of lights.
Chapter Six
Tan Son Nhat airport is unpleasant. The Vietnamese authorities are frightened of foreigners attempting to smuggle subversive literature and videotapes into their country so they subject all baggage to X-ray examination on arrival. It is a slow process which ensures long queues. On this occasion the man in front of me in the queue for customs was carrying videotapes. It was late before I got to the arrivals hall.
I went with the oldest of the taxi drivers who approached me. Vietnamese roads are dangerous and my theory is that the older a driver is, the more cautious he has been. I showed the driver the hotel’s address in Vietnamese characters. He nodded and we set off.
‘Business good?’ I asked as we headed into Ho Chi Minh City.
‘Better than 1998. Still bad,’ he said.
At the hotel I gave them my name an
d they gave me forms to sign. In Vietnam there are always many forms. The room rate was listed as a hundred US dollars. I said:
‘The price we were given was forty dollars.’
‘This is our business concession rate,’ said the girl. I took the confirmation fax from my bag and showed it to her. She typed out another form and gave it to me without a word. The price listed was now forty dollars. ‘So sorry,’ she said with a smile. She was very pretty. She rang a bell on the counter and a man came and carried my bag up to my room. I tipped him in dongs. It was too late to call Sydney so I went straight to bed.
My grandfather taught me to make coffee, and the coffee he and I make is the best in Asia. After that the second best is the coffee in Vietnam. It is one of the things I like about Ho Chi Minh City. The next morning I had coffee at the hotel and then I went to the factory in Cholon. The trip took half an hour and we almost had three accidents. There are more cyclists even than in China and none of them ever stops at an intersection. I made the taxi driver drop me in Hung Vuong Boulevard around the corner from our factory. One of the side doors was open. I stepped in and went up the stairs immediately to the left, leading up to Nguyen’s office. From the stairs I could look down on most of the floor space. It was busy but not too busy.
I smiled at Nguyen’s secretary, Mah, and went straight through to his office. I could see him through the glass. He was seated at his desk wearing a baseball cap with his head down over some papers. He looked up as I went in and for a moment there was a look of horror on his face. Then he made a big smile.
‘The sun has risen twice today,’ he said. That is a Chinese proverb on meeting a friend unexpectedly. He said it in English. He speaks excellent English, nearly as good as mine. ‘How are you? And please: how is your family – is Lily well, and Mei-Lin?’
‘Yes, thank you – and your son? His examinations are over now?’
‘Top in his class,’ said Nguyen, straightening slightly. He made a gesture over my head at Mah and she came into the room. ‘I have forgotten my manners. Tea?’
‘Thank you.’
His look at her, I thought, contained some other instruction. As she left he bent and began to take some folded papers out of a low desk drawer.
‘Can I interest you in our latest operating figures?’ he asked.
The reason for my being in Vietnam was as follows: we were losing money on our factory there, with costs considerably greater than revenue, and had begun to suspect that a fraud was taking place. The nature of the fraud was likely to involve the inclusion on the payroll of workers who did not exist. I had come to Ho Chi Minh City to assess the evidence about this. The difficulty was that our operation was a joint venture with former members of the Ho Chi Minh City government, who provided capital and also help with the legalities of permits and permissions. If there was fraud it was likely that they would be involved in it. The further difficulty was that the rule of law in Vietnam is not strong and it would be hard to prove fraud or to prosecute it. By now we were in what the Americans call a lose– lose situation. If there was fraud it would be a big problem but if our factory was losing money for other reasons it would also be a big problem.
It was not a fruitful day. I did not achieve my primary purpose. Nguyen kept me in his office and my only opportunity to look at the factory was when we went to lunch. I asked to take a walking tour around the floor. There did not to seem to be as many people engaged in machine assembly as I would expect. All I learnt was that the figures were indeed bad. The latest numbers were even worse than the data we had most recently seen in Hong Kong.
‘Our quality is high but so are our prices,’ said Nguyen. ‘Western machines.’ He gestured at the overhead air-conditioning unit above his desk. It was not one of our own models. For a second I thought: I must not say anything about labour costs. He will realise I am thinking about the size of the workforce and perhaps that I suspect fraud. Then I thought: no, it is too obvious. If I avoid the subject he will realise that I have suspicions. So I shrugged and said:
‘But if you could make them more cheaply …’
He smiled and said:
‘The owners of a business always think costs are too high.’
I smiled back:
‘And the owners are always right.’
I snapped my folder shut and stood up. We were finished for the day. I went back to the hotel to tidy up before dinner. Nguyen had insisted on taking me out. I knew this would happen. He had called his cousin who owned a restaurant near the Continental Hotel. It was a good restaurant and the meal would be good.
I had a shower. The water was not quite warm enough. I changed back into my work suit and then thought that was too formal, so put on a short-sleeved shirt and trousers instead. This is a shirt that makes my wife giggle because of its bright pattern so I wear it only when I am away from home. Because I had half an hour to spare I walked to the restaurant. The streets were crowded and lively and colourful. I was glad to be going somewhere. I find that the end of the day when I am travelling is often lonely.
I was early, but Nguyen and his wife were already there. He was sitting at a round table, laid for six, in the middle of the room. They stood up and we greeted each other. The others arrived while we were still on our feet. Thieu was a senior figure in the bureaucracy of the city and Lau worked for the Ministry of the Interior. They were both senior Party members. Thieu brought his wife, who was related to Nguyen’s wife. They were both very beautiful and smartly dressed.
Nguyen spoke to his cousin and ordered the food. Everybody drank beer. The atmosphere was very friendly. We spoke English. I talked to Nguyen’s wife about their son. We discussed the economy. I talked about Sydney and about astronaut syndrome and everyone pretended to have sympathy.
‘People say the Internet this, the Internet that,’ I said. ‘It’s going to change the face of business. No one will have to go anywhere, everything will be virtual, everything will be video conferencing. When? Always next year, next decade. Everything is always about the future: next week, sometime, never. Okay, it sounds good. No more flying for me. No more excellent food in Ho Chi Minh City – what excuse would I have to tell my wife? I get to live with my family and do business. But when?’
The waiter brought bowls of phô. It was a modern version, like the consommé my grandfather makes when he feels unwell. The bean sprouts and chillies and mint were served on a little white plate to the side. I always think Vietnamese food tastes clear and light. When the waiter went away Thieu lent forwards. I could feel discomfort behind his smile. His eyes were bright.
‘I will tell you something. The Internet is not a friend of Vietnamese people.’
‘Surely it is merely a tool, capable of good and bad use like any other instrument,’ I said.
Nguyen said something in Vietnamese. He turned to me.
‘I was explaining “instrument”,’ he said. Thieu spoke rapidly back to him in Vietnamese. ‘He says, the Internet is full of lies. It is like a river, a torrent of lies. Many falsehoods about Vietnam. He says the Party has as much of a duty to protect the people from lies as it does to keep excrement out of people’s drinking water.’
‘Not very different from television, I think,’ said Lau, older and calmer than his friend. ‘It is what is broadcast that is important.’
‘Television can be in our control,’ said Thieu. ‘Internet very difficult to control.’
A year or two before, the government had closed all the cybercafés in the country and confiscated all their computer equipment. I argued with Thieu about this for a while, until the waiter arrived to take our plates. Mrs Thieu asked a question about what presents I was going to take my wife and daughter, and the conversation changed. The rest of the evening was calm. I drank more beer than I had intended to.
After dinner, I walked back to the hotel. It was much cooler but no less humid and only a little less busy. There were still many people on bicycles. A small group of Western backpackers stood around one of the
m who was vomiting into a gutter. I could smell the alcohol as I walked past them. A prostitute accosted me in Putonghua. I said, no thank you. The walk made me feel a little drunk.
When I got back to the hotel I checked my email. There was a one-word message from my partner.
‘Well?’
I typed back:
‘Don’t know yet. Plan B.’
*
In the morning Nguyen and I walked to the factory together. Several competing noodle carts across the street were already busy. The smell made my mouth fill with saliva. We worked over papers and orders while his secretary brought many cups of tea.
‘Where would you like to go for lunch?’ Nguyen asked at 1 o’clock. I pushed my chair back from the desk and stretched.
‘I’m not so hungry,’ I said. ‘But I’m feeling a little sleepy and thick in the head from the jet lag and the beer last night. I think the best thing is if I go for a walk. Then maybe when I come back I will be able to keep up with you.’
‘Well, I don’t like to miss a meal if I can help it,’ he said, making a joke of cupping his stomach in both hands. It was true, he had begun to put on some weight. But he was still handsome. I did some more stretching and yawning as I headed for the door.
When I got out of the factory I walked around two corners, looked left and right, and stopped a passing cyclo.
‘Thien Hau Pagoda, please,’ I said.
The driver was young and fit and we got there quickly. There was a crowd of incense sellers and pilgrims outside the temple gates. I went in and looked around. Then I saw him: a Chinese man in his sixties standing beside one of the giant urns in the main pagoda. He was wearing thick glasses. He nodded at me. I approached him and we shook hands. We walked slowly around the courtyard together.
Fragrant Harbour Page 29
