by Di Morrissey
‘No. He’s a bit dour: he got nicknamed Ho, Ho, Ho one Christmas as a joke. We don’t think anyone has seen him smile.’
Sandy and Anna ordered spicy noodles and introduced Carlo to Kim and several of the expat regulars. After the hurried meal they were just about to go to the kitchen when Sandy was tapped on the shoulder by the American gallery dealer Charlie Ralston.
‘Charlie! How good to see you. You’re back from the hills. What’ve you been up to?’ said Sandy, giving him a quick hug.
‘The usual. Actually it was quite an interesting trip. Miss Huong knows every artisan in every village, it seems. We found some wonderful pieces. Including a few treasures.’
‘I’ll have to come and have a look. Always dangerous going into your place,’ she said. ‘Anna, you remember my friend Charles?’
‘Please, it’s Charlie.’
‘Charlie, this is my partner, Carlo Franchetti.’
Carlo shook hands as two other friends joined them and they squashed around the table.
‘We’ll have to excuse ourselves, we’re getting a crash course in keeping Barney’s afloat,’ said Sandy. ‘Just while he and Lai are away.’
‘Great. I heard there was a bit of a problem in Canada, great of you guys to step in,’ said Charlie.
The girls went to the kitchen and Anna glanced back to see Carlo looking a bit glum as the conversation at the table hummed along about people and places he didn’t know.
Sandy noticed it too and wondered how long it would take before Carlo managed to make himself the centre of attention.
Ho, the chef, was a wizened little man who looked, to Anna, as if he’d been smoked. His skin was tough, brown and stretched tightly over his body. She imagined sticking a fork him and hearing him pop and juices run out like an overcooked sausage. Barney introduced them and Ho nodded and mumbled a greeting, his mouth showing gaps between yellow teeth.
‘He understands some English. More than he lets on, I think,’ said Barney. ‘These are the kind ladies who are going to help out while we go away to Canada,’ he said to Ho.
Ho nodded again to Sandy and Anna. ‘Me cook. You work.’
‘There’s the menu. No new dishes,’ said Barney. ‘Ho, no make trouble. Miss Sandy, Miss Anna be Mr Barney and Mrs Lai. Ho boss of the kitchen, okay?’
Ho nodded yet again but his miserable demeanour didn’t change. Barney ran through the basics of the kitchen system, the food ordering, how the roster for the two waiters and waitress worked.
Lai appeared and thanked the girls. She led them out to the rear courtyard, which was her domain. ‘I have one girl run this business here. Travel and tourist information,’ she explained. ‘You don’t need to know about that. I show you how to look after money, and here are keys.’
‘Front door ones?’ asked Sandy.
‘No, this one for grog cupboard; this one for trouble men,’ said Lai.
Sandy and Anna exchanged a glance as she opened a cupboard that held the liquor supply and a locked black tin box.
‘What’s in there?’
Lai put a finger to her lips. ‘I explain later. We keep separate some cash from the restaurant. If we need to pay trouble men, we use this.’
‘Trouble men?’ asked Anna, giving Sandy a look.
Barney appeared behind them. ‘She means standover men. Occasionally we get an eager-beaver new copper or other local trying to stake his bit of territory. It’s cheaper to pay ’em off with little regular bribes. When they get too greedy and try to up the ante, I call in a few favours from people up the line. Don’t worry about it. While we’re away we’ve organised protection.’
‘What kind of protection?’ asked Sandy, feeling uncomfortable about this, though she knew well enough that some local officials were neither too proud nor too rich to organise ‘business security protection’ scams.
Lai interrupted. ‘We are very grateful to you. Do not give any credit. Do not buy food from anyone other than our regular suppliers. And do not let Ho be boss. Here is menu list.’
Sandy glanced at Anna. ‘No new dishes? Ho cooks all these things?’
‘Don’t let him try anything new. Lai always supervises the menu,’ said Barney.
‘Right,’ said Anna. ‘I was hoping to try my hand at cooking a couple of dishes. Will Ho teach me some of these?’
Lai waved a hand, fanning herself in an agitated manner. ‘Ah, no. Ho doesn’t let anyone else to cook.’
‘He’s seeing this as an opportunity to prove he’s capable of being number-one chef. Ho wants to run his own restaurant and has grand ideas, so keep an eye on him,’ said Barney.
Sandy was seeing the chef as a bit of a liability. ‘Well, at least he’s used to preparing meals for any number of people. What about my end of the business?’
‘Come with me.’ Barney led them to the little office under the stairs where he kept the books and ran the financial side of the business. By the time they had listened to Barney’s instructions, made notes on bookkeeping, wages, ordering and a few tips on special customers, an hour had passed.
Sandy and Anna returned to the main cafe to find, as Sandy had expected, Carlo holding forth, telling a story about some exploit where he’d made a killing on a deal, hinting at putting one over on an Italian ‘mob’. Sandy knew he was using the Australian vernacular but she realised those listening assumed he meant some mafioso group in Italy. Carlo was prone to exaggeration.
‘I have a few schemes I might float while I’m here,’ he said airily, and turned to Charlie. ‘Say, what’re the treasures you’ve found out in the sticks? I buy and sell stuff; maybe I could unload something in Australia for you.’
‘It’s not quite as simple as that,’ said Charlie politely. ‘My clientele ask me to find special objects for them. We prepare pieces as a museum would. Or people come in looking for something that has a particular provenance. Rare pieces.’ He paused and added, ‘There’s a lot of paperwork involved in exporting artworks. But we consider that we are promoting the cultures of all the peoples of Vietnam.’
‘Paperwork, that’s a pain, isn’t it?’ said Carlo. ‘In my import–export business I tend to look for ways to cut some corners.’
‘If you’re considering doing business here, you might want to visit your trade commissioner to acquaint yourself with the way business is done in Vietnam,’ said Charlie.
‘Good advice, buddy,’ said one of the expats. ‘Find out the guidelines and then do research into how and when they can be bent.’
‘Know who you’re dealing with, that’s the trick,’ added another. ‘Who can be trusted and how far they can be trusted. Takes a while.’
‘Carlo is only here on a short visit to see Anna. I doubt he’ll be doing any business. Right, Carlo?’ Sandy gave a tight smile.
Then Anna spoke up, recognising the annoyance behind her friend’s smile. ‘Please excuse us. We had a busy evening and we start work tomorrow. I hope you’ll all keep dropping by to give us moral support,’ she said to the group.
There was a chorus of agreement, and a round of goodbyes. Sandy and Anna farewelled Barney and his wife, wishing them a safe trip and hoping that all would turn out well with their daughter in Canada.
‘Don’t you worry about a thing, Barney,’ Sandy assured him. ‘We’ll be here from opening to shutting up shop and will keep a close eye on everything.’
‘It’ll be fun and a great experience,’ added Anna.
Barney and Lai exchanged a look. ‘It’s hard work. And you have the number of Lai’s uncle if there are any problems.’
‘There won’t be. Go, and don’t worry,’ said Sandy firmly. ‘I’m sure you’ll get everything sorted out.’
Sandy, Anna and Carlo walked home talking about the cafe and how they’d juggle their time.
Carlo was quiet and Anna asked, ‘Are you tired from the flight? You don’t have to hang around the cafe from morning till midnight.’
‘You girls have no idea what you’ve let yourselves in for. It’s a
good thing I’m here.’
‘We’ll manage, thanks, Carlo,’ said Sandy quickly.
He gave a short laugh. ‘Listen, as soon as Anna told me what you were doing I hopped on a plane. What makes you think you can run a bar? It’s a crazy idea. It’s not just dishing up noodles. Have you been there when that joint closes down? I bet it’s a different scene from your little social supper of this evening.’
‘I haven’t stayed past eleven,’ admitted Anna. ‘Have you, Sandy?’
Sandy stepped off the footpath into the whirl of after-dinner traffic and Anna confidently followed. ‘Yes, I have. It’s not the sort of place you seem to think it is, Carlo.’ She turned to admonish him but Carlo was still standing on the footpath behind them, a sea of bikes, scooters and cyclos between them.
‘Shit! Don’t these bastards ever stop?’
Anna laughed. ‘Just walk slowly, don’t hesitate. They’ll go round you.’
Muttering under his breath, Carlo weaved his way across the road to join them. ‘Idiots. How many people are killed on these roads every day?’
‘Actually quite a lot,’ said Sandy matter-of-factly. ‘About a 747’s worth each week across the country.’ She strode ahead.
Anna took his hand. ‘Don’t mind Sandy. Sweetie, I know you’re trying to help us, but just go slowly, okay?’
‘You’ll be glad I’m around, mark my words,’ said Carlo. ‘You two are babes in the wood.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Speaking of babes, you’re looking hot. And I’m feeling horny. You’ve been away too long.’
‘We should go somewhere romantic before you leave. Halong Bay maybe,’ said Anna. ‘I just hope you can entertain yourself while we’re running Barney’s.’
‘Don’t you worry about me. I have a few plans,’ said Carlo.
They shut the laneway gate and walked through the dark courtyard.
‘I bet that nosy old bag is watching – what’s her name? Mrs Minh? How can you stand this communal living?’ asked Carlo.
‘They’re our friends. We look out for each other and they’ve been very helpful. It’s how it is here,’ said Sandy shortly.
Carlo leaned over and whispered in Anna’s ear. ‘She must have PMT. Miserable bitch.’
‘Shut up, Carlo,’ whispered Anna as Sandy went up the stairs ahead of them. ‘Don’t try to run everything. You’ve just arrived.’
‘You haven’t seen anything yet, caro. This country is ripe. Just opening up. I can smell opportunities.’
Anna didn’t answer. Carlo wouldn’t be in Vietnam long enough to embark on a business project. But she was worried what he’d do with himself while she and Sandy were at Barney’s. Why couldn’t he have contacted her before impulsively jumping on a plane, she thought. But, as she knew, no one could tell Carlo what to do.
As arranged, Tom turned up at The Strangled Cow bar a few kilometres out of Vung Tau. The sun was setting, turning the clipped wet lawns a shining emerald. He followed the noise and laughter to the poolside bar, where there were strings of coloured lights around a thatched roof supported by wooden poles over a long bar.
Most people were clustered around the bar, but some couples stood apart on the lawns in intense conversation. It was a scene he recalled from years ago – large western men, beers in hands, leaning close to dainty, pretty Vietnamese girls. But instead of the ao-dai or, in his day, the daring mini skirt, these girls were wearing cut-off jeans and skimpy tops. A couple of kids raced past and he saw they were an attractive mix of Caucasian and Vietnamese. The girls behind the bar had the same bright lipstick and sharp look he remembered well. Behind their fast smiles and repartee was a machine calculating every cent a customer was worth and what they might extract from them in the course of the evening. He heard the click of billiard balls and glanced at the pool table where some kids were playing. In the old days he’d been one of many to lose heavily in games with the bar girls.
A man stepped forward as Tom approached. Stocky, tanned, silver-haired, but trim and fit in shorts and a T-shirt. He was in his fifties, Tom guessed.
‘Tom Ahearn? I’m Barry Malden. Baz. We spoke on the phone. You’re the journo?’
‘Right. Good to meet you. Thanks for taking time to fill me in on the Long Tan ceremony and the background.’ They shook hands and Tom looked around. ‘This must be the local hang-out. Nice that it’s away from town. I thought the cab was headed up country.’
‘Yeah, we all live around this area. This bar is the base for a lot of the oil workers, local blokes who come in and out on a regular basis. It’s safe for the kids. Friday night is barbecue night – hope you’ll stay on. Now, who’d you like to meet? I asked a few of the regulars to come and yarn to you.’
‘That’s good of you. No rush – can I talk to you for a bit?’
‘Sure. What’ll you have to drink?’ Baz signalled to one of the girls behind the bar.
Tom sensed that the easy-going Australian wielded some influence. A beer and a refill for Baz were swiftly handed over, the crush at the bar parting for him to reach over for the drinks. Baz had an air of authority; he was a man used to getting his way. Tom wondered what rank he’d held and assumed he’d been an officer.
Suddenly a little boy, about nine, nudged Baz, holding up a coloured picture. ‘Dad, lookit, my picture.’
Baz ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘That’s terrific. Todd, this is Mr Ahearn, visiting from Australia.’
The boy shook hands and Tom smiled. ‘Pleased to meet you, Todd. Are you a budding artist?’
‘Project for school.’
‘Where’s Ky? She looking after you, mate?’ Baz glanced around and then smiled at someone across the room. ‘Off you go, finish your work and we’ll have some tucker. I’m talking to Mr Ahearn.’ Baz added a phrase in Vietnamese and the boy nodded.
‘Good looking boy,’ said Tom.
‘Yeah, he’s a great kid. I’m enjoying being a dad this time around,’ said Baz.
‘How long you been here?’
‘Came back ten years ago. My first marriage busted up when the kids were in high school. I wasn’t much of a father, or a husband. Coming over here turned my life around. At first not for the best. I met a local Viet girl and she wanted to get married and go to Australia. So we did. She had relatives there so I thought she’d adjust. Boy, did she ever – she had everything sorted out quick smart. Todd arrived and she moved in with her family and before I knew it, I was out on my ear. She’d fleeced me for the lot. I stuck around because of him, but two years later she had a boyfriend, handed Todd over to me and took off. So I brought him back to Vietnam and stayed here.’
‘Does he see his mother?’
‘Yeah, she’s re-married so he goes back to Perth to visit a couple of times a year. But this is home now.’ He nodded at a pretty young Vietnamese girl sitting with his son. ‘That’s Ky; I teamed up with her two years ago. Very sweet girl.’ He watched Tom glance at Ky who looked barely twenty-one, and he gave a wry smile. ‘Don’t know how long she’ll stick with me. As long as I keep doling out money . . .’ He gave a small grin. ‘There simply aren’t available mature women around here. All married and settled.’
‘So what’s the story with the Aussie veterans here?’ asked Tom, steering away from Baz’s personal life.
‘There’re half a dozen of us who live here permanently. We have a nice lifestyle. Most of us have second families, informally or legally. My mate Cranky married a Viet girl and he’s been embraced by her whole family – even old Uncle who was a VC.’
‘Do they talk about being on opposite sides in the war?’ asked Tom.
‘Hell, yes. They’ve gone over every inch of where they were when, and what they did. They’ve concluded they must have taken a shot at each other somewhere along the line.’ Baz chuckled, then added, ‘The Vietnamese are amazing people. The war was never going to be won by the US, no matter what the Americans poured in. The Vietnamese were fighting for their country, their families, their future. Yet they’re very forgiving. They’ve
had enough – seven hundred years of wars. They’ve moved on, not like some of us poor bastards.’
‘Do you mind if I make notes?’ Tom pulled his notepad and pencil from his pocket. ‘So, have you blokes here moved on, as you put it?’
‘A lot of us have. Most Vietnam vets have come to terms with their experiences. They were young and resilient. But some of them haven’t.’
‘Even after all this time?’
‘Pain’s pain. Fresh as yesterday. I’ve met some blokes who haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since the war. They live in waking nightmares. Trouble is, they don’t, can’t, share it with their families.’
Tom nodded. ‘I was a correspondent and the war was a pretty scary place. At one point, in ninety days I made sixty-two ‘hazardous’ flights. Insane flights if you ask me. In twenty different types of aircraft. I was shot at, forced to land with engine trouble, helped to load wounded and dead, and, once, was three feet off touching down in a minefield.’
Baz nodded. ‘Yeah, we admired you blokes who didn’t have to be there, who tried to tell it like it was, when you could. For us the experience was compounded by the way we were treated by the Australian government.’
‘As we now know,’ said Tom.
‘It soon enough became an unpopular war, especially when they brought in conscription. It was a bloody lottery – literally. Your birthday coming out of a barrel, for chrissake. Some go, some stay. Crazy. We flew out of Amberley at midnight and were made to wear civvies and the next day we’re in a war zone. Then, one day, our time is up but even the government didn’t want to know us when we came home. I was shoved on a Qantas plane to Sydney and asked where I lived. I said my mum was in Melbourne. And they told me I’d be on a train the next day so they’d put me up in some motel for the night. Bugger that, I said, I’d hitch if I had to. I was going home. One minute I’m knee deep in mud on a battlefield; twenty-four hours later I’m sitting at home having a baked dinner. My head was scrambled.’
‘I s’pose the blokes sent home by sea had a bit more time to adjust,’ said Tom quietly.
‘Not everyone adjusted, mate. Not after what we saw. In a way it was worse coming back here, even after decades, and seeing what we did to these people, to the country.’ He drained his glass. ‘I was pretty shocked. What the hell was it all for? And yet we were made welcome. That’s when I decided to try to do something. At least in our neck of the woods. The rural areas were badly affected by the war, as well as by the years of isolation from the west. So I approached the People’s Committee to see what kind of help could be given and how to go about it.’