Monsoon

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Is there any chance you knew her family? Thanh,’ said Sandy.

  ‘I do not recall such a family living here. So many came here from other places. Some had to live here until they could leave. By then unscrupulous people smugglers were taking people’s money, all their savings, and sending them away in leaking boats. I wonder how many survived and started new lives,’ he sighed.

  ‘Anna’s mother survived but her little brother did not. They were attacked by pirates.’

  Mr Hang nodded. ‘It became a bad problem. Does your friend know the name of the boat or who was in charge? Any dates when they arrived in Australia?’

  Sandy asked Anna, who pulled the papers from her bag and quickly skimmed the story of the nightmare boat trip Thu had told Kevin.

  ‘She says here the boat captain, Tan, tried to turn the boat away and argued with the men.’ Anna looked at Mr Hang. ‘Ask him if the name Tan means anything.’

  Mr Hang was already nodding. ‘Yes, yes. I know him. He was a good man. Did not take too much money or steal from people. I used him several trips.’

  Anna handed him the photo of her family, pointing out Thu and Van.

  Mr Hang nodded. ‘I believe I remember them.’

  ‘Where did they live?’ asked Sandy eagerly.

  He shook his head. ‘They are not from this island. They came from some other place.’

  Anna’s face fell when Sandy translated. ‘How would we find where they came from?’ she asked, close to tears after thinking they’d almost found Thu’s home.

  Mr Hang stood up. ‘I am a teacher. I wished to help people. I pretended to be a poor fisherman, but because I am educated I felt that one day these people and their families would want to know the fate of their relatives as family is so important to us. The country was in such turmoil. No one knew who to trust. So I kept records of those who left in my boats.’

  ‘You kept records? Where? Can you look for us, to see if the Thanh family is listed?’ asked Sandy excitedly.

  Mr Hang called to his granddaughter. ‘We shall take tea while I look.’

  Sandy and Anna sipped their tea, which the young girl had put on a tray on a stool in front of them, as Mr Hang had disappeared indoors.

  ‘You’d think he’d be far richer if he was charging people to get away,’ said Anna.

  ‘This is quite a substantial house and it all happened thirty years ago. He’s probably lived off what he made then,’ said Sandy. ‘I doubt he would have gone back to teaching under the new regime.’

  After they’d finished their tea and a long half-hour had passed, Mr Hang returned with a ledger book. There were columns of names, dates and details written in Vietnamese.

  ‘It was in 1978 – just before the monsoon rains. One of the last to leave that season.’

  Sandy caught her breath and managed to ask, ‘Are they listed?’

  Mr Hang read out the names of Thu, Van, Quoc and Aunty as one family group.

  ‘What else can you tell us?’ asked Sandy quietly.

  He squinted through his glasses. ‘They lived here for some months waiting their turn for a boat. They travelled a long way to get here. As many did. No one took much notice of this island then. Other places where boats left from were not so lucky.’

  Sandy and Anna were holding their breath.

  Mr Hang looked at Anna. ‘Your family came from a village outside Dalat, in the Central Highlands.’

  Sandy let out her breath. ‘The name of the village?’

  ‘Bao Loc. It might not be there anymore. But then again, it may be.’ He smiled and closed the ledger. ‘I wish you good fortune in finding your family.’

  They stood and Sandy and Anna gently shook the old man’s hand, giving a small bow of respect.

  ‘Tell him I am very grateful for what he has done for my family – and many other people,’ said Anna formally.

  ‘You must pay your respects to your mother and your ancestors,’ he told Anna.

  ‘I will,’ said Anna. ‘I promise.’

  Deep gold and red-ringed clouds hung over the sea in the last of the sunset as they walked slowly back to their little hotel.

  ‘I guess we book tickets to Dalat,’ said Sandy.

  Anna’s hand went to the chain around her throat that held the gold cross. ‘I know we’re going to find her home. I just know it. I promised the nun at Halong I would do this. Find her.’

  ‘We’ll do our best, Anna,’ said Sandy. ‘We’re close now.’ She just prayed the village was still there. And that someone remembered Thu and her family.

  Anna stood at the far end of the beach by herself where a few fishing boats were hauled up on the sand in the shelter of a small cove. She stared across the blue waters of the Gulf of Thailand. So this was where her mother had helped her little brother into an old boat that was to take them to a new life.

  13

  SANDY AND ANNA FLEW back to Saigon, leaving the magical island behind but wishing they could have stayed longer. As they checked into their hotel Sandy received a text message from Tom.

  Meryl and I have arrived in Saigon. Where R U?

  ‘Hey, Tom and Meryl are here,’ exclaimed Sandy. ‘Shall we meet them for lunch?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Anna. ‘But can we make the booking to Dalat first?’

  Sandy knew Anna was anxious to press on with the search for her family. ‘We’ll see if we can get a flight tomorrow. I’ll book us a hotel room in the centre of Dalat. You’ll have to fill Tom in on your news.’

  ‘I don’t feel I have a whole lot to tell him . . . yet,’ said Anna. ‘But it will be good to catch up on news from home.’

  The four met at a pretty little garden restaurant specialising in French food and chose a table on the vine-covered patio at the back of the quaint old building. The floor was made of cool ochre-and-blue tiles; ferns draped out of blue-and-white porcelain pots; the table cloths were starched embroidered white cotton; and there were small fresh orchids on each table.

  ‘How elegant,’ said Meryl. ‘What an amazing city. Did you see all the flower shops? Masses of fresh flowers banked all along the footpath!’

  Tom smiled at Meryl, who was trying to take in all the sights and sounds of the exotic, sophisticated city. ‘Thought we’d hit the better end of town first,’ he said. ‘Now fill me in on your news, then I’ll cover the scene at home.’

  Sandy and Anna took turns telling him about running Barney’s, and how Carlo was moving ahead with a business deal, and Anna finished off with her latest news about looking for her family.

  Tom clapped his hands in approval. ‘Excellent. Good one. So when are you off to Dalat?’

  ‘As soon as we can,’ said Sandy. ‘Now what about my dad? Thanks for going to see him.’

  ‘Ah, that’s been quite successful. Prised open a long-closed can of worms there, I’d say. That Tassie Watts and Father Maxie have been working on him.’

  ‘So Mum said. But what about the anniversary? Is he coming over? He’s not saying much to Mum,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Hard to say. I think there was a bit of a breakthrough with him getting together with his old mates. I did have a bit of a private yarn with your mother,’ said Tom. ‘His case is not uncommon.’

  ‘Must have been difficult for your mother,’ said Meryl gently. ‘Hard when you see someone you love suffering and you can’t help them.’

  ‘He didn’t want help. Or didn’t think he needed it, I guess,’ said Sandy slowly. ‘It was just the way he was. Moody, quick tempered. Very private.’

  ‘I think his mates explained to him there were other vets just like him. But he didn’t seem convinced anything could change,’ said Tom. ‘He was in two minds about coming over here when we left. We were a bit busy the last week before leaving and then Patricia rang us to say he was thinking he might go, but had left it too late. Hard to get a visa quickly.’

  Sandy didn’t answer, feeling guilty at the rush of relief that her father wasn’t coming after all.

  ‘Oh, t
hat’s a shame,’ said Anna. ‘But you’ll both be there?’

  ‘I’m not going to the actual ceremony at Long Tan,’ said Meryl. ‘I’m staying in Vung Tau at a very nice new resort. I felt it was more the men’s thing. Those who were there.’ She glanced at Tom.

  ‘It’ll be quite emotional, I think. I’ll be hiding my face behind a camera,’ he said with an attempt at joviality.

  Meryl patted his hand. ‘I’m still a bit tired from the flight. But can you give me a few tips on where to go when I’ve caught up? I thought I’d brave getting out and about, though the traffic looks frightening.’

  ‘Shopping? Sightseeing? Eating?’ asked Sandy. ‘It’s much easier getting around Saigon than Hanoi.’ She liked Meryl but could see she was a bit nervous about her new surroundings. But she did enjoy her lunch and told Sandy at least Tom’s cooking had familiarised her with Asian food.

  ‘Maybe just sightseeing,’ said Meryl. ‘Until I get a feel for what’s available. And Tom has promised to take me round some of his old haunts.’

  ‘Well, those that are still here.’ He grinned at Sandy and Anna, who knew that Meryl would get just the sanitised shiny version of his wild days in old Saigon.

  Sandy and Anna hugged them both goodbye, as they were heading to the travel agent and Sandy wanted to drop into the HOPE office to say hello to the small group who staffed the southern branch of the organisation.

  ‘We’ll keep in touch. I have my laptop with me if you want to email,’ said Tom. ‘I’m in work mode now. Maybe you’ll have a story for me, Anna.’

  ‘I hope so, Tom. But I reckon your trip to Long Tan will be more than enough,’ said Anna, a little uncertain about the feelings her family search were arousing in her.

  ‘We’re going to take our time getting down there and spend a few days in Vung Tau, go along the coast. I’ll leave Meryl with some of the other wives in Vung Tau for the actual day of the event. Good luck to you both.’

  ‘You too, Tom. See ya.’

  ‘They’re terrific girls, just lovely,’ said Meryl as Sandy and Anna left. ‘I can see why you enjoyed their company. You’ve been a great help to them, Tommy. Lunch was lovely, but I wouldn’t mind a little kip before hitting the streets again.’

  ‘It’s the local custom and a very sensible one. C’mon, we’ll stroll back to the hotel.’

  After booking their flight to Dalat, Anna phoned Carlo to tell him of their latest plan and Sandy did a search for any families named Thanh.

  ‘Doesn’t sound too hopeful,’ reported Sandy after making a few phone calls. ‘The best thing is to just go out to the village – which might be way out. Dalat is in the hills – where it’s always spring, they say. The French found it a great retreat from the heat and built exquisite chalets. It’s quite a gem of a place.’

  ‘Sounds like the hill stations in India that the British developed,’ said Anna.

  ‘I imagine it is a bit. A mountain resort on a plateau that has gorgeous scenery around it – gardens, lakes, waterfalls. Popular place for local honeymooners. Dalat used to have some of the ethnic minorities living there. But not so much now. They’re mainly just in the far north of the country.’

  ‘Rick and Charlie told me about them. Miss Huong goes out into the hills collecting old tribal artifacts,’ said Anna. ‘Old pieces – art, carvings, weavings, old porcelain and such . . . Do they really get high prices in galleries and from collectors?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Sandy. ‘Le Cong Kieu Street here in Saigon is full of antique shops where all the rich tourists and VIPs go. But every second one sells replicas, I’m told. You have to know what you’re buying to pick the genuine antiques.’

  ‘How do they get them out? Isn’t there some rule about nothing over a hundred years old allowed to leave the country?’

  Sandy stared at Anna in surprise. ‘My, you have been talking to Rick and Charlie. The shop arranges the paperwork. I’ve no idea but money smoothes the way, I guess.’

  Anna dropped the subject. But she wished she could discuss Carlo’s antique ceramics deal with Sandy.

  Tom and Meryl arrived in Vung Tau and drove into the Best Beach Resort set on a hillside that ran down to the sea. It was lushly landscaped, the gardens dotted with guest cottages and pavilions.

  ‘I’ve booked the Cottage Villa,’ said Tom. ‘View of the ocean, a private terrace with our own jacuzzi.’

  When Meryl saw the pretty little villa with its thatched roof and high beams, cool terracotta floors and bamboo furniture with brightly coloured furnishings scattered around the three rooms, she gasped. ‘Tom! Can we afford this?’

  ‘Why not? It’s your birthday! And this is Vietnam. Still affordable. Though if things like the Cua Lac complex go through that might change. Come and see our private terrace.’

  They wandered through the gardens, had a swim in the huge pool, discovered all the other amenities and then headed down to the beach.

  Later, ensconced on their terrace with cold drinks, Meryl sighed, ‘This is magic. Did you ever imagine when you were here in the sixties that places like this would exist now? That you’d be sitting here, like this?’

  ‘Good lord, no! It’s lovely to be here with you enjoying all this. I’ve been doing some research for my article and it’s most interesting. Do you want to hear about it?’

  Meryl settled back with her feet up on the chaise longue. ‘Give me a brief rundown.’

  ‘The west bailed out of Vietnam in 1975, leaving it a kind of client state of the Soviet Union. Vietnam seemed to prosper but it was all shadows and masks,’ explained Tom. ‘Many people starved due to the need to support a million-strong army in Cambodia and then with the collapse of the Soviet Union Vietnam lost its foreign support and money. But the Vietnamese are very pragmatic, which brought about a re-think, and the renovation, or doi moi, policy began in 1986. Since then it’s gone ahead with huge annual growth.’

  ‘How does this compare with development in China?’ asked Meryl.

  ‘It’s smaller, but Vietnam has an efficient population and high literacy rate. So the country is concentrating on manufacturing high-tech and specialty export products. And just offshore near here there’s a huge new gas-supply industry. I met some of the workers when I was here earlier. A lot of Russians are involved in oil and gas here too.’

  ‘What about the young people?’ mused Meryl.

  ‘There’s a heap of money floating around and you see kids with mobiles, ipods, expensive clothes. While I suspect a bit of hand greasing goes on at the top with all these multimillion-dollar foreign projects, the core values, family and such, are still very strong. And that’s good.’ Tom stood up to get them a refill for their drinks.

  ‘So Vietnam is becoming a more affluent country, even though it’s still a communist one,’ said Meryl.

  ‘Ah, now there’s the rub,’ said Tom. ‘Becoming so prosperous might bring its own troubles again in the future. We shall watch this space with interest.’

  ‘I’m looking at the space over there where the restaurant is,’ said Meryl. ‘What are we doing for dinner?’

  ‘I’m taking you out to a swish restaurant in town. Get your glad rags on,’ said Tom. ‘Two more days and I have to head to Long Tan.’

  Tom made contact with Cranky and Baz from the Aussie vets group and they arranged for him to meet some of the early arrivals for the commemoration. Cranky picked Tom up at the Best Beach Resort and drove him the forty minutes down to Nui Dat.

  ‘So, is it all coming together?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Ah, the usual bun fight. We hate it when the pollies and bureaucrats get involved. And once you’ve got media and bigwigs coming over who all want their share of the limelight to justify their trip to the folks back home . . .’ He made a throat-slitting gesture. ‘They want to start the ceremony at a time to suit them; the vets all want it to start at the time the battle started – three-forty pm. We’ll just do our own thing, I reckon. Do you want to go and have a look at the memorial before the shindig a
nd hoopla on the day?’

  ‘Yeah, I would,’ said Tom suddenly. He hadn’t planned this but it now appealed to him, to pay his respects quietly and privately. ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘I’ll call ahead and set it up. In the meantime, how about we run around the area, go over to meet some of the blokes who’ve already arrived at The Strangled Cow for lunch?’

  ‘Excellent idea. Sure you can spare the time?’

  ‘Yep. I’m one of the designated media-minders.’ He grinned.

  They drove in Cranky’s old four-wheel drive along the rutted red dirt road past fields and plantations, pulling over to let a farmer with a herd of goats pass. Tom was quiet, recalling the very different landscape this now peaceful terrain presented when he’d flown in forty years before. The outline of the hill caused him to catch his breath as they drove up to where the helicopter pad had been. They got out and walked over to the patchy square of bitumen that remained.

  ‘Luscombe Field airstrip has gone, all fields now,’ said Cranky, pointing. ‘Some of the vegetation has come back. Not like the areas that were hit with Agent Orange: they still look like a bleeding moonscape. Natural forests never came back.’

  ‘Hard to believe it all happened,’ said Tom softly, slowly turning a full circle to take in the view. He sensed that the land was still feeling the agony of the past, those years when a new style of warfare had inflicted such lasting scars on the land and its people. To mask his sadness he drew a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s push on.’

  They drove to the site of the base where two lonely gateposts stood as a remnant of what had been a centre of intense activity.

  ‘You know we built the camp hospital over a Viet Cong tunnel complex,’ said Cranky. ‘Tunnels went for bloody miles. One of the old VC fellas told me they felt safe here as there wasn’t artillery fire.’ Cranky smiled. ‘I had a bit of a quiet get-together with some of the VC who were operating round here. My mate Stretch came along, six foot four he is and none of the VC blokes were over five foot. They laughed and asked Stretch, “How’d we miss hitting you?”’