Smoky Joe's Cafe

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘This is Doctor Mike McGraw,’ Lawsy says.

  The bloke takes a step towards us and extends his hand to Wendy. ‘Just Mike will do fine,’ he says smiling.

  ‘Wendy Thompson,’ Wendy says, trying to smile. ‘I’m sorry, I must look a mess. This is,’ she gulps, ‘well, a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘A nice one, I hope,’ Mike says, grinning.

  Then he turns to me, ‘You probably don’t remember me, Thommo, but I was an Australian MO on duty at the US Hospital in Vung Tau when you came to see about your mate Mo Jacka after 6 RAR got back from the stoush at Long Tan?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ I say to him, shaking his hand, ‘How ya goin’, Doc.’ I’m lying, I wouldn’t have known him from a bar of soap, but it’s not all that surprising. After we’d pulled out of the rubber plantation and returned to the base I’d requested special permission to go to Vung Tau to see Mo. Sounds crazy now, but at the time I was paranoid, what with his head missing, that they wouldn’t have him properly identified so that he could be sent home. I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours in the last twenty-four and I guess I was that rooted I wouldn’t have noticed the doctor attending if he’d been Mr Magoo in a white coat.

  Then Wendy and I are introduced to the two ladies, Sue and Marlene, one is a nurse and the other a lab technician. We are told they were both veterans’ wives. What we don’t know, and learn later, is that their partners are dead, the one from cancer while the other’s gone and chopped himself. Vietnam has struck again. Sue turns out to be a highly qualified nurse and Marlene has a science degree and has worked for the Red Cross Blood Bank for nearly ten years.

  Mike McGraw explains that the interior of the Kenworth is a complete surgery and at the back, in a separate room, there’s a fully equipped laboratory. It’s all been certified by the Health Authorities as a travelling laboratory. There’s even a reception area for volunteer patients, where their medical history is taken down and their records kept.

  ‘We’re going to find an unrelated matching donor for Anna,’ Shorty grins, ‘even if we have to test every person in Australia.’

  Now Wendy loses it completely, she can’t stop crying and I’m pretty choked myself. I put my arms around her, ‘I dunno what to say, mate,’ I keep repeating, grinning like an ape and shaking me stupid head.

  Eventually though, we pull ourselves together and Wendy says to Mike McGraw, ‘It’s such a very long shot, doctor, a million to one chance that we’ll find a match-up.’

  Mike nods, you can see he knows the odds, ‘We’ll never know if we don’t try, Wendy.’

  Shorty cuts in, ‘Wendy, you helped make this all possible. Without you I don’t think we would have gone very far. You’ll be happy to know the business is over, Nam Tran says the bees have stopped buzzing and we’re fresh out of honey.’

  Lawsy laughs, ‘In our case you could say we’ve had a very successful liquidation sale!’

  Shorty continues, ‘Our accumulated resources are going to help a lot of vets’ children, veterans as well.’ He waves his hand, indicating the surgery, ‘One of the ways we’ll do this is the Anna-mobile. We’re going on the road, we’ll find every Vietnam veteran we can throughout the country, check him out, check his kids out, talk to his partner. Get their stories and lobby the government, this time using our own medical records.’

  He turns to Mike McGraw. ‘Mike here has spent most of his time since coming back from Vietnam at the Prince of Wales Children’s Hospital Cancer Unit. We’ve got all the gear we need right here. Can you show us the lab please, Marlene?’

  We walk to the front of the van and Marlene opens the lab door. There’s only room for two inside so she and Wendy go first and I stand at the door and look in. I must say it looks pretty impressive, not that I’d know what I’m looking at of course.

  ‘The latest automatic serum dispenser, typing tray scoring system, oiler, the whole kit and kaboodle,’ Shorty says behind me. You can hear the pride in his voice. ‘We have the freezer unit and the facilities to do the basic tissue-typing tests right here. Then any samples that look like they could be a match have to go to Sydney for further analysis. Mike’s got that process well in hand.’

  Lawsy cuts in, ‘You’ve seen the side panels, we’ll offer a $10,000 reward for any member of the public who matches Anna’s tissue type and is ultimately approved for a bone-marrow transplant.’ He looks at Wendy and me, ‘We know it’s a long shot, but, well, we talked it over and the boys felt we had to give it a go.’

  That night there’s a big party held in the regular Vets from Hell’s local pub in Bankstown, so the cops don’t take too much notice. Everyone involved over the past year is invited, the pub is full to overflowing and I can’t believe we’ve managed to keep the whole scam quiet for nearly a year. It’s a real credit to the brother and sisterhood. Wendy says I have to make a bit of a speech to thank everyone for the Anna-mobile. I try to get her to do it, but she won’t. ‘It’s your job, Thommo,’ she insists.

  I’m not much good at this sort of thing but I have a go, Wendy’s standing beside me. I’m halfway through when I lose the plot. Then someone starts singing ‘For they are jolly good fellows’ and the mob take it up and I’m saved.

  Wendy, Maureen and me get home after midnight. For once I’m not pissed. I want to stay sober to be with me wife all night. We end up in Maureen’s kitchen having a bit of a late-night fry-up or, if you like, early breakfast, coffee, bacon and eggs. We eventually get to bed around three o’clock. It’s been a bloody long day but it’s amazing what good news can do for the cuddle factor.

  Shorty and Lawsy have been to see everyone involved in the Smoky Joe scam and each participant receives an envelope with a nice little gratuity on top of what they’ve already earned over the past year. They are also told never to talk about their role in what’s happened, that it’s a Vietnam veterans’ secret and must be kept that way.

  Of course we’re not in the absolute clear, we’ve got nearly a million dollars in cash that we can’t explain if the Taxation Department come snooping around. Though Lawsy says there’s ‘ways and means’ and he’s in the process of applying to have the Vietnam Veterans Self-Help Association registered as a tax-free charity. He’s pretty confident he’ll get it through.

  Any hopes I might have had of getting my wife back to a calm and settled life are soon dashed. Wendy is smart enough to realise that a thing like the Anna-mobile is not going to go unnoticed, that the media are going to see it as a big story and that we have to get all the ingredients right so that it can become an opportunity for having a go at the government. She talks to Shorty and he calls a meeting of the original Smoky Joe mob, plus Maureen. The only one missing is Nam Tran. Naturally we ask Shorty how come Nam Tran’s not present? He says he’ll explain later.

  Shorty tells us how they’ve filled in Nam Tran’s lab on the farm and dismantled and burned or trashed all the other bits ‘n’ pieces. He’s back to rice, citrus and a bit of winemaking. Then he says, ‘I’ve got a bit of a confession, it’s about Nam Tran.’ He stops and looks around at all of us. ‘He’s gone to the States.’

  I guess we’re all stunned. ‘Why’s that?’ Macca asks eventually.

  ‘He’s going to try to do the same thing there.’ Shorty clears his throat, ‘Look, I haven’t been entirely truthful about him, you see he’s a doctor. I mean he was Viet Cong all right, that’s true enough, but he was a surgeon in the North Vietnamese Army.’

  ‘So why couldn’t you tell us that?’ Bongface asks, a bit aggro. ‘What difference would it have made?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, he had his own agenda. He wants to build a hospital in his own country to look after children affected by Agent Orange. I promised him one-third of what we made in return for his supplying the marijuana seed and his expertise with growing and refining the dope. We couldn’t have done it without him. If he can do the same with the veterans in America, it’s a much bigger market, he’ll get all the money he’s going to need.’ />
  Lawsy stands up, ‘Nam Tran’s also given us a way to launder the money, which means we’re clean.’ He doesn’t explain any further, but goes on to say, ‘We’ve been incredibly lucky with the scam, we got in and out in less than a year, not enough time for the drug squad to really get going. If we’d continued much longer, well, the chances are they’d have been onto us and we’d have been blown out of the water. Nam Tran’s expertise, his hash honey, was the difference that made the difference.’ He looks at Wendy, ‘That and the way it was distributed and sold so that we caused no ancillary crime, kids never got hold of it and there was no harm done to the general community. In my opinion Nam Tran earned his share.’

  There is complete silence in the room. I don’t know what to think. Do I feel betrayed? Obviously Lawsy was in on it as well. Then I think to myself, ‘Typical bloody army, they tell you just enough to get the job done but never the whole story.’ Still, it looks like the battle is won. A man should probably punch Shorty out. Maybe I’m a weak bastard, but what with the Anna-mobile, I mean, what can I say? The whole thing stinks? No way!

  To my surprise Wendy stands up and turns to face the mob. ‘I know I feel a lot better having heard what Shorty has just said,’ she blurts out. ‘Kids are the same everywhere, they don’t start the wars but they’re usually its victims. I’m very glad we’re helping Nam Tran’s people.’ She sits down next to me and I can feel her trembling. What she’s just said I know I wouldn’t have had the guts to say, even to me mates.

  Then Maureen, who is sitting with Wendy and me in the front, turns around and says, ‘When my brother Mo died in Vietnam I was pretty bitter. I asked myself a lot of questions I couldn’t answer, and nobody seemed able to answer them for me. Why did Mo have to give his life for his country when his country shouldn’t have been fighting the North Vietnamese people in the first place? When his country didn’t care about him? So when Wendy asked me to help with the Smoky Joe scam I thought it was a way to fight back, to help Mo’s mates and the forgotten and neglected warriors, to do something in Mo’s memory.’

  It’s all come out so fast Maureen’s hardly taken a breath. Then she says real quietly, ‘But now there’s something I can be proud of, we’re helping our own children, helping ourselves to get better and we are helping the children of Vietnam. I feel good about that, Mo would too.’

  We’re all pretty choked, but Animal says, ‘Jesus! I think I’m gunna throw up!’

  The laughter this causes clears the air and I guess Shorty is almost forgiven for not spilling the beans on Nam Tran. After all, what can you expect from a bloody sergeant?

  Shorty says Wendy’s gunna talk to us. I touch her on the arm as she gets up, she’s still the general and I’m the grunt, but I love her more than ever.

  ‘Shorty has asked me to tell you about Anna’s condition,’ she starts, ‘so you’ll know what we’re up against. You all know by now how Thommo and I feel about the Anna-mobile. We will never be able to repay your love, whatever the outcome. We thank you all for taking a blood test on Anna’s behalf when you first knew about her. Now our greatest delight is that others will benefit as well, veterans’ kids and vets themselves, that the Anna-mobile is not only for Anna.’ She stops and takes a breath. ‘I have to tell you that the chances of finding a bone-marrow match-up are very remote. You see, what’s happened to our daughter is that she no longer has an immune system. That is, she no longer has any white blood cells to fight off infection. If we can find a matching donor, the bone marrow taken from the donor and infused into Anna could give her a new immune system, that is new white blood cells to fight off infection and so kill the leukaemia. Usually the donor comes from within the family and even this is rare enough. Finding an unrelated donor . . .well, we’re going to have to be very, very lucky, one chance in a million lucky.’

  ‘We’ve been lucky so far, maybe it will hold?’ Bong-face calls out and there is a murmur of agreement from all present.

  Wendy hasn’t finished yet. ‘Perhaps I can talk about another aspect of the Anna-mobile,’ she now says, ‘there’s another opportunity here to publicise the veterans’ cause, to get the Agent Orange message and everything else out to the public. That is, if we go about it in the right way. The Anna-mobile is going to attract a lot of publicity once we’re on the road and it’s up to us to make the most of it. We’ll never get a better chance to bring up the issues involved and in the process try to shame the government into some sort of action.’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ It’s Ocker Barrett, who usually doesn’t say much.

  ‘First thing is to make it a spectacle, a big event when we come into town.’

  ‘It’s a pretty big rig, it ain’t gunna go unnoticed when we pull into a small town,’ Gazza says.

  ‘Exactly right!’ I say. I know where Wendy’s heading and I can’t help myself.

  ‘You’re right, but there’s a lot more we can do.’ Wendy points to Killer Kowolski and then to Animal, ‘That’s where your lot come in. If the Vets from Hell, the whole mob, move into a town or suburb as an escort for the Anna-mobile it’s going to create quite a sensation. Then when we’ve parked in the town square, the bikes disperse and the vets give out leaflets to the good citizens, explaining why we’re in town and urging people to have a blood test.’

  Killer Kowolski doesn’t let her finish. ‘Jesus! One hundred and fifty Harleys, that would be really something.’ It’s not hard to see he’s pretty excited at the prospect.

  ‘Reckon you can organise that, Killer? Animal?’ Shorty now asks. If them two still have a thing about Wendy, which I don’t think they do, I reckon their differences are sure enough settled at this very moment.

  ‘Oath,’ Killer replies, ‘The boys will be in on it in a flash.’

  ‘Righto then, it’s just a question of what town to choose for the launch, or should it be in Sydney?’ Shorty asks Wendy.

  ‘My first thought was that Sydney would be easy for the media, the obvious place for the TV channels. But the more I thought about it, the more I think it should be a small country town, somewhere near a bigger town, like a regional centre, so we can repeat the performance the next day and allow the media time to get there and turn the whole thing into a media event.’

  Wendy must’ve seen by our faces that we were a bit confused. I mean, why make it hard for ourselves, when if we did it all in Sydney the media could stroll down the road so to speak and we’d make it happen big time first time up?

  ‘So, why not in Sydney?’ Spags Belgiovani asks. It’s the obvious question for all of us.

  ‘Well, it’s up to us to decide, I suppose,’ she adds quickly, ‘The media will respond either way. It’s just that I thought, you know, if we left Sydney and travelled through a number of towns to our destination, it wouldn’t look like a deliberate media hype, a set-up? Though, of course, we’ll make sure that our progress is reported so they see it as a possible news break.’ When no one speaks she adds, ‘We’ll get more out of the story this way.’ I can sense she’s not certain she’s right, that she’ll back down if she’s pressed and go for the city.

  ‘Hey, Currawong Creek! That’s where it all started!’ We all turn around, surprised that Animal’s had an idea. ‘Well, why not?’ he says again, ‘It’s where Thommo and Wendy live, best fu . . .I mean, bloody good place to start.’

  I’ll never be certain that Wendy hadn’t got Curra-wong Creek in her plans all along, but now Animal’s said it, it seems like the obvious place to start, to park the Anna-mobile slap-bang in the middle of town outside Smoky Joe’s Cafe.

  The town has a population of nine hundred people and I reckon just about all of them would come in for a blood test. It’ll be the biggest day in Currawong Creek since the pub burned down on the night after Don Bradman and Sid Barnes each made 234 in the Test match against England in 1946. The town loves Wendy and they’ve almost forgiven me for my earlier behaviour, though I suspect this is mostly because of Anna’s illness.

  I
f Wendy had hoped for a media scoop, none of us were ready for what was about to happen. We leave Sydney about four in the morning for the Riverina, it’s about a seven-hour drive, maybe eight or nine with stops on the way. We aim to get to Griffith about lunch time, then on to Currawong Creek.

  By the time we reach Wollongong, about eighty clicks out of Sydney, a regional TV crew are already onto us. One hundred and fifty bikies on Harley-Davidsons and the big Kenworth Anna-mobile make an awesome sight tooling along the highway at sunrise, though we’re careful not to break the speed limit or give the cops any reason to stop us. Goulburn is the next big town we pass through, horns blaring, BARP-BARP-BARP, down the main drag and out onto the highway again. We stop for petrol and Cokes, then on to Cootamundra and just on lunch time we come into Griffith.

  Griffith around these parts is the big smoke, the regional capital of the Riverina. But after Sydney it looks small, a sort of going nowhere place. Then I think to myself, if Griffith looks like two chooks scratching around the shithouse, then what about Currawong Creek? It’s a drop of passing bird shit splat on the bonnet of a ute.

  Still and all, Wendy and me are coming home, it’s like the circle is complete and we’re doing something positive about our lives, about little Anna. We may not get what we’re looking for, the chance of finding a tissue match for the little bugger is still a million to one, but we’re in control this time and it feels okay. Matter of fact, it feels bloody marvellous. No more government, no more handouts and being thought of as bludgers working the system. We’re helping ourselves, doing it our way and, as I said, it feels fucking wonderful. I’m driving the Kenworth on this last section, it’s an old rig but a good ’un and whoever done the mechanics done a bloody good job, it’s got a good donk, running smooth with plenty o’ grunt.