The Son

by Marc Santailler

  ‘What were you two talking about on the boat?’ Hao asked. ‘He looks so subdued.’

  ‘I was telling him about his father. It made him feel sad. But I think it did him good.’

  ‘I thought you were quarrelling. Did you know he’s been away most of the week? Up on a farm, he says.’

  ‘Yes, he mentioned it.’

  ‘Do you think it’s alright? Is it something to do with that group?’

  ‘I’m still trying to find out. But I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s a sensible lad, he knows what he’s doing.’

  I hated lying to her, and wished I didn’t have to. But I still felt I had to earn that boy’s trust, and I didn’t want to alarm her unduly. There was too much I didn’t know yet. Let me find out what I could first, from that friend of Jack’s.

  Eric and Hong caught up with us and walked ahead, hand in hand. This time I didn’t hesitate, and took Hao’s hand too. She stiffened a little, and I thought she’d withdraw it, but she relaxed and left it there, soft and trusting like a child’s.

  ‘How do you find Hong?’ I asked. ‘She seems a bit old for Eric.’

  ‘Only by a couple of years. I like her. She’s an orphan too, she told me. Or at least her mother’s dead. Father unknown. Probably some American soldier, unless it was one of your embassy colleagues. She’s some kind of relation to the man who owns the restaurant.’

  ‘Who? Vo Khanh?’

  ‘I think that’s his name. She calls him uncle. He brought her out when she was very young, and she’s been working for him since. It’s a pity I have to go back. Otherwise I might be able to help her. She speaks Vietnamese of course.’

  ‘What about Eric? Does he still speak it?’

  ‘Not so much any more. He still understands quite a lot. English took over once he started going to school. He tells me he’s relearning it.’

  ‘Didn’t you speak Vietnamese at home? You and your husband?’

  ‘We did, some of the time. But you know what children are like, in a foreign country, they often feel embarrassed about their mother tongue, especially if they feel insecure. Besides, Khiem spoke such good English, and we wanted to make sure that Eric learnt it properly.’

  ‘How did they get on?’ I asked. I wanted to know more about her husband, but didn’t want to ask directly. ‘Eric’s rather cut up about David, but in a sense Khiem was his real father, having brought him up.’

  ‘They were very close. Eric loved Khiem. They spent a lot of time together, before Khiem fell sick.’

  ‘I suppose, not having any children of your own–’

  ‘I suppose so. But Khiem would have loved him in any case. He was a kind man.’

  Kinder than I’d been, I thought, remembering my own marriage, and the harsh words I’d exchanged with Sandra, before we broke up.

  ‘Was Khiem sick for long before he died?’ I went on.

  ‘Not very long. He had AML. Acute myeloid leukemia. It’s usually very fast. He was in treatment for a few months, chemo-therapy, and that seemed to work, but then he had a relapse, and after that it was very quick.’

  ‘It’s a cruel way to go.’

  ‘He was very brave about it. Even at the end, when he knew he was going to die. He never complained.’

  ‘Hard on you too. You must miss him still.’

  She was silent for a moment.

  ‘He deserved better than to die like that.’

  I sensed I’d gone as far as I could. We stopped, and leaned against the parapet that separated the road from the rocks and the surging surf below, looking back over the long sweep of beach that curves north to the headland at Queenscliff, all overgrown with ugly forties-era apartment blocks like an outcrop of toadstools. Beyond them more headlands, dwindling away into the distance, each one marking off another golden beach. It was a beautiful view, and the ugly buildings were too far off to spoil it. I thought about her husband, and how hard it is to compete with the dead.

  As if to prove it she took back her hand.

  ‘What about you Paul? Do you miss your wife? You must have loved her once, even if you did end up in divorce.’

  ‘I thought I did. But we started to grow apart fairly quickly. I don’t think we were really suited to each other. She didn’t like my job much, for one thing. Oh, she liked the glamour of it at first, the embassy life, but you soon get tired of that, and she didn’t like all the sacrifices that went with it. She used to complain that I worked too hard.’

  That was one thing I couldn’t explain. The demands of embassy life were hard enough on spouses, but those of intelligence work were in another dimension. How could you expect your wife to share the thrills of a clandestine car pick-up with a secret source you met once a month at night, while she stayed home by herself until three in the morning, worried sick that you’d been picked up by local security and were being worked over with rubber hoses – or worse, having it off with one of the embassy girls? It was a wonder more marriages didn’t end in divorce.

  ‘Were you ever unfaithful to her?’

  I looked at her, startled by the question, not sure at first if she was teasing. But then I saw she was serious. She shook her head with a rueful smile.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Besides, it’s different for men, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’ I laughed awkwardly. ‘I’m not so sure. No, I don’t mind telling you. As a matter of fact I wasn’t. But that didn’t make it a happier marriage. Maybe I would have if I’d met the right person.’

  She considered that.

  ‘Or the wrong one,’ she said.

  Afterwards we caught a ferry back to Circular Quay, the jet-cat this time, taking half the time. I retrieved my car and drove them up to my flat in Mosman, an old three-bedroom apartment with a view over Balmoral beach. We pottered about for the rest of the afternoon, drinking soft drinks and eating the cake I’d baked that morning. Hao wandered around, examining the various mementos I’d brought back from abroad.

  ‘You’ll recognise these,’ I said, leading her to four wooden panels hanging on a wall, inlaid with mother-of-pearl in classical Chinese designs, birds and flowers, and polished rather than lacquered in the modern manner.

  ‘The Four Seasons,’ she said, running her fingers along the wood. ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Almost the only thing I brought back from Saigon. I bought them soon after I arrived. I was so worked up when we left I could hardly be bothered packing. But these I wasn’t going to leave behind.’

  ‘You’re lucky. My parents had a beautiful collection of old furniture. But we sold most of it afterwards, to buy food and medicine for my father, and when we left we changed the rest for gold or dollars. That was more practical. But even that we lost on the way.’

  We stood out on the balcony, against the railing, while Eric and Hong lay on the floor inside, listening to Beatles records. His manner wasn’t unfriendly, but he kept avoiding me, as if afraid I might harass him with more questions.

  ‘Have you decided yet when you’re going back?’ I asked.

  ‘Not yet. I keep putting it off. But I’ll have to do something soon. I can’t stay with the cousins forever. And I have to get back to work.’

  ‘You could stay here.’

  There, it was said, the idea that had been growing in my head for the past several days. She didn’t say anything, looked down at her hands, then across to where Eric and Hong were sprawled on the carpet. It looked as if they’d been kissing.

  ‘I mean it,’ I persisted. ‘You’ve seen the flat. There’s more than enough room, you’d have your own room, your own bathroom, I wouldn’t get in the way. I could even get you a car if you wanted.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I can’t, Paul.’

  ‘Why? Are you afraid I’ll make a pass at you? I’m very attracted to you, Hao, that must be pretty obvious by now, but I’ll keep my distance, I promise. No strings attached.’ Even as I spoke I knew I’d find that promise hard to keep. ‘And if you’re wor
ried about what the cousins will think, to hell with them! You’re old enough to lead your own life, you don’t owe anyone anything, except maybe Eric, and he’ll understand. Look, think about it. Just so you can stay a while longer, and we can see this thing through with Eric. Please?’

  She looked at me then, as if thinking it over. She shook her head again.

  ‘It wouldn’t work.’

  I wanted to argue further, but I could see it was no use, and I let it drop. After a moment she stood up and went inside.

  A few minutes later I drove them back, Eric and Hong first, to Central Station, then back to Marrickville to take Hao home. The strain between us was almost palpable. Bloody hell! I kept telling myself. Why hadn’t I kept quiet, and let nature take its course? But sometimes you have to push nature along, if you want to get anywhere. When we got there she walked ahead of me to the front door. Her thanks were as formal as her handshake.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But can’t you just think about it?’

  She shook her head again and went inside before I could make an even bigger fool of myself.

  PART II

  NASTY BUSINESS

  CHAPTER TEN

  I took to Quang at once when I went to see him on the Monday evening. He was a typical Vietnamese political intellectual: a tall, thin man in glasses with an intelligent face and a gentle manner, very sharp, very knowledgeable. How practical was another matter. He received me courteously in the sitting room of his flat, on the third floor of a neat apartment block in Bankstown. The room was littered with books and papers, on the chairs, the floor, on every available surface, and the personal computer on a corner of his dining table looked like it received heavy use.

  ‘Jack tells me you were with your embassy in Saigon,’ he began. He spoke good English, in the staccato, sing-song rhythms of a northerner, with a noticeable French accent.

  I gave him a sanitised resume of my career.

  ‘But you’re interested in the Vietnamese community, he says. Doing research for a client.’

  ‘That’s right.’ I had tried to work up a better cover story to explain the detailed probing that I would have to do from now on, but I couldn’t think of anything that sounded convincing. It was probably time to come out with the truth. But first I had some questions of my own.

  ‘I understand that you worked for the new government in Saigon, after 1975,’ I asked.

  His eyes glinted with amusement behind the glasses.

  ‘And you want to know if I’m still working for them. Rest assured, Mr Quinn, I’m not. I’ve never been a communist. I worked for them because they asked me to, and I thought I could do something for Vietnam. I quit when I saw the way they were ruining the country.’

  ‘What were you doing for them? Please call me Paul.’

  ‘I worked for the Ho Chi Minh City People’s Committee, as they’ve renamed Saigon. As an economics planner. Have you heard of a man called Dang van Loc?

  ‘Is he the one who’s coming soon to Australia?’ That was the name Jack had mentioned.

  ‘That’s him. He’s now Deputy Premier in Hanoi. Then he was vice-chairman of the HCMC Committee – a kind of deputy mayor. I worked for him for about a year and a half after 1975. Before that I was with the Bank of Vietnam. He’s a good man. We could have done some good things together. But he didn’t call the shots, and he was overruled when the doctrinaires from the north took over. He’s a southerner himself, from Ben Tre. Have you ever been there, Mr Paul?’

  ‘No. It’s near the mouth of the Mekong, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Under communist control for most of the war, even under the French. He’s a real revolutionary, from the earliest days. And yet he helped me escape.’

  ‘From Vietnam?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Surprising, isn’t it! But there are many surprises in Vietnam, even under the communists. Loc’s an intelligent man. He could see it wasn’t working. So he sent me abroad, on an official mission. To France, and then here. I came here to ask for aid, Mr Paul. I asked for asylum instead. Your government was kind enough to give it to me.’

  He smiled with gentle irony, clearly enjoying himself.

  ‘I still keep in touch with him from time to time. Indirectly, through friends. He’s a moderate, in communist terms. If Vietnam is to get out of the mess it’s in it can only be done with people like him. Not by trying to overthrow them, as those hotheads in the Vietnamese community here keep saying.’

  ‘Jack mentioned you’d received some death threats.’

  He gave a derisive laugh.

  ‘They seem to think anyone who doesn’t hate the communists is a traitor. But they’re dinosaurs, Mr Paul. They live in the past.’

  He seemed to like calling me that. Maybe it was his sense of humour.

  ‘All they can think of is restoring the old order. As if they had any hope! No, the only way forward is through compromise, and evolution. We need to install a multi-party system in Vietnam, a genuinely democratic society, but we can only do it with the help of the communists themselves. So we have to come to terms with them. Otherwise we’ll just keep going in the same cycle of hate and conflict, and nothing will ever change …’

  There was a messianic light in his eye, and I headed him off before he launched into a lecture. I’d met people like him before, in Saigon and later among the refugees, idealists who thought they could hold back the tide, somehow appeal to people’s better nature, or who wanted to play the part of conciliator, and ended up getting caught in the middle, and crushed, like Hao’s father. I wished him better luck.

  But that wasn’t why I was there, and I decided to trust him. After all he had taken me on trust himself, on Jack’s recommendation.

  ‘I’m interested in one particular group in the Vietnamese community,’ I said. ‘But I know very little about it.’

  ‘May I ask the nature of your interest?’

  ‘Yes. But if you don’t mind I’d like to keep it between us. I didn’t tell Jack the real story.’

  He gave me a searching look, then nodded. ‘Rest assured, anything you tell me will be in strict confidence. I expect the same in return.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I gave him a brief version of the truth, keeping Hao and Eric’s names out of it. I spoke of a friend, who had a young relative who was involved in that group, and who was concerned about it. He asked if my friend was Vietnamese. I said yes, but assured him it was someone I trusted fully, and I hadn’t told my friend about our meeting. He accepted this.

  ‘Do you know a man called Vo Khanh?’ I asked. ‘He runs the Dai Nam restaurant in Cabramatta, and he’s a former officer in the South Vietnamese Marines.’

  Quang’s eyes twinkled again.

  ‘Of course. He’s well known in the community. He’s one of those people I was telling you about, who want to overthrow the government in Hanoi and restore the old order. I sometimes see him at meetings. He has a reputation for violence. Lately I’ve heard that he’s trying to organise some demonstrations against Loc’s visit.’

  I pulled out a sketch I had made of the tattoo on Eric’s arm. Afterwards I had remembered seeing it before, on one of the young men I had met at the house in Cabramatta. Quang smiled when I told him where I’d seen it.

  ‘That’s a mad buffalo,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what I thought. What does it mean?’

  ‘You haven’t heard of the Mad Buffaloes? That’s what they used to call one of the Marine battalions in Vietnam. Tiểu Đòan Trâu Điên. The Mad Buffaloes Battalion. Because of their fighting spirit. When they attacked, they kept charging like mad buffaloes until they reached their objective. That was their sign.’

  ‘Is that the name of this group then?’

  ‘Possibly. I hadn’t heard the name being used here. But it makes sense, if Vo Khanh is at the head of it. What else do you know about them?’

  ‘Not much. It seems they hold meetings, from time to time. And they may have a
training camp out in the country, somewhere in the hills north-west of Sydney.’

  I told him what I’d learnt from Eric, conscious that I was breaking my promise to him. I didn’t have much choice, if I was going to get anywhere. He took it all in, but couldn’t add any more.

  ‘Do you know a man called Ho Xuan Bach?’ I asked. ‘Also known as Bach Ho. He’s a prominent businessman in Cabramatta.’

  ‘I don’t know him personally. You’re right, he is a wealthy businessman. Is he involved in this?’

  ‘I don’t know. But he knows Vo Khanh.’

  ‘That probably doesn’t mean anything. But I can check it out.’

  He smiled at my look of alarm.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Paul. I’ll be discreet. I have my own friends too in the community. If what you say is true, your young friend would be well advised to stay out of that group.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Quang. And please call me Paul.’

  ‘In return I’d be grateful for anything else you can find out. I am worried about what they may do during Loc’s visit.’

  Quid pro quo. I’d never met a source who didn’t want something in return, if not cash then at least a favour.

  ‘I should have something in a couple of days.’

  I made sure I took one of his newsletters when I left.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At this point I started to make some mistakes.

  The first was not to tell Hao at once everything that I’d learnt, even if it meant breaking my promise to Quang, and to Eric. I was thinking of doing just that, when she herself rang, and her news pushed mine aside. She’d been on the phone to her office in Leeds, they had a crisis on, they’d asked her to go back urgently. She was booked to fly home that weekend.