The Son

by Marc Santailler

  ‘So soon?’ I cried.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice softened. ‘I did think about your offer, Paul. But it wouldn’t have worked. You don’t know me, you know nothing about me …’

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘Really. It’s better this way.’

  I didn’t argue. There was no point.

  ‘What’s going to happen to Eric?’ I asked.

  ‘I spoke with him this morning. He’s assured me everything’s going to be alright. He’s promised to stay out of trouble.’

  ‘I hope so. You don’t mind if I keep an eye on him after you’ve gone?’

  ‘Of course not. But I’ve already put you to so much trouble – you’ve been so kind–’

  Not kind enough, apparently. I asked about her flight, and she told me she was leaving on Saturday, but when I asked if I could see her before she became evasive. I didn’t insist. It was clear she didn’t want to see me. Feeling rather bitter, I decided I’d handle Eric alone.

  That was my next mistake.

  It was too late to do anything that night, and the next day I was busy at work, but the following evening I drove once again to Cabramatta. The restaurant was much quieter this time, Eric was serving alone, without Hong, but Vo Khanh was at his post beside the counter and he shot me a dirty look as I walked in. Feeling a little defiant I took a table and waited. After a while Eric came up to me, looking unhappy.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘Haven’t you found out all you want?’

  ‘It’s alright, Eric,’ I said. ‘I just want to have a talk.’

  ‘Well I don’t want to talk to you. Sunday was enough, thank you.’

  Hardly an auspicious beginning. But I pushed on.

  ‘You know your aunt’s going back to Britain this weekend?’ I said.

  ‘She told me. Why, what’s it to you?’

  ‘What it is to me is that she was very worried about you just a week ago. She asked me to help you. And now she says everything’s going to be fine. What have you been telling her, Eric?’

  ‘Nothing! All I said is that I can look after myself. Why should you care anyway? Why do you keep barging into other people’s affairs?’

  He was getting agitated, his voice rising in irritation.

  ‘Because I’m worried about you too. And because I don’t think you’re being honest with her. Did you tell her what you were doing at that farm?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it’s an important question, Eric. Did you? Or are you still hiding the truth from her?’

  He said nothing, and I tried a softer approach.

  ‘Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you. But this is serious. What if something happens to you when she’s gone? I’ll do everything I can to help you, I promise, but it may not be enough. And this time she may not be able to come back. Then she’ll be really worried.’

  He stayed silent, his expression wooden. I had no way of telling if I was getting through.

  All might have been well if Vo Khanh hadn’t chosen that moment to butt in. The first I knew was when he appeared at Eric’s side.

  ‘You OK, Eric?’ he asked. He had a rough, gravelly voice which went well with his looks. I stood up and held my hand out to him.

  ‘Mr Vo Khanh? I’m Paul Quinn. I’m a friend of Eric’s aunt.’

  He ignored my hand and I let it drop.

  ‘We closing now,’ he said.

  ‘I know. I’m going. But first I think you should know that she is very worried about him.’

  ‘I do not want to discuss. We closing now,’ he repeated.

  Close up he looked even more unpleasant. His eyes were bloodshot, whether from drink or tiredness I couldn’t guess, and he had a sullen expression which boded no good. But it was too late to back out now.

  ‘She’s worried because of some of the people he’s mixing with. People you know. I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble because of them.’

  ‘I do not know what you are talking about.’

  ‘People who wear this!’ I seized Eric’s arm and pulled up his shirt sleeve. I was getting annoyed myself and heard my voice getting too loud. ‘People who go to secret training camps in the hills and play with guns. People who talk big about fighting the communists but are better at organising violent demonstrations in Australia.’

  His face became ugly.

  ‘I not speak with you, Mr Quinn! Go away! We are closing now.’

  ‘I’ll go in a minute. But first hear me out!’

  ‘Mr Quinn, this none of your business! Eric is big boy now. He decide who his friends are. He don’t need you to tell him. Go away!’

  ‘Mr Khanh, I’m not interested in your Vietnamese affairs. If you want to fight the communists and reconquer Vietnam go ahead! If you can! But don’t try and use Eric to do it. If you don’t leave him alone I will tell the police.’

  ‘Police have nothing to say! I not break the law. Eric a free man. This not Vietnam, and you are not big white man telling us what to do! Go away!’

  He glared at me, his colour darkening with anger. He was almost a head shorter than me and running to fat, but stocky and still muscular, and he gave an impression of barely contained violence. He moved closer to me, rolling on his feet like a street-fighter, and I stepped back. I had no wish to tangle with a mad buffalo on his own premises.

  ‘I’m leaving now, Mr Khanh, but I’ll be back. If you don’t leave Eric out of your activities I promise you I won’t give you a moment’s peace.’ I turned to Eric.

  ‘Eric, I’m sorry it’s come to this. I think you’re headed for big trouble if you continue to associate with people like him. And I’m not going to stop until I’ve made sure you’re safe. I promised your aunt, and I’ll keep that promise. I’ll see you again soon.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hardly a step in the right direction, I told myself angrily on the way home. All I’d achieved with that stupid confrontation had been to antagonise Eric further and make an enemy out of Vo Khanh.

  But I had not a clue what to do next. The last thing I wanted was to go to the police. That would only mean dragging Eric into trouble, and that was precisely what I wanted to avoid.

  I decided to go and see Mr Bach. That was my next mistake.

  In fairness it didn’t seem like a bad move at the time. It was on the Wednesday morning, three days before Hao was due to leave, and I hadn’t yet heard from Quang. I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned in my attempt to rescue Eric before she left. What I’d overlooked was that some stones are better not turned.

  I rang him first thing the next morning. The White Tiger company was listed in the phone book. He wasn’t keen to see me at first, but I pushed, saying that if he didn’t I’d have no alternative but to go to the police. Whether that did the trick, he agreed to see me that morning. I went there at once, taking time off from work.

  Mr Bach received me politely. His office was on the third floor of the building at the back of the carpark. It was little more than a cubicle, at the end of a long room which seemed to serve as a kind of clearing office, but Asian businessmen don’t always flaunt their wealth. Three young people were working there, all Vietnamese, two girls and a hard-looking man with a pock-marked face, answering the phones which kept ringing.

  The young man led me to Bach. He was an elderly, dignified gentleman, short and a little stout, with steel-grey hair carefully brushed back and knobby cheekbones like little apples. He looked like a well-dressed garden gnome. He offered me a seat and a cup of green tea and asked me what the problem was. He had a dry, nasal voice and spoke good English, with an accent.

  ‘It’s about Eric Tran,’ I started. ‘A young man you helped get a job in Mr Vo Khanh’s restaurant.’ I gave him the story of Eric’s life, up to the time of his arrival in Australia. Mr Bach listened calmly, nodding from time to time.

  ‘As a result of these personal tragedies Eric has become a little unsettled. He’s co
me to Australia in search of his father’s memory, and he blames the communists for the death of both his parents. He is a highly personable and intelligent young man, but I think he is also impressionable and emotionally vulnerable.’

  ‘What has now happened is that Eric has fallen in with a group of young Vietnamese who are strongly anti-communist.’

  I told him what I knew of the Mad Buffaloes, and Vo Khanh’s involvement. I tried to do it in such a way as to minimise what Eric had told me.

  ‘My concern is that Eric is coming increasingly under their influence. I’m afraid that if he stays with them he may be drawn into activities which are against the law in this country.’

  ‘My reason for coming to see you is simply this: you know Eric personally, and you recommended him to Mr Vo Khanh. From this I assume you are well acquainted with Mr Khanh and that he regards you with respect. I have come to ask you to use what influence you have over Mr Khanh, and over Eric, to ensure that Eric is not drawn into those activities and severs his relations with that group.’

  I felt like a lawyer trying to defend his client in a hostile court. There was something of the judge about Mr Bach, an icy detachment. His eyes were upon me, unblinking, and although he didn’t comment while I spoke I was sure he’d absorbed every word.

  ‘What you have told me is very interesting, Mr Quinn,’ he said at last. ‘I did not know all these details about the young man. All I knew was that he had a Vietnamese mother, and seemed very interested in Vietnam. May I ask what your interest is in all this, Mr Quinn? Are you a friend of Eric’s?’

  I explained my involvement, and gave him something of my own background.

  ‘It’s not his fight, Mr Bach. Whatever Mr Khanh and his group have against the present government in Vietnam, Eric should not be drawn into it. That’s why I’m here. I like him, I think there is a lot of potential in him, I’m very happy to see that he’s interested in both Vietnam and Australia, but I do not believe that his present associates are doing him any good. That is why I have come to you. His aunt is about to go back to Britain, and both she and I would like to see this question settled before then.’

  Once again he paused before answering, as if judiciously weighing up the options.

  ‘Unfortunately the problem isn’t so simple, Mr Quinn,’ he said. ‘Eric Tran is a free person, he is I believe over nineteen, which makes him a legal adult. And so of course is Mr Vo Khanh. Personally I am not involved in Mr Khanh’s activities, but I understand his feelings, and those of his friends. They suffered enormously from the communists, Mr Quinn, and while I do not approve of violence, I cannot blame them for wanting to express their feelings against the present government there. I regret that I do not think I can help you. I will speak to Mr Khanh of course, and tell him of our discussion. I will also try to speak to Eric. But I’ve talked with Mr Khanh, and from what he tells me you yourself have no influence over Eric. If anything your own behaviour last night has destroyed any standing you might have had with him. I will speak with them both, but I cannot guarantee the outcome. And my advice to you, Mr Quinn, is to stay out of Vietnamese affairs. Vietnam has already suffered far too much from foreign intervention in the past, starting with the French, and Vietnamese should be left to sort out their problems among themselves. It is very arrogant of others to want to do it for them.’

  There was no doubt that much of what he said was correct, but the icy tone in which he said it, and the note of contempt for anyone who wasn’t Vietnamese, including myself, made me angry. If he was so concerned with being Vietnamese, what was he doing here in Australia?

  ‘Eric is only half Vietnamese,’ I pointed out. ‘He is also half Australian. And he belongs to a new generation. He shouldn’t be drawn into the conflicts of the past.’

  ‘That is for him to decide, ultimately. We are all children of our past, Mr Quinn, whether we like it or not. As I said, I will speak with him. But I cannot go beyond that, Mr Quinn. And I suggest that you yourself should refrain from trying to make him do something he clearly does not want.’

  That made me even angrier. Who the hell was he to take the high moral tone? He still looked outwardly the dignified elderly gentleman, the Asian wise man, but there was something a little devious about him which I didn’t like. I doubted that he would do anything very effective, and knew that my mission had failed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was after one when I got back. Work had piled up in my absence, and Vivien was beginning to fret at my lack of attention. But I kept going over that meeting in my mind. It was clear that I would have to see Eric again, no matter what Bach had said, to make at least one more attempt at convincing him. First I needed to hear from Quang. I knew I should ring Hao, but I thought I’d better wait until I knew a bit more. She’d only think I was using it as an excuse to keep on seeing her.

  At five Quang rang me. He said he had something, ‘on that matter we discussed’, and asked if I could come round that evening.

  ‘Quang,’ I said, ‘can I bring someone with me this time? It’s the mother of the young man I mentioned. I’d like you to talk to her directly.’

  He sounded hesitant, and I went on.

  ‘She’s totally reliable. She’s the one who first approached me. I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting her. Jack and Sen got on well with her.’

  ‘Alright. But please don’t tell her anything about me until I’ve had a chance to see her.’

  We made a date for seven.

  Unfortunately Hao proved much harder to convince. She was home when I rang, and she listened to me, but she clearly didn’t want to change her mind.

  ‘I can’t come, Paul. And besides, Eric has told me about last night. You shouldn’t have done that! It’s not helping him at all.’

  ‘But Hao, you don’t know what’s involved–’

  ‘Please, Paul! I know you’re trying to help, but it’s not necessary. I trust Eric.’

  ‘Alright! But this man’s going out of his way to find out about Eric’s friends, and I think you should know about it. Whatever Eric says. Can I see you tomorrow, or Friday?’

  ‘Paul – please – I told you – it won’t change anything–’

  ‘At least tell me when your flight is. So I can come to see you off.’

  ‘There’s no need–’

  ‘I’ll find out from the airport anyway. There can’t be that many flights to London. I want to see you again, Hao, even if I have to go all the way to Leeds to do it.’

  We sounded like old lovers having a quarrel.

  ‘Alright–’ She gave me the details. Did I imagine it? There seemed to be the ghost of a smile in her voice. ‘I’ll see if I’m free–’

  I felt crestfallen as I made my lame excuses to Quang.

  ‘Did you give her my name?’ he asked again anxiously.

  ‘No, Quang, don’t worry. All she knows is you’re a friend of Jack’s.’

  Reassured, he told me what he’d learnt: there was indeed a group, calling itself the Mad Buffaloes, and Khanh seemed to be their leader, with a younger man called Binh. It was small, probably no more than a dozen, secretive, and fiercely anti-communist. Quang’s informant hadn’t been able to find out a great deal, but they held regular meetings, in Cabramatta and Fairfield, where they discussed politics – a kind of indoctrination session.

  ‘I’m told my name is occasionally mentioned,’ he said wrily.

  He also confirmed that they had a kind of training camp on a farm north-west of Sydney, where they did military-style training, with firearms. He didn’t know who owned it. Binh seemed to be in charge, though Vo Khanh sometimes attended.

  ‘It does sound as if my young man is getting involved in some pretty strong stuff,’ I said.

  ‘You should get him away from them as soon as possible.’

  Quang sucked his teeth a bit when I told him what I’d done. He was too polite to tell me to my face, but I could see he thought I’d made a mistake by going to see Bach. I had to assure him I hadn’t menti
oned him, or revealed that I knew much about the group.

  ‘You know, there’s something I don’t entirely trust about Mr Bach. Have you been able to find out much about him, Quang?’

  Not a lot yet, but what he’d learnt was interesting. Bach was certainly a successful businessman, with a hand in several businesses besides his Bach Ho Import-Export Company, and he also owned some real estate – including the building where the Dai Nam restaurant was located. He’d also been back to Vietnam on business, though as Quang remarked that wasn’t unusual these days. Nghiem had told me the same thing.

  According to Quang’s source, Bach had helped Vo Khanh finance his business. It could be that Vo Khanh in fact was just a front man.

  ‘That wasn’t the impression he tried to give me today,’ I said.

  ‘No. But here’s something else.’

  According to his source, Vo Khanh wasn’t the only person involved in the Mad Buffaloes. It seemed there was someone else, someone senior to him. Someone they called Bác, ‘uncle’, like Bác Ho, the way they used to call Ho Chi Minh.

  ‘Whether it’s Bach or not I don’t know, but it would make sense, don’t you think? Vo Khanh’s very brave no doubt, but I don’t think he’s got the brains or the patience to organise something like the Mad Buffaloes by himself. So there could well be someone else behind him. And running an organisation like that takes money. That farm, weapons … It would be amusing, wouldn’t it, Mr Paul?

  From Bác Ho to Bach Ho.’

  He chuckled at his own pun, all excited at the idea of uncovering a plot. Vietnamese are born conspiracy theorists.

  ‘Why would he want to be involved with the Mad Buffaloes, if he’s trading with Vietnam?’ I asked.

  ‘Who knows? He may have strong convictions of his own, that he doesn’t want to show in public. That could explain why he keeps his distance. He wouldn’t want to hurt his image with the communists, if he’s doing business with them. I’ll try and find out more about him. What he did in Vietnam before coming out.’