The Son

by Marc Santailler

  He reflected for a moment in silence.

  ‘Meanwhile what worries me is what they may do during Loc’s visit. You remember the man I mentioned to you?’

  ‘Yes, the one you worked for in Saigon. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly. Whenever there’s an official visit from Hanoi you get a demonstration. But this one looks like it could be rather big, and it could turn violent. Can you get some details from that young friend of yours, Paul? I really think I ought to warn Loc.’

  ‘Can’t his embassy do that?

  ‘Yes, but he’s more likely to listen to me, if I can get a message to him.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try,’ I said, not very hopefully. ‘When’s Loc due out?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It looks like early May.’

  He smiled. ‘My source also told me the Mad Buffaloes recently recruited a young Eurasian who works in Vo Khanh’s restaurant. That wouldn’t be your young man, would it?’

  ‘You’re too sharp, Quang.’ It was time to come clean. ‘You’re right. But if I tell you about him, it has to be in the strictest confidence. I don’t want him hurt in any way.’

  He nodded, and listened in grave silence as I gave him Eric’s background.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ I went on, ‘he won’t listen to me. I can’t get it into his head that I want to help him, and that he’s heading for trouble. And his aunt goes back to Britain this weekend, and after that I may lose all contact with him. But I’ll try and see him again tomorrow. I’ll let you know how I get on.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  This time I was really worried. If Quang’s source was correct, then not only was Eric keeping bad company, but I very much doubted that Bach would do anything to save him. It was time to bring Hao into the picture. But when I rang the next day all I got was one of the cousins telling me in a rusty voice: ‘She not home’. Time was running out. I couldn’t wait any longer, and decided to go and see Eric again, even if she took me to task for it afterwards. It was getting too late for niceties.

  That was my final mistake.

  Once again that evening I went back to the restaurant in Cabramatta. They had more customers this time, Eric was there, with Hong, and so was Vo Khanh, standing at his usual place near the counter. Hong gave me a smile and Eric another nervous look, but Vo Khanh quickly barred my way.

  ‘Go away!’ he said angrily. ‘Why you come back? We don’t want you here!’

  ‘I’ve come to see Eric, not you!’ I said rudely. I was tired of his overbearing ways.

  ‘Why you bother him like this? He not want you! Leave us alone!’

  ‘You leave Eric alone, and I’ll leave you alone! I told your friend Mr Bach yesterday, and I’m telling you again. Your Vietnamese politics have nothing to do with Eric.’

  People’s heads were turning towards us, but I didn’t care. I knew there was no risk of Vo Khanh calling the police.

  ‘Why you go and see Mr Bach? Is none of your business!’

  ‘I’m making it my business! Who are you trying to fool with your little games? Tiểu Đòan Trâu Điên. Mad Buffaloes indeed! More like stupid buffaloes! Tiểu Đòan Trâu Ngu! ’ My Vietnamese was coming back fast. ‘You lost the war twenty years ago, Mr Khanh, do you think you can win it back now? So stop dragging him into your problems, and I’ll leave you alone. But not until then!’

  He was quivering with fury, but I was past caring myself.

  ‘I’ll see you outside, Eric, when you’ve finished. I’ll wait in my car.’

  I waited an hour for Eric to come out. I had parked up the street this time, close to the restaurant. I was afraid he might duck out the back way, but in due course he emerged. He walked along through the pedestrian mall but I drove round and caught up with him on the other side. I slowed down beside him.

  ‘Go away!’ he cried, and I heard the anguish in his voice. ‘You heard him. Why are you harassing me?’

  ‘We need to talk, Eric,’ I said. ‘Come on. I’ll drive you home. Then I’ll leave you alone.’

  I leaned over and pushed the door open and he grudgingly got in.

  ‘Why do you keep pestering me like this?’ he said as I drove off.

  ‘Because you don’t know what you’re getting into, Eric.’ I tried a more reasonable tone. ‘That man’s a thug, and you’re letting yourself get dragged into something which has nothing to do with you. Let him fight his little wars if he wants, but why should you waste your time on him and his group?’

  ‘They’re my friends! They’ve looked after me.’

  ‘So what? You’re working for him, aren’t you? You’re earning your pay? You don’t owe him anything else! All that talk of fighting the communists is outdated, Eric. It’s prehistoric!’

  ‘You have no right to tell me how to live my life!’

  ‘Somebody has to, when you make that kind of mistake. Your father’s dead, and so’s your uncle and at least one of your grandfathers. Whether you like it or not I’m probably the nearest thing you have to a male relative in this country.’

  ‘You’re only doing it to get close to my aunt! Why did you ask her to come and live with you? That really upset her!’

  As I’d guessed. Why did she have to tell him? I really must have got under her skin.

  ‘Look, I only suggested it so she’d be able to stay longer.’ That was less than the truth, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. ‘She couldn’t stay with the cousins forever!’ I took a breath. ‘And besides, what’s wrong if I am attracted to her? She’s a very attractive woman! Don’t tell me you object to that!’

  He said nothing. For the first time it struck me that he might be a little jealous.

  ‘In the meantime I think you’re heading straight into trouble with that gang of yours.’

  ‘You don’t know about the communists! They killed my father. They killed my grandfather! My mother died because of them! Don’t preach to me about forgiveness!’

  We’d reached his house. I pulled up outside, and tried one more time.

  ‘Look, Eric,’ I said more gently. ‘I understand. But not this way! They’re not all like that. And you can’t solve the past with more violence. You’ll only end up destroying yourself.’

  ‘They’re not thugs! They’re my friends, and they’ve done more for me than you’ll ever do! Stop pestering me like this! And stop pestering my aunt too. I know what you want! You just want to fuck her! Well go fuck yourself! She doesn’t want you, and I don’t want you! So piss off!’

  He got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The front door to the house opened and one of the young men looked out, attracted by the noise. With a sinking heart I watched Eric storm inside.

  For an ex-spy who was supposed to be good at handling people I’d made a right mess of things: Eric, Vo Khanh, Mr Bach, even Hao on the personal front. Only Quang stood by me, and only his innate courtesy and the Vietnamese reluctance to make you lose face had stopped him from telling me straight out what a fool I’d been to go and see Bach.

  I knew why I had, of course. I was getting my wires crossed, like David. I had no doubt now why he’d been in such a hurry to get back to Saigon. Hien had rung him that fateful morning, virtually asking him to come back that night. Hao had told me that on the way back from Jack Lipton’s. Hien had been beside herself with guilt and anguish over it. It had taken all of Hao’s sisterly skill to make her see it wasn’t her fault.

  But that was what had led David to his death. He’d got his wires crossed, letting his heart rule his head.

  And now here I was doing practically the same thing: in my anxiety to sort the problem out before Hao left – and in the process maybe win her heart – I had let my heart take over my judgement, rush me into situations I should have avoided – and all I’d succeeded in doing was to drive her away.

  I soon got my come-uppance. And in the process, an unexpected reprieve.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On Friday evening I stayed back at work. I’d trie
d again to reach Hao, in vain. I was getting desperate. I knew I’d see her the next day at the airport, but I could hardly tell her what I’d learnt in a few words as she boarded the plane! Vivien had taken the afternoon off. After a week of functioning at half speed there was plenty for me to do. A couple of clients rang with last minute requests for the following week, and that kept me busy for an hour or so, ringing round our stable of part-timers, then I started on paperwork. There was nothing to tempt me to go home to my empty flat.

  By nine o’clock I was through and ready to leave. The cleaners had gone, the building was quiet. I heard the whine of the lift, but took no notice. People often came back after hours. When it stopped at my floor I wondered who it could be. I wasn’t expecting any visitors.

  Then the outer door creaked open and I went out to investigate.

  The first blow came at me from nowhere. I put my hands up, but a punch in the face sent me reeling, a kick in the guts doubled me over. Before I could do anything two pairs of hands had pinioned my arms while a third began to work me over.

  The next few minutes passed in a savage blur of beating. I struggled as best I could, and tried to call for help, but they held me too tight, and there was no one to hear. I wriggled and twisted to dodge the worst of the blows – the one who was doing the punching slammed his fist on my skull and cried out in pain, but then he changed places and another took over. I lashed out with my feet but he moved in closer and began to beat a tattoo on my ribs, occasionally varying it with a punch to the head. Before long I was too groggy to know what I was doing. My lips were split open and my eyes began to close.

  Tyger Tyger burning bright. What does a clever Tyger do when cornered? I’d been told once that if you got caught in a fight and there was no way out, the best thing to do was pretend to pass out. This I did, and it worked, to the extent that they got tired of holding me up. But they let me fall to the floor and started to kick me instead. There was a swishing sound, a sudden lash of pain on my back. I curled up into a ball, tried to protect my head. The kicks kept coming, the chain lashing at my back. I heard myself scream. Something hurt in my side and my back was on fire. There was the taste of blood in my mouth.

  The blows stopped. Vaguely I heard rummaging, the crash and thump of furniture thrown about, papers flying. A chair landed on me.

  ‘Stay away from us! Bastard! Fuck! Next time we kill you!’

  A few more kicks, a sharp stab of pain in the ribs. I cried out again. Then silence.

  Clever little Tyger, curled up on the floor, feeling sorry for himself.

  When I came to I couldn’t move at first. I lay panting on the carpet, feeling its rough texture under my hands. One of them felt as if it might be broken. My mouth had stopped bleeding but I ached everywhere and my back hurt like a fury. I rolled over, and the chair which had been lying on me fell off with a clatter. Painfully I sat up. My eyes had puffed up, all I could see were two slits of light, and there was a thumping in my head.

  Later I pulled myself up, bending over to ease the pain in my side. I was cold and my legs were starting to seize up. I fumbled my way to the wall and switched on the light. The room was a shambles, and my office next door wasn’t much better. Everything that could be moved had been upended, the filing cabinet lay on its side, the records I’d spent the afternoon sorting out lay strewn about on the floor. Even the screen of Viv’s PC had been smashed in. Only the pot plant on the window-sill had been spared, but the jug had been thrown at the wall and water had soaked into the carpet.

  I tried to go to the washroom outside but had to sit down again. There was no way I could make it home on my own. I thought of who I could ring: Vivien, Quang, or Hao? There was really only one person I wanted to see.

  Dimly I groped for the phone with my good hand. The plug had been ripped from its socket and it took another bout of groping to put it back in. By some miracle it still worked. I rang her number. After ringing it all day it was burnt into my brain. After a long while one of the cousins answered.

  ‘Hurro?’

  For some reason when they said hello it always sounded ‘hurro’.

  ‘Who that? What you want?’

  ‘Hao,’ I managed to say, between a gargle and a croak. My mouth was swollen, I had difficulty moving my lips. ‘Please. I must speak with Hao. Mrs Tran. Urgent. It’s Paul Quinn. Very urgent.’

  ‘She in bed. Already late. She leave tomorrow.’ He sounded angry. I had no idea of the time.

  ‘Please. I must speak with her. Emergency.’

  Oh God, I thought. Let her answer, let her come to the phone, let her not be too angry with me for waking her up on her last night here. I need you, Hao.

  ‘Wait!’

  I waited, for what seemed an age. Finally she came to the phone.

  ‘Paul? Is that you?’ Her voice was cold and distant. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

  ‘Sorry. Can’t tell,’ I mumbled. My watch was broken, the hands stuck on nine.

  ‘It’s after ten! What do you want? You really shouldn’t have gone to see Eric last night! I’ve spent all day calming him down.’

  ‘Explain later. I need help.’

  I felt myself slipping.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ I heard the disbelief in her voice.

  ‘No! Not drunk! Hurt. I need your help, Hao! Please! No choice. I can’t move.’

  Something in my voice must have got through. She was silent for a second or two, then when she spoke again it was in a different tone.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘My office. Can you come? Please? Just you. No one else. Take a taxi. I’ll pay.’

  She was a practical woman. When she realised I couldn’t talk much she asked no more questions, simply said she’d come at once. I had to stop her before she set off, to give her the code to the street door downstairs – otherwise she wouldn’t get in.

  While waiting I tried to clean up the mess. I managed to close the venetian blinds – I didn’t want curious looks from across the street the next morning – but moving about was too painful, and after righting a couple of chairs I turned the lights out and sat down again on the floor. I wanted to sleep. But I forced myself to think.

  There had been three of them. Three dark shapes, their faces covered in scarves or handkerchiefs, dimly glimpsed in Vivien’s darkened office before they struck me down. I wouldn’t be able to identify them, but I knew by their shape and their way of walking that they were Vietnamese, and the accent in those words had left no doubt. Perhaps one of the young men at Eric’s house had been among them. They must have come in earlier, before the front door was locked, and waited on one of the floors, or in the toilet.

  I also knew that none of them had been Eric, and was grateful for that small mercy. I was getting tired of him and his problems, but that would have been too much to take.

  I dozed off a little, thinking of Rachel, and when she was next due up on her holidays. That helped take my mind off the pain. The lift brought me back to the present. A moment later Hao stepped into the room. She fumbled round until she found the switch. Then she caught her breath and stood still.

  ‘My God! Paul! What on earth–’

  ‘Sorry for the mess,’ I said, and managed a lopsided smile. I had to tilt my head back to see her. She had dressed hurriedly, in dark slacks and sweater and plain shoes, her hair pulled back in a pony-tail. She wore no make-up and her face was pale and strained. She looked like a million dollars.

  She knelt on the floor and took my hand in hers. I flinched and she saw the state it was in.

  ‘Who did this to you? Was it Eric?’

  ‘No. Not Eric. Tell you later. Can you help me get home?’

  ‘You need a doctor! You need to go to a hospital. Let me call an ambulance.’

  ‘No. No doctor. No ambulance. Just take me home. I’ll be alright.’

  ‘But you can’t–’

  It took a moment to dissuade her.

  ‘Please. For Eric. No hospital. No police. Can you dri
ve?’

  ‘Yes. I have a car in Leeds.’

  ‘Ring Quang. The man I told you about. Number in my coat pocket. He’ll know what to do.’

  She looked round at the mess, dismay and incredulity on her face.

  ‘Paul, I’m so sorry about this.’

  ‘Dear sweet Hao. I don’t think I could have made it to the airport tomorrow.’

  I felt absurdly happy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The rest of the night went by like a bad dream. I was too stiff to move and Hao had to help me down to the basement car park, and at the other end practically carried me up the stairs to the flat. She led me straight to bed and made me lie down on my side. She put a blanket tenderly over me and went out to ring Quang.

  ‘He’s coming,’ she said. ‘He’s bringing someone.’

  In an awful parody of some secret dream she helped me undress. She hissed quietly when she saw the state of my back, but she set about cleaning it and applying antiseptic with calm efficiency. People who had survived refugee boats had seen worse. She gave me painkillers from the bathroom cabinet and I dozed off.

  Later there was Quang, looking down at me with anguish in his eyes.

  ‘I told you these people were rough,’ he said with a wan smile.

  ‘I didn’t expect them to get quite so rough,’ I mumbled. My face was too stiff to smile back. He too wanted me to go to hospital, but understood when I refused.

  ‘Because of that young man?’

  ‘It wasn’t him who did this. But I don’t want him involved. If the police come in he’ll only get into trouble.’

  Quang’s friend was an elderly Vietnamese with a shock of white hair on a large round head, who smiled at me and looked me over. He took my pulse, shone a light into my eyes, gave me a couple of shots. He carefully explored my hand, my back and my rib-cage. He had gentle hands, and I went to sleep before he’d finished.

  When I woke up again it was broad daylight and Hao was dozing in an armchair near the bed. My chest was strapped up and my right hand in a splint, and my head felt full of cotton wool. I made a sound and she looked at me in alarm.