Monsoon (10 page)

The leader of the group shouted back. ‘Telling the chinks to bugger off. Go home where they belong. This is 'Stralia. 'Stralia day, for Aussies, not slopes.'

His voice was slurred and as Kevin, thickset and angry, formed a fist and drew closer, an elderly man put down his book and got to his feet, protesting at the young men's language.

The boys kicked sand over the food and, still calling out, raced drunkenly away, laughing, pleased with their efforts.

‘You all right, love?' Kevin bent to help a teary-eyed and shaking Thu.

‘Evil little devils. We should call the police. Disgraceful behaviour,' snapped Grandma Fine. ‘They need a good walloping.'

‘What happened? What happened?' chorused Anna and Sandy, racing up to their families.

The girls were shushed and led away by Grandma Fine.

Kevin drove home, grim faced. There'd been a rushed farewell to Uncle Quoc and the others. Patricia, Sandy and Ashley hurried up the street, Patricia making Sandy promise not to say anything to her father. ‘We don't want to upset him.'

‘But what were those boys saying? Why was Aunty Thu crying?' persisted Sandy.

‘They were drunk, and stupid.'

‘If Dad was there I bet he'd have bashed them up.'

‘Fighting gets you nowhere. They were just being cruel and rude. Forget it.'

But Anna never forgot it. She had the feeling that her family was somehow at fault.

Anna and Sandy remained good friends. They shared toys, wore each other's clothes and were in and out of each other's homes as if they were their own. They shared secrets, made plans and played together at school.

Anna studied hard for it had been drilled into her by her mother, aunty and uncle that doing well at school would help her to become a success in the world and make her family proud. Australia was a land of opportunity they kept telling her and she understood that meant she had to work harder than the other students.

However, soon Anna was making excuses to stay at home and spend time with her mother, who wasn't feeling well. More and more Thu took to her bed and the house was strangely quiet. Kevin or Grandma Fine did the cooking, and there were no more delicious smells or tasty treats.

Often, when there were still gatherings of her mother's Vietnamese relatives and friends at their home, Anna would hear them speaking in their homeland tongue, a language she didn't understand. Nor did her father. It was an odd bond between father and daughter: their lack of knowledge of that little country far to the north across the sea that Thu, with her uncle and aunty, had crossed at such great risk.

South Vietnam, 1978

She could not look back. Her mother's sobs, the howls of her baby brother, the pale face of her middle sister, the grim face of her father with tears running down his cheeks as they stood in a tight pathetic group, were too hard to see.

They had shared their last meal together in the small house where her family lived. Her father had explained once more the importance of the journey Thu now faced with her young brother. He took her to one side. ‘Thu, you are our first born and a clever girl. We are not safe in the south any more since the Americans have gone and now the communists are here. Your Uncle Quoc worked with the Americans, so he could be killed. He must leave Vietnam with Aunty. You go with them and start a new life. Then one day we will follow.'

‘Why is little brother Van coming too? Uncle said it will be dangerous escaping in a small boat.'

‘I want my son also to start a new life. He is nine and will be a big help to you one day. You will have each other. Listen to your Uncle Quoc, say your prayers and do not forget us.'

‘But Father, when will you come? When will we be together?' cried Thu, trying to stop the little-girl tears and be a strong nineteen-year-old.

‘Uncle will find a way to send word to us. Keep safe the gold and precious stones from your mother. Protect your brother and keep your honour.' He kissed Thu's forehead and put his arm around her weeping mother, who took a small gold crucifix from around her neck and placed it around Thu's own.

There was a hasty round of hugs and handshakes then the little cart, pulled by an ox, disappeared down the dirt track past paddies and plantations. Sacks of rice and bundles of dried bamboo sticks were cleverly stacked on raised boards and the fleeing family hid beneath this false floor as Uncle urged the ox forward, the perfect image of a simple farmer taking produce to market.

After several uncomfortable days, the cart stopped and Thu shook Van awake. ‘We are near the sea; smell the ocean,' she whispered.

Thu had heard discussions about the plans and knew that money had changed hands. She suspected her father only had enough money to send his first-born child and his first son. He had given Uncle Quoc money and food for them, so Thu hid the little jewellery pouch inside her top. She knew her father had arranged for them to escape on a fishing trawler.

However, they had to wait many months before a boat was able to help them escape.

It was a moonless night when the old fishing boat left the harbour and headed out to sea. Holding hands, Thu and Van silently watched the dim lights of the coastal villages fade in the distance until Van asked where they would sleep. A sheet of plastic was all Uncle gave them, which Thu wrapped around them both, as now the sea was rough, the wind peeling back the waves, and rain threatened. Aunty had whispered that it was not wise to travel so far out to sea in the monsoon season, but Uncle reminded her they had no choice. It was time to leave.

Two other families were packed in with Thu and her relatives. They were all tense. Fear of the unknown travelled with them. Thu hugged Van tightly until he fell asleep with his head in her lap.

The rains came the next morning, and the sea and the sky were joined in a streaming mass of water. Van was seasick; he couldn't keep food down and became feverish. Thu and her aunty wiped his hot forehead with a wet rag. When the monsoon rain stopped, the sun was hot, making their damp clothes steam and saltwater crusted on their skin.

Van was pale and shaking and Thu began to pray for him. She reached around her neck and unclasped the gold cross necklace which she pressed into Van's clammy hand, telling him, ‘This will protect you, Van. We are going to a happy land, where we can all be together and have a house with many rooms, plenty of food. You will go to school and have friends. Just a little while longer, dear brother. Be strong.'

After several rough days at sea they were settling down for another night when there was an urgent command from the captain. He had sighted another craft moving in on them at high speed and ordered the adults to hide under the fishing nets, the children to get below into a concealed and cramped hideaway near the bow. Thu went to go with Van but was pulled back roughly by the captain and told to get under the plastic sheets among the nets and fishing pots.

There was arguing and shouting between the passengers and Uncle told Aunty and Thu to keep down and hide their faces. ‘There is a boat coming; it could be pirates. Keep one thing to give them and hide the rest.'

Shakily Thu slipped a gold ring on her finger, then tightly rolled the pouch and put it on top of her head, twisting her long hair in a topknot over it.

A large and fast white boat came alongside. Commands were shouted and the trawler slowed. Armed men jumped aboard the trawler, pulling out those hiding on board, demanding money and valuables in broken Vietnamese.

Below in the bow, Van heard his sister scream and he rushed up onto the deck and saw his aunty cowering as a man stood over her demanding her jewellery or gold. But what frightened Van more was the sight of two men dragging Thu up the side of the white boat now tied alongside. She was flung down roughly by two men. Her screams stabbed into his heart and he ran towards the other boat, but one of the pirates laughed and lashed at him with a heavy machete. He felt a sharp sting, blood gushed from his shoulder and he fell down screaming.

On the big boat, Thu was thrown on a pile of canvas, her clothes slashed and ripped from her and men took turns to throw themselves on her, panting and thrusting, ripping into her body as she was held down by her arms, and her ankles spread-eagled.

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip till it bled to stop from crying out in agony. She had heard Van scream and knew he had tried to rescue her. So she suffered in silence, hoping these men would leave her and that Van would not see or understand the horror that was happening to her. She kept her face averted, eyes shut and head still, suddenly afraid of her hair tumbling down and revealing the pouch tied in it.

It seemed to Thu these men pummelled and pumped and thrust and tore her in two for an eternity. But then it was over and with a kick they shouted at her to get back on the trawler. She staggered to her feet, clutching the remnants of her top and the slashed cotton trousers, now stained with blood.

‘Jump, Thu, jump to us!' shouted her uncle, standing on the deck ready to catch her.

Stumbling, she swung her legs over the side and crashed through his arms on the rocking trawler as the powerful engine of the pirate boat was gunned and with a surge of white water it roared away.

Uncle took his cotton blanket and wrapped it around Thu, who was frantically looking for Van. Everyone was shaken; all had lost some possessions, but they were grateful they were alive as, silently, the trawler captain restarted the engine and set a fresh course through the rolling sea.

Thu knelt beside Van as Aunty held him, trying to stem the bleeding, murmuring prayers and sounds of comfort.

Uncle begged the captain for help but was dismissed with a wave of the hand. He turned to the others on the deck. ‘Does no one have medicine, bandages?'

They shook their heads, frightened at what had occurred, each now more fearful than ever about what the future held, glad that their family had not had to bear the brunt of the pirate's brutality.

Darkness fell and Aunty and Thu took turns sponging Van's face, holding his wound together, mopping at the seeping blood with a cotton blanket and washing it in a bucket of seawater.

Van kept asking Thu what had happened and calmly she kept reassuring him she was all right, whispering in his ear, ‘They never found the pouch with our gold and precious stones.'

Van showed her the cross around his neck and gave a little smile. ‘He protected us.'

Thu winced, trying to blot out the memory of what had happened and ignore the pain in her body and her heart. ‘Yes, it is over now. Soon we will arrive at the happy land. Sleep, Van.'

Thu rocked her young brother in her arms through the night. She hummed him songs her mother sang, and for a little while she felt at peace again, before the nightmare of the men raping her returned.

She dozed off and in the morning light she gazed at the peaceful sleeping face of her brother. But he was dead. Slipped away from her during the long night hours when she'd tried to push away the bad dreams and cling to the memories of everything beautiful she'd known and loved.

She cried and cried, rocking him, holding him tightly to her bruised body. Aunty and Uncle tried to console her, but throughout the day she refused to let Van go. At sunset, when the seas became calm, she agreed. His little body was wrapped in Aunty's sarong, and Uncle offered up prayers as Thu lifted her mother's crucifix from Van and hung it around her neck. The boy was slipped silently over the stern of the boat as the family huddled together, facing the land from which they'd fled.

Thu hoped the wise one would guide Van to his next life where there would be happiness and contentment.

She stopped counting the days until one day an island appeared on the horizon. Slowly it came closer: waving palm trees, silver sand and a pristine lagoon. There were figures on the beach to meet them, people speaking Vietnamese, huts and buildings among the trees.

‘This is a new country; this is an island paradise,' said Aunty.

‘It is only the first stop on our new journey,' replied Uncle.

‘Where are we?' asked Thu.

The trawler captain, now friendly and pleased to be delivering his cargo safely, said, ‘This is Pulau Bidong, off Malaysia. I've told them that you are refugees; you must stay here until you are processed.'

Looking at the temporary buildings that had sprung up, even a church and a temple made from scraps of tin and wood, Thu wondered how long they would wait here.

Weeks passed. Thu watched the scenic tropical island change from being a rough camp, home to people with nothing but the clothes on their backs who ate any wild creature they could catch, to a much smarter settlement known as mini Saigon. Under the supervision of the International Red Cross and the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, houses, offices, shops, schools, a post office, a church and a temple were quickly constructed. Food became the local currency and entrepreneurs flourished. Malaysian fishermen, although banned from having contact with the island, smuggled goods to quiet coastal spots where refugees would paddle a raft or canoe out to meet them.

Each day Thu would visit the crude cement monument, shaped like a ship's bow, that commemorated those boat people who didn't cross the sea safely to this shore. Stone tablets were engraved with the names of family members and Van's was added.

Uncle Quoc got work as a labourer and was paid in food parcels, and Aunty set up a small hairdressing stall to help feed the family. Thu studied hard with a teacher who had taught in a university in Saigon and began to learn rudimentary English, as they all hoped the day would come when their applications for asylum would be approved.

Thu kept to herself, rarely mixing with people her own age, and only Aunty and Uncle, her family now, knew the shame she felt over what had happened to her. And still she blamed herself for Van's death.

Then suddenly their struggle on the island was over. They were among the lucky ones to be processed quickly and were taken to the mainland with their few possessions and flown to Australia.