Monsoon (23 page)

‘Ain't that the truth,' said Pat. ‘Some blokes who were here have written stuff, trying to put the record straight, I s'pose. And there are a lot of versions of what really happened at Long Tan. Everyone has a need to deal with their time here in one way or another. Those who weren't here – friends, families, work mates – they can't understand what we went through.'

‘I guess some coped with the war better than others,' said Tom.

‘You talk to the mob at The Strangled Cow. They've got a story to tell. And they're also involved in planning the fortieth anniversary ceremony.'

‘Strangled Cow? Where do I find these fellas?' asked Tom, keen to make contact.

‘It's a bar at the St Jacques Resort. Two-star joint where the locals hang out. Lot of the oil-rig workers from Australia and the UK live there on their week off. It's an expat kinda place.'

‘So oil drilling is still big business?'

‘Bigger. The Russians are the biggest. But they all live in their compound in lockdown. Never socialise and they have a curfew, though occasionally some of the young lads break out and go a bit wild.'

‘Is there still a lot of oil out there?' Tom inclined his head towards the South China Sea.

‘I reckon. Though Vietnam's been in debt to Russia for its aid so they exported all their crude oil there as debt repayment and got nothing for it.'

‘But foreign investment seems to be pouring into this country,' commented Tom.

‘Of course. It might still be officially communist, and corruption is still tolerated, but there's cheap labour here and when the economies of Asia crashed, this place became very viable,' said Pat. ‘Vietnam is going ahead more than people realise.'

Tom finished his beer and gave Patsy his order for the Outback Burger, chips, salad and another beer.

Pat rose and held out his hand. ‘Gotta go. I'll give you Baz's and Cranky's phone numbers. They're the ones organising the whole shebang. Say, you got a place to stay?'

Tom shook his hand. ‘Thanks, Pat. I booked in at The Grand. Want to experience where the generals stayed! I'll be back here for a feed though.'

‘Good one. But remember: this is a small pond and there are a few people who see things differently from the rest of the mob. But overall we rub along okay.'

Tom nodded. ‘I appreciate your advice.'

The Grand was as Tom remembered except for a circular garden in the driveway and smart tables and chairs on the terrace of the elegant white building built by the French. Across the road, beside a landscaped park, holidaymakers strolled. Tourist boats bobbed in the bay protected by the peninsula that stretched into the South China Sea. Oil rigs were silhouetted on the horizon but Tom noticed there were still some traditional fishermen mending their nets on the beach.

The lobby was bedecked with orchids and leather chairs, but after checking in Tom was amused to find the rooms were still quaintly old fashioned. The dining room had been updated and the bar was a far cry from the dim, red-lit room with girls pushing their ‘You buy me Saigon tea', the overpriced drink of tea or lolly water that earned them money. And all had a practised sob story to soften a soldier's heart. The more tea they ordered, the more drinks they persuaded the servicemen to buy, the more money they made for the bar, but their own cut being small, most of the girls sold their favours as well.

Tom had spent only a short time in Vung Tau during the war, doing a heartwarming story on the recreation centre where the fighting men relaxed by swimming and playing volleyball on the beach or else were able to sit under a palm tree with a cold beer. The seedier side of Vung Tau's bars and clubs was not mentioned.

During the war he'd driven down Route Two from Nui Dat, past the villages smelling of fish drying in the sun. It was a bit over half an hour as he recalled, but the Australian base and the resort town had been planets apart.

After a walk around the promenade along the waterfront, Tom pulled out the phone numbers Pat had given him and rang the two key men – Baz and Cranky – and made an arrangement to meet them at five at their local bar, The Strangled Cow.

He had a feeling that these men would open a wider window onto the story of the men who'd fought in that rubber plantation at Long Tan a short distance away.

The rain had finally eased. Anna appeared to be asleep, propped against the wall with a girl on either side, their heads in her lap. Sandy had an arm around Phuong who was curled beside her; Hong was asleep with her head in Sandy's lap. After the soughing wind, the quietness was oppressive. The candle had burned low, almost spent.

Sandy shifted slightly to ease her aching back and suddenly caught her breath. There was a sound outside.

It came again – a soft thump. Then a metallic sound, a wheeze.

Someone was at the entrance. Sandy eased Hong's head off her lap and quietly edged up the stone steps of the crypt. At the top she saw the silhouette of a figure against the grey dawn. It was shapeless, with no form but the head of a man.

‘Who's there?' she called.

The figure jerked and stumbled backwards in shock. ‘Eee oww.'

Sandy stepped into the rain outside to see the cowering figure of an old man wrapped in a long plastic cape.

In Vietnamese she said quickly, ‘Have no fear, old man. We are sheltering from the storm.'

The man stopped and peered at her and took a step forward. ‘Who are you?'

‘I am a visitor to the orphanage. We got caught at the beach. My friend and I have spent the night with several of the young girls. Where have you come from?'

The man nodded and came closer. He was drenched despite the shroud of plastic. Mud clung to his legs. ‘I am looking for my water buffalo. The rain has been very strong. My home is full of water.'

‘Where do you live? Is the road passable?'

He shook his head. ‘Is that your motor car over there?' He inclined his head towards the road, which was indistinguishable from the waterlogged landscape. The defining parameters of paddies, road and pathways were all just part of the muddy sea.

‘So we can't drive.'

‘Not for a day at least,' he answered.

Anna called from the steps below them. ‘Sandy, who's there?'

‘It's okay. A farmer.'

‘Were you coming in here to rest?' Sandy asked the man.

He nodded. ‘I have spent the night rescuing my pig and chickens. My family are in the top floor. They are safe.'

Sandy had seen houses that had a small hatch and a loft area where bags of rice and supplies were stored. She could imagine the farmer's wife and children sheltering up there as the waters ran through the ground floor of their house. ‘It's dry in here. Are you going to stop till daylight?' she asked. The old man looked exhausted.

He nodded. ‘This is a good place.' He followed Sandy downstairs.

‘How do you know it?'

The girls were awake and stared as the old man shook off his wet cape. He gave a smile and greeted them. The girls giggled and returned his greeting.

‘What did he say?' asked Anna.

‘They have chosen a hard bed for the night.'

The old man went to the shrine, reached for the matches, lit several sticks of incense and prayed quietly. Then he sat down.

‘I asked my ancestors to look after us.'

‘Your family are in here?' asked Sandy.

The old man spoke in English for the first time. ‘Yes. Long time. We very old family here.'

The group settled down again, making themselves as comfortable as they could.

‘When it's daylight, can we walk home?' asked Phuong.

‘It's a long way. We'll have to wait till the water has run off the road and we can drive the car. It won't be long,' Sandy comforted her.

‘I'm hungry,' said Hong.

‘Your car has been washed off the road,' said the old man in Vietnamese to Sandy. ‘It will be hard to get going.'

‘What did he say?' asked Anna.

‘The car is stuffed. Something will get sorted,' said Sandy more cheerfully than she felt.

Anna closed her eyes. What a nightmare. Nevertheless, a calmness, a feeling of resignation, came over her. There was nothing she could do. She glanced at Sandy, who was smoothing Phuong's hair as she chatted to the old farmer. She was seeing her friend in a new light. Sandy had always been the capable and adventuresome one but their escapades had never been, well, life threatening. While she had no idea how they were going to get out of this creepy place, she had every confidence Sandy would find a way.

Sandy had been listening as the old man quietly told her the history of his family. As he paused, Sandy asked him to tell it in English so Anna could understand.

‘My English not so good,' he said. ‘American English.'

‘You fought in the American war?' asked Sandy.

He nodded but did not elaborate, except to say, ‘Big fighting south from here. Where you from?' He studied Anna.

‘We come from Australia.'

He sucked his teeth and nodded his head. ‘Good people. Australian soldiers good men. Not like Americans.'

‘Why do you say that?' asked Anna.

‘Australian soldier bury our dead. They stop and do this. Many Australian soldiers in Phuoc Tuy.'

‘Is that where you were?' asked Sandy, trying to figure out if he fought for the South Vietnamese or if he was a VC supporting the North in their liberation campaign.

‘I fight for my country. Vietnam now free. Good place. Why you come here?' He motioned to the dozing girls. ‘You help these children?'

‘Yes. I worked for an Australian organisation – HOPE – helping Vietnamese people. We raised some money to start the orphanage as many children are left alone and are very sick,' she said.

He looked at Anna. ‘You Viet Kieu. Where your family, your ancestors?'

Anna shook her head. ‘I don't know.' She didn't elaborate.

‘Very bad. Not good you don't pay respects to ancestors. That one, there. He my ancestor.' He pointed to the carving of a dragon with the head of a phoenix.

‘So tell me more about your family. You were saying they came from Hue? And had some connection with the emperor?' Sandy picked up the threads of his story.

‘Which emperor?' asked Anna.

‘Emperor Tu Duc. Very famous.'

‘Yes. We went to his tomb. Really beautiful,' said Anna.

‘So who was your ancestor?' asked Sandy.

‘He was servant at the palace. He one of many, many. They buried the emperor and so must die.'

‘The story goes they were all beheaded so as not to reveal where he is really buried,' said Sandy.

Anna beat her to the next question. ‘So how do you know what happened to your ancestor if he was killed?'

‘He had a wife and she must be worried when he go away to bury emperor. So she cut his hair and kept it.' He pointed to one of the markers in the wall. ‘She got no bones to bury but his hair in special box there. Hair come back to his village so his family honour him.'

‘Very sad story,' said Anna.

‘No. Big honour for our family.'

‘So possibly the emperor is buried somewhere between Hue and this province?' asked Sandy.

The farmer shrugged. ‘Probably go to mountains. Many hiding places.'

‘Too bad your ancestor can't tell you the location,' grinned Anna. ‘You'd be a very rich man.'

The farmer smiled. ‘Maybe. Is better the emperor have all his possessions for the next world.'

‘Seems to me he had quite an excess in this life. Might do him good to go without so much in the next,' Anna said to Sandy.

‘I think the karma of one's deeds counts for more,' said Sandy, then turned to the proud farmer. ‘And your family? They are farmers too?'

‘My son works on rice paddy. I have not enough land to give to number two son. He a fisherman. My girl is married; I have two grandson.' He smiled. ‘When water go down, you come to my house. We can eat something.'

‘That would be good,' said Anna.

The girls were trying not to complain at feeling stiff and hungry.

‘Is it morning yet?'

‘Maybe. I'll go and look and see if we have any phone messages,' said Sandy.

The landscape was still watery in the pale morning light. But as she gazed around she could see where the water had receded. The mound of mud that had been the barrier between the rice paddies and the road was discernible. If the old farmer had managed to wade across it, they could too. But where to? The car sounded a write-off as far as transport. She hoped the hire company was understanding and that her insurance would cover any damage.

Sandy turned on her mobile phone. The battery was nearly flat but there were two messages. One from Kim saying he'd received her message. The other was an SMS from Jean-Claude asking if they were enjoying themselves. She texted back. ‘Not really. We've spent the night in a crypt in middle of a rice paddy. Waiting for flood-waters to recede. All OK tho' we can't drive. Will walk out soon I hope.'

She waited a moment in case Jean-Claude replied, and he did almost at once: ‘Send directions to your location. I will try to help.'

She didn't know what he could do from Danang as the roads were impassable, but she tried to describe where they were as best she could. She also sent Kim a message asking him to contact the orphanage and tell them they were all safe. She tapped out the message quickly as to talk at any length would have used the last of her mobile battery. At least the word was out there.

‘We've made contact. Kim is on the case,' said Sandy cheerfully as she went back into the gloom of the crypt. Light was beginning to filter down the stairs.

‘But he's in Hanoi,' said Anna.

‘Jean-Claude also knows. I think he's in Danang. I don't know what he can do but it's a start. Anyway, at least people know we're safe.'