Monsoon (14 page)

A celibate trip down the Malay Peninsula led him to Orange Grove Road in Singapore and the chance to build his base for future operations. Financially it was imperative to knuckle down to hard work and continually produce stories to revive the ailing bank account. And it was all going nicely until the war in Vietnam went wrong and became a major international struggle by western democracies to stop the march of the communist bogey.

‘Such is life,' reflected Tom as he finished his beer. He looked around and waved a finger at a waiter standing beside a potted palm on the terrace. The waiter, in immaculate black and white with bow tie and a neatly folded serviette over a forearm, glided towards him. Tom was surprised to see how old he was. Probably been with the hotel all his life.

‘Yes, monsieur, would you like another drink?'

‘With all these Yanks in town I assume you have some bottled American beer?'

‘Indeed we do. Which one, sir?'

‘Surprise me.'

He smiled and gave the table a wipe. ‘I haven't seen you here before, sir. You with the diplomatic corps?'

Tom chuckled at the assumption. ‘No, I'm a journalist. Flew in this morning and still in a state of shock.'

‘Ah, phong vien,' responded the waiter.

‘Meaning?'

‘Sorry, sir, our word for people of your profession. Welcome to the war and our city. Where are you from?'

Tom was enjoying the exchange. He liked the old fellow and decided that he could be a good contact further down the track. Life had taught him that blokes like the old waiter usually heard a lot of enormous interest and knew more than they ever let on.

‘I'm Australian. You know, that land with the kangaroos.'

Another smile. ‘Ah, uc dai loi . . . sorry . . .'

Tom interrupted. ‘I can guess: that means Australian. Now how about that drink?'

When the waiter returned Tom paid him with American dollars. ‘Keep the change, friend.' It was a hefty tip. The waiter wouldn't forget him.

After lunch Tom decided on impulse not to go back to the Caravelle until he saw Mr Minh. Neil had told him about Mr Minh, the tailor who provided foreign correspondents with the smart safari suits that were something of an unofficial uniform. The military gear for operations in the field had to be purchased on the black market.

Tailor Minh had rooms in Tu Do Street. He had Tom measured up in minutes and announced that the three suits, in excellent cottons and three different colours – olive, fawn and navy – would be ready for a first fitting in two days. Some more dollars changed hands.

‘Might as well score a few more runs – get my accreditation cards,' said Tom to himself as he went back into Tu Do Street. He consulted a map Neil had given him in Singapore marked with the locations of the press offices of the American and Vietnamese armed forces. At the Vietnamese office he filled in a form and handed over a couple of passport-style photographs.

‘Be ready in four days, sir.' Remembering Neil's advice Tom slipped the Vietnamese clerk a few dollars. ‘Ah, thank you, sir. Maybe it could be okay tomorrow afternoon. Please check with me.'

At the American forces press office it was easier. ‘Call back tomorrow afternoon, Mr Ahearn, before the five o'clock follies. I'll have it ready,' said the Marine lieutenant.

‘Five o'clock follies?' Tom raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘That's what the press call the daily briefing on the war by our staff here.' He gave a half smile.

Back at the Caravelle Tom went upstairs to his room and began unpacking. Opening the wardrobe he found the haversack of ammunition still there. ‘Welcome to the war, Tom,' he said out loud and, after scratching his head, decided to take the bag to the five o'clock follies the next day.

Much later in the evening Sandy and Anna returned home. Giggling softly they fumbled with the lock on the gate leading to the courtyard in front of Sandy's apartment. The families on either side were sleeping; all was dark save for the dim light bulb outside Sandy's door.

‘Feel like a cup of tea? A nightcap? Food?' offered Sandy, and Anna shook her head.

‘Couldn't eat a thing. Fun evening. They're a nice bunch.'

Sandy kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up on the sofa. ‘Yeah, I'll miss them. Still hasn't sunk in that I won't be working with them again. Really feel a bit adrift, y'know.'

‘Something will come along. Wish I could swap jobs with you,' said Anna.

‘Do you really? I thought you liked what you were doing.'

Anna settled into the cane lounge chair. ‘I do. I like my job; I think I'm good at it. But this holiday is making me realise how boring it can be.'

‘Perhaps you need a change. And what about Carlo? Is marriage on the horizon?' Sandy asked.

‘I don't know, Sands . . . When I'm with him, it's lovely and it all seems sort of, well, inevitable. But here . . . things seem different,' said Anna hesitantly.

‘No absence making the heart grow fonder?'

‘Not really . . . I suppose it's all the excitement of a new place, being with you . . . Once I go back I'm sure things will be fine. What's happening tomorrow?' Anna changed the subject but Sandy wasn't to be deflected.

‘Anna, are you sure? It just seems to me . . .' she paused but then, emboldened by the few drinks she'd had, went on, ‘Look, you're my best friend and I don't want to see you throw yourself away on someone who doesn't fully appreciate you.'

‘That's not true. You don't really know him, like I do –' began Anna with some heat.

‘I know what I see,' said Sandy flatly. ‘Look, sleep with him, do stuff with him, live with him if you have to, but don't marry him. I think you'll regret it. That's all I have to say. As a friend.'

Anna was silent for a moment. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because I see a change in you. Don't be such a door-mat! I think he dominates you too much.'

Anna sighed. ‘Listen, I don't want to get into all this stuff. I hear you. Let's leave it at that.'

‘Why? Why don't you want to get into this stuff, Anna?' Sandy got up and headed for the fridge in the kitchenette. Then she tried a bit more gently. ‘If you're the least bit unsure, now's the time to get out. It's because I care about you, Anna. I think you're too good for him.'

‘Thanks for those words of advice,' replied Anna somewhat tartly. ‘You don't know Carlo. He's ambitious, got a great personality and has big plans. I'm lucky; he could have any girl he wants. We have fun together, most of the time.' Anna took the glass of wine Sandy handed her. ‘And what about you, Sands? Where's all your love-life advice come from? I thought you told me everything. Is there something I don't know?'

‘Not really. I wish.' She tried to laugh but it sounded hollow. ‘I told you about Andy, Canadian guy that was working here. He did a number on me. Engaged to a girl back home. How was I to know?' She raised her glass. ‘To blokes. They can be shits sometimes. We just have to find the genuine ones. And, most important, not settle for second best.'

‘Ah, it's too hard, Sands. Forget it. Let's make the most of our time together here. Neither of us will probably ever come back. So here's to . . . good times.' Anna raised her glass and took a large gulp.

Sandy did the same. But she could tell she'd rattled Anna. And she was glad. She wanted Carlo out of Anna's life more than ever before. Anna could do better. Sandy might not have seen or talked to Carlo except for a brief visit, but she could see what was happening to her childhood friend.

Anna felt uncomfortable. Sandy had irritated her and she didn't like it. She changed tack. ‘I had an interesting talk with Tom before. Did you know he was planning to come back and cover the anniversary of the battle of Long Tan?'

‘Long Tan? That's where Dad was.' Sandy closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Mum says that's been the third party in their marriage – bloody Long Tan.'

‘Well, I mentioned it to Tom. He wants to talk to your dad.'

‘Oh yeah? Good luck. He never talks about the war.'

‘Tom says a lot of vets are coming over. Don't you think it would be a good thing for him to come here?' asked Anna, glad the conversation had moved away from Carlo.

Sandy was serious. ‘Anna, you know how my dad has been since we were little . . . moody and stuff. Mum says it's because of what happened in the war. Dragging that all up . . . I don't think that's a good idea.'

Anna saw the sadness in her friend's face. ‘Okay. But at least talk to Tom.' She suddenly realised that the cause of the sadness in both their families had to do with this country and its history.

5

I
N THE COOL COURTYARD
at the rear of Barney's Bar, a few tourists lingered over a late lunch. It was siesta time and Barney took the opportunity to join Tom, Anna and Sandy. He ambled towards them with a cold bottle of lager in his hand.

‘Barney looks tired,' commented Sandy in a quiet voice.

‘Hiya. Mind if I join you guys?' Barney lowered his large frame onto a chair. ‘I'm beat.'

‘A busy day?' asked Tom.

‘Most days are busy. Lai is taking a nap. Few problems on the home front,' he said with a sigh, and took a large drag on his lager.

‘Sorry to hear that, Barney,' said Sandy, who didn't want to pry.

But Barney wanted to talk. ‘Hey, not with us. She's great, we're great. It's our daughter in Canada. Having a few relationship problems at university. Lai's pretty worried.'

‘We've all been there,' said Sandy.

‘It's more that she's with the wrong crowd,' said Barney. ‘I think we'll have to go over and try to sort things. Anyway, enough about us, what're you guys up to? Heading to the central provinces, eh?'

‘Yep. I'm taking Anna with me to Hoi An, then to Danang. There's an orphanage that HOPE has an interest in near there. I guess we'll go to Hue too.'

‘Got to see Hue: magnificent buildings. Though so many were bombed,' said Tom . . . he paused. ‘Don't want to rabbit on about the war.'

‘Why not? Most of the Australians and the Americans who come in here do nothing else. It's therapeutic,' said Barney.

‘Were you there before the big 1968 Tet offensive then?' Sandy asked Tom.

‘Yeah, I set out from Saigon to see what was happening in the war right up to the demilitarised zone near Hue which marked the border between the two Vietnams. North Vietnam was in the hands of the communists under Ho Chi Minh. The south was run by an army general, one of several who had held power after President Diem was toppled in an army coup in 1963,' said Tom. ‘It was clear to me that the Australian effort at Bien Hoa was a sideshow to the fast deteriorating scene up north.'

‘How'd you get around?' asked Barney.

‘I hitched rides in choppers, bombers and C-47 transports fitted out with banks of machine guns. Our view that the war was changing was spectacularly confirmed when I saw first hand the massive build up of American forces through the port of Danang.'

‘For sure,' said Barney. ‘What sticks in my mind is that Buddhist monk setting fire to himself to protest against the policies of the South Vietnamese government.'

Tom looked down into his glass of beer. ‘That photo of him went round the world and had a huge impact.'

Sandy nodded. ‘The little blue Austin car he drove to Saigon is now in the Thien Mu Pagoda in Hue with the picture of him alight. It's very moving.'

Anna was quietly listening. Tom lightly touched her arm. ‘Be sure and go to the pagoda for me. Light a stick of incense and say a prayer.'

‘I'll do that, Tom.' But she was thinking how little she knew of Vietnamese history. Tom's reminiscence was another reminder of the many cultural and emotional moments that had assailed her in this country.

‘So when are you heading to Saigon, Tom?' asked Barney.

‘Same time as Sandy and Anna leave for Danang. Then I'm home to Sydney. I want to stay longer but I can't miss my wife's sixtieth birthday.'

‘What are you giving her?' asked Sandy.

‘I've bought some nice silk, a few trinkets. Have to give it a bit more thought,' confessed Tom. Then he asked the young women, ‘Would you like me to call your folks when I'm home? Say I saw you, what a great time you're having and so on?'

‘Sure, that'd be nice,' said Anna.

‘I've been in touch with my folks pretty regularly via email,' said Sandy. ‘But I'm sure they'd appreciate a call.'

Tom picked some peanuts from the bowl on the table. ‘Sandy, your dad was at Long Tan. What're the chances of him coming over here for the fortieth anniversary?' he asked.

‘None, I'd say. The war left a lot of scars. He tries to forget it and I don't think Mum would want old wounds opened up either,' said Sandy firmly.