Monsoon (15 page)

Tom was thoughtful. In spite of Sandy's warning he'd still like to meet her father. ‘How about I phone your dad, Anna?'

‘Go ahead and give him a call. I feel I've been neglecting him a bit, so he'd like to hear.' It occurred to Anna she'd also neglected Carlo because she was so busy and having such a good time.

‘So will you be coming back to Vietnam, Tom?' asked Barney.

‘I reckon. I'll hit Saigon, Vung Tau and head home and be back in the country for the Long Tan anniversary in August.'

‘Why don't you bring your wife with you?' suggested Sandy.

‘Be a great birthday present,' added Anna.

‘Now there's an idea. Thanks, girls. I might try to do that. I'll stay in touch with you, of course.' He stood up. ‘Have a bit of souvenir shopping to do. Catch you later.'

Barney watched Tom settle his bill and chat to the young waitress. ‘Temporary staff are proving a big problem. Guess I'll have to close this joint while we're away in Canada.'

‘That's a shame. You'll lose a lot of business. How long do you plan to be away?' asked Sandy.

‘I don't quite know . . . probably two weeks.' Barney paused. ‘When're you two heading home?'

Sandy laughed. ‘Hey, don't look at us, Barney. No way could we take this over for you.'

Anna looked at Sandy. ‘Why not? The chef is here and you have waiters and some bar staff.'

‘But the whole business side of things . . .' Sandy couldn't believe Anna actually sounded serious. ‘And you have to go back home.'

‘I have some leave owing. I can extend my stay. My ticket is good. I just have to tell the office.'

‘And what about Carlo?' Sandy raised her eyebrows.

Anna's effervescence evaporated. ‘He won't be thrilled.'

‘Whoa,' exclaimed Barney. ‘It's really great of you to offer and it would help us a lot. But I understand you have family, a life . . .'

‘Do you think we could handle it?' asked Sandy, suddenly seeing a way to stay longer in Vietnam.

‘Hell, yes. The chef is a bit temperamental, the staff unreliable, but between the two of you – should you agree to do this – I know you could cope. Have a bit of fun. Lai and I would show you the ropes, of course.'

Sandy and Anna looked at each other.

Sandy shrugged. ‘Why not?'

‘It'd really help us out,' said Barney.

‘It's a deal,' said Anna. ‘Can we start when we get back from our trip?'

The winding river was narrow this far from the sea. The wooden sampan moved sluggishly, the painted eyes on the prow seeing their way past rice paddies and the leaning stakes of the small shrimp ponds. The man on the stern dipping the long pole into the muddy bottom was dressed like most men on the river – dark pants and loose top, a conical straw hat shadowing his face.

The narrow old boat was low in the water, laden by a cargo of heavy baskets and boxes under the woven bamboo canopy. The man stroked lazily, in no hurry. He kept to the centre of the river away from the river banks where men and women worked in the fields or around thatched houses or at the water's edge. No head lifted; no attention was paid to the familiar river scene.

As darkness fell and the lights of the township glittered in the distance, the boatman bent to his task, pushing more strongly and the little craft surged forward. He passed the edge of a town where cafes, bars and shops shone with light, activity and laughter. He steered out of the colourful reflections on the water and guided the sampan alongside a string of narrow planks that formed a rather unstable walkway to the bank. He tied the craft to a couple of leaning posts and hurried along the planks into the shadows of a dimly lit building.

Soon two other figures emerged and the sampan was hauled close to the shoreline footpath. The three men unloaded the cargo and carried it on their backs through the gate of an old house. It was a house that had stood by the river for centuries. Floods had been through it and the house had seen many generations of one family live and die.

The house, which surrounded an inner courtyard, was filled with heavy antique inlaid furniture, paintings, vases, photographs and memorabilia and a large ornate family altar. The interior wooden beams of the house were dark with age, smoke and weather. Stairs, ladders and steps led to other levels where rooms and floors formed the jigsaw that created an imposing and gracious home.

The men panted with the exertion of handling the weighty baskets so carefully. The moon was rising as the sampan, job completed, slipped silently down the river, a dark shadow on the shining water.

It was a short flight to Danang, and Anna and Sandy peered down at the beaches as the plane skimmed over the deep-water port.

‘The beaches look nice,' commented Anna.

‘There are resorts and hotels springing up. It's good weather most of the time except for the occasional typhoon during the monsoon season. This used to be a big military base in the war,' said Sandy. ‘It's an interesting drive over the high pass into Hue.'

‘We're trying out Hoi An first,' said Anna. ‘That's a heritage town too, isn't it?'

‘The ancient town is lovely, untouched. It was a big trading port about five hundred years ago. So many wonderful old buildings were bombed in other parts of the country but Hoi An was lucky to be spared. It's world heritage listed.'

‘So when are we going to visit your orphanage? Is that on the way to Hoi An?' asked Anna.

Sandy chuckled. ‘It's not exactly
my
orphanage. HOPE helped get it established. It's outside Danang, down the coast a bit. You can't help but get attached to the kids. They're so sweet. Many of them suffer birth defects and were just abandoned. Agent Orange has a lot to answer for.'

‘Even a generation or two on it's still affecting people? What's happening with compensation or some kind of help for them?' asked Anna. Since she'd been in the country she'd become aware of the claims being made by victims' groups and Vietnamese government lobbyists for compensation. The Vietnamese wanted the US government to acknowledge that the use of the defoliant Agent Orange had not only affected soldiers but poisoned the countryside and its people.

‘Yeah. A hell of a legacy. America is going to admit total liability because of the cost.' Sandy looked out the window and added quietly, ‘The legacy of that war continues in all manner of ways. Everywhere.'

Anna nodded but didn't answer. She knew Sandy was thinking of her father.

The landing was bumpy. ‘Bit of a cowboy at the helm,' said Anna with a grimace.

Sandy quickly spotted the driver holding a placard with their names on it. ‘We'll get him to twirl us through Danang, but I think we should go straight down to Hoi An.'

‘Lunch and a swim sound good to me,' said Anna.

Sandy had booked them into a hotel overlooking the river and Anna was glad that it was fifteen minutes out of Hoi An. The streets of Hoi An were packed with tourists on foot and on bikes, crowding the shops and cafes. There was a casual air as though everyone was there to enjoy themselves.

‘It's just like a holiday town. I thought I was relaxed in Hanoi, but this seems to be a real party place,' Anna said, noticing the abundance of young tourists, backpackers and crowded cafes. ‘Looks fun.'

‘We're booked into a bit of a sleepy joint, but it's quiet and comfortable. If we want to splurge we could go to the Royal Hotel at Cua Dai Beach,' said Sandy.

The spacious units of the River Resort all faced the river and were clustered among palms and lawns landscaped with flowering frangipani and hibiscus trees. Anna and Sandy had a second-floor room, and when Anna flung open the doors to the balcony she exclaimed at the view over the rice paddies and the river where a lone fisherman was pulling a net into his sampan. They were pleased to be at the far end of the resort, away from the noisy pool, dining verandah, hotel spa and bar.

‘There's a small village right next door. What a contrast,' said Anna, looking down at thatched huts, chickens, a penned pig and several dogs. Sheets of blue plastic sheltered communal outdoor areas where cooking pots simmered and several men lay in hammocks as children played along the sandy paths.

‘I think some of the staff come from that village,' said Sandy. ‘Let's hit the pool.'

After a refreshing swim they jumped on the hotel shuttle bus into town and wandered through the maze of shops before heading to the waterfront where colourful cafes lined the path along the river. From balconies and at outdoor tables you could watch the water traffic gliding by.

‘Everyone's got something to sell,' said Anna as women with laden boats called out, offering all sorts of handicrafts, clothes, fabrics, toys, souvenirs or food for sale. Other sellers pedalled past on bicycles, cheerfully ringing their bells to catch the attention of prospective buyers. The locals smiled and chatted and seemed relaxed about selling their wares, persuading tourists to join tours or to visit a particular shop or business.

The girls settled at a small cafe at the end of the strip. The front entrance was covered with a thick drooping vine and upstairs a bright red balcony railing added a dash of colour. Sitting at a table just inside, which caught a slight breeze off the river, Sandy ordered cold drinks and studied the menu while Anna read the noticeboard fluttering with For Sale signs, share trips and accommodation and travel tips from backpackers. At the rear of the restaurant was a courtyard with an internet cafe and travel agency. On a blackboard was chalked the daily special:
Swedish Meatballs and Beer. At 7pm Karaoke.

‘Dishes from around the world. I think I'll stick to the local food,' said Sandy, turning over the International Menu to the Regional Specials on the back.

‘Me too. I'd love to learn to cook some of these dishes. They're different from what Aunty used to make,' said Anna. ‘I never paid much attention.'

‘Too busy learning to make pasta?' queried Sandy with a raised eyebrow, quickly adding, ‘Just joking. This is the place to do it. Cooking schools everywhere.'

‘Why don't we do one while we're here then?'

‘Sure, let's book in for a course tomorrow. And we have to get some clothes made. Did you bring your favourite shirt and pants?'

‘Yes. I'd love some silk outfits in those pretty colours you see everywhere. But there're so many places, streets of them,' said Anna.

‘I've got it covered. Know just the place. We'll go after lunch.'

It was Sandy's turn to pay so while she was talking to the cafe owner about cooking schools, Anna wandered across the cobbled road to the edge of the river. There weren't so many boats about now or people plying the river to trade and sell. It was siesta time. A sensible idea in the tropics, she thought. But a figure walking along some planks to get into a sampan caught her eye – a slim young man in cut-off cotton trousers, bare chest and the classic cone hat. While she couldn't discern his features, there was something familiar about his figure and movements. She watched him cast off and push the boat away with the long wooden pole then, midstream, he shipped the pole, crouched in the stern and pulled the starter cord on a small outboard motor. As the boat sped past her, she recognised the young man with the long tiller tucked under his arm. It was Hung from the
Harvest Moon
junk.

‘Hung!' She waved and ran a few steps. But if he saw her he gave no indication and she realised he couldn't hear her over the noisy motor.

‘Hey, let's walk off lunch and hit the tailor,' said Sandy, adjusting her dark glasses.

Anna turned and walked back. ‘I just saw Hung. You know, from the junk on Halong Bay. What do you suppose he's doing down here?'

Sandy shrugged. ‘This is a tourist town. Chasing business. Who knows? Come on; let's do the clothes bit.'

In the Miss Rose Silk Shop the girls were draped in lengths of fabric, and rivers of satin and silk were unrolled along the big table in the centre of the tiny shop.

‘No, no, I don't want to look at the picture books, thanks,' laughed Anna. ‘Just copy these clothes in these materials.'

‘You so pretty, so pretty,' began one of the girls, stroking Sandy's blonde hair. But when she smilingly answered in Vietnamese the shop girls became more businesslike.

Finally they agreed on the outfits and fabrics and measurements were taken.

The girl who was measuring Anna gave her an appraising glance. ‘You wear ao-dai?' She pronounced it
ao-zai
.

Anna shook her head. ‘No, not for me. Nowhere to wear it,' she added as she eyed the green satin trousers and long patterned green silk tunic top of the ao-dai the seamstress was wearing.

‘You can wear. You Viet Kieu, more better. Not like . . .' she angled her head towards two weighty German ladies who were trying on the classical ao-dais they'd had made.

Anna nodded in agreement. While it was a flattering garment for slim Vietnamese women, it didn't look as graceful on the lumpy European women.

‘This one special for Vietnamese lady. You very beautiful; you try.'

Sandy overheard the conversation. ‘Great idea, Anna. Go on, get one. Surprise your father.'

‘Oh, and where will I wear it? To a fancy dress ball and go as a Vietnamese?' said Anna, but there was no humour in her tone.

‘Lighten up, Anna . . . it's the world's most sensual outfit, if you ask me. God, Ralph Lauren and any number of designers have used the ao-dai style in collections. I have one I wear on occasions here. I just wish I looked as good in it as the local girls. Curves and blonde hair don't do it justice.'

An older woman glided towards them. She wore the darker colours of a married woman – deep violet tunic and black silk trousers, her long hair twisted on top of her head. Her tunic top had the popular raglan-cut sleeves that buttoned on the diagonal on one shoulder, different from the other neckline styles which Anna had noticed. This ao-dai had a slightly scooped neckline that showed a heavy gold necklace. Like all ao-dai, the tunic's split extended above her waist – showing a flash of flesh above the trouser waistband. The full pants almost touched the floor and the tunic sections floated about her as she moved. The bodice hugged her breasts and rib cage, showing off her narrow body.