The Son (8 page)

I was gilding the lily a little. David had been all of those things, but he'd also been superficial at times, not always concerned with the effect he had on others, and a bit slapdash in his work too, as if he was too busy keeping up with life to have much time for detail. I guessed there'd been a few broken hearts in Saigon when he'd settled on Hien. But I wasn't lying when I said I had liked him. There was something infectious about that boyish enthusiasm. And I wanted to give Eric a picture of his father he could be proud of.

Eric had put his sunglasses on and was looking straight ahead, unseeing. I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling the rock-hard bone, the strength of young muscle. He wasn't big, but he was built like a bricklayer.

‘I know it must be very sad for you not to have known him,' I said, trying to find the right words. ‘But he was a fine man. At least you know that now.'

‘I don't know anything about him,' Eric said. ‘I don't even have a photo of him. I think my mother had some, but they were lost on the boat.' He was silent for a moment, coping with his emotions.

‘I don't know much about his family. I think they came from South Australia, and he was an only son. But I might be able to find out more if you want.'

‘How?'

‘From the Department. The Department of Foreign Affairs, that we worked for. They should still have some record of him, perhaps even a photo.'

I was thinking of course of my old employer. My friend Roger Bentinck might help. ‘It would mean going to Canberra. Would you like me to do that?'

‘Yes please.'

‘Good. It may take some time, but I'll be happy to. In return I want you to do something for me.'

‘What's that?'

‘Learn to trust me. I'm not trying to harm you. Very much the opposite.'

We had arrived. The ferry rocked in the swell as we passed near the Heads, then slid into smoother waters before docking at Manly wharf. We disembarked and I took them first to the Ocean Aquarium, where we gaped at the sharks and the giant stingrays, then along the Corso, the pedestrian mall, to the ocean-side and the beach. The streets were packed, the shops were doing a roaring trade. We bought seafood and pizzas and ate lunch at a table near the seawall, facing the beach. The sun was hot, the surf looked fresh and inviting, but none of the others wanted to swim and instead we walked along the esplanade to the southern end of the beach, then followed a winding road that skirted the headland. Hong dragged Eric away to look for seashells and Hao and I went on ahead.

‘What were you two talking about on the boat?' Hao asked. ‘He looks so subdued.'

‘I was telling him about his father. It made him feel sad. But I think it did him good.'

‘I thought you were quarrelling. Did you know he's been away most of the week? Up on a farm, he says.'

‘Yes, he mentioned it.'

‘Do you think it's alright? Is it something to do with that group?'

‘I'm still trying to find out. But I wouldn't worry too much. He's a sensible lad, he knows what he's doing.'

I hated lying to her, and wished I didn't have to. But I still felt I had to earn that boy's trust, and I didn't want to alarm her unduly. There was too much I didn't know yet. Let me find out what I could first, from that friend of Jack's.

Eric and Hong caught up with us and walked ahead, hand in hand. This time I didn't hesitate, and took Hao's hand too. She stiffened a little, and I thought she'd withdraw it, but she relaxed and left it there, soft and trusting like a child's.

‘How do you find Hong?' I asked. ‘She seems a bit old for Eric.'

‘Only by a couple of years. I like her. She's an orphan too, she told me. Or at least her mother's dead. Father unknown. Probably some American soldier, unless it was one of your embassy colleagues. She's some kind of relation to the man who owns the restaurant.'

‘Who? Vo Khanh?'

‘I think that's his name. She calls him uncle. He brought her out when she was very young, and she's been working for him since. It's a pity I have to go back. Otherwise I might be able to help her. She speaks Vietnamese of course.'

‘What about Eric? Does he still speak it?'

‘Not so much any more. He still understands quite a lot. English took over once he started going to school. He tells me he's relearning it.'

‘Didn't you speak Vietnamese at home? You and your husband?'

‘We did, some of the time. But you know what children are like, in a foreign country, they often feel embarrassed about their mother tongue, especially if they feel insecure. Besides, Khiem spoke such good English, and we wanted to make sure that Eric learnt it properly.'

‘How did they get on?' I asked. I wanted to know more about her husband, but didn't want to ask directly. ‘Eric's rather cut up about David, but in a sense Khiem was his real father, having brought him up.'

‘They were very close. Eric loved Khiem. They spent a lot of time together, before Khiem fell sick.'

‘I suppose, not having any children of your own–'

‘I suppose so. But Khiem would have loved him in any case. He was a kind man.'

Kinder than I'd been, I thought, remembering my own marriage, and the harsh words I'd exchanged with Sandra, before we broke up.

‘Was Khiem sick for long before he died?' I went on.

‘Not very long. He had AML. Acute myeloid leukemia. It's usually very fast. He was in treatment for a few months, chemo-therapy, and that seemed to work, but then he had a relapse, and after that it was very quick.'

‘It's a cruel way to go.'

‘He was very brave about it. Even at the end, when he knew he was going to die. He never complained.'

‘Hard on you too. You must miss him still.'

She was silent for a moment.

‘He deserved better than to die like that.'

I sensed I'd gone as far as I could. We stopped, and leaned against the parapet that separated the road from the rocks and the surging surf below, looking back over the long sweep of beach that curves north to the headland at Queenscliff, all overgrown with ugly forties-era apartment blocks like an outcrop of toadstools. Beyond them more headlands, dwindling away into the distance, each one marking off another golden beach. It was a beautiful view, and the ugly buildings were too far off to spoil it. I thought about her husband, and how hard it is to compete with the dead.

As if to prove it she took back her hand.

‘What about you Paul? Do you miss your wife? You must have loved her once, even if you did end up in divorce.'

‘I thought I did. But we started to grow apart fairly quickly. I don't think we were really suited to each other. She didn't like my job much, for one thing. Oh, she liked the glamour of it at first, the embassy life, but you soon get tired of that, and she didn't like all the sacrifices that went with it. She used to complain that I worked too hard.'

That was one thing I couldn't explain. The demands of embassy life were hard enough on spouses, but those of intelligence work were in another dimension. How could you expect your wife to share the thrills of a clandestine car pick-up with a secret source you met once a month at night, while she stayed home by herself until three in the morning, worried sick that you'd been picked up by local security and were being worked over with rubber hoses – or worse, having it off with one of the embassy girls? It was a wonder more marriages didn't end in divorce.

‘Were you ever unfaithful to her?'

I looked at her, startled by the question, not sure at first if she was teasing. But then I saw she was serious. She shook her head with a rueful smile.

‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Besides, it's different for men, isn't it?'

‘Is it?' I laughed awkwardly. ‘I'm not so sure. No, I don't mind telling you. As a matter of fact I wasn't. But that didn't make it a happier marriage. Maybe I would have if I'd met the right person.'

She considered that.

‘Or the wrong one,' she said.

Afterwards we caught a ferry back to Circular Quay, the jet-cat this time, taking half the time. I retrieved my car and drove them up to my flat in Mosman, an old three-bedroom apartment with a view over Balmoral beach. We pottered about for the rest of the afternoon, drinking soft drinks and eating the cake I'd baked that morning. Hao wandered around, examining the various mementos I'd brought back from abroad.

‘You'll recognise these,' I said, leading her to four wooden panels hanging on a wall, inlaid with mother-of-pearl in classical Chinese designs, birds and flowers, and polished rather than lacquered in the modern manner.

‘The Four Seasons,' she said, running her fingers along the wood. ‘They're beautiful.'

‘Almost the only thing I brought back from Saigon. I bought them soon after I arrived. I was so worked up when we left I could hardly be bothered packing. But these I wasn't going to leave behind.'

‘You're lucky. My parents had a beautiful collection of old furniture. But we sold most of it afterwards, to buy food and medicine for my father, and when we left we changed the rest for gold or dollars. That was more practical. But even that we lost on the way.'

We stood out on the balcony, against the railing, while Eric and Hong lay on the floor inside, listening to Beatles records. His manner wasn't unfriendly, but he kept avoiding me, as if afraid I might harass him with more questions.

‘Have you decided yet when you're going back?' I asked.

‘Not yet. I keep putting it off. But I'll have to do something soon. I can't stay with the cousins forever. And I have to get back to work.'

‘You could stay here.'

There, it was said, the idea that had been growing in my head for the past several days. She didn't say anything, looked down at her hands, then across to where Eric and Hong were sprawled on the carpet. It looked as if they'd been kissing.

‘I mean it,' I persisted. ‘You've seen the flat. There's more than enough room, you'd have your own room, your own bathroom, I wouldn't get in the way. I could even get you a car if you wanted.'

She shook her head.

‘I can't, Paul.'

‘Why? Are you afraid I'll make a pass at you? I'm very attracted to you, Hao, that must be pretty obvious by now, but I'll keep my distance, I promise. No strings attached.' Even as I spoke I knew I'd find that promise hard to keep. ‘And if you're worried about what the cousins will think, to hell with them! You're old enough to lead your own life, you don't owe anyone anything, except maybe Eric, and he'll understand. Look, think about it. Just so you can stay a while longer, and we can see this thing through with Eric. Please?'

She looked at me then, as if thinking it over. She shook her head again.

‘It wouldn't work.'

I wanted to argue further, but I could see it was no use, and I let it drop. After a moment she stood up and went inside.

A few minutes later I drove them back, Eric and Hong first, to Central Station, then back to Marrickville to take Hao home. The strain between us was almost palpable. Bloody hell! I kept telling myself. Why hadn't I kept quiet, and let nature take its course? But sometimes you have to push nature along, if you want to get anywhere. When we got there she walked ahead of me to the front door. Her thanks were as formal as her handshake.

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. But can't you just think about it?'

She shook her head again and went inside before I could make an even bigger fool of myself.

PART II

NASTY BUSINESS

I took to Quang at once when I went to see him on the Monday evening. He was a typical Vietnamese political intellectual: a tall, thin man in glasses with an intelligent face and a gentle manner, very sharp, very knowledgeable. How practical was another matter. He received me courteously in the sitting room of his flat, on the third floor of a neat apartment block in Bankstown. The room was littered with books and papers, on the chairs, the floor, on every available surface, and the personal computer on a corner of his dining table looked like it received heavy use.

‘Jack tells me you were with your embassy in Saigon,' he began. He spoke good English, in the staccato, sing-song rhythms of a northerner, with a noticeable French accent.

I gave him a sanitised resume of my career.

‘But you're interested in the Vietnamese community, he says. Doing research for a client.'

‘That's right.' I had tried to work up a better cover story to explain the detailed probing that I would have to do from now on, but I couldn't think of anything that sounded convincing. It was probably time to come out with the truth. But first I had some questions of my own.

‘I understand that you worked for the new government in Saigon, after 1975,' I asked.

His eyes glinted with amusement behind the glasses.