Monsoon (19 page)

‘Who lives in these houses?' asked Sandy.

‘Rich people. Merchants, business people,' answered Trung. ‘Some high-up government people.'

‘Local people? Tourism has done a lot for Hoi An. Money there, eh, Trung?'

A partly finished block of apartments came into view from behind a screen of palms. ‘Another resort, or for local people?' asked Sandy.

‘Holiday place for rich Vietnamese people. Some come from city. Madame Nguyen is building.'

‘Madame Nguyen the silk shop owner? She's building it?'

Trung nodded. ‘She Hoi An rich lady. She do much business.'

‘Obviously. What sort of business?' Sandy turned around to look at Trung, who gave a quick smile.

‘Any business. She clever lady for make money.' He shipped the pole and reached for a rope floating in the water near bamboo poles jutting from the river.

Sandy helped him pull up the trap, which had several fish in it. Then Trung hauled in an old net secured to another pole and was delighted with the catch of small silvery fish. Sandy couldn't help thinking that at home they would have been used for bait or thrown back but she knew these would be cut into tiny fillets and the head and bones used for stock and soup.

As they headed back fluorescent lights shone from the new homes but when they reached the little settlement where Trung lived only a few dim light bulbs glowed. Hanging in the trees and from poles outside the huts were coloured silk lanterns swaying gently, casting slow dancing shadows in a rainbow of colours.

‘How pretty,' exclaimed Sandy.

‘My mother and aunty they work with two other families to make. Since tourists come handicrafts help them make money.'

Anna looked animated as one of the women chatted to her in very broken English. ‘Are we eating fish for dinner then?' she called to Sandy.

‘Trung has a few. What do you mean, “we”, Tonto?'

‘We're invited to stay and eat with them. They're so hospitable. I love learning how to cook all this stuff.'

‘I prefer eating it,' said Sandy.

‘It's not just the cooking. These women are very funny. I've had lots of advice.'

‘Love advice?' quizzed Sandy.

‘Kind of. I might be missing a few finer points without you to translate, but they say they could find a husband for me. A good fisherman.'

Sandy laughed.

Trung cleaned the fish at the river's edge as his father sat beside him smoking and watching him work, chatting quietly. Sandy watched them for a moment, thinking how fishing skills had been passed down by river men, father to son, for generations. She wished she and her brother, Ashley, were close to their father. She'd never had any father–daughter experiences like camping or sport, or trips away together, just the two of them. Her father had never sat proudly in the front row of the audience for a school play or concert, but had reluctantly been dragged along on a few occasions, when he had stood at the back. When she'd taken her bow and looked up he had always already gone.

Anna followed one of the women inside to help with the food. Immediately the other women peppered Sandy with questions about Anna's family. Where were they from? Was she going to see them? Would she take her relatives to Australia? Did she send money back to her family?

Sandy answered as best she could, knowing the Vietnamese strong sense of family. She wondered if these thoughts had occurred to Anna.

It was becoming quite dark when the men joined them, smiling shyly, curious but welcoming, recognising at once that Sandy's language skills and Anna's being a Viet Kieu made them more than the usual run of tourists. When they learned Sandy had been working with HOPE, the discussion turned to the changes in their villages and farms and the growth of Hoi An. While they welcomed the prosperity tourism brought, they lamented the loss of the small farms which had been bought for accommodation, shops, businesses and the infrastructure that went along with meeting the needs of visitors. An older man puffed on his cigarette and expressed some annoyance with young people for wanting to be ‘modern' by aping western fashions and fads.

‘He says young people are losing their traditional customs, music and manners. They want money to buy things they see on TV or that tourists have instead of appreciating what they grow and make themselves,' explained Sandy. She added, ‘When I first came here I went to a village and asked about helping the poorest families and the head man said they didn't have any. They grew their own food, worked together, made their own clothes, entertained themselves with stories and music. A couple of years later when I went back, he told me they were all so poor. They wanted big TV sets, western food and clothes, and jobs where tourists were. Without these things they now considered themselves poor.'

‘Did you tell them the luxuries we have at home don't make up for the rich things they have here – like close-knit families, the sharing, the communal way of life, a strong work ethic, respect and devotion to ancestors?' said Anna quietly.

Sandy glanced at her friend in surprise but translated the comment and there was a lot of head nodding in agreement.

Trung brought the fillets of fish to his mother, who called everybody to the large woven straw mat to eat next to a pot bubbling over a charcoal brazier. The fish pieces were dropped into the stock pot along with fresh greens and then spread over rice in bowls, the first helpings handed to Sandy and Anna. Plates of crispy duck and chargrilled eggplant topped with a spicy sauce tasted as good to Anna as anything she'd had in the local restaurants.

‘What was down the river?' Anna asked Sandy as they ate.

‘It's pretty and quiet. Rice paddies, some small fish farms and an amazing housing development. The biggest is owned by our Madame Nguyen.'

‘Really? The silk business must be profitable.'

At the mention of the shop owner's name, one of the women spoke up. ‘Her family have lived in Hoi An many generations. She buys things to sell in Hoi An and Hue.'

‘Like what?' asked Sandy.

Trung spoke sharply to his mother. ‘She has many businesses,' he said, then lowered his voice and added, ‘People bring her old pieces, special things that she sells to dealers.'

‘And where do these people find them?' asked Sandy, suddenly curious.

Trung shrugged. ‘I hear stories. Boats go to her house at night. Madame Nguyen has shop in Royal Hotel and she talk about gallery in Hue.'

‘I think I'll pay another visit to that antiques shop in The Royal before we leave for Hue,' said Sandy, then turned to Trung. ‘Could we visit Madame Nguyen's house? There are some very old homes open to the public in Hoi An. It would be interesting for Anna.'

‘Yes, but not Madame Nguyen's,' said Trung.

‘And what about the little museums here? I've been told they're very good,' said Anna.

Trung nodded. ‘Museum of Trading Ceramics in famous old house. Easy to visit. Hoi An very famous as trading port years ago. When Thu Bon river silt up Danang become number one port.'

They talked and drank coffee until it was bedtime for the children, when they thanked the family for their hospitality and Trung escorted the young women back to the hotel.

‘It big honour for my family you visit our house,' said Trung as they shook hands.

‘And for us too, Trung,' answered Sandy.

Back in their room, Anna stood on the balcony and looked down into the quiet cluster of thatched houses that was the small, close-knit community. A dog barked; there was a squawk from a chicken; a child cried briefly; and the soft sound of a mother singing to children drifted up in the still night air.

‘That was a different evening,' commented Sandy as she prepared for bed.

‘Yes. Very special. They're nice people. You know, at one point I thought it was like being in a caravan park back home. Before Uncle Quoc died he and Dad and other friends sometimes took me to a lakeside park in the summer holidays and it was like living in a small community,' said Anna.

‘There are a lot of villages, bigger of course, like that all over this country. Maybe we should go to the hill country and see the minority tribes. It seems people rather than museums are your cup of tea,' said Sandy.

Anna headed for the bathroom as Sandy got into bed. ‘No, we'll go to the museum. I know you're interested in old plates and antiques. Shall we go back to the shop at The Royal?'

But the next morning when the girls dropped in to the antiques shop, the old ceramic platter had gone.

‘Sold to a rich American,' Sandy told Anna. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Madame Nguyen must have influence. It's not easy to get permission to take antiques out of the country.'

‘You're not going to buy one; why so interested?' asked Anna.

‘I don't know. Mr Thinh so treasures the one he has. It seems odd to find these old ceramics popping up for sale when they're museum-quality pieces.'

‘And don't forget there was one in the pagoda with the little nun in Halong Bay,' Anna reminded her.

‘Now that I can understand. It's probably been there for a hundred years, an heirloom given by a family perhaps. Well, let's hit the beach before the rain comes.' Sandy pointed at the gathering clouds. ‘Might be a wet drive over the mountain to Hue.'

Sandy had rented a car to drive the few hours over the Hai Van Pass to Hue. They started in steamy humidity as they drove back towards Danang. Clouds gathered over the tips of the Marble Mountains, making them appear dark and sinister.

‘Those peaks are said to represent the five elements of the universe – water, wood, fire, metal, earth,' said Sandy. ‘The largest one has some of the finest Buddhist cave sanctuaries I've ever seen.'

Anna once again sighed in wonder at the contradictions of the vista that filled the windscreen. The dark and rugged mountains produced the material for magnificent gleaming marble artifacts and as they drove past they saw rows of marble shops stacked with statuary and headstones.

From Danang they drove up Highway One towards Hai Van Pass. Anna gazed down at the stunning scenery to where a beautiful beach glittered in the curve of the green peninsula. Lushly forested ravines rushed down the mountainside towards the South China Sea. Then suddenly the coast was out of sight and a faint mist began to swirl down from the peaks.

They continued in silence as Sandy concentrated on the narrow road. At the top of the pass they stopped to relax with a coffee from a tourist cafe but the car was instantly surrounded by women and children offering souvenirs.

‘Postcards and pearls,' said Sandy. ‘Let's get a coffee.'

‘Pearls up here? Are they any good?'

‘They're farmed off Danang. Not in the same league as pearls from Broome. But you might find some with a decent lustre. They're cheap enough.'

While Anna bargained for a pair of simple pearl earrings, Sandy ordered coffee and talked to a tour guide driver who had just driven up the range from Hue. He told her that the weather was worsening and bad storms were predicted.

The strong coffee dripped from a filter into the small cups half filled with sweetened condensed milk. They drank quickly, anxious to get on the road before the weather got too bad.

‘What's that on the rise over there?' asked Anna.

‘An American command post from the war. It was a radar station. They could monitor three Indochinese countries from there,' said Sandy. ‘C'mon, let's hit the road.'

‘I want to take a photo but the cloud has wiped out the view.'

‘Buy postcards,' said Sandy, waving goodbye to the cafe owner and tour guide.

Anna held up a plastic envelope of scenic views from Hai Van. ‘They threw it in with the earrings,' she laughed.

Normally there were tour buses, private cars and guides ferrying tourists to the pass, but it was deserted as the rain began to pour in a constant stream. Sandy drove carefully, unsure about the condition of the car's brakes. They didn't speak for a while until Anna asked, ‘When are we going to visit the orphanage? It's not far from Danang, is it?'

‘It's just inland from the coast. We'll visit it after Hue because I want to take some of the girls to the coast before an informal celebration for the older girls. You know, acknowledgment of reaching puberty.'

‘A rite of passage thing? You're really emotionally attached to the orphanage, aren't you, even though you're not working for HOPE anymore,' said Anna, glancing at Sandy who was concentrating on the mountain road.

Sandy's face softened and she smiled. ‘It's been wonderful to see the place grow and get a school going and have better facilities for the kids. It's rewarding when you see something positive happening. A lot of the time you never get to see projects finished.'

‘I can understand that. Sands, you're obviously very attached to Vietnam. Is that why you don't want to go home?'

Sandy didn't answer immediately. She'd gone past the living with the folks at home stage. ‘Of course I'm going home. To visit. Then I'll apply for another position somewhere else, I guess. It's hard just to walk out of this country and sever the ties overnight.'

Anna knew what was running through Sandy's mind. Her mother was sweet, but she was a woman dominated, sometimes crushed, by her husband's moods. Sandy and her father certainly also had their moments. Anna suspected Phil Donaldson disliked his daughter working here helping the Vietnamese people. Anna felt uncomfortable with him as well. While he had always accepted Anna as Sandy's friend and the daughter of his best mate, she knew he had never warmed to her. Occasionally she had caught him staring at her with a cold hard look that she didn't understand.

‘You should be proud of what you've done here,' said Anna.

‘Thanks. I've tried to be a good humanitarian. By and large the ordinary people are wonderful, hard working and quite ingenious, but it's hard when you see so much money is being wasted by inefficient bureaucrats, and knowing corruption exists and seeing the degradation of the countryside.'