Monsoon (47 page)

At the cafe two old men were sipping coffee, engrossed in a deep discussion. Newspapers were spread on a table. At another several men were playing cards. Two young women gossiped nearby. Dun and Chip discreetly settled themselves at a table and ordered food and coffee, watched their bikes and waited for further developments.

Sandy approached the two men with the newspapers and asked if they knew Mr Thanh and they pointed to the card game. Respectfully she asked if she might interrupt the game and inquired if the players knew a Mr Thanh. Immediately three of them pointed to a fourth man sitting beside them. He had white hair, a nut-brown face and sharp black eyes. He frowned and looked uncomfortable at being singled out.

‘Good morning, Mr Thanh. We have come from Australia, seeking my friend's family.' She gestured towards Anna, who gave a hopeful smile. ‘Do you recognise anyone in this picture? It was taken in Vietnam in the early seventies.' She passed him the photograph and all the men leaned over to try to get a look at it.

Anna watched him, holding her breath. He didn't react at all. But as she felt her shoulders slump in disappointment, he asked through Sandy, ‘Who are you related to in this picture?'

‘Pull up a chair and sit with him; point out who they are,' whispered Sandy.

The men made room for Anna to sit next to Mr Thanh.

Slowly Anna pointed. ‘Thu, my mother.'

‘
Me
,' translated Sandy in Vietnamese.

‘My grandmother.'

‘
Ba ngoai
.'

‘My grandfather.'

‘
Cong noi
,' said Sandy.

‘My mother's brothers and sisters. This is my mother's little brother, Van. He died on the boat on the way to Australia.'

‘Her mother is still in Australia?' he asked Sandy.

‘Her mother died when she was seven years old. She married an Australian,' answered Sandy.

As Sandy continued to translate, he looked grave, but said nothing.

Anna continued, ‘This is my great-aunty and this is my great-uncle. My grandfather's brother.'

The old man studied the picture in silence for almost a minute then put it on the table and took a long look at Anna before putting a finger on one of the men in the photograph. ‘This is me. These are my two brothers.'

Sandy touched Anna's hand. ‘Anna, this is your great-uncle. Your grandfather and Uncle Quoc's brother.'

Anna blinked and they gazed at each other, the old man rather surprised, slightly bemused. Anna bowed her head in a gesture of respect. ‘How do you do, Great-uncle.'

The man pushed back his chair and rose; Anna did the same. Awkwardly, formally, they embraced. Sandy quickly translated to the others this news and there was an immediate outburst of chatter. The other men stood and shook Anna's hand and then moved to another table, leaving them alone.

And so they settled to the details of the story. Great-uncle was polite but not effusive as Sandy translated.

‘My brothers and I were born here. Your grandmother came from the north. When she married your grandfather she lived with my parents.'

‘Here? In this town?' asked Anna. ‘Is the house still here?'

He nodded and went on. ‘I married and moved away.' He looked over Anna's shoulder. ‘I was very different from your grandfather. We had different ideas. He was a teacher, a man of words. I was a worker, and a fighter.'

‘Where did you fight?' asked Sandy, sensing what was coming.

‘I did not like what the French had done. Our family and Anna's mother's family were Catholic. Because of the French I renounced that religion. I went to fight with the communists to get rid of the colonists,' he said to Sandy with a clear sense of pride.

‘And the American war?' asked Sandy quietly. ‘Did you fight against them as well?'

He nodded. ‘I went south to fight. I was Viet Cong,' he said proudly. ‘My family did not agree. When the communist government took over, I came back here to reclaim my home. But the family had all gone. I did not know where, except they were escaping. They did not want the new Vietnam.'

‘So you stayed. Are you married?'

‘I have a wife. My children have gone away to the city for good jobs.'

There was silence as Anna digested all this.

‘It must have been quite a big split in the family, but where are the rest of Anna's relatives?' Sandy asked.

He shrugged. ‘I don't know what happened to them all after the war.' He studied Anna. ‘So your mother, she married an Australian man? You are Viet Kieu.'

On hearing this Anna's shoulders slumped. So there was no one left but this old man.

Great-uncle continued, ‘Good fighting men. I fought against Australian men.'

‘My father fought in Vietnam. He was at Long Tan,' said Sandy.

‘I was D445 Regional Force battalion.' He smiled for the first time. ‘Also in Phuoc Tuy. Maybe we fought your father?'

‘I wouldn't know. My father never talks about the war.' She glanced at Anna. ‘My friend has come a long way to find her family. Could you show us the family home?'

Great-uncle studied the young women as he came to understand more fully the extraordinary background of the relative who had suddenly come into his life. ‘It is my home. When I returned everyone had left. I reclaimed the house. I worked for the government resettlement program.'

‘It would mean a lot to Anna if she could see where her grandmother lived as a bride and where her mother was born and grew up.'

‘It is a simple house,' he said, then stood, spoke to his friends and walked from the cafe. ‘Please, come.'

Anna grabbed her bag and they told Chip and Dun to wait for them.

‘Find somewhere for us to stay tonight. We won't want to leave straightaway,' added Sandy.

‘We'll have to leave early in the morning to get back to Dalat,' said Dun. ‘Or there might be a bus that suits you better. We'll check it out.'

They walked slowly: Great-uncle had a limp, a souvenir of the war, he explained briefly.

Sandy continued probing as they walked. ‘Tell us about Anna's grandfather.'

‘He was educated better than me as he was the older son. He did not like the Communists. And his Catholic wife.'

‘Has the town changed much since those days?' asked Anna.

‘A little. Modern things. There are some buildings from the French days; more people came here after
doi moi
, to start businesses. Many who went away did not come back. There are new people. Some from the city, but there are many poor people who farm. We are an independent nation now. Our own masters,' he added with pride.

They turned down a side street and Anna stopped. ‘It's here, isn't it? The house?'

‘What makes you say that?' asked Sandy.

‘I just know it.' Anna took the camera from her bag as her great-uncle confirmed the house was indeed a little further down the street.

The house had two storeys. The doors and shuttered windows were framed in wooden fretwork painted mustard yellow. There was a gnarled cumquat tree in a glazed pot by the front door – a gift for Tet, from New Year celebrations so long ago it had become a bonsai. A patch of garden to one side was dominated by a large tree.

Anna began taking photographs and Great-uncle softened slightly. ‘I remember your mother, Thu. She was a pretty little girl. She climbed that tree. Your grandmother did not approve of that.'

Anna clung to this bit of information as if it were gold. She photographed the tree, then went to it, rubbing her fingers along its trunk before resting her cheek against it. A tear trailed down her cheek.

An elderly woman opened the front door looking quite startled at the unexpected visitors and demanded to know who the foreigners were. Her husband explained and she looked at Anna curiously. ‘Tell her it is our house now. She has no business here.'

Sandy stepped forward and politely introduced herself in Vietnamese and apologised for the intrusion. The woman was taken aback at the blonde stranger speaking her language.

‘It would mean a lot if my friend could see inside the house. Her great-uncle says it has not changed very much. She is a visitor to Vietnam; she came just for this purpose. She can go back to Australia and be happy in her heart to know where her family came from,' said Sandy gently.

‘They won't make trouble,' Great-uncle Thanh assured his wife and strode indoors. Reluctantly the woman invited Sandy and Anna to follow her inside, leaving their shoes at the door.

‘Give me the camera,' said Sandy. ‘I'll take pictures for you.' She could see Anna was in a bit of a daze at the speed of events and the rising emotions at every turn.

It was a fairly large house compared with houses they'd seen in other small towns and villages. And while the kitchen and bathroom facilities were antiquated, the rooms were big and somewhat formal. But what fascinated Anna was the old furniture made from intricately carved wood which she assumed had been there since her grandmother's day. She ran her hand over the chairs and table where her mother had sat as a little girl, trod gently on the narrow stairs and was shown the small bedroom that her mother had shared. She bent to peer out the window at the view over the village to fields and hills and wondered what her mother had dreamed when she'd looked out from there as a child.

Sandy took photos of the kitchen and lounge room and asked if the dishes and the large blue pots had belonged to Great-uncle's parents. His wife didn't know and didn't appear keen to elaborate.

‘Are there any photographs or personal belongings Anna could see?' she asked Great-uncle.

He thought for a moment then went to a bedroom and came back with a small box. In it were two framed photographs, one of his parents on their wedding day and one of a family gathering at a Tet celebration dinner. They all studied the picture carefully, finally identifying most of the family, including Thu aged about three.

Sandy asked if they could photograph the pictures and they carefully took them from the frames and wrote down all the names.

After an hour there Anna could barely speak. She was glad Sandy was doing most of the talking. She felt so overwhelmed by being this close to her mother's family and the house where she was born. It had made the trip utterly worthwhile.

Impulsively as they made their farewells, Anna gave Great-uncle a quick hug and walked to the roadside.

Sandy was writing down Anna's address to give to the elderly couple when Great-uncle's wife came from the kitchen and thrust a small plastic bag into Sandy's hand. ‘For the girl.' She turned and went back into the kitchen.

Anna and Sandy walked slowly along the little street. Anna glanced back only once towards the house as they turned the corner onto the main thoroughfare.

‘Was it worth it? Even though he didn't tell us exactly where your grandmother's family came from?' asked Sandy.

Anna nodded, still very moved. ‘It's enough. I want to talk to my dad.'

‘Will you contact Great-uncle again? I can write a letter for you,' offered Sandy.

Anna shook her head. ‘Probably not.'

Sandy handed her the plastic shopping bag. ‘His wife gave me this when we were leaving.'

They stopped and opened the bag. Inside was a small porcelain cup with a flower pattern around the edge and a book.

‘What's the book?' asked Anna.

Sandy leafed through it. ‘Vietnamese poetry.' Then she looked at the flyleaf. Written inside was
Thanh Ho Truong
. ‘It belonged to your grandfather. They seem to be romantic poems. Maybe he read them to your grandmother and your mother.'

‘Do you think this cup belonged to my mother?'

‘I think Great-uncle's wife felt sorry for you and grabbed the first thing she could find that had some significance for you,' said Sandy.

Dun had booked them into a small guesthouse and he suggested they look at more of the town. So they hopped on the bikes and circled the town and its outskirts, all the while Anna calling for photo stops and thinking, Did my mother come here? Where were her friends? Where did she play?

They were told the original schoolhouse had burned down and the new government school was built only ten years ago. Then, at the very edge of the northern end of the town on a slight rise, they came to a pretty white church with a small spire.

‘Chip, stop please. I want to go in there,' said Anna.

They parked the bikes and Dun and Chip lit up cigarettes and waited.

‘I bet that was built by the French,' said Sandy. ‘Looks pretty old. I'm surprised it's so well kept. The communists cracked down on religious freedom and even after reunification the Vietnamese government still insists on control over religious institutions. Amnesty International got involved with a case of persecution of a priest here who's still under house arrest.'

‘The controls are still pretty tight then,' said Anna. ‘Not what the tourists see.'

Sandy went up the steps to the entrance of the Catholic church. ‘Well, shall we go in?'

The double wooden doors were partially open and they went into the vestibule. Sandy was surprised to see that not only had the church been preserved but it was obviously being used. There were candles on the altar and flowers in vases at the side. However, it was empty now and she let Anna go ahead to genuflect before the altar and sit in the front pew. Sandy tip-toed out, leaving Anna alone with her thoughts and prayers.

‘Do you guys want to do your own thing? Anna and I will walk back to the guesthouse,' Sandy said to Dun and Chip.

‘If you are sure; it will take about forty minutes,' said Dun. ‘We'll talk later about leaving in the morning.'

‘We'll check out best places for you to eat dinner,' added Chip.

Sandy turned to take a photo of the little church and found a Vietnamese priest standing at the side door smiling at her. He greeted her in French.