Monsoon (11 page)

It was a dramatic change. They were cold, overwhelmed by the city of Sydney, did not understand the customs or the language, which sounded to Thu utterly different from the English she had learned from a professor on Pulau Bidong. But soon they connected with friends who had already settled in.

They struggled, worked hard, studied at night, sharing a small house in the inner city. Here it felt like a transplanted Vietnam – the signs were in Vietnamese; the shops were owned by Vietnamese and sold food, silks and clothes that were familiar. Uncle opened a little shop, Aunty worked in a large hairdressing salon and soon they began to save for the day they could bring over Thu's family.

Thu worked in a shop, though initially she had been mistaken for a boy, being slight and shy with short cropped hair. But by the time she celebrated her twenty-first birthday she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, although she was still shy.

By this time Kevin Fine had already noticed Thu at Mass each Sunday. He asked the priest the name of the Vietnamese family. He was told they were boat people. Hard workers, nice family.

Kevin had never been a believer in fate, but when Thu began walking past his garage repair shop he would wave and greet her.

At first she merely nodded and passed by, embarrassed by the cheerful greetings from the big Australian man who seemed older and a rather rough character. But then he introduced himself to her uncle and aunty at church and gradually he was able to coax a smile from Thu. When he offered to look at Uncle's troublesome old car, the friendship was sealed.

On her way to and from work Thu would pause outside the repair shop and try to appear comfortable with Kevin's good-natured banter. She soon came to realise he had a good heart. He took to dropping around to their house to chat with Uncle and was finally invited to share a meal.

Kevin became a regular in the household. He loved Aunty's food and slowly Thu came out of her shell and agreed to go to the movies with him. Saturday afternoons became a regular date. Sometimes she took him to different Vietnamese restaurants in Cabramatta, or he took her across the harbour on the ferry to Manly – though being on the water brought back bad memories for her. On one trip Thu shared her experiences of the dreadful sea voyage and how much she missed her family.

Kevin was gently comforting as little by little Thu told him her story. He dropped an arm around her shoulders. ‘You're in the best country in the world now, Thu. And if you'll let me, I'll look after you. We could start a new life together.'

It was an awkward proposal that didn't register with Thu for a moment as she reflected on what Kevin was saying. ‘You mean, me . . . and you? You mean . . . ?'

‘Get married. What do you say, Thu? I reckon we could make a go of it.'

‘We are very different. Very different history. Different people,' she began.

‘I'm not hearing a no,' beamed Kevin. He hugged her. ‘Listen, love, we have a lot more going for us than a lot of couples I know. I'm thirty-one. My mother's nagging me to settle down. I've just been waiting for the right girl to come along. You're the one.' He gave her a passionate kiss, unlike the restrained kisses they'd so far exchanged.

Thu, flushed and smiling, began to be practical. ‘What will your mother say about me? And you must speak to Uncle.'

‘Don't you worry about Uncle. He'll be sweet, I reckon. And my mum is going to love you, guaranteed.'

Thu spoke to Uncle but when Kevin came to ask for Thu's hand, Uncle was not as instantly receptive as Kevin had expected. He spoke formally and seemed a little restrained.

Kevin finally took the bull by the horns. ‘What's the problem? Don't you think I'll look after her? We're both Catholics. She's had a tough life and she deserves some happiness. We can be happy together. Have a good life,' said Kevin. The idea Thu might not marry him had made him anxious and brought home to him how much he loved and wanted to protect the girl he thought of as his ‘little bird'.

Uncle lowered his head and clasped his hands. ‘Kevin, I speak for Thu's father as he is not with us and she wants you to know . . . everything.'

‘What's to know? I'll take her just as she is, Uncle,' said Kevin vehemently.

Slowly, not looking at Kevin directly, Uncle told him about the attack – he could not use the word rape – that Thu had suffered on the boat when they escaped. He finished by saying softly, ‘For some men in our country, she would not be a good wife.'

‘Bullshit! 'Scuse me, Uncle.' Kevin's anger and pain over the incident flared again. ‘Poor Thu. She's already told me. But I love her and that's all that matters.'

Uncle felt a smile breaking out and he reached for Kevin's beefy hand. ‘You are a good man, Kevin. Thu is a lucky woman.'

Kevin's face broke into a huge grin. ‘Bugger me. I'm the lucky one! So it's all right, we can start planning the big day? Nuptial mass, the full works!'

Uncle nodded and called for Aunty to bring the best rice wine. The men toasted each other and by the time Thu arrived home from work, her future husband and Uncle were flushed and very jovial.

It was a formal wedding. Thu wore a crinoline of lace and a small tiara. Kevin was in a tux with a red bow tie and cummerbund. The reception was at a Vietnamese restaurant with Vietnamese food, Australian beer, and an Italian crooner and his band.

Nine months later Anna was born.

They settled in a house in Budge Street, Maroubra, and within a month Kevin had met Phil Donaldson after the owner of the car yard where Phil worked began to employ Kevin as a mechanic. Discovering they lived in the same street, the men began to socialise. Initially Thu was shy and simply put food in front of the men as they talked cars on the back patio. But when Phil's wife, Patricia, discovered they had little girls the same age, she insisted they have family get-togethers. And so an enduring friendship was born.

Sandy followed Kim into a large airy building near the port of Hai Phong and was surprised to find they were in a kind of floating, open-air model farm with tanks in the centre. Water was sluicing through the tanks and monitoring equipment was mounted on one platform where a man was dipping a net into the water and dropping small shrimp into plastic tubs.

‘This is an odd place for a shrimp farm, isn't it?' commented Sandy. ‘Who owns this one?'

‘It's a trial model. You know I've been involved in research into shrimp farm practices, well, now some solutions are happening.'

‘It's been an environmental disaster for Vietnam, hasn't it?' said Sandy. ‘Even though it's a booming industry.'

Kim shrugged. ‘Yeah, a big export for the big guys, but at a huge environmental cost to the country. Hopefully projects like this will lead to more sustainable aquaculture management. The head of the research institution involved has come over from France.'

He went to a glass partitioned office where two men were talking, rapped on the door and both were waved inside.

‘Hello, Professor Truyen,' said Kim.

The professor smiled and extended his hand.

‘This is my associate from HOPE, Sandy Donaldson,' said Kim introducing her to the visiting Vietnamese professor.

The professor turned to the man at the desk. ‘Kim, this is our French director, Doctor Petiere.'

‘Please, Jean-Claude. Delighted to meet you, and Miss Donaldson.' His French accent, debonair looks and warm smile oozed Gallic charm.

‘Call me Sandy.' She smiled, shaking his hand.

Professor Truyen excused himself saying, ‘Jean-Claude will show you where our operation is up to.'

‘So, Kim, have you had a chance to look around? While the problems are still with us, we hope this model will provide a few solutions. Convincing the government, the international donor community and indeed the poor farmers this is the way to go is the next challenge.'

HOPE, like other agencies in the country, had a myriad of projects at various stages of development. While Sandy knew about the work Kim and the HOPE volunteers had been doing with farmers who were struggling to make their shrimp farms profitable and sustainable, she'd been busy with her own projects and hadn't taken in the details of how it was all going.

Jean-Claude came around the desk. He was in his mid to late thirties, very lean and brown, with dark hair and light-green eyes. Sandy immediately thought that if he hadn't spoken she would have picked him for a Frenchman anyway. There was just that air of insouciance, of clothes that sat like an Abercrombie and Fitch advertisement – classy, elegant, yet very casual. She noted the blue shirt with rolled sleeves was fine linen with a quality finish, and had a small emblem embroidered in white on the pocket. It didn't look like a locally made garment. She wished she wasn't wearing a T-shirt and faded cotton drawstring trousers.

He was smiling into her eyes, noting her quick assessment. ‘And what is your involvement with HOPE? It is an excellent non-governmental organisation. I presume you do not work with Kim or you would have met the professor before, yes?'

‘No, well, I mean yes.' Sandy was furious that he made her feel flustered. ‘I have been working with HOPE for several years but not with Kim. My contract has just finished. Sadly I'll have to leave Vietnam soon.'

‘Hard to tear oneself away from this country. It has a way of getting under one's skin, eh? Perhaps you will find another opportunity here.'

‘I hope you don't mind me bringing Sandy along; I always value her input,' said Kim. ‘I think what you're doing is important, and more people should know about it,' he added, trying to ease the slightly uncomfortable connection between Jean-Claude and Sandy.

‘Know about the problem, or the solution?' asked Jean-Claude, still smiling at Sandy.

‘One follows the other, doesn't it?' said Sandy. ‘I'd love to understand more.'

‘Then come with me.' He led the way to the outside tank. ‘How long will you be in Hai Phong? Where are you based?'

He chatted amiably as Kim stopped to greet the man bending over the tubs of shrimp. Sandy was curious.

‘What is the main problem with the shrimp farms? People hoped that helping farmers set up small ponds as value-add use of their land,' she said.

Jean-Claude dropped his smiling demeanour. ‘Shrimp aquaculture has developed rapidly here with little foresight, planning or regulation. They haven't looked at the problems encountered by other countries, such as Thailand, which leapt into this in a big way years ago. Consequently we are now dealing with enormous environmental and social problems.'

‘So what are you doing?'

‘We're testing better means of raising shrimp using more traditional methods, researching sustainable ways of keeping them healthy without polluting the water or resorting to indiscriminate use of chemicals and antibiotics.'

‘You're putting me off those nice big tiger prawns I see in our market,' said Sandy.

‘Indeed. I eat only the shrimp I know are raised in properly run farms.'

‘Well, how do you know that?'

‘There has to be certification and proper labelling. Not an easy order here,' said Jean-Claude. As Kim joined them Jean-Claude asked, ‘Kim, would you like to see the latest results? Sadly there are some depressing reports from the Mekong. Erosion, deforestation, destruction of mangrove habitats: the overall picture is quite grim. I believe many farmers wish they'd stuck to growing rice. They were swayed by greed, a quick return, and now they are suffering. They've lost everything.'

While Kim and Jean-Claude flipped through a sheaf of papers and talked statistics, Sandy looked at the tiny creatures milling in their thousands in the big tank. In several large containers shrimp fry still at the larval stage were being readied to go into the main tank where their growth would be closely monitored.

The man tending the tank smiled at her. She greeted him and in Vietnamese asked what he thought of shrimp farming.

‘I was a shrimp farmer. I turned over my paddies to raise them.' He gave a shrug. ‘The money I borrowed is all gone. Shrimp have very big mouths: they have eaten my house and all my land. I wish I could go back to growing rice.'

‘What happened to your shrimp?'

‘The same as many others. They got a disease and after a few years the ponds are no good. I did not have the money to make fresh ponds. And now the land is spoiled.'

Kim joined Sandy. ‘I have to spend a few moments going through these papers and chat to Jean-Claude. Do you want to wait? Or I could meet you back at the cafe.'

‘You are welcome to sit in with us, Sandy,' said Jean-Claude as he put the papers back in the folder.

‘I'd love that. Sure you won't mind?' Sandy couldn't immediately explain it, but the shrimp industry interested her. The story of the old farmer, now working on the model farm, had touched her. She recalled the initiative to subsidise programs such as aquaculture but had heard the government only released ‘good news' stories. Even though Kim was involved in the project she thought she would like to find out more. She wished Tom, the journo, was here. He'd be reaching for his notebook.

Jean-Claude took her arm. ‘Sandy, you are most welcome. And feel free to contribute. Half an hour, and we'll be done.'

Sandy was thoughtful as she and Kim walked back to join Anna and Tom at the cafe. Although her official work with HOPE had ended, she realised she couldn't easily walk away from this country. Not only would she have to leave the projects she'd been involved with – especially the orphanage school down on the coast – but there were still so many areas where she could see help was needed. More strongly than ever she now questioned whether her time here was over.

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