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  Suddenly the nun was beside her, touching Anna’s arm and smiling. She handed Anna another stick of incense, and guided her hand to the candle flame. ‘Pour votre famille,’ she said softly.

  Anna’s hand shook, making the candle flicker. She placed the sweet burning stick in the brass bowl filled with sand and stood as the nun prayed, bowing deeply.

  The nun straightened and from the folds of her robe she withdrew her hand and, taking Anna’s, placed a small object into her palm, folded her fingers over it, patted it and turned away.

  Anna was strangely moved and she stood there, studying the altar, before opening her hand. Lying in her palm was a tiny green jade Buddha.

  Sandy came back inside and spoke softly, not wanting to intrude too abruptly on her friend’s meditation. ‘Anna, we’ve got to leave now. Hung says something to do with the tide.’

  Anna nodded, then pointed to the altar set with offerings. ‘Look. Isn’t that like the plate we saw in Mr Thinh’s studio?’ She pointed to a plate that held nuts and dried herbs and a roll of folded palm leaves.

  Sandy lifted up the plate and examined it. ‘It is too. And it’s old, not an imitation. Now where do you suppose this came from? It’s museum quality.’

  Hung appeared behind them. ‘That plate came from our village. It is for offerings.’

  ‘Hung, it’s very valuable – it’s old, very famous Vietnamese porcelain,’ said Sandy.

  He showed no reaction. ‘We must go or the tide will cover the last of the beach; it can be dangerous getting back to the boat.’

  ‘Are there any more ceramics like this in your village?’ Sandy asked Hung.

  ‘There might be. There are stories of treasures hidden in the crevices of some of the cliffs,’ he said. ‘Come, let’s go.’

  ‘Hung, if any more ceramics or porcelain come into your village, please, take them to a museum or a reputable art gallery,’ said Sandy. ‘They are worth a lot of money.’

  ‘If things are found they will be sold quietly.’ He went outside and motioned to Tom to follow and set out towards the track back down the hill. In the late afternoon sunlight they watched the elderly nun make her way unaided around the back of the pagoda.

  ‘Hung knows more than he’s letting on,’ whispered Sandy.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Tom.

  ‘There’s a very old porcelain dish on the altar. Hung says it was found in the floating village.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound likely. Unless it was in a shipwreck like the haul of Chinese porcelain that was found in the South China Sea somewhere a few years back. Fetched a good price at Christie’s,’ said Tom.

  ‘Hung had a visitor late last night. Someone paddled over from the village with a huge bamboo crate,’ said Anna.

  ‘Probably dried fish, or local hootch,’ said Tom.

  ‘You’re the journalist. This could be a story, Tom,’ said Anna.

  ‘That nun is a story. What an incredible old bird,’ he said. ‘She’s even got a vegetable garden going round the back.’

  Kim was waiting at the wharf when the Harvest Moon returned the next morning, and Sandy introduced him to Tom before Sandy, Anna and Tom effusively thanked Captain Chinh and Hung for the trip.

  ‘Can we give Tom a lift back to Hanoi, Kim? Better than the bus he came down on,’ said Sandy.

  ‘Of course, plenty of room,’ agreed Kim, taking Tom’s backpack and stowing it in the boot.

  ‘We’re going back via Hai Phong,’ Kim told them. ‘It’s where the fish project is that HOPE is involved with. I have to check on how things are running.’

  ‘Is there anything else there?’ asked Anna.

  ‘It’s a big sea port, very industrial, but the city has some lovely colonial architecture – it’s like Hanoi used to be. Still a little sleepy and great seafood.’

  By the time they had taken in the sights of Hai Phong, they decided to stay for lunch and found a shady courtyard restaurant specialising in local seafood. Sandy began asking Kim about his hiking trip and what wildlife he’d seen in the national park.

  Tom turned to Anna. ‘So, Anna, what’s your story? What do you think of Vietnam?’

  3

  THEY WERE THE ONLY people left in the shady courtyard of the little restaurant. The owner settled himself at a table inside to eat his lunch. The clatter of dishes and chatter drifted from the kitchen. The jangle of bicycle bells and car horns in the street seemed far away in the somnolence of the early afternoon.

  Tom stretched. ‘If anything the food in Vietnam is even better than I remember. Simple rural cuisine but served with sophistication.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not that “simple”. Some of it takes hours, even days to prepare,’ said Sandy.

  ‘This is a nice little place, more for westerners, but I wouldn’t call it sophisticated compared to some places in Hanoi,’ said Kim. ‘Not that I can afford to eat at the Metropole or some of the other tourist restaurants.’

  ‘I haven’t had any desire to eat upmarket. I’ve only been in Hanoi a week, and I’m bowled over by what a lovely city it is,’ said Tom. ‘When I was in the south all those years ago Hanoi was far away and a closed city inhabited by communists and the North Vietnamese regular army. I imagined a grim, regimented place shattered by the war. But the city is charming.’

  ‘It might have had a lot of masters from the Chinese to the French but they’ve left interesting and beautiful buildings. Unfortunately the ugly cement jobs that are around are souvenirs of the Soviet alliance,’ said Sandy.

  ‘I like the energy: everyone is active and there are so many young people,’ said Anna.

  ‘The majority of the population are under thirty-five,’ said Kim. ‘Baby boomers don’t rule here!’

  ‘Talking about young entrepreneurs, are you going to check out your fish farm people?’ Sandy asked Kim.

  ‘Yes, would you like to come along? The project is the first of several like this for HOPE. The co-op is planning to move up to freezing and exporting fish and shrimp.’

  ‘We won’t be long: it’s near the harbour. Or you could stay here, have some dessert, coffee, a cold drink,’ Sandy suggested to Anna and Tom.

  ‘That sounds good to me,’ said Tom.

  ‘I’ll keep you company, Tom,’ said Anna. The fish farm might be a worthy project but it didn’t appeal enough to trail around after Sandy and Kim on HOPE business. She found Tom easy to get along with and so she picked up the menu to choose a dessert.

  While they waited for sweet sticky rice and coconut to finish the meal, Tom sipped his beer. ‘So, Anna, is this a holiday, a girls’ own adventure or a pilgrimage?’ He unconsciously slipped into journalistic mode.

  Anna smiled. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time. Although I admit I did initially need a bit of persuading. Anyway, I took leave, kissed the boyfriend goodbye and was on a plane not long after Sandy emailed me.’

  ‘Ha, boyfriend. Serious? He didn’t want to come here with you?’ asked Tom.

  ‘No way. Well, Sandy didn’t invite him. Sandy thought it would be nice to have time out together, like we did as kids. She’s always been the ringleader. I don’t think she likes Carlo much. He’s Italian. This place doesn’t hold much interest for him.’

  Tom studied the beautiful girl sitting opposite, her long straight black hair, dark almond eyes, high cheek bones and full lips an indication of her Vietnamese heritage. But her tall elegance, the same open and healthy vitality as Sandy, her sense of humour and her friendly manner came from her Australian upbringing. He’d seen what close friends the girls were and he wondered how Anna felt about her best friend not appearing to like her boyfriend.

  ‘You said you and Sandy met in kindergarten. Were your families friends?’

  ‘Our fathers are both in the car business so became friends and, living in the same street, Sandy and I played together, started preschool together. Sandy’s mother has always kept an eye on me since my mother died, though my dad’s mum stepped in and lived with us and raised me.’


  ‘So you and Sandy are a bit like sisters.’

  Anna paused, thinking back to those days, which, while mostly carefree, were also dotted with a few unpleasant incidents. If it hadn’t been for Sandy and her mother, Patricia, Anna might not have coped with them as well as she had.

  Maroubra, Sydney, 1985

  It was a holiday and they were at the beach. Two big umbrellas, a carpet of towels, an Esky filled with cold drinks, chilled prawns and fruit, paper plates, plastic containers of sandwiches and rolls.

  Anna watched her mother, Thu, take out her favourite food – savoury cucumber, meat, spiced tomatoes and green herbs chopped and rolled in the fine soft steamed rice flour sheets. As Thu poured a dipping sauce into a small bowl the men pounced. Sandy and Anna squealed and reached for rolls with both hands, fearful of the grownups polishing them off.

  Anna nibbled delicately; Sandy finished hers in quick gulps then began digging into the prawns, peeling them expertly, handing every second one to Ashley, her younger brother.

  With the arrival of Thu’s aunt and uncle, more Vietnamese food was unpacked and Anna’s grandmother had to admit she was getting a taste for ‘those fiddly things’. Making minced pork dumplings, stuffed savoury pancakes, rice rolls and the other varieties of appetisers that Thu produced was far too much trouble for Grandma Fine. ‘A ham, lettuce and tomato sandwich is plenty for the beach,’ she said. She had contributed fruit cake left over from Christmas, but ate a good share of the Vietnamese food – ‘just to taste’.

  Along the beachfront and in the park and under trees, barbecues sizzled with spitting meat despite the heat. These were manned by red-faced men clutching beers to their sagging bellies while women fussed with picnic food. It was tradition; it was the Australian way. After all, it was Australia Day. Some of the picnickers preferred wine, olives, cheeses and salami eaten with thick bread ripped by hand, others the thin white sliced variety wrapped around a sausage dripping with tomato sauce.

  To the two little girls it was a joyous day of feasting, playing in the cool wet sand, supervised rides on small waves on Sandy’s rubber boogie board, and exploring the rock pools at the far end of the beach.

  Phil Donaldson was not present. His car yard stayed open on public holidays in case people with time on their hands came to browse and perhaps buy. Sandy’s mother, Patricia, was sorry he was missing the fun: it was so hard for him to relax.

  But what had been a sunny happy day turned sour as the girls trailed back from the water with Kevin and saw their families hastily packing up their belongings and the picnic. Grandma Fine was holding Ashley and was on her feet arguing with a circle of jeering young men. Thu was kneeling, hastily stowing items in a basket helped by her aunty, while her Uncle Quoc spoke quietly to the young men who merely laughed at him. Their voices were raised and people on the sand near them stared curiously, laughed behind their hands or pretended not to notice.

  Kevin broke into a sprint, shouting, ‘Hoy, what do you think you’re doing?’

  The leader of the group shouted back. ‘Telling the chinks to bugger off. Go home where they belong. This is ’Stralia. ’Stralia day, for Aussies, not slopes.’

  His voice was slurred and as Kevin, thickset and angry, formed a fist and drew closer, an elderly man put down his book and got to his feet, protesting at the young men’s language.

  The boys kicked sand over the food and, still calling out, raced drunkenly away, laughing, pleased with their efforts.

  ‘You all right, love?’ Kevin bent to help a teary-eyed and shaking Thu.

  ‘Evil little devils. We should call the police. Disgraceful behaviour,’ snapped Grandma Fine. ‘They need a good walloping.’

  ‘What happened? What happened?’ chorused Anna and Sandy, racing up to their families.

  The girls were shushed and led away by Grandma Fine.

  Kevin drove home, grim faced. There’d been a rushed farewell to Uncle Quoc and the others. Patricia, Sandy and Ashley hurried up the street, Patricia making Sandy promise not to say anything to her father. ‘We don’t want to upset him.’

  ‘But what were those boys saying? Why was Aunty Thu crying?’ persisted Sandy.

  ‘They were drunk, and stupid.’

  ‘If Dad was there I bet he’d have bashed them up.’

  ‘Fighting gets you nowhere. They were just being cruel and rude. Forget it.’

  But Anna never forgot it. She had the feeling that her family was somehow at fault.

  Anna and Sandy remained good friends. They shared toys, wore each other’s clothes and were in and out of each other’s homes as if they were their own. They shared secrets, made plans and played together at school.

  Anna studied hard for it had been drilled into her by her mother, aunty and uncle that doing well at school would help her to become a success in the world and make her family proud. Australia was a land of opportunity they kept telling her and she understood that meant she had to work harder than the other students.

  However, soon Anna was making excuses to stay at home and spend time with her mother, who wasn’t feeling well. More and more Thu took to her bed and the house was strangely quiet. Kevin or Grandma Fine did the cooking, and there were no more delicious smells or tasty treats.

  Often, when there were still gatherings of her mother’s Vietnamese relatives and friends at their home, Anna would hear them speaking in their homeland tongue, a language she didn’t understand. Nor did her father. It was an odd bond between father and daughter: their lack of knowledge of that little country far to the north across the sea that Thu, with her uncle and aunty, had crossed at such great risk.

  South Vietnam, 1978

  She could not look back. Her mother’s sobs, the howls of her baby brother, the pale face of her middle sister, the grim face of her father with tears running down his cheeks as they stood in a tight pathetic group, were too hard to see.

  They had shared their last meal together in the small house where her family lived. Her father had explained once more the importance of the journey Thu now faced with her young brother. He took her to one side. ‘Thu, you are our first born and a clever girl. We are not safe in the south any more since the Americans have gone and now the communists are here. Your Uncle Quoc worked with the Americans, so he could be killed. He must leave Vietnam with Aunty. You go with them and start a new life. Then one day we will follow.’

  ‘Why is little brother Van coming too? Uncle said it will be dangerous escaping in a small boat.’

  ‘I want my son also to start a new life. He is nine and will be a big help to you one day. You will have each other. Listen to your Uncle Quoc, say your prayers and do not forget us.’

  ‘But Father, when will you come? When will we be together?’ cried Thu, trying to stop the little-girl tears and be a strong nineteen-year-old.

  ‘Uncle will find a way to send word to us. Keep safe the gold and precious stones from your mother. Protect your brother and keep your honour.’ He kissed Thu’s forehead and put his arm around her weeping mother, who took a small gold crucifix from around her neck and placed it around Thu’s own.

  There was a hasty round of hugs and handshakes then the little cart, pulled by an ox, disappeared down the dirt track past paddies and plantations. Sacks of rice and bundles of dried bamboo sticks were cleverly stacked on raised boards and the fleeing family hid beneath this false floor as Uncle urged the ox forward, the perfect image of a simple farmer taking produce to market.

  After several uncomfortable days, the cart stopped and Thu shook Van awake. ‘We are near the sea; smell the ocean,’ she whispered.

  Thu had heard discussions about the plans and knew that money had changed hands. She suspected her father only had enough money to send his first-born child and his first son. He had given Uncle Quoc money and food for them, so Thu hid the little jewellery pouch inside her top. She knew her father had arranged for them to escape on a fishing trawler.

  However, they had to wait many months before a
boat was able to help them escape.

  It was a moonless night when the old fishing boat left the harbour and headed out to sea. Holding hands, Thu and Van silently watched the dim lights of the coastal villages fade in the distance until Van asked where they would sleep. A sheet of plastic was all Uncle gave them, which Thu wrapped around them both, as now the sea was rough, the wind peeling back the waves, and rain threatened. Aunty had whispered that it was not wise to travel so far out to sea in the monsoon season, but Uncle reminded her they had no choice. It was time to leave.

  Two other families were packed in with Thu and her relatives. They were all tense. Fear of the unknown travelled with them. Thu hugged Van tightly until he fell asleep with his head in her lap.

  The rains came the next morning, and the sea and the sky were joined in a streaming mass of water. Van was seasick; he couldn’t keep food down and became feverish. Thu and her aunty wiped his hot forehead with a wet rag. When the monsoon rain stopped, the sun was hot, making their damp clothes steam and saltwater crusted on their skin.

  Van was pale and shaking and Thu began to pray for him. She reached around her neck and unclasped the gold cross necklace which she pressed into Van’s clammy hand, telling him, ‘This will protect you, Van. We are going to a happy land, where we can all be together and have a house with many rooms, plenty of food. You will go to school and have friends. Just a little while longer, dear brother. Be strong.’

  After several rough days at sea they were settling down for another night when there was an urgent command from the captain. He had sighted another craft moving in on them at high speed and ordered the adults to hide under the fishing nets, the children to get below into a concealed and cramped hideaway near the bow. Thu went to go with Van but was pulled back roughly by the captain and told to get under the plastic sheets among the nets and fishing pots.

  There was arguing and shouting between the passengers and Uncle told Aunty and Thu to keep down and hide their faces. ‘There is a boat coming; it could be pirates. Keep one thing to give them and hide the rest.’