CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
During the late 1960’s Saigon was a wildly different place to the one Mitchell discovered thirty years later. He knew it as a vibrant, burgeoning city built from the ruins of a ten-year conflict. Slowly westernised, drawing wealth from an influx of tourists seeking cheap holidays and pirated running shoes.
In his own way Mitch was part of the metamorphosis and lived in Ho Chi Min City for nearly twenty months working on a new office building. The growing skyline filled with towering cranes was a symbolic reversal of a city torn apart by foreigners before him.
The streets however told a truer divide. Urchins begged to the more affluent citizens; bicycle riders fought relentlessly against the growing sea of American cars. It was a contrast of cultures: East versus west, and a dispute of wealth: rich against poor.
Albert however knew the country as it had been for centuries. Rural lands farmed for generations, the majority of inhabitants rarely visiting the cities, abiding to the promised solidarity of a communist regime. Albert knew Vietnam for its’ simplicity and beauty and the people for the same reasons.
One he remembered more than any other and she would haunt him for a lifetime to come.
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Mitch lay awake cursing the collision on the bridge foiling his attempt to save Christina. How would he fulfil his promise of stopping the car now? He could go back before the accident on the bridge. That would be easy… but I don’t know the exact timing of the accident. And on foot, could I stop the cars from colliding?
“Not a chance.” There had to be another way.
Unlikely to fall asleep Mitch prepared for a run and left the house quietly not to disturb Peanut. The streets were peaceful in the early morning and he ran in no particular direction other than from the plate. With the serenity and change of surroundings, he focused on Christina, Albert, and then uncontrollably on Juliana. Despite the torment she caused, it was an easy problem compared to the complexity of the others. How can I save Christina?
Mitch had never been a good runner; he enjoyed the exercise but would never win a marathon or possibly last the distance. He was determined though when needed, pushing through most psychological and physical barriers. The run subconsciously brought him to the bridge of yesterday’s accident and he stopped at the suspended gantry under the roadway to check his watch. He’d been gone for only thirty minutes but with his mind elsewhere, had run further than normal.
Looking over the divide between suburbs, the gap metaphoric of the one stopping him reaching Christina, Mitch thought more laterally and an idea came quite unexpectedly.
The one attribute Owen Hargreaves claimed essential in making the impossible possible was belief. Belief in an outcome and having nerve to do something about it. So as Mitchell walked alone across the footbridge in the early dawn, his steps echoing against the cold concrete above, he decided to run the twenty kilometres to Christina’s school and stop her from spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair.
His colleague in Beijing was right; running cleared the mind and his was now clearer than ever. Reaching the centre point of the bridge he turned to walk back already formulating a plan. Waves of possibilities washed over him.
The long walk to Sarah’s café gave Mitch interval to ponder another concern. Albert and Kym Ho. He wondered where she was and how to contact her. Albert couldn’t get involved due to his emotional attachment. The plate exposed humans most condemning feature, selfishness. He would need to do this alone.
Spending many years abroad Mitchell never made friends as such but rather acquaintances. Of course, friendships were formed given the circumstances, expats finding community in a foreign environment, but they were largely borne through necessity. The scores of people he met abroad were mostly left on the shores of their meeting after moving on in life. A means to an end. However one friendship fostered deeper than that, and as luck would have it, was forged during his time spent in South East Asia.
The construction company Mitchell worked for had offices all over the globe. But the projects in Asia were controlled through the Singapore division under the watchful eye of the General Manager of Projects, Colin Barnett. He originally hailed from Cockney London and posted in Singapore so long everyone simply called him Raffles. Like the famous hotel, he was pale white and reeked of gin. But there was reason he’d been stationed so long in the capital. Continuity. Asian businessmen were as shrewd as their western counterparts, but the tradesmen, unions and suppliers without equal. Raffles built a network of contacts spanning Sapporo to Surabaya and one well-placed phone call could get anything he wanted. Most coming at a price. The chances Barnett was no longer in Singapore were slim given the indispensable position he’d created, so with that in mind, Mitch tapped out an email on his phone to his old friend.
Nearing How’s Your Day Bean?, Mitch found a complication to his plan and contemplated how to fix it. The first stage would be hard enough, but if what he discovered weren’t possible, then he’d be wasting his time with Raffles. A voice distracted the thought. It was Sarah’s.
“Large latte, no sugars isn’t it sir?” she mocked not having seen Mitch since Thursday. It hadn’t been that long of course but with Mitchell doing so much since their last meeting it seemed an eternity. Since the picnic Sarah had controlled her usual insecurities. Careful not to obsess over the notion Mitch wouldn’t call. She’d been down that road before and determined not to do it again. Nonetheless, the past four days had been a little torturous and she was glad to see his face.
“Why it is Miss. So good of you to remember,” Mitch replied joining the game. “I hear the coffee here is exceptional.”
Mitchell considered Sarah could help with Albert. It was a good idea; she could be trusted as good as any, but given his plans for her dismissed the idea in fear of getting her emotionally attached. That was a pity. Mitch could have used an ally. He waited patiently for his coffee, watching Sarah in a different light than the past twelve months, realising his feelings were stronger than he admitted and maybe could fall for her in a manner never expected. Perhaps having her help with Albert would stifle his other plan and something might come of the relationship after all. No! He couldn’t do that. But he did flirt with her a little longer. Sarah asked him to call later in the day and blew the tiniest kiss in his direction. Mitch hoped no one else saw it.
It was still early when he arrived home and with nothing to do except strategise his next two trips, he began to realise just how long each would take to manifest. But when they did, he needed to act fast.
He printed a map of the local suburbs to gain a better understanding of the distance to Christina’s school. According to the suggested directions it was nineteen point one kilometres by car. That route used a course of local feeder roads, the bridge crossing, then a maze of back streets leading into the school. But Mitchell’s eyes saw more on the map. An engineer always saw more than the obvious. Thinner, sometimes dotted and unnamed lines indicated footpaths, cycleways, and even bush tracks linking a more direct path. He used a highlighter pen to mark the alternative routes, creating a pattern of zigzags seemingly longer than the one prescribed. When measured though they actually shaved almost two kilometres from the trip.
The plate allowed ninety-nine minutes to get the job done and Mitch figured he needed ninety minutes alone just for travel. Extra time was also needed to settle from the run, compose himself in unfamiliar surrounds, and then to find Christina. The equation became very simple. Seventeen point two kilometres in ninety minutes.
Could that be done?
Running at a rate of five minutes per kilometre the distance would be covered in eighty-six minutes. That left a massive thirteen minutes to save Christina. Mitch was pleased with the mathematics but hadn’t run at that pace in a very long time - if ever. He would need to train. Shit! His daily jogs were exactly that; jogs. Slow paced runs through paved streets on reasonably flat grades with no concern of finishing in a set time. This would be very different and he shuddered at the thought of training to a target. His first sacrifice would be the scotch and he wondered how to explain that to Albert. Little less condone it himself.
“I’ll deal with that later,” he muttered returning to study his little map.
At some point Mitch would need to get down to the bush tracks hidden from the roadway and check out their suitability. No time like the present his internal conscience spoke, so he grabbed the map and drove as far as the first path leading down from the road. He was gone for hours surveying the pathways, scrawling endless notes over the printed piece of paper, learning the tracks as best he could.
That night Mitch reluctantly made the promised phone call to Sarah. Not that he didn’t want to talk to her; he just couldn’t afford to get any closer.
“Hi Mitch, how are you?” Sarah’s tone was vibrant and inviting. “I would’ve liked to have spoken longer today but that damn café never seems to be quite lately.”
Mitch assured her it was OK and apologised himself for not calling sooner.
“Hey, I was thinking I could cook you dinner and we could maybe spend some time alone.” Sarah elaborated living with her mother and daughter didn’t afford much ‘alone time’. She suggested preparing everything at her house first then coming over to Mitchell’s to spoil him with the ‘best home cooked meal he would ever have’. Mitch was cautious of the offer but couldn’t find an appropriate refusal. The accident on the bridge set his plan back by weeks, if not months, and the longer it took to cross the bridge the longer he had to play the game with Sarah. A game played until everything could be erased; well at least Mitch thought would be erased.
“Great idea Sarah, that would be nice. Thanks for thinking of it. What about Sunday night?” he asked trying to sound obliging.
“That’s perfect Mitchell. I don’t have to work on Monday morning, so even better.”
If he was reading between the lines correctly, the last comment was as concerning to Mitchell as exciting.