CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

A midnight email chime roused Mitchell awake and he rushed to see if Juliana had journeyed further than Jerusalem. She hadn’t, but delight replaced disappointment when he saw Raffles had replied with what he was after - an email address.

After apologising for not contacting him under better circumstances, Mitchell’s email to Colin Barnett was an ambiguous request to help locate a Vietnamese woman - last seen at The Rex Hotel forty-four years ago. Nothing else to go on; the only detail, the name Kym Ho. Ten thousand women could have that name but Barnett narrowed it down to a single email address. One of the reasons Colin held the position in Singapore for so long was not because of what he could do, but rather who he knew. He knew everybody. And no matter the request he could make it happen. Raffles was trusted, respected, and would always return the favour. Mitch considered how many favours were used finding Kym Ho. Wondering further what he’d need to return in kind. No matter, he had a lead and would follow it accordingly. Mitch replied with undying thanks, promising to explain everything over a gin and tonic some time.

Mitch would now contact Kim Ho and what he had in mind was preposterous. He knew the introduction was vital and had only one chance. Albert would never be wiser if they failed, but Mitch couldn’t squander the only opportunity he had helping his friend. He decided now wasn’t the time. 

Kym Ho Tham spent the remainder of the war under the continued employ of the Hotel Rex. It was a horrible existence virtually imprisoned in Saigon, made even worse by the disappearance of her love. But she had little choice. When the American troops recalled and the North Vietnamese tanks rolled into Saigon the southern government turned heels and fled. After a century of foreign domination and decades of war and division, Vietnam was at last a single independent nation. 

But the government faced a myriad of economic challenges. The war had taken a severe toll on Vietnamese infrastructure; one-third of the northern provincial capitals utterly destroyed through American bombardment. While the southern economy had been aided with US funds through the 1960’s, little of it was spent on investment, new industries or infrastructure. Post war the south had more than three million civilians unemployed; and Kym Ho was quickly one of them. Several millions took to the roads in search of food, and around half a million prostitutes making a living servicing US and ARVN soldiers suddenly lost their customer base.

The reunification of the south employed policies and methods used in the north twenty years earlier. The abolition of private land ownership and the reorganisation of agricultural production along collective principles the primary focus. But the collectivisation of land proved more difficult in the south. North Vietnam’s peasants welcomed land reform; they had very little land and kept destitute by an exploitative landlord class. But peasants in the south were far better off. Many were given land through US sponsored improvement projects and unwilling to part with them so freely. Consequently large areas of the south resisted Communist Party reforms. In some provinces land restructuring took many years to achieve and in countless areas failed altogether and eventually abandoned.

Kym’s brother Tham Trong Canh was one of those antagonists. During the pre and post-war reforms he’d established a successful rice plantation seeing him through the economic struggle, and as such, made himself reasonably wealthy. Kym joined her brother after the war in 1975 and prospered too from the opportunity.

Faced with the challenge of feeding a war-ravaged nation of fifty-eight million citizens, the new government demanded massive increases in the production of rice, corn, and vegetables crops. In the mid 1980’s it further relaxed its economic grip by allowing the operation of small factories and industries for profit. These reforms permitted new development, increased growth and improved overall living standards. The Tham plantation, once a humble rice paddy and processing plant, grew to become one of the country’s largest providers of rice and grains, and the biggest exporter of canned vegetables. 

Kym Ho thrived working for the family collective during their post war development and focused her attention on the business. Her contributions alone doubling the family’s profit in the first five years. Sadly, she had less fortune in personal matters.

Struggling to forget Albert, she never found the love of another and to the dismay of her mother didn’t bear any children. Her brother though bore a large family of twelve spanning twenty-three years, and to Kym they were like her own. Living together in rural Vietnam she was with them night and day. Helping raise them to one day take over the growing family empire. But she had a special attachment to one of her nieces. 

She was the youngest child, born eight years after her next sibling, and often neglected by the older children. Kym Ho showed the girl special care treating her almost as her own and spent a great deal of time with her over the years. How Colin ‘Raffles’ Barnett uncovered that information Mitchell would never know; but he had. The email address provided was for Thi Mai Tham, office manager of the family farming cooperative and Kym Ho’s youngest niece.

It was very early when Mitchell left for his morning training session. He couldn’t really call them runs anymore and hated what they’d become. The cause would justify the hurt he reasoned as he set off thinking what to say to Thi Mai. It was surprising chilly for November but he found it refreshing. Peaceful. Cleansing. Running always cleansed giving clarity to focus. He run faster too today conceding the effects of no alcohol and a focused objective was paying dividends. Still, he didn’t enjoy it. 

By the time he returned home Mitch knew exactly what to say to Thi Mai and meticulously typed his well-chosen words unsure how fluent the recipient might be in English. Putting purpose in the phrasing, carefully constructing each sentence not to alarm Thi tempting her to deleted it as a hoax. In the email Mitchell introduced himself and briefly explained his friendship with Albert. He then talked about him mentioning a woman he’d met in Saigon but lost contact with after the war. He finished by asking if Kym Ho was still alive. Mitchell really wanted to say Albert still loved Kym, thought of her every day and found a magical plate to let him see her again. But that would be too outrageous despite the God’s honest truth in the statement.

The wording was perfect, so perfect he anxiously pressed send without further delay. He could now only hope and wait for a reply. He’d done all he could. Now like everything else in life, it was down to one person’s freewill.

Mitch drifted to sleep deliberating the response and woken by a text message from Sarah. It was a reminder of their date and how excited she was to see him. He’d totally forgotten about dinner and panicked as to the state of his house. It wasn’t that bad actually and after a quick tidy up, thorough vacuum and a good cleaning of the kitchen the problem was fixed. So Mitch took Peanut out for a short walk. When they returned, the best friends took a nap before Sarah arrived.

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No matter what she wore, Sarah simply couldn’t look any prettier. A chic beige skirt and pink cable knit top only emphasised the wide smile she bore. A darker, yet complementing mauve headband held her blonde tresses from her eyes. She was gorgeous. After opening the door Mitch stared awkwardly at Sarah. Her arms held cloches hiding edible surprises which he dutifully took before inviting her inside. He felt his resistance crumbling and they kissed longer than expected in the kitchen. Sarah’s body pushing hard against his.

Mitch wanted more but was forcibly ushered to the lounge room with a white wine and strict instructions to relax. Sarah was at ease serving others and Mitchell could tell happiest when caring for others. It was just her nature. Allesandro was a fool for leaving her. Given a second chance, he would cherish the treasure that fell in love with him by the Naviglio Grande. Well Mitchell hoped that would be the case.

He slipped his favourite album into the CD player and re-joined Sarah in the kitchen by drawing a bar stool into the doorway. Although he was told to relax, he couldn’t, and he watched Sarah glide her way through the unfamiliar kitchen preparing dishes Mitch had only dreamt of creating. 

“How was your week Mitch? What does a man of unbridled leisure do with his time?” 

Oh just the usual…training for a half marathon, hanging out at your daughters old school, taking an eighty year old woman backward in time - he could of said. Oh, and emailing a Vietnamese industrialist asking her to come to Australia to meet a past lover.

“Nothing really. I’ve been running a lot. Taking advantage of the warmer weather,” he finally said. “And what about you, the café been busy?” He hated lying to Sarah.

Between balancing two frying pans and a pot of boiling water, Sarah shot the most beautiful and mischievous smile toward Mitch and replied, 

“Yeah it’s been hectic, but I’ve been waiting for tonight.”

The conversation continued and in little time they sat down to a first course of chilli mussels and angel hair spaghetti. If Sarah looked in the pantry she would only find cans of baked beans and potatoes and it wasn’t lost on Mitchell what she might create with those ingredients. If Sarah ever opened her own café as dreamed, he would be her first customer. The wine flowed and three further dishes followed with Sarah seemingly never leaving the table or missing a beat in conversation. The night was perfect.

When finished Mitch insisted they leave the dishes and grabbed another bottle of wine to get comfortable on the lounge. They curled up together, Sarah’s right leg draped over Mitchell’s, his arm around her shoulder gently stroking the small of her back. It was the most peaceful he’d been in years. Everything he’d put himself through seemed superficially pointless. Sarah was incredible and the night so far, magnificent. How many of these could he have enjoyed? How many more could there be? I have to let go. He fleetingly saw Juliana’s eyes in hers and cruelly brought back to his past.

“Sarah,” he ventured, “do you think there’s a point in your life when you came to a crossroad. One you either created, or forced into, that pressed you to make a decision changing the rest of your life?” 

It was a heavy question and way too philosophical for the situation, but asked regardless and Mitch waited for an answer. Sarah reached across his shoulder placing her wine on the side table and starred powerfully at him. She didn’t speak for seconds then responded with a very honest and pragmatic reply.

“Sometimes, I imagine everything could have been different if one day I’d gone right instead of left. That I’d be living a life always anticipated. But at other times, I think there was no other way forward and I was bound to end up exactly where I have.”

“And can you pinpoint that moment?”

“I can pinpoint several. But they’ve happened Mitch and I can only learn from them going forward. Because I’ve already taken that turn. Why do you ask?” 

Mitch always asked probing questions but rarely enjoyed their return. How many crossroads have I passed to get here? Only one he considered significant and decided Sarah would be neither judge nor executioner if he was honest with her.

“Because I’ve become who I am from one of those moments. I’ve realised I took a wrong turn.”

His honesty was an Achilles heel and why he rarely shared his feelings. His father claimed honesty to be the best policy, and if others didn’t like what they heard, then they weren’t worthy of the words. But sometimes the truth is hurtful. Painful to speak of or even admit. He wondered what Brian would do in this situation. Keep things bottled up to deal with yourself - that wasn’t working - or share with someone who obviously cares for you? If Sarah couldn’t understand he had nothing more to lose.

Mitch confessed his love of Juliana and how she plagued his mind following her unexpected departure. He spoke of guilt and torment, how he wished he’d done things differently. How he wished he’d seen the signs. He played it over in his mind a thousand times and could never get to a point where everything was exactly as he wanted. It was never going to be like that again. He chose a path. He made a decision. Clearly the wrong one. Sarah listened intently until he stopped speaking.

“So what’s stopping you from taking the path given?” she enquired.

Nothing.

They sat for a moment looking to each other in unspoken affirmation. Sarah took Mitchell in her arms and kissed him like they had on the beach. It wasn’t passionate though. It was thoughtful and embracing. Intended to free him from shadowed hurt. The rusty portcullis lifted in his mind. Sarah pulled back and looked to him comfortingly. 

“Life is a storm Mitch, with none of us bigger than the power it yields. All we can do is endure the violence and embrace the joy. Make no mistake, it will cut like a thousand razor blades and you’ll bleed. Others will bleed too. But you'll catch the blood in your hands as a reminder. And no matter how difficult it might seem, once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through. You won't even be sure if it’s over. But one thing is certain; when you come out, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what the storm's all about.”

This time the embrace was passionate and fuelled by shared hunger. Mitchell took Sarah’s hand leading her to his bedroom where they made love until the small hours of the morning. Mitch emptied his heart to Sarah during the connection, lying awake for hours exchanging truths and the storm each of them had endured. 

Apart from his heartbeat, the shallow breath of Sarah sleeping was the only sound heard in the following hours of darkness. The two sounds were tempos apart, hers rhythmic, his racing; Mitch was deep in thought of Juliana and what she was doing. Wondering if last night would make any difference to his feelings. He answered the question well before falling asleep. 

Sunshine woke the star-crossed lovers in the middle of the morning and they quickly took up where they’d left off the night before, neither worried about where they should be or if anyone else even cared. 

The kitchen was a mess but Sarah managed to prepare pancakes and toast while Mitch left to find another café to get their morning coffees. They tasted crap but that didn’t matter.

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A dirty white council van pulled into the small car park of the local library, loud music blaring from the cabin. Inside, a young safety officer was scanning his list of daily job sheets while his head thrashed and long hair swayed to the beat of the music. The youth wasn’t concentrating on the list, he was more interested in the song bellowing from the van speakers.

Across the courtyard at the front of the library, customers sitting on the terrace of a small coffee shop turned to see the cause of commotion. 

The safety officer in his mid-twenties wore the council issue uniform in a style befitting his disdain of authority. The shirtsleeves were rolled halfway up his biceps, the top three buttons of the shirt undone. His shoes were by no means regulation appearing to be the latest offering from the Nike basketball collection. The lad seemed so jaded by his mundane job he found any distraction from it a blessing.

The job sheet indicated this visit was to check and calibrate the library’s fire warning system, fire extinguishers, and smoke alarms. He’d done this type of service dozens of times and knew what was required. It was routine work and extremely boring. Under council regulations those checks were conducted every six months, and according to the records, the same officer had performed the previous service call. He knew everything would be fine and paid little attention to the list of requirements.

The man shut off his music, grabbed his tools and calibration equipment from the back of the van, then headed off into the library. Forty-five minutes later he was back in his van thrashing his head to more music.

Mitchell was just leaving the café and noticed the youth because of the loud music and screeching tyres when leaving the car park. He was in too good a mood to pay it any great attention and headed home to Sarah after picking up two coffees from the small café he’d never been into before.

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