Fishing for Tigers (31 page)

‘Is that what you think of me?'

‘I don't know. I don't get why else you'd choose to be here.'

I didn't answer right away. I knew he was at breaking point with this country, with his parents, with himself and with me. I went to the mini-bar and poured myself a scotch and Coke. I drank it slowly, while Cal pressed his forehead into the window.

‘The cities I've lived in before,' I said, ‘in Australia and then the States, they're so new. I don't mean the buildings and roads and such, I mean the . . . the . . . the
spirit
. There's a sense that everything that is wrong can be permanently fixed and the only thing in the way of perfect order and harmony is lack of will. Vietnam isn't like that. Hanoi, especially, knows that permanent solutions, the promise of order and harmony and happiness – they're children's dreams. Terror, chaos, war and grief will always be there. There's no false hope, no pretending. Some things are okay and others are terrible and that's how it's always been and always will be so you just get on with things.'

He continued staring out at the street. ‘Bullshit. You tell yourself nothing can be better so you don't have to do anything to make things better.'

I poured another drink. I wasn't sure anymore whether he was naive and idealistic or whether I was as cynically and selfishly disengaged as he thought.

‘I've made things better for myself, does that count?'

He paused. ‘Yes.'

‘I was being facetious.'

‘I know that, but it's still true. You and your friends, you treat this place like it's a blank slate, and I hate it. And yet . . .' He faced me, but didn't meet my eyes. ‘I know that coming here saved you. I know you saved yourself by coming here and that's . . . That's your right. Just like it was my family's right to flee to Australia to save their lives. I do get that. But you don't belong here. I don't mean because you're white or whatever, I mean you don't even try to belong. You haven't learnt the language, you don't have Vietnamese friends. You treat your neighbours like they're extras in the movie of your reinvention. You say you love it, but you're not even really in it.'

‘Maybe that's what I love.'

‘Is it?'

‘I don't know. I've never thought about it. It's enough that I feel happy. When I'm unhappy, I'll have a think about why. Okay?'

He belly-flopped onto the bed, groaned.

‘Do you want some scotch? It's very helpful in situations like this, I find.'

‘I told Dad we were in love. He laughed.'

‘Well, he'd had a shock.'

‘He said I shouldn't take it personally, that you were damaged goods and vulnerable to falling for the first man or boy – he made a point of saying “or boy” – who showed you kindness and attention.'

I slammed my glass down on the mini-bar. I had a glimpse of myself from the outside, a movie-of-the-week cliché of a woman, boozy and splotchy-skinned, her robe flashing dimpled thighs with each emphatic gesture. This was how Matthew saw me, wasn't it? Him and all the men like him. They thought women like me were finished and, mistaking their own view for reality, they assumed we thought that way about ourselves.

‘Listen: he didn't have a conference last weekend. He came here so he could screw Viet girls in comfort, without having to pay for it and without you knowing. Those middle-aged creeps we've been seeing all week? He's one of them.'

Cal pulled himself up, slow and rickety like an old man or a baby. ‘You knew that's what he was doing here?'

‘Not until after the fact.'

‘But you knew before today. You knew this and didn't tell me.'

‘Yes.'

‘To protect him or me?'

I threw my hands up. Dramatic, loaded broad that I was. ‘Both. Neither. I don't know. He asked me not to tell you, so I didn't.'

He nodded. ‘I wonder. Is everyone over thirty a sleazy, selfish hypocrite or just the ones I'm lucky enough to know?'

‘You know what, Cal? I'm tired of your rhetorical questions and attempts at analysis. I'm tired of your bullying and guilting and moral superiority. I've lived that life already. It's why I'm
damaged goods
. So cut it out or forget this whole thing.'

He got up and began to dress. I pretended it didn't matter. I rummaged in the mini-bar for more scotch but only found gin. I made a fresh drink.

‘Guess I'll see you around some time,' he said and left me.

flew out of Saigon at 8 am and then caught a cab from
Bài airport straight to the office. When I walked into the break room to dump my bag, Thuan leapt from her seat and clapped.

‘Mischa, I am so happy you are back.' She squeezed my hands. ‘Your skin is darker, I think! Was the sun very hot? Could you understand the people talking? Their accents are strange, don't you find? How is Matthew? Did he return to Hanoi also? Is he very badly hurt?'

‘Yes, yes, it was very hot and very busy. Matthew has two broken legs, but he will be okay with time. His son is staying with him until he's well enough to fly.'

‘And? Any news for us?'

‘News?'

‘Maybe some news about Matthew and you?'

‘What? No! Thuan, Matthew is my friend. I've told you before.'

She let go of my hand and stepped back. ‘Yes. I thought, maybe . . . Maybe when you went to help him he would realise that you are good for him and he would ask you to marry.'

I laughed. ‘I am not the marrying type, Thuan. And neither is Matthew.'

‘I don't understand this “marrying type”.'

‘It means that—'

‘I understand what it means. I think it is a crazy thing. Okay, so don't marry a bad man, but why say you won't marry any man? How will you be happy without a family?'

I had never heard Thuan speak so frankly. Or so passionately. Her cheeks had turned pink.

‘Not everybody wants a family, Thuan. I'm happy on my own.'

‘For now, but what next? You will be forty or fifty or sixty. No children to care for you, no babies to bring you happiness when you are old.'

‘I have friends . . .'

‘They will have families and they will go from here. Many times this has happened. The foreigners come, very young, very happy alone. They stay for some time and then it is enough alone, enough strangeness. They “settle down”, yes?'

‘Yes.'

‘And here will be Mischa. Old lady, her friends are children.'

‘Why are you saying all this, Thuan? Have I upset you in some way?'

Thuan shook her head. ‘I am upset for you.'

‘Well, don't be.'

‘If that's what you like.' She gave a forced smile. ‘We have missed you in the office. There is so much work waiting for you.'

‘Excellent. I'll get started then.'

While my computer churned awake I filled Mario and Julian in on Matthew's injuries. Like most expats they couldn't get enough of gory details of motorbike crashes.

‘Moto accident my arse,' Mario cackled. ‘I knew that old dog would get himself in the shit sooner or later. Probably had both his knees broken by the papa of some freshly picked cherry-blossom.'

‘Had it coming, mate,' Julian agreed. ‘Speaking of, you'll have to tell him that Thuan is out of circulation, else he'll end up with both arms broken, too.'

‘Ah, so sad. Another one bites the dust. She'll be knocked up within a week of the wedding, bet you anything.'

I typed in my password, waited for my screen to fill with a week's worth of emails. There were three. One was a forwarded joke, one a newsletter and one was management's congratulations on Thuan's engagement.

My editing folder, at least, was full. I imagined bolts slammed through the top of each foot, cable ties around my hips and waist. There was no choice but to click open the first file and begin work. I got into a rhythm and it was several hours before I found myself sinking into the murkiness that had threatened to unbalance me all morning.

I found Thuan in the break room, transcribing by hand whatever was playing through her headphones. She glanced up when I entered then returned to her notebook. I put my arms around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. I lifted one ear-cover; ‘Congratulations. I'm thrilled for you.' She patted my hand, nodded, then straightened her spine and continued to write.

‘You silly bint.'

‘Hello, Henry, how lovely to hear from you.'

‘What were you thinking?'

‘Spare me.'

‘Please. Do you really expect us to let this go?'

‘Us?'

‘Your friends. The ones whose children you haven't been shagging. We will not leave you alone until you have told us every last detail. Grog Hut at seven?'

‘Fine, but if your friend Collins is there, I'll leave.'

‘Ah. The rival.'

‘Fuck you.'

‘Oh, no, I'm too old for you, love.'

Amanda, Henry and Kerry were bent over the table of a corner booth, conspiring like a coven when I walked in. Kerry spotted me first and waved me over. When I reached the table she punched me hard on the arm.

‘You cow! How could you not tell me about this?'

‘Please,' said Amanda. ‘You're the last person she could've told. Me, though, I never gossip, never judge. My lips would've been sealed, Mish. You know that, right?'

I sat and drank from the beer someone had placed in front of me. ‘What has Matthew told you?'

‘That you've been fucking his kid, duh.'

‘Yes. What else?'

‘You got kicked out of the hotel.'

‘Did he say anything about how Cal was doing?'

Henry whooped. ‘Darling, are you concerned about the boy? How sweet. But oh, dear. This means you've not spoken to him. Uh-oh. Is the great love affair over so soon?'

‘Is it a love affair?' Amanda said. ‘Because I thought maybe it was just a sex thing?'

‘Of course it's a sex thing! Bloody hell, have you
seen
the boy? I was at Matthew's one morning and he came stumbling out of his room dressed in the tiniest, tightest little sleeping shorts. I didn't know where to look. He's exquisite.'

Amanda gave a dirty cackle. ‘I thought you weren't attracted to Asians.'

‘If they all looked like him, my experience of this country would be entirely different.'

‘Only in that your level of frustration would be multiplied by a billion. It's not like the drooling perviness would be mutual.'

‘Actually, that's a good point,' Kerry said. ‘Not that you're not lovely, Mischa, you are of course, but he's
eighteen
. I'd be bloody terrified of getting naked in front of someone that age. Did you just always keep the lights out or what? Oh, but then you wouldn't be able to see him either, which would be a waste.'

‘As a man who's been intimate with a great many women—'

‘Oh, here we go!'

‘—I have to say that the younger girls have an entirely different standard of grooming and, ah, intimate presentation and—'

‘They're not younger
girls
, Henry, they're younger
whores
.'

‘—so I'd assume that a fella Cal's age would have different expectations in that department.'

‘Are you seriously talking about Mischa's lady-parts right now? You're repulsive.'

‘Kerry started it, talking about lights out and all that. It just got me thinking.'

‘Henry does have a point, Amanda. Young men have different expectations. Oh! Unless he's one of those, oh, what do you call them, Henry? Those people who have a mummy fetish?'

‘Okay, I'm going to leave now. Please don't ever speak to me again. Any of you.'

Kerry threw her arm around my shoulders. ‘Darling, we're only being silly. You know how we are! Oh, god, you're all teary. Oh, Mishy. It was serious then?'

‘I don't know.' I rubbed my eyes. ‘It wasn't supposed to be.'

‘You have to be careful with the young ones,' Henry said, his tone gentler. ‘They're so optimistic and romantic. It can rub off.'

‘I'm worried it's worked the other way. That he's become more cynical, sadder even.'

‘Don't feel bad.' Kerry gave me a squeeze. ‘He's eighteen. It was only a matter of time before he became bitter and disappointed with the world.'

‘Mischa.' Amanda had a hard look in her eyes. ‘I'm concerned now, I really am. Sex is one thing, but if you've become serious . . .' She sighed and looked off over my shoulder. ‘I don't know if you realise how young he is. I have students who are eighteen . . . '

‘I was married at his age.'

‘And that was good for you, was it?'

‘Maybe it was. Who's to say?'

Kerry squeezed my shoulders again. ‘It was terrible for you and you know it. But that's not the point.' She turned to Amanda. ‘Mischa is a nice person. She wouldn't hurt him.'

‘Not on purpose. But . . . there's a power imbalance here, Mish. You know that. It's not right.'

‘There's always a power imbalance!' Henry said. ‘Any two of us at this table paired off right now there'd be a power imbalance. There'll always be one who kisses and one who offers up their cheek. That's love, kids.'

‘Like you know about love.'

‘I know enough to know it's never equal and someone always gets hurt.'

Amanda pointed her beer at him. ‘You say things like that so you don't have to be responsible for your actions. Someone always gets hurt, so therefore you have permission to be a prick.'

‘You sound like Cal,' I said.

They all looked at me in pity or maybe it was disgust. It didn't matter. I used to think that the reason nobody had got through to me about Glen was that he had colonised my mind to the point where I didn't hear anything unless he was saying it. But now my mind was my own and my life was what I decided it should be, yet nothing my friends said made the slightest difference to how I felt and the only thing that would determine my future behaviour towards Cal was whether he still wanted me.