Fishing for Tigers (5 page)

‘Impressive, huh?

‘It's like something out of a Bruce Lee movie.' He struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. ‘Please forget I said that.'

‘Said what?'

‘Nice. So, wow, those are like actual Vietnamese people back there. Must piss them off all the tourists carrying on and taking photos while they're trying to pray.'

We walked closer to the shrines occupying the open-fronted temple at the back of the complex. A dozen or so Vietnamese lit incense and bowed, while twice as many ­Japanese and Korean and German tourists circled them with cameras. Cal seemed reluctant to go inside. I palmed the top of my head to check the sun hadn't burnt right through the crown of my hat.

Cal said something, but the chatter was too loud and I had to ask him to repeat it.

He put his mouth very close to my ear. ‘I thought communists weren't supposed to be religious.'

‘Not officially, perhaps, but most people here manage to be both. They have their own thing going on. Communism, Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism all mixed up with ancestor worship. That's oversimplifying, of course, but you get the idea. Then there are the Caodaists, but you only really find them down south. And the Catholics of course, but not many of them are left here. Are you religious?'

‘Nah. My mum and aunties are kind of Catholic and my grandpa is kind of Buddhist, but none of them are really much of anything. Dad's Church of England, I guess, because that's what I was christened. The Confucian thing is weird, though. Isn't it all feudal and stuff? Like the opposite of communism?' This last bit was barely audible.

‘You don't need to whisper; we won't be arrested for speaking about religion.'

‘I know that. I didn't want to offend anyone.' He turned and stalked away, back towards the entrance. I followed, equal parts amused and ashamed.

‘You're right to be sensitive,' I said when I caught up to him. ‘I've obviously been hanging around with crass insensitive sods for too long.'

He slowed his pace, but did not respond.

‘The way I understand it,' I said, ‘Vietnamese belief systems are like Vietnamese architecture and food. They take the bits that work for them and leave the rest. So, like, from Confucianism they take the idea of obligation to others: duty is very important to the Vietnamese. That flows into the ancestor worship thing: your family is forever, death doesn't lessen your obligation to them, it just changes the form it will take. That would conflict with shoot-your-family-if-they-betray-the-state style communism, but that's not what Vietnamese communism is like. It's more about national pride, which family worship fits with quite comfortably. And then Buddhism, that's all about non-attachment and transcending the material world. When you've been through the stuff these people have, well, I suppose that's a valuable philosophy.'

‘You know, Mischa, I strongly suspect that is an enormous pile of made-up-as-you-went-along bullshit.'

‘Hey, I'm not claiming to be an expert. It's my interpretation, as an outsider.'

‘Yeah.' He smiled. ‘Like I said.'

I've never kept a diary and the emails I sent my sisters were of the colourful reportage genre, so I have nothing but my memory which I know is corrupted. In retelling that day at
I find myself picking out moments that barely registered with me at the time, but which now seem significant. If things had turned out differently, there would be other moments to choose. Or there would be none; the day would be like any other, barely worth remembering at all.

You can't tell a story forward, not really. The most important thing about our walk through the temple is something I could not have recognised as important at the time. It's that I felt with Cal as I imagined I might feel with my similarly aged nephews if they ever visited me in Hanoi. I enjoyed sharing my knowledge and found his questions and observations invigorating. I thought he was bright and pleasant and that his parents must be proud. I was content in his company, and I was innocent.

When Cal and I returned to the park, Matthew and Henry were preparing to set off for a bar on Paint Street. Kerry, Collins and I protested that it was barely 2 pm, far too hot for beer or walking the unshaded, concrete streets. Matthew nodded towards Cal, who had immediately curled on his side under the tree, and was already snoring into the curve of his arm. ‘When you lot do decide to join us, be sure to drag that one along with you.'

‘Will do, mate, will do,' said Collins, pressing his back against the tree trunk and closing his eyes.

Kerry yawned and put her hat over her face. ‘Wake me if I start to sizzle.'

I would have liked to nap but the presence of Collins made me wary. I wished he'd gone with the others. I wondered whether he thought he had a chance with Kerry or me and the idea made me pity him a little.

Anyway, someone had to stay awake to watch over Cal who was still a kid and very far from home. It was easy to forget that about him. It wasn't only that he looked like a stronger, healthier version of the locals, but that he moved with such confidence and spoke with the assumption that he would be heard and understood. And at this moment, he looked properly adult. His childlike pose drew attention to how unchildlike he was. The long, muscular thighs tucked into the broad chest. The sharp, angled jaw nestling into the hard bubble of his bicep.

‘I think I'm going to go get a beer after all,' I said, and looked to Collins in time to see that his gaze, too, was trained on Cal. He blinked, then looked at me enquiringly, but I'd seen his glassy eyes and flushed skin. I saw now the popping of the tiny muscles in his cheek as he forced a smile.

‘Oh, right. Yes, go ahead,' he said and I believe I heard the grinding effort of not looking back at the sleeping boy.

‘I should take Cal with me.'

‘Let the kid sleep,' he said, his eyes focused on the space over my head.

‘Cal!' I sank my fingers into his shoulder and shook him unnecessarily hard. He moaned and feigned weakness. ‘C'mon. Walk to the pub with me.'

Kerry scowled with one eye still closed and told me to stop fussing. Collins didn't protest again. He smoked and watched the sky as if none of it concerned him.

‘Scared to walk to the pub on your own?' Cal said as we set off.

‘I've been going to pubs on my own since before you were born, mister.'

‘So what's with dragging me up?'

‘Collins. I thought . . . I thought he and Kerry might want to be alone.'

Cal slapped my back. ‘You crack me up, man.'

‘Do I?'

‘Collins is gay.'

‘Is he? How do you know?'

‘I can tell when someone's checking me out.'

‘Careful here.' We'd reached one of the city's many unofficial sidewalk motorbike parking stations and were forced to step down onto the road and walk in single file. ‘Was he really?' I called over my shoulder.

‘Dude's not subtle.'

‘Does it bother you?'

‘He bothers me. Bloody posing whinger. Couldn't care less if he's gay.'

‘But him checking you out. Does that make you uncomfortable?'

Cal cackled and slapped my back again. He left his hand there between my shoulder blades as though he was pushing me along the roadside. ‘Mischa,' he said. ‘I'm used to being checked out. It never bothers me. People like to look at beautiful things, you know?'

‘Goodness. Alright, nearly there. See your dad's foot poking out from under that awning?'

‘That's Dad's foot? Geez, he's white, isn't he? Can't believe he doesn't burst into flames out here. You too.' He touched the back of my neck. ‘The skin just here – it's translucent.'

I covered the shiver by reaching up and adjusting my hat. ‘I'm careful about sun protection,' I said. He dropped his hand and I felt old and prissy. It didn't matter. We'd reached the bar and Cal was already kicking at his father's foot, telling him to cover it up before we all went blind.

Kerry arrived five minutes later. ‘That Colin chap jumped on a
as soon as you both left. Said to tell you, Henry, that he'll see you at the office. Bloody hell, can't we ever go to places with air-con?'

Two beers in, Henry asked Matthew to give him a ride home. ‘Wait here with Mischa and Kerry, okay?' Matthew said and Cal saluted and took a slug of beer.

The faded yellow canvas over our heads blocked out the sun but trapped the humidity. I was wetter than when I'd stepped out of the shower that morning. Kerry's face glistened despite her constant use of a hand fan printed with a Tiger Beer logo. Only Cal looked cool, his skin dry and his hair tousled as if by a sea breeze. For half a minute it was quiet enough to hear an electro-pop version of an old Sinatra song playing on a tinny radio nearby, then another wave of motos roared past and Cal let out an enormous beery burp.

‘Charming,' Kerry said. Then, ‘Hey Mish, what did you think of Colin? I mean, I know he's a bit of a dork, but if he got rid of the suit and—'

‘He's gay, Kez.'

‘Is he? Did Henry tell you?'

‘I did,' Cal said. ‘Couldn't take his eyes off me all through lunch.'