Fishing for Tigers

  ‘No. Listen. We didn’t put the “Do not disturb” thing on the door. Housekeeping just came in and saw us.’

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘No, Cal, not “oops”. This could be very serious.’

  ‘What? Why? You think she’ll tell Dad? Wait, would she even know who I am?’

  ‘Just get dressed and get out of here, okay?’

  There was a sharp knock on the door.

  ‘One moment,’ I called out. I checked myself in the mirror while Cal pulled on his shorts and t-shirt.

  I opened the door to a dour, middle-aged man whose badge identified him as Manager and the sweetly smiling front desk attendant who greeted us by name every day. Behind them, the maid stared at the floor.

  ‘Yes, Miss Mischa, good afternoon. I am sorry to disturb, but there is a problem.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  The woman continued smiling, but the strain was clear. ‘The hotel policy does not allow unregistered guests to stay in the room.’

  ‘Oh!’ I gestured to Cal, without looking at him. ‘You know Cal. He’s Mr Watkins’s – Matthew Watkins’s – son.’ I forced a laugh. ‘Cal is not feeling well today and the medicine Matthew takes for his broken legs makes him snore so loudly, it is difficult for Cal to rest down there.’

  The receptionist translated for the manager who barked something at the maid who gave a barely audible reply. The manager barked at the receptionist and her smile slipped.

  ‘I am very sorry, Miss Mischa. I need your understanding, please. Sometimes police will check registers, check rooms. If you have Mr Calvin in your room like this there would be very much trouble. Trouble for you, for Mr Calvin and for this hotel.’

  ‘Yes. I see. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  She spoke to the manager and he said something back without looking away from my face.

  ‘Miss Mischa, please understand. I am sorry, but the manager says that you must leave our hotel now.’

  ‘No, no. Look, I’m checking out the day after tomorrow. I’ve booked my flight and everything. I’ll be here two more nights and there won’t be anybody else in my room. Okay?’

  She shook her head. ‘I am sorry. I need your understanding, please. You cannot stay any longer. The manager will not allow.’

  I pressed my fingertips hard into the heels of my palms. ‘I’ll need to pack up my things, okay?’

  As I closed the door, the manager grabbed it, muttering in Vietnamese.

  ‘Yes, sorry. Please excuse me, Mr Calvin?’ The receptionist looked by now like she was going to cry. ‘Please will you come with us?’

  ‘What? Why?’ He was beside me, staring down the manager.

  ‘Actually, we will like for you to come to your own room now. Thank you.’

  ‘This is bullshit.’

  ‘Cal, just go down. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Fucking bullshit,’ he said, but he went.

  There is no privacy in Vietnam. I knew, but had forgotten. The women on my street chattered and laughed as I passed them and I knew they were commenting on what I was wearing, who accompanied me, what was in my shopping bag, how much I must have paid for my hat. The key cutter across the street knew who came and went when and reported it to the lady on the corner who told the gang of drivers who knew the addresses of most of my friends. Because I could not understand the talk I could pretend it was not about me. I forgot that the fact I was rarely questioned or challenged, or prevented from doing exactly what I wanted to do, was not because nobody noticed, but because they’d decided it wasn’t worth the fuss at the time.

  The staff of the Best Saigon Hotel had decided it was worth the fuss. As I packed my things, I raged at the injustice of it. I was sure Matthew had brought a woman – perhaps more than one – back to his room before his accident, and I was sure Matthew was not the first man to do so. Hotels in this neighbourhood would have scant business if they kicked out every westerner who shared their bed with a non-registered guest.

  It didn’t matter. I was in the wrong and no amount of complaining about hypocrisy and selective blindness would help my cause.

  I would have to go down and see Matthew. I felt ashamed, but also a sense of relief. I’ve heard it said that secrecy is sexy, but it only made me feel married again. Like I had to keep track of every detail of my manner and demeanour in case I gave away my true feelings.

  My knock was answered immediately. Cal shook his head and stepped back to allow me in. Matthew was in his usual position, but his expression was new. I realised I’d never seen him hurt.

  ‘Cal, go for a walk,’ he said.

  ‘I think I should stay.’

  I was sure to look only at Matthew. ‘I think your dad’s right. Leave us alone for a bit.’

  ‘Let Mummy and Daddy talk, huh?’

  Matthew’s face contorted. ‘Is that supposed to be funny?’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot it’s the end of the fucking world.’

  ‘If I could get out of this bed it would be, you little shit. Get out of here. I mean it.’

  ‘Mish?’ Cal stood to my right. I did not allow myself a glance.

  I nodded. He swore. The door slammed.

  ‘Matthew, I—’

  ‘There’s nothing you can say that won’t make this worse.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry that you fucked my son or sorry that I found out?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘I’m glad he didn’t hear that. He couldn’t stop defending you and this – this – whatever it is you have. He says there’s nothing to be sorry for. Says you love each other.’

  I suppose I sighed. Matthew reared up and I saw the physical pain slapping at him.

  ‘Matty, please, you’ll hurt yourself.’

  He closed his eyes, sank back into his pillows. ‘I can’t deal with this, Mischa. I don’t even know where to start. Do me a favour and get me a couple of the yellow pills and some water.’

  ‘The sleeping pills?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I did as he asked and stood close by as he swallowed them. His brokenness dulled the edge of the rage knifing through my guts. After all, he was my friend and I knew, watching his grey, old-man face collapse in on itself, that his own conscience would do more damage than anything I could say.

  ‘Get some rest. We can sort all this out later. When you’re feeling better.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll be off to fuck my son again while I sleep.’

  I pushed his sweaty fringe off his forehead. ‘Of course not. It’s over. I promise, Matty.’

  I don’t know whether I meant it, but it was the only thing to say at the time. Cal was waiting for me in front of the hotel, out of his mind with anger and worry. We caught a cab to and I checked into a hotel expensive enough to assume a privacy bribe was included in the tariff.

  We made love and then cuddled under the luxuriously wide, high-pressure shower until our fingertips puckered. We ordered up burgers, which we washed down with German beer and then we stood at the window and watched women with cotton scarves over their faces and black muck over their arms rake steaming bitumen into potholes.

  ‘I hate this place,‘ Cal said.

  ‘What is it? The velvety robes, the room service? The double shower?’

  ‘Fucking Vietnam. I hate it. My mum was right. It’s a cesspool. Blood doesn’t matter, heritage or history or whatever you want to call it. It doesn’t matter. The people who got out are lucky and the people who stay out are smart. And people who choose to be here – people with American and Australian and European citizenship who fight to be allowed to live here – Jesus, Mum was right about them too. Wanting to live without connections, without responsibility. As long as they have cash they can have anything they want. Never have to make real decisions or contribute anything to society. Never have to be real. Would rather be a kid forever than live in a civilised country.’

  ‘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 m
yself 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.’