Cull. Stafford Ray
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memory.
“Think of the words. Was there any meaning for the words that you did understand?”
Mae looked again at the transcripts for inspiration. “Duk warned Ho about saying too much and then mumbled something about it being essential that, whatever the words meant, it not be discovered.”
She turned again to Harry with a puzzled expression. “One meaning of the word when used on farms relates to slaughtering old hens that are no longer laying.”
Harry’s stomach turned. “You mean a cull?”
She answered carefully, an indefinable unease rising. “That’s the impression I got. In context, it could have meant that they were preparing to get rid of the Japanese or maybe us.” She stared at Harry her face crumbling.
“I began to realise that last night while I was struggling with the transcript. It scared me.” She delved into her purse and dragged out a bedraggled tissue. “It seemed too important to let go. That’s why I put it into the report. I’m sorry.”
She began to mop tears from her cheeks.
“No, it’s OK.”
He picked up the report as Mae sat back, now recovering, and more calmly added, “No harm done, but in future, watch it. As you know, I don’t always get time to check these.”
He read again what Mae had written. “So that’s why he was so friendly at the end. The two-faced old bastard!”
“No,” she disagreed. “He really likes you. The wishes were genuine.” He grunted his doubts and passed her the offending page.
She looked again at her notes. “What do you want me to do with this? Shred it?”
Harry considered carefully. “Yes, take it out of the official document.” He paused to think. “It may be the most important bit of information we got yesterday. We’d better sit on it until we know more.” He nodded his decision. “Leave it in your notes in Mandarin but leave it out of the official translation. OK?”
He looked seriously at Mae as she folded the page in two and pointed in the vague direction of Washington.
“We don’t want some clown in State thinking he has to save America by blowing something up!” He laughed. “But I’ll have a word in certain ears about taking a few more close-ups of rural Mongolia!”
She relaxed and with a final wipe of her nose, replaced the report in her briefcase and poured another tea, now cold. She had still not fully recovered her composure.
He smiled reassuringly.
“I’m sure you agree we don’t want to be the idiots who start World War Three.”
He touched her hand lightly in reassurance as he rose.
“This remains a secret between us for now, OK?”
Mae held his hand and pulled him down again as she answered.
“OK, but be careful Harry; there are things going on we don’t understand. Ho didn’t warn you for no reason!”
He removed his hand. “I’ll be careful, and don’t worry. It’ll all look brighter when we get to Canberra!”
His cracked baritone growled out the last few bars of ‘I still call Australia home’. He smiled and turned away. “See you in an hour.”
9. MEKONG
Loi turned to look back at the house where he was born. Tears filled his eyes as images of his mother and father flooded in. He could see his father, fighting with the Viet Cong at night and growing rice by day. The Americans who came and searched. Their polite manners and lustful eyes. The chickens and ducks he had fed and the eggs that hatched, the water buffalo they shared with their neighbours; all gone.
He hefted the pathetic remains of what had been a rich household. Some clothes, a blanket and a few cooking pots, what was left of Thang’s gift of food, and turned towards the river and uncertainty.
Lin Poi was now ahead but she was carrying the younger child on her hip and he would soon catch up. He smiled at her strength. She had spared him the decision he knew had to be made.
As if she had read his thoughts she turned. “Nhanh lên! Hurry up Loi, they won’t wait!”
“I’m coming. Go ahead, I’ll be there.”
He trotted a few metres while she watched. When she turned, satisfied he was coming, he slowed again to a walk, in pain and fatigued by starvation.
The river bank was now in view and the boat was still there. He stopped again and stared for a moment. It looked so small and with so many people already aboard it seemed there was no space for them.
Lin Poi was pushing the children along the gang plank as he reached them. “Hurry,” she urged the boys. “We’re going for a wonderful holiday.”
He recognised the fisherman who was ushering them aboard.
“Hello, Loi,” he called, reaching for his bundle. “You’re the last. Get aboard and we’re off.”
He took the sack, returning it as soon as Loi was on deck, pushed the plank back onto the jetty and closed the gate. A low grinding noise came from deep below deck and grey smoke drifted up to them on the still and fetid air.
The lad who had been waiting at the bow line hurried to the engine hatch and disappeared below with a can of Aerostart. He yelled “Now!” and the grinding noise began again, much louder through the open hatch.
Loi recognised the sound of a worn starter motor and almost flat battery. He perversely hoped it wouldn’t start and they could go back home and pray for a miracle, but the motor caught and although he didn’t feel it, his mind flirted with the idea that maybe that was the miracle.
A burst of black smoke shot from the side of the old wooden hull. The ancient motor caught on one cylinder, ran roughly for a few moments on two, then settled into a regular thumping rhythm, spitting out globs of dirty water and blue smoke mixing with black.
The fisherman’s eyes caught Loi’s worried stare on the way to check his son’s progress back towards the bow. He shrugged. “So what did you expect, Rolls fucking Royce?”
Loi laughed. “I guess not.”
“Cast off!” he called to his son as he pulled the stern line aboard and moved back to push the combination control lever forward to idle speed. Prop-walk pushed the stern out as the tidal current caught the bow. The old craft spun slowly towards mid-channel as he called his son back to take over.
“All below!” the fisherman called, pushing people towards the hatch. “You must not be seen. We will be stopped. I’ll be shot and you’ll all be taken away and God knows what’ll happen to you then.”
He urged them to hurry. “Quickly now; you can come out when we’re at sea.”
Willing hands took the children below and Lin Poi followed, placing a foot on the top rung of the ladder, moving carefully, her swollen body making the climb awkward. Fish smells here were stronger than diesel fumes, but not as strong as the sweat of frightened people. Her other foot sought and found the next rung. She lowered herself slowly to the floor of the hold and looked up, the boys clinging to her skirts. Loi was the last before the hatch cover blocked out the light. In the hot darkness children began to whimper.
Soft voices murmured assurances to children and frightened neighbours.
Loi had never been on a boat before and was ashamed of his fear as he sought and found Lin Poi’s hand in the darkness. After a while, a sliver of light reflecting off the underside of the white fibreglass cover made their faces visible. It had been propped open enough to let in some air.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “It’s not far to the sea.”
She squeezed his hand and wedged