The Son

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Authors: Marc Santailler
Tags: Fiction - History, Fiction - Thriller, Fiction - War
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was something infectious about that boyish enthusiasm. And I wanted to give Eric a picture of his father he could be proud of.
    Eric had put his sunglasses on and was looking straight ahead, unseeing. I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling the rock-hard bone, the strength of young muscle. He wasn’t big, but he was built like a bricklayer.
    â€˜I know it must be very sad for you not to have known him,’ I said, trying to find the right words. ‘But he was a fine man. At least you know that now.’
    â€˜I don’t know anything about him,’ Eric said. ‘I don’t even have a photo of him. I think my mother had some, but they were lost on the boat.’ He was silent for a moment, coping with his emotions.
    â€˜I don’t know much about his family. I think they came from South Australia, and he was an only son. But I might be able to find out more if you want.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜From the Department. The Department of Foreign Affairs, that we worked for. They should still have some record of him, perhaps even a photo.’
    I was thinking of course of my old employer. My friend Roger Bentinck might help. ‘It would mean going to Canberra. Would you like me to do that?’
    â€˜Yes please.’
    â€˜Good. It may take some time, but I’ll be happy to. In return I want you to do something for me.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜Learn to trust me. I’m not trying to harm you. Very much the opposite.’

CHAPTER NINE
    We had arrived. The ferry rocked in the swell as we passed near the Heads, then slid into smoother waters before docking at Manly wharf. We disembarked and I took them first to the Ocean Aquarium, where we gaped at the sharks and the giant stingrays, then along the Corso, the pedestrian mall, to the ocean-side and the beach. The streets were packed, the shops were doing a roaring trade. We bought seafood and pizzas and ate lunch at a table near the seawall, facing the beach. The sun was hot, the surf looked fresh and inviting, but none of the others wanted to swim and instead we walked along the esplanade to the southern end of the beach, then followed a winding road that skirted the headland. Hong dragged Eric away to look for seashells and Hao and I went on ahead.
    â€˜What were you two talking about on the boat?’ Hao asked. ‘He looks so subdued.’
    â€˜I was telling him about his father. It made him feel sad. But I think it did him good.’
    â€˜I thought you were quarrelling. Did you know he’s been away most of the week? Up on a farm, he says.’
    â€˜Yes, he mentioned it.’
    â€˜Do you think it’s alright? Is it something to do with that group?’
    â€˜I’m still trying to find out. But I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s a sensible lad, he knows what he’s doing.’
    I hated lying to her, and wished I didn’t have to. But I still felt I had to earn that boy’s trust, and I didn’t want to alarm her unduly. There was too much I didn’t know yet. Let me find out what I could first, from that friend of Jack’s.
    Eric and Hong caught up with us and walked ahead, hand in hand. This time I didn’t hesitate, and took Hao’s hand too. She stiffened a little, and I thought she’d withdraw it, but she relaxed and left it there, soft and trusting like a child’s.
    â€˜How do you find Hong?’ I asked. ‘She seems a bit old for Eric.’
    â€˜Only by a couple of years. I like her. She’s an orphan too, she told me. Or at least her mother’s dead. Father unknown. Probably some American soldier, unless it was one of your embassy colleagues. She’s some kind of relation to the man who owns the restaurant.’
    â€˜Who? Vo Khanh?’
    â€˜I think that’s his name. She calls him uncle. He brought her out when she was very young, and she’s been working for him since. It’s a pity I have to go back.

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