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'Rosie Pham'

David Weaver

gone but not forgotten
‘Rosie Pham’
David Weaver ©
When Rosie Pham moved into the empty shop in Main Street it caused quite a stir. The townsfolk watched with interest as she hurriedly unpacked cooking equipment, as if intending to open her Vietnamese restaurant that very afternoon.
We’d heard on the grapevine she was coming, but no one really believed it; for whomever in their right mind would want to start a business like hers in such a small town as Mullockgoolie?
But Rosie’s little shop turned into a gold mine, customers from a former restaurant, in the city, followed her for they knew a good feed when they’d tasted one. When the locals realised this they also became hooked. I was the first to sit at one of her tables, and we soon became friends.
Rosie had a daughter, Trinh, who was about twelve years old and it was obvious to even the most casual observer she disliked her. Not by neglect as far as material things were concerned, for she sent her to one of the finest girl’s schools in a nearby town, but nonetheless the dislike was obvious.
Trinh idolised her mother and often became openly distressed at the antagonism, doing everything possible to please but it was a waste of time.
During an evening meal at the restaurant Rosie joined me. ‘Let’s have a glass of wine together,’ she said, ‘it’s about time I relaxed with a friend.’
As I was pouring her a glass, Trinh joined us. She gently kissed her mother on the cheek, but Rosie spun around and slapped her viciously across the face, shouting loudly, ‘Don’t do that I hate it when you creep up behind me.’
Trinh quickly stepped back, the unexpected blow causing her to stagger. I grabbed Rosie’s wrist as she made to strike her again.
‘Stop it,’ I shouted, ‘are you crazy or something?’
She regained control of herself, and walked briskly back into the kitchen.
Trinh also turned to leave, but I persuaded her to join me. She gave a sad smile and reluctantly sat down. ‘Why does she dislike me?’ She asked, ‘I’ve always loved her, but all she gives in return is hatred.’
I wondered the same thing, for the ill treatment being handed out was puzzling and quite out of character.
Rosie eventually came out of the kitchen, and took my order as if nothing had happened. I also ordered for Trinh whose nervous gaze darted towards her mother, but Rosie said nothing. She returned with the food, served us then silently departed again to the kitchen.
Later that week, whilst walking my dog along the creek near Skeleton Cutting, I came to the old stone bridge, and sitting on the parapet was Rosie. We talked for while, about nothing in particular, then I said to her, ‘You’d better make your peace with Trinh before it’s too late, or one day she’ll leave and you’ll live to regret it.’
She looked distressed. ‘I know, I’ve tried but deep inside I haven’t recovered from being a boat person. I used all my strength surviving and now there is nothing left, all my love is gone.’
‘Perhaps if you told someone, you’d lift the load from your shoulders then you could both start again.’
‘I would like to tell someone, but who would want listen my story for not many people really care.’
‘Tell me, but I warn you it will end up in a story one day.’
‘I don’t mind that as long as you are true as I tell it, and judge me fairly at the end.’
‘I’m waiting for you to begin.’
She stared at the water, as if her eyes were boring into the very bedrock then began. ‘Thirty of us left Vietnam in a leaky old boat. All our life savings were in that voyage, my husband, mother, father, and two brothers; the rest were people from our village.
Two weeks at sea, on our way to Australia, the boat's engine failed and we saw a small boat coming towards us, it approached carefully circling a few times. We waved to them and welcomed the crew as they came on board how stupid we were, but there really was no choice for we’d run out of drinking water two days earlier.
A man, who was obviously the leader, was the first to come on board. He was big, and had a heart shaped birthmark across his neck which stood out conspicuously like a red warning beacon, he also carried a wicked looking curved razor sharp knife.
His crew was frightened of him and he treated them badly, but that is the way with all pirates. Make the most of your top spot before someone kills you, and takes your place, for only the strong will thrive that is the way with all wild animals.
My husband Huong was their first victim. Gentle Huong, he was always so kind to everyone; ready to help those in trouble. They threw him overboard when the sharks came; he called out my name once then was gone.
The pirates laughed, it was horrible, and I wept uncontrollably for a beautiful human being. We were all terrified of them though, for they were heavily armed and we were not.
Each day that birthmark would be on display as another victim was chosen. One of my brothers tried to defend us, but he went over the side too my poor mother attacked the leader, but he picked her up as if she was a rag doll and threw her into the sea as well.
My other brother and father were the next to go, and with each murder my hatred increased twofold. When all the men were gone they started on the older women, I think by this time I was on the verge of madness.
Two weeks later a ship appeared on the horizon, and headed towards us. The pirates clambered on board their own boat, but before they cast off the leader came back for me. He was smiling, and the birthmark stood out like an evil warning. ‘You are coming with me.’ he said.
I kicked him in the groin, and as he went down clawed him like a tiger. The more I fought the more his crew laughed at him and suddenly he lost interest in me, I think he was injured because for an inexplicable reason he angrily jumped on board his boat and they quickly sailed away.
When the other boat pulled alongside I saw men in naval uniforms staring at us but all I wanted was to die. There were only four of us left, all young women.
So that is my story, nothing that hasn’t happened to many other boat people. Thankfully I was allowed to stay and now I’m as Aussie as you are, but much better looking.’ She laughed, and I realised her tragic story was finished.
A few weeks after hearing Rosie's story, Trinh asked me to attend a swimming competition at her school. She’d been entered in the two hundred metres freestyle and because Rosie had refused to accompany her I became a poor second choice.
On the day of the competition I asked Rosie to change her mind, but she wasn’t interested, so there I was a very bored spectator indeed. For the sake of Trinh though, I put on a smiling face when she finally lined up for the race.
It was at this time I sensed someone move next to me, and a familiar hand clasp mine. I knew, without turning, that Trinh was no longer alone and hopefully never would be again.
Someone fired the starting pistol and the swimmers were off. Rosie and I made total fools ourselves she jumped onto her seat and the crowd roared for her to sit down. An utter disgrace to the Shire of Mullockgoolie, and what’s worse she didn’t care a damn who knew it.
When Trinh was disqualified, Rosie ran down the poolside and abused the judge. How he finished up in the deep end is open to conjecture but Rosie reckoned it was when he bashed her clenched fist a couple of times with his nose.
‘Why did they disqualify her?’ She asked, angrily, after we’d been thrown out of the venue.
‘Incorrect stroke, but any fool could see she was waving to someone very special.’
We both laughed. ‘Are you OK now, Rosie?’ I asked.
She smiled and when her eyes turned towards me there was no longer any sadness in them. ‘Everything will be fine from now on because when Trinh came out to swim and slipped off her dressing gown, that’s the first time I could look at her without feeling utter hatred for that heart shaped birthmark on her neck.
End




 
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