The silence lasted only a few seconds.
In the Mekong Restaurant, silence never lasted much longer than that.
Someone wanted another bowl of rice.
A couple at the back were trying to decide between bò lúc lắc and cá kho tộ.
From the kitchen came the familiar clatter of woks and porcelain.
Life, as it always had, continued around the conversation.
Juan reached for his Gin and Tonic but left the glass untouched.
Liên remained where she was, both hands resting quietly on the table.
She seemed relieved.
Not because she had finally found the Mekong Restaurant.
Because nobody had asked her to leave.
A motorcycle stopped outside.
Juan smiled.
“That’s Laurent.”
Nobody answered.
They had all heard it.
A few seconds later, Laurent walked through the open gates, nodded to Mr Hoàng behind the counter, then to Lý, who was carrying two steaming bowls towards a table by the entrance.
Neither greeting required words.
After years of almost daily visits, words had become unnecessary.
Laurent placed his canvas bag on the chair beside his usual table.
“The usual,” he said.
Lý acknowledged him with the slightest movement of his head before disappearing into the kitchen.
Laurent turned towards Juan.
“You’ve closed the laptop.”
Juan looked down.
“So I have.”
“That usually means something interesting has happened.”
“Usually.”
Laurent pulled out his chair.
“And today?”
Juan was quiet for a moment.
Then he looked towards Liên.
“Today… someone has come looking for us.”
Laurent followed his gaze.
He saw a young Vietnamese woman.
No more than twenty-three or twenty-four.
Travelling clothes.
A canvas backpack.
A face marked more by tiredness than by age.
He looked back at Juan.
“Do I know her?”
“No.”
“Does Hoàng?”
“No.”
“Then why…”
Juan interrupted him gently.
“Sit down first.”
Something in his voice made Laurent do exactly that.
Lý returned carrying a large bottle of Tiger Beer and placed it on the table without being asked.
“Thank you.”
Lý gave the slightest nod and walked away.
Laurent waited until he was out of earshot.
“What is this about?”
Juan looked briefly towards Mr Hoàng.
Hoàng was checking a bill at the counter.
As always, he appeared to be concentrating entirely on his work.
Juan knew better.
Hoàng missed very little that happened inside his restaurant.
He lowered his voice.
“Do you remember the last evening we saw Phong?”
Laurent did not answer immediately.
He remembered every detail.
The empty chair.
The unanswered telephone.
The days that became weeks.
The weeks that became months.
“I remember.”
Juan nodded towards Liên.
“She knew him.”
Laurent frowned.
“How?”
“That’s exactly what we’re about to find out.”
For the first time since entering the restaurant, Laurent looked directly at Liên.
She noticed.
Their eyes met for only a second.
She gave a small, almost hesitant nod.
It was neither a greeting nor an introduction.
It was simply the acknowledgement of someone who understood that they had arrived carrying answers…
to questions that had remained unanswered for almost a year.
Laurent remained silent for several seconds.
His eyes rested briefly on Liên before returning to Juan.
“You said she knew Phong.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And that’s all I know.”
Laurent frowned.
“That isn’t like you.”
“I know.”
Juan smiled.
“I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying not to ask questions.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“You’ve no idea.”
The corner of Laurent’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
“So…”
“…who is she?”
Juan looked towards the young woman.
“I don’t think we’ve actually introduced ourselves.”
He stood up, picked up his glass and walked the few steps to the table near the counter.
“May we?”
Liên nodded.
“Of course.”
Juan placed his glass carefully on the table.
“My name is Juan.”
“I know.”
Her answer caught him slightly by surprise.
“You do?”
“You’ve written two books about Vietnam.”
Juan smiled.
“I’m relieved to hear someone has read them.”
“I have.”
“You’ve also lived in Cần Thơ for a long time.”
“That’s true.”
“And…”
She hesitated.
“…Phong spoke about you.”
For a brief moment, Juan forgot about his drink.
“Did he?”
Liên nodded.
“He said there was a Spaniard who came to the restaurant almost every afternoon.”
“He always carried a laptop.”
“And he always said he was working.”
Laurent laughed softly.
“That certainly sounds like Juan.”
Juan looked at him.
“I do work.”
Laurent glanced at the closed laptop.
“Occasionally.”
Liên smiled for the first time.
It transformed her face completely.
Juan pointed towards Laurent.
“This is Laurent.”
“He teaches English.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you.”
Juan continued.
“And somewhere between the kitchen and the dining room you’ll find Lý.”
Almost as if his name had summoned him, Lý emerged from the kitchen carrying two steaming dishes. He crossed the restaurant without looking towards the table, placed the plates in front of two customers, collected a handful of empty beer bottles and disappeared into the kitchen again.
Laurent watched him go.
“I’m still not entirely convinced he actually works here.”
Juan smiled.
“Neither is anybody else.”
“He has always been around.”
“Long before Phong disappeared.”
“Helping Mr Hoàng.”
“Or appearing to.”
Laurent nodded.
“I’ve never quite managed to work out which.”
“Neither has Mr Hoàng.”
Neither man laughed.
There was no need.
Some jokes had become part of the restaurant years ago.
Liên followed Lý with her eyes until he disappeared once more.
“He doesn’t say very much.”
Juan shook his head.
“Almost nothing.”
“But don’t let that fool you.”
“If something happens in this restaurant…”
“…Lý notices.”
Mr Hoàng looked up briefly.
“So do I.”
Juan raised his glass slightly.
“I never said otherwise.”
Hoàng returned to his accounts.
Liên watched the familiar rhythm of the restaurant for another moment.
“You’ve all known each other for a long time.”
Juan looked around.
“Long enough for this place to become something more than a restaurant.”
“It has a habit of bringing people together.”
“And, sometimes…”
“…of bringing them back.”
Liên lowered her eyes.
“I hoped that was true.”
Juan noticed the choice of words.
Not I thought.
Not I believed.
I hoped.
He sat down again.
“Liên…”
She looked up.
“You’ve travelled a long way.”
“You don’t have to tell us everything tonight.”
She remained silent.
“The restaurant isn’t going anywhere.”
“Neither are we.”
Dinner continued around them exactly as it had every evening for decades.
Liên drew a slow breath.
“I know.”
She looked first at Juan.
Then at Laurent.
Finally towards Mr Hoàng.
“I’ve spent almost a year wondering how I should begin.”
She paused.
“I think…”
“…perhaps I should begin with the only thing that really matters.”
Juan waited.
Liên’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“I owe my life to Phong.”
For a long moment, nobody said a word.
Not because they doubted her.
But because, after almost a year of unanswered questions, someone had finally spoken Phong’s name not with despair…
…but with gratitude.
Nobody interrupted her.
Not even Juan.
He had the feeling that if anyone spoke now, the thread she had carried with her for almost a year might break.
Liên looked down at the table.
For a moment she gently traced the rim of the untouched glass with one finger.
“I’ve often wondered…”
She smiled sadly.
“…whether I should have come here much sooner.”
Juan shook his head.
“You came when you were ready.”
“I wasn’t.”
“No?”
She looked towards the open entrance of the restaurant.
“After I came home…”
“…I didn’t want to see anyone.”
A group of tourists stopped to look at the illuminated river before continuing their walk along Bến Ninh Kiều.
“I didn’t even want to leave the house.”
Laurent listened without moving.
“My mother thought that would pass.”
“It didn’t.”
“My father stopped asking questions.”
“He simply sat with me.”
Sometimes for an hour.
Sometimes longer.
Without saying anything.
Juan recognised the picture immediately.
“I imagine he understood.”
Liên nodded.
“He’d always been a quiet man.”
She smiled for the first time since beginning her story.
“When I was little…”
“…I thought he spoke less than everyone else’s father.”
“And now?”
“Now I know he simply chose his words carefully.”
Juan looked briefly towards Mr Hoàng.
Some men were like that.
Hoàng was one of them.
Liên continued.
“The police came several times.”
“They asked me to describe the men.”
“The van.”
“The route.”
“The buildings.”
“I tried.”
“But every answer seemed to produce another question.”
She lowered her eyes.
“And every question brought everything back.”
Laurent folded his hands on the table.
“Did they ever ask about Phong?”
She looked at him.
“Every time.”
“And?”
“I told them the same thing.”
She paused.
“I only knew his first name.”
Silence returned.
“I didn’t know where he lived.”
“I didn’t know his family.”
“I didn’t even know his surname.”
She looked at Juan.
“I didn’t know there was a restaurant called Mekong.”
Juan slowly nodded.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“The last time I saw him…”
She stopped.
“…I thought we’d never meet again.”
Nobody corrected her.
Because that was exactly what everyone else had believed too.
She took a slow breath.
“When Blue Dragon rescued me…”
Juan looked up.
It was the first time she had mentioned the organisation by name.
“They asked me to write down everything I could remember.”
“Every conversation.”
“Every face.”
“Every place.”
“I wrote about Phong.”
She hesitated.
“I wrote more about him than about myself.”
Laurent looked surprised.
“Why?”
Liên looked out towards the river.
“Because I knew…”
“…that somebody, somewhere…”
“…had to be looking for him.”
She turned back towards the table.
“I hoped they would find this restaurant.”
“I hoped they would find Mr Hoàng.”
She smiled faintly.
“I hoped…”
“…they would find Juan.”
Juan looked genuinely puzzled.
“Me?”
She nodded.
“Phong said…”
She stopped for a moment, as though repeating the words exactly as she remembered them.
“… If anything happens to me, there’s a Spaniard in Cần Thơ who never gives up asking questions.”
Juan stared at her.
“I said that?”
“No.”
She smiled gently.
“Phong did.”
Laurent couldn’t help smiling.
“Actually…”
“…that sounds remarkably accurate.”
Juan looked down into his Gin and Tonic.
For once…
he found nothing amusing to say.
No one spoke for several moments.
Juan was the first to break the silence.
“So…”
He looked at Liên.
“…what changed?”
She understood immediately what he meant.
Not what happened.
Why now?
Liên rested her hands on the table.
“I thought coming here would be easy.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You knew about the restaurant?”
She nodded.
“Phong talked about it.”
She looked slowly around the room.
“He missed this place.”
“I didn’t understand why.”
“I thought he was simply talking about a restaurant.”
A smile appeared.
“I know now that he wasn’t.”
Juan said nothing.
Neither did Laurent.
“He spoke about all of you.”
She looked at Juan.
“The Spaniard with the laptop.”
Then at Mr Hoàng.
“The owner who never raised his voice.”
Finally, towards the kitchen.
“And Lý.”
“The man who never smiled.”
Without realising it, Juan smiled.
“That’s an accurate description.”
“It came from Phong.”
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Liên continued quietly.
“When I finally returned home…”
“…I wanted to come here.”
“But I couldn’t.”
“Every day I found another reason to wait.”
Juan understood.
“You were afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
She looked down at her hands.
“I thought…”
“…you would ask me whether Phong was alive.”
Nobody answered.
“Because I didn’t know.”
“I still don’t.”
Her voice became almost inaudible.
“And I couldn’t bear disappointing the people he cared about.”
For several seconds, only the sounds of the restaurant filled the silence.
A spoon touched porcelain.
Someone laughed near the entrance.
Lý crossed the dining room carrying a tray with three bowls of fried rice. As always, he neither hurried nor lingered. He placed the dishes on a table near the promenade, collected two empty bottles and disappeared once more into the kitchen, apparently oblivious to everything else.
Juan watched him for a moment.
Then he looked back at Liên.
“You came anyway.”
“Yes.”
She gave the slightest nod.
“Because there was something…”
“…that belonged here.”
Slowly, she opened the small canvas backpack she had carried into the restaurant.
There was very little inside.
A neatly folded jacket.
A purse.
A small packet of tissues.
She searched carefully, almost as if she already knew exactly where it was.
Finally, she took out a mobile phone.
Old.
Black.
Its screen was scratched.
One corner of the casing had been chipped.
She placed it gently on the table.
Laurent stared at it.
His expression changed instantly.
He leaned forward without touching it.
“I know that phone.”
Nobody spoke.
Laurent kept looking at it.
“I bought it years ago.”
His voice was little more than a whisper.
“When I changed to an iPhone…”
“…I gave my old Samsung to Phong.”
Liên nodded.
“He kept it with him.”
“He told me never to let anyone take it.”
Laurent looked at Juan.
“I never thought I’d see it again.”
Juan’s eyes remained fixed on the phone.
Neither he nor Laurent reached towards it.
Some objects deserved a moment before they were touched.
“He made me promise…”
“…that if I ever reached Cần Thơ…”
“…I should bring this back.”
She looked from one man to the other.
“I’ve kept that promise.”
For the first time in almost a year…
Something that had travelled with Phong had finally found its way home.