Stars Over Sarawak (12 page)

 Coffee and. sandwiches were brought — meat paste spread between thin wafer biscuits. These were placed on the table and then Tangan once again withdrew from the tent.

 It was almost eleven when at last Carl gave Roanna the sign to go by lifting his hand and suppressing a yawn. She rose at once and said good night. 'I don't need to warn you not to go off walking in the morning,' he said. 'Good night, Mrs. Barrett — and don't forget to remind me to give you that lamp.'

 'No, I'll certainly remind you.'

 'Will you be able to manage in the dark?' The question, she felt, was automatic. Certainly he was displaying no real concern about whether or not she could manage without a light.

 'Yes, thank you. Good night, Mr. Denver.' The tent flap dropped down after her and she found herself in complete, terrifying blackness, with night sounds of the jungle echoing eerily against the limestone massif above. She hesitated a little while, then had to turn back into the tent. 'I — I ...' Her voice faded and she forced herself to smile. 'Good night,' she said quickly, and went out again.

 Carl suddenly stood behind her; his hand sought her arm in the darkness and he walked with her to her tent. He carried a torch which he handed to her after lifting the flap for her.

 'Good night,' he said again, and left her.

 She stood motionless, the torch in her hand lighting up the tent, aware of the thudding of her heart and the feel of his hand on her arm. What was happening to her — in so short a time?

 Refusing even to dwell for one single moment on the matter, she undressed and got into bed, forcing herself to think of Andrew, the man she was intending to marry, just as soon as it became possible. Andrew was the reason for her being here, searching for news of her husband. Andrew was coming in about five weeks' time and there would be a lovely reunion. This she must keep in mind, she told herself over and over again. But when at length sleep claimed her it was a dark face that accompanied her into unconsciousness, a harsh-featured face belonging to a man disillusioned by marriage, a cynic whose opinion of women was just about as low as it was possible to be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEY had sailed for ten miles up the river when they were stopped by a
batang
and the two Natives had to cut through it. After that others were encountered, but the men managed to manoeuvre the boat so as to get past without mishap. Roanna sat very still, terrified that one of these fallen trees would eventually cause the boat to capsize.

 'Are there crocodiles in this particular river?' she asked fearfully when on one occasion it did seem that there was a possibility of the boat capsizing.

 'There could be,' replied Carl indifferently, 'so you'd better keep still'

 She glanced suspiciously at him.

 'There aren't any, are there?'

 'I really don't know.' He spoke frankly and she frowned.

 'I'm sure we're going to find ourselves in the water,' she said with the intention of bringing his attention to what she considered to be a highly dangerous situation. For he was scarcely interested, having settled down to the reading of the work she had typed last evening.

 'You can put your trust in Tangan,' he told her, returning his attention to the sheaf of papers in his hand.

 Roanna tried at last to settle down and enjoy the river scenery, which was becoming more attractive with each mile covered. Small islands spread with reeds and clumps of aquatic shrubs would constantly appear as bends in the river were rounded. On the banks growths of calladiums flourished, while on the river itself there were, in addition to the
batangs
which still appeared from time to time, small colonies of the luxurious sweetly-scented water-hyacinths which so often blocked the passages of the
prahus
.

 'Oh — how beautiful!' The exclamation escaped involuntarily when, rounding a wide meander, the boat began to glide along a surface strewn with shell-like milky flowers dropped by some giant tree above. The flowers floated like delicate marine creatures, and from them there came a powerful but delightful perfume.

 Carl, disturbed by her cry, once again glanced up, a frown instantly appearing, but he made no immediate disposition to subject her to the admonishment she expected on noting his half-angry expression. She said she was sorry for disturbing him but automatically gestured, bringing his attention to the lovely scene and hoping this would satisfactorily explain the reason for her involuntary exclamation.

 He nodded after a space and kept his eyes on the river; it meandered all the time, as did practically all the rivers in Sarawak, especially in their upper courses. Out of charming little thickets of delicate water grasses peeped the white lacy flowers of criniums and pan-cratiums, their umbels escaping from the strong green leaves.

 'You'll have noticed, of course,' said Carl at last, 'that colour is still practically non-existent?'

 Roanna nodded her head.

 'The white flowers are pretty, though.'

 His eyes moved to her face; she had the impression that for this moment at least she claimed his full attention while he examined every line and contour, taking in the colour of her eyes and hair, the tint of rose that had appeared suddenly, caused by her awareness of his gaze. This colour increased as the seconds passed and he continued to subject her to his most searching scrutiny and she put a hand to one delicately-fashioned cheek, an awkwardness assailing her so that she desired only to lower her head, escaping those all-seeing eyes of his.

 'You seem to like it here,' he commented at last, allowing his glance to flicker over her whole body.

 'I do like it,' she returned, a half-smile fluttering.

 'But you wouldn't care to live here all the time?'' Carl leant back in that characteristic way he had which always seemed so languid and luxurious a position.

 'I couldn't stay,' she said, and saw him nod absently.

 'You had a job in England. Did you give it up to come out here?'

 'No, I asked for a period of leave without pay.'

 'You could afford that?' The question came casually; Roanna guessed that he was curious but not over-inquisitive about the matter he had brought up.

 'I saved for a long time.'

 He hesitated, then returned to the papers which now lay on his knees. What had he been going to say? she wondered, wishing, for no reason at all, that whatever it was, he had allowed her to hear it.

 Quietness fell after that and Roanna herself leant back, but her eyes kept flickering to the lean dark face of the man opposite to her. She noted the hollows in his cheeks and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the thin harsh mouth which so often twisted with cynicism or mocking amusement. Something within her stirred, as it had stirred before; she deflected her thoughts to Andrew, but his face was far from clear. It seemed that the thousands of miles separating them had greatly impaired her mental vision.

 Confused and more than a little afraid of something quite intangible, Roanna closed her eyes in an effort to shut out the vision she
could
see — the vision she wanted to see... all the time ...

 'Are you sleepy?' the almost gentle voice drifted into her troubled mind and she opened her eyes again.

 'Not sleepy, no,' she murmured, and gave him a smile. No response came forth from those thin lips, but the amber eyes acquired the depth of interest they had taken on a few moments ago.

 'I said I'd find you some books. You should have jogged my memory.' He glanced at one of the boxes, but shook his head. 'They're in the other boat,' he said.

 'It doesn't matter. I don't really want to read at present.'

 They were entering a dim tunnel of overhanging branches which in many cases touched the water itself. The changing scene was reminiscent of a shifting scene in a ballet, but more beautiful, and alive of course. Roanna remarked on the impression she was getting and to her surprise Carl agreed that he also had the impression of an ever-changing stage setting.

 'It's always the same when one enters surroundings as dramatic as these we're in at present,' he said, adding that the deep silence of the jungle lent colour — metaphorically — to the shifting panorama. Light and shade alternated constantly as the sun's rays escaped through gaps in the tunnel, gaps made by fallen branches or even the trees themselves. Carl pointed a finger and, following the direction indicated, Roanna's eyes settled appreciatively on the brilliant bromeliads growing out of grotesque remains of dead trees which were sticking out of the water. In the background water bushes with red and white flowers effectively hid the banks of the river.

 'The silence ...' Mechanically Roanna repeated what Carl had already said about the silence lending colour to the vividly dramatic scene. 'It's all so still and — sort of — out of the world.' Her lovely eyes sought his; she saw him glance away for a second as if to conceal his expression or give him time to change it. 'Even Tangan and Agwai are quiet. The last time we sailed they were singing nearly all the time.'

 'This part of the river requires more concentration,' explained Carl, his glance flitting to the dark figure of Tangan standing by the side of the
prahu
looking intently into the water, his keen eyes searching for treacherous submerged batangs which might just cause the boat to capsize, a not uncommon occurrence in these rivers, Roanna recalled Malcolm's saying. In fact, one of Carl's workmen had been killed last year when his boat, fitted with a rather powerful outboard, had crashed with speed into a fallen tree. 'It is in fact a most dangerous stretch through which we are passing.'

 'It looks dangerous — yet it's beautiful for all that.'

 He looked at her with an odd expression.

 'You're not afraid?'

 'Not with you here—' She stopped abruptly, not having intended saying anything like that. 'I mean — mean ...' Confused by his keen observation as he gazed unsmilingly at her, she allowed her voice to fade, and she lowered her head, aware of something vibrant entering into the atmosphere around her. The dim tunnel through which they were gliding, the silence broken only by the engine and the swish of water, the heat and mystery of the jungle setting ... all these added to the tension building up inside her and suddenly she felt suffocated and an overwhelming desire for freedom took possession of her.

 Freedom from what...?

The sun began to sink and the air to cool. By the river bank was a great clump of trees and towards these the
prahu
was steered. Tribal territory had been reached, and it was here that they were to disembark.

 'I'm so nervous,' admitted Roanna, her gaze fixed on the longhouse, raised on its stilts high above the swampy ground. 'Do we need to stay the night there?'

 'You have absolutely nothing to fear,' Carl assured her, his eyes wandering to where the Natives of the village were assembled on the bank, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their guest. For it was only Carl who was expected, having sent word beforehand that he was coming. This warning had to be given, he had earlier explained to Roanna, as the Natives hated anyone descending on them unexpectedly. They wanted to be ready, as it were, to have time to prepare a feast and to tidy up the longhouse. 'These people are friendly, unspoiled men and women, and I'll guarantee that by the time we leave you'll have grown quite attached to them.'

 'I don't know about that.' Her experience was too recent for her to be ready to go with confidence into a longhouse. After all, it was not so very long ago that these 'friendly, unspoiled' people had been head-hunters, attacking with their
parangs
, a knife that sliced off the victim's head after he had been swiftly killed with a poison dart from a blow-pipe. And they had not been in any way selective about those they killed; the head of an aged infirm woman was as valued a trophy as that of a warrior killed only after a fight.

 The boat was almost at the jetty, which was made of a number of
batangs
roped together.

 'I wish we didn't have to stay.' Roanna spoke as she was being assisted from the
prahu
by Carl who, having sprung agilely from the boat, turned to extend a hand to her.

 'We must stay,' in a firm and sharp tone which was clearly a rebuke. 'They have made great preparations for my visit and it would be an unforgivable insult were I now to refuse their hospitality.'

 'Yes — I expect so,' she agreed, but unhappily. 'Will they have a spare room for me?'

 'Of course.' Turning after he had seen her safely on the bank, he greeted the
tua rumah
, Bang Kulong, and was accepted as an old friend. Roanna was introduced into the whole company, but the explanation for her presence was made to Bang Kulong only. He gave an order and three women ran off towards the
tanggai
— the notched tree-trunk that served as a ladder giving access to the longhouse which, Roanna estimated, stood about ten feet from the ground. 'A room is being prepared for you,' Carl told. her. 'I've told. Bang Kulong that you're my sister, over here on a visit from England.’ He paused, but she had nothing to say to this. 'I don't want them to know that you're the wife of a man about whom I shall eventually inquire. We can't risk a repetition of what happened before.'

 'Indeed no,' she rejoined vehemently. 'I thought I should have died with fright.'

 'Well, you've nothing to be afraid of here. Come, we're to go inside.' He took her arm and the whole assembly proceeded towards the front of the wooden building which, Roanna was later to learn, had fifty doors, or apartments, each of which was as usual occupied by a separate family, and the whole fifty families made up the entire population of the village.

 All along the front of the longhouse ran the verandah, made of wood like the rest of the house and supported on piles. After negotiating the
tanggai
Roanna and Carl were then on the verandah. Decorations in the form of green branches of trees and the colourful hand-woven blankets had been put up, and at one end was a table to which the visitors were led. Borak was handed to them and at a warning glance from Carl, Roanna, who had been on the point of declining this potent rice wine, meekly took it from the girl who was offering it to her. It would be an insult to refuse, his glance clearly said.

 The chief and elders of the tribe sat down and. also the women. All drank borak and nibbled at biscuits and small home-made cakes. After about half an hour they were allowed to go to their rooms. Carl had brought his presents and these were carried in by Tangan and Agwai, being taken to Carl's room. He came to Roanna's room just as she was about to wash her face in the bowl of water provided, and over his arm he carried a colourful sarong.

 'You can wear this here,' he said, putting it on the bed. 'It will be quite in order for you to do so.'

 'Thank you.' She looked doubtfully at it. 'Those other clothes you mentioned?' she began, when he interrupted her.

 'I'll inquire about them later. Meanwhile, change into the sarong. There'll be a party later and you'll want to look as gay as the rest.'

 Roanna did as she was told, and felt better for the wash and change of clothing. The dinner was late, eaten by the light of pressure lanterns hung from the verandah ceiling. Also hanging from the ceiling were skulls — grinning and empty-socketed with dusty hair, dried and sparse. Roanna shivered as she glanced upwards. Carl's lip twisted in an amused smile. Farther along a whole bunch of these skulls hung in a basket rather like the baskets Roanna herself used — but hers contained nothing more gruesome than flowers, and they hung from each side of the porch.