Stars Over Sarawak (5 page)

 'And if I do inquire, and discover he was there, what then?'

 'I would be a little nearer discovering what happened to him.'

 The amber eyes narrowed.

 'You're hoping he has met his end, is that it?'

 'No, certainly not!' Colour rushed into her cheeks. 'I must know whether or not I'm a widow, though, mustn't I?' and before he could answer, 'I've told you, I want to marry again.'

 The thin lips twisted in a half-sneer.

 'Your eagerness to marry is so typically feminine,' he commented without any attempt at tact. 'You've found your ideal, you say—' This with distinct sarcasm that caused her colour to deepen to an even rosier hue. 'How long will he remain your ideal, do you think?'

 Roanna's pointed little chin lifted.

 'For ever, Mr. Denver.'

 His lips twitched.

 'Forever and a day ... How old did you say you were, Mrs. Barrett?'

 'I don't think I told you my age. I'm twenty-four.'

 'No age at all,' he declared. 'You'll learn as time goes on.'

 'If you're telling me I'll become disillusioned with marriage,' she retorted, 'then you're wasting your time, Mr. Denver!'

 Unperturbed by her spurt of anger, he said quietly,

 'I wasn't telling you, I was warning you. However,' he added with a significant glance, 'you shouldn't need warning. You've managed to make one failure, so I shouldn't have thought you'd be as eager as you are to add another to it.'

 'You're a cynic, Mr. Denver.'

 'Wisely so, Mrs. Barrett. A little cynicism wouldn't come amiss in your own case.'

 'I'm not expecting to make another failure,' she said quietly, reverting to what had gone before.

 'Your optimism might appear commendable to some people; to me it's not only misplaced, it's laughable. The fact of your first failure seems not to trouble you at all.'

 'It wasn't I who failed,' she began, but was interrupted by a harsh laugh.

 'What woman didn't make a protestation like that?' he sneered, the amber eyes dark with scorn.

 'In my case it's true, nevertheless.' Why she should wish to appear blameless in this man's eyes she did not know, but somehow she did wish it. 'As I said to you in the beginning, there was more to it than appears on the surface.'

 He shrugged his shoulders and as Malcolm reappeared the subject was dropped.

 Roanna was, strangely, not in the least angered by the conversation, for she could understand just how Carl Denver felt about marriage. In his case — unlike her own — the marriage would have been based on love, and with its break-up must have come hurt and disillusionment. Whether it had been his fault or that of his wife was not an important factor at this time, when it was all over and the marriage dissolved. The hurt and — perhaps more important to a man like Carl — the sense of failure, were all that mattered, simply because it was these that remained.

 But although she was not angry, Roanna felt deflated, for it would appear that she was not to have any help at all from the one man who could help her if he chose. With an adroitness that in no way surprised her he had managed to divert the conversation away from her request and there had been no occasion when he made an opening for her to reintroduce it. And so she was back to where she began, with the information given her by Nathan, but having no way of discovering whether or not this information was correct.

 Should she return to England, as Carl Denver advised? It savoured of defeat even before she had really tried. Andrew would surely feel the same, especially as the arrangement was for her to persevere with her efforts until he should join her, after which she would have his help. And his companionship, she thought with a little sigh of longing. How pleasant it would be once he came! No, she must not even contemplate returning home at this stage. She must persevere so that when Andrew did arrive she could say she had done all that was in her power to discover what had happened to her husband. This she owed to Andrew — dear Andrew, who was so patient, and so understanding. How very fortunate she had been to find so desirable a man for a husband.

 'Mrs. Barrett, you appear not to be interested in the second race.' Carl Denver's voice broke into her musings and she fluttered him a smile.

 'I was deep in thought,' she confessed. 'Which is my horse?' She looked across at the track and her interest returned, but it was not quite so strong this time since she had not been given a hot tip and she felt convinced she was going to lose her money. This she did, while Carl won again.

 'Lucky at gambling, unlucky in love,' said Malcolm with a laugh, and without thinking. Carl's eyes flickered to those of Roanna, the familiar gleam of cynicism in their depths.

 'You're having another bet?' Malcolm looked from Roanna to Carl; they both nodded and although Carl offered to take the bets Malcolm said he would take them, and off he went, once again leaving Roanna and Carl together.

 'Mr. Denver ...'

 'Yes, Mrs. Barrett?'

 'This river — the Yangai — there are longhouses on its banks?'

 'Yes.' He looked questioningly at her. 'I'm told that the longhouse is in fact the entire village?'

 'That is so. The longhouse is in fact very long, sometimes accommodating a thousand people or more.'

 'As many as that?' He nodded, eyeing her curiously and waiting with interest for her to continue. 'Do all these people live communally, then?'

 'Not strictly, Mrs. Barrett. The longhouse — if I might describe it to you — is made of wood, it stands quite high because the Natives accommodate their animals underneath — their cocks and the dogs and pigs and the rest. All the way along the front is a verandah and here life is communal. But behind this verandah are doors. And a "door" is in fact a separate house, or perhaps apartment would be a more descriptive word. The doors are private, their rooms being used by one family only, while the verandah, as I've said, belongs to everyone. All social activities arc staged here, and often the young men sleep on the verandah.'

 'The Natives have a chief, I'm told?'

 'Of course. The chief might be over several long-houses, in which case he's called a
penghula
. The chief of the single longhouse is called a
tua rumah
.'

 'It's all very interesting,' she murmured. 'I believe anyone can visit one of these longhouses?'

 'The Natives welcome visitors.' A small significant pause and then, quite softly, 'Are you thinking of paying a visit to a longhouse, Mrs. Barrett?'

 She looked swiftly at him. Just when the idea came to her she did not know. One moment it was not even conceived, but the next moment it was born.

 'Along the River Yangai — er — how far is the nearest longhouse — in a
prahu
, I mean?'

 'How long will it take you to get there?'

 'Yes, that's what I meant.'

 'Mrs. Barrett,' said Carl in the same quiet voice, 'you mustn't think of going alone—'

 'But you said the Natives were friendly — at least, you meant that when you said they welcome visitors. I'm told that one needs to take gifts, and that one can be quite sure of being safe.'

 Faintly he smiled on hearing this word.

 'They don't collect skulls any more, if that's what you mean.' Roanna said nothing and he continued, his voice still quiet but edged with a stern command that for the moment made her feel quite meek, 'I meant what I said about not going alone. In any case, what do you hope to gain?'

 'I thought I might talk to the headman — the — er —
tua rumah
or the
penghula
, and ask him if he remembered an Englishman going up the river, visiting the longhouses, looking for bronzes and other antiques.'

 'You thought you'd talk to the chief? In what language, Mrs. Barrett?'

 She looked at him, blank-faced.

 'Don't they speak English?'

 Carl Denver slanted a look which made her feel like an imbecile.

 'The Natives up there, along the Yangai River?'

 'Are they very primitive? I mean, the Dyaks speak English — at least, I've heard some of them speaking English.'

 'The Dyaks are very different from the tribes living along the banks of the Yangai, Mrs. Barrett. No, I'm afraid you must abandon any idea of so wild and unfruitful a scheme as that. My advice to you is to go home,' he added rather forcibly. 'Your fiancé must either have been very weak, or very unthinking, to allow you to come out here alone — but I've expressed this opinion before, or at least a similar one. No fiancée of mine would be allowed to come to a place like this on her own.'

 'My fiancé is neither weak nor unthinking,' she retorted, colouring with anger. 'He'd naturally have raised objections had he had any doubts at all about my safety.'

 Carl Denver shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to the horses. His indifference was like a snub, but Roanna ignored it. No one was going to speak disparagingly of Andrew and get away with it, least of all Carl Denver with his cynical attitude towards marriage.

The idea of going up the river to visit the nearest long-house persisted, growing stronger as the days passed and time began to hang heavily on Roanna's hands. Subtly she drew from Malcolm information about visiting a longhouse, but it was when the four schoolteachers returned to spend another night at the hotel that she really decided to make the trip. For they had been visiting a longhouse and they seemed to have had a most pleasant time. The Natives were friendly and hospitable, having prepared a special feast for the four visitors who had spent two nights in the longhouse.

 'Where did you sleep?' Roanna wanted to know, imagining rush mats on the verandah where all sorts of insects would feed on the sleeping victims.

 'We had — of all things — four-poster beds!'

 Roanna blinked.

 'Four-poster beds?' She shook her head. 'Not like the ones you find in our country?'

 'Exactly like those.' The four laughed at Roanna's expression. 'We had beautiful clean sheets and blankets, and our own rooms — we two girls in one and the men in another.'

 'But I thought the Natives were poor?'

 'Some are, but — well, to be quite honest, Roanna, this particular longhouse does cater for visitors.'

 'It's like an hotel?'

 'No, not like an hotel. It is a native village, don't make any mistake about that. But the inhabitants are used to coming down river and mixing with the more sophisticated peoples and the Europeans; they trade with them and so they get the things we've mentioned.'

 'We had flowered curtains up in our bedroom,' Nathan said, and Mandy said there was a record player in theirs, although they didn't like to touch it so they didn't know whether or not it was in working order.

 'Did the Natives speak any English?' Roanna wanted to know.

 'One or two did — they'd picked up a little from the people they traded with, but mostly they speak the Malay language.'

 The two couples were tired and although Roanna would have welcomed their company she saw after a while that they wished to go to bed. But finally she did ask if they happened to know how far up the Yangai River the first longhouse was and learned to her satisfaction that the journey there and back could be made quite easily in one day.

 With this information and that received from Malcolm — who had not suspected Roanna of having the visit in mind — she felt confident of reaching the long-house without too much trouble. She imagined it would be rather like the one visited by the four teachers, since it was situated so reasonably close to the coastal region with whose population the Natives from the longhouse would probably mix when they came down to sell their wares. However, she asked the Malay from whom she hired the
prahu
if he could find her a Native who could speak a little English. This was a precaution against the inhabitants of the longhouse not having even one among them who would be able to understand her.

 She was introduced to Kayun, a Dyak who spoke some English. Tall and slender, with shapely limbs and a clear cinnamon skin, he wore as his only covering a brightly-coloured loincloth. Roanna judged his age to be about twenty.

 As the boat glided smoothly along the river, between banks fringed with nipa palms, she explained to Kayun what she wanted. But first she asked if any of the people of the longhouse would be likely to speak any English. At this Kayun shook his head firmly. Roanna then said what message she wished him to convey to the chief.

 'I understand,' he said. 'You want me to ask
tua rumah
if came here an Englishman wanting to buy valuable bronzes and jade?'

 'Yes, that is right, Kayun.' She spoke slowly, as the Malay had told her to, and Kayun grinned to confirm that he fully understood what was required of him.

 After that Roanna settled back under the awning and enjoyed the experience of the sail. She asked Kayun about the trunkless nipa palms whose long leaves came up from the edge of the bank.

 'They very good use to us people.' He made a gesture with his hands above his head. 'Roof—?' He wrinkled his forehead. 'Roof?' he repeated.