The Red Pavilion (27 page)
Ch’ing, Lee and Liz had become aware that there was a growing unease in the settlement. Lee had heard Heng Hou’s name whispered fearfully among the women as they worked around the cooking fire. Their presence put the Sakais in extreme peril.
Liz’s task must be to help get Alan fit enough to travel as soon as Pa Kasut thought it safe. In the meantime she decided to emulate her mother; if there was nothing to be done about a situation, then there was no point in worrying about it.
She went quietly to the door and waved to Lee, who sat with her mother helping some Sakai wives and girls dye bark cloths for new sarongs. Lee yearned for two things; to hear that Heng Hou was dead, and to be out of the jungle.
The women often sat and made extravagant plans for shopping trips, telling the Sakai women they must come to Rinsey after the troubles and they would give them pretty materials and cooking pots. Lee always became quite animated as she talked of things she would buy — but first she was going to the cinema at Ipoh. ‘I’d like find boyfriend go with,’ she confided. ‘Then a trip to the shops of Kuala Lumpur.’
Liz proposed they should all go to Singapore for a holiday. ‘We’ll shop until we just can’t carry another thing and our feet are ready to drop off.’
‘Then we go eat fancy cakes in restaurant,’ Ch’ing had said, and a whole new topic opened up.
Alan stirred on the bed and she wondered how long it would be before they were all plunged back into their own lives. She realised that she had to treasure this time. What a place for a honeymoon! she thought.
Alan was still distressingly skinny, but already it was possible to see a difference. The bones in his shoulders no longer looked as if you could grasp them like handles.
The following morning she asked Sardin to come to help Alan down so he might walk about outside.
Alan hesitated at the top of the house ladder. As an interested crowd gathered, Bras and Sardin took his hesitation as an invitation to help and practically carried him down to ground level.
‘Terra firma — I think,’ Alan said, moving cautiously for the first time on real ground. ‘Though it still feels as if it has a spring in it, like the house floor.’
‘Afraid it’s your knees.’ Lee laughed.
‘I should have done more exercise, some knee bends,’ he said as he made a brave if unsteady attempt at just that.
‘You need swimming,’ Bras informed him.
The remark was greeted by the women putting their hands over their mouths to hide their smiles and Pa Kasut clearing his throat in the manner of all fathers mildly censoring their sons.
Alan thought of the last swim he’d had — in a river battling with a lethal packing case with Danny on the bank — and found nothing to laugh at.
‘Is there a swimming place?’ Liz asked.
‘Oh, yes.’ Bras pointed up between two high peaks of rock, then swooped his hand over and down.
‘Between those peaks? she asked. ‘It looks a long walk.’
‘No so far,’ Bras said. Again the Sakais, male and female, seemed to find it a big joke.
‘Is there something wrong with the place?’ Liz demanded of Pa Kasut.
‘No,’ he replied at once and with complete conviction, ‘very good place.’
‘Then why is everyone grinning? Does everyone come to watch or something?’
Bras looked very solemn. ‘No, very private.’
‘Lee and I will go and look,’ Liz decided. ‘While Alan builds up his walking strength around the village.’
‘Perhaps they’re just pleased for us,’ Liz pondered that afternoon as she and Lee headed up between the two sugar-cone peaks of rock.
‘They do have a right to be,’ Lee said, but then burst into laughter, ‘and ... ’
Liz stopped. ‘And what? Now you’re doing it.’
Lee ran on ahead. ‘I’ll tell you when we get there. I want to see it.’
It really wasn’t far. The path twisted almost back on itself and there between the high rocky peaks was a deep green miniature valley and in the middle a serene mountain pool. Its unruffled surface contained a perfect reproduction of the surrounding trees, the overhanging branches, the hills beyond.
The two young women walked towards the water feeling as if entranced. When they reached its edge, Liz turned to Lee for explanation.
‘This pool has a legend,’ she told her. ‘Many, many years ago a beautiful Kedan princess ran away with her lover. They were chased by her father’s men and he was killed. She escaped to this place but was so lonely and when she found she was with child she drowned herself in this pool. The folk story says that if any woman wants a child she has only to bathe in the waters, or just sip them.’
‘So that’s why they were all laughing.’
‘That Bras is a bit of lad, I think.’
Liz looked out across the pool and felt even the legend was no match for the beauty of the place. Then she realised that Lee was stripping off her sarong. ‘You’re going to — ’ She stopped; what a stupid question! She began to pull off her own slacks and shirt.
She launched herself into the cool, deep waters, swimming slowly, almost reverently. She felt as if the grime and the cares of all the world were washed away by the balminess of the water, by the green hills, the blue bowl of the sky tipped over and balanced on the tops of the peaks. She was indeed a stranger in paradise, she thought, and felt that tranquillity and insight were fleetingly hers. The whole mystic East held her thralled in its mountainous cup.
Turning on her back, she floated as high on the water as she could, so that she could feel the heat of the sun on her face, her breasts, her thighs, but could not look up into it because of its power. No wonder, she thought, the pool had a legend.
The next moment she gasped as a great smashing shower of water made her splutter. Lee had swum gently round and was now splashing her with her feet as hard as she could. Liz retaliated and the two played like the children they had been together. They thrashed around in the water as if suddenly making up for all the lost years during the war.
Once exhaustion had been reached, the two swam away from each other. The waves they had created became ripples and, as they finally climbed out and up to where they had left their clothes, they watched the waters become quite calm, and again reflect in stillness and serenity the surrounding scene: the near branches dipping in places to the surface; the green hills; the far peaks. ‘As if we never were,’ Liz whispered.
‘You must bring Alan here soon,’ Lee said equally quietly. There was a note in her voice that echoed Liz’s knowledge that their time at this place was growing short.
‘I will,’ she said with meaningful certainty, then, catching her friend’s hand the way they had done as children when either needed to elicit a favour from the other, ‘but promise me you’ll let me tell him the legend.’
The next day Liz persuaded Alan to walk towards the pool. Her enthusiasm for the place made him curious, yet disinclined to think he’d ever swim there.
‘Why,’ he asked, ‘do I have the feeling that this place is ... different? I keep thinking of those boys’ adventure stories where such places are either kept for human sacrifice — or you come back married!’
‘What a terrible idea!’ She led him on slowly until they reached the mountain pool, then she sat down on the mound where she and Lee had undressed before and let him walk on alone, as enchanted as she had been with the first sighting.
Standing by the edge of the water, he felt the strangest sense of recognition for the place.
Déjà
vu
? he wondered. Was this the very lagoon of peace he had been promised after death? He thought if his soul had left his body, as they say sometimes happens, then it had hovered above this place and now he saw it again.
Unlike all the churning brown rivers he had seen, this was clear, clearer even than the falls at Rinsey. Here the water had collected straight from the mountain rock.
Liz came quietly up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. His hands came down over hers and held them there. Both kept their eyes on the view as she told him the legend.
‘It’s true, of course,’ he said simply. Then he turned and took her into his arms. This was their first real embrace since his slow recovery had begun. Liz closed her eyes and felt she had come home.
He stooped to kiss her brow. ‘You have a swim. I’ll wait until I can walk the whole distance here without a stop, then I’ll go in.’
She undressed before him, using none of the provocative movements that any woman is capable of, but taking care to expose herself gracefully. She walked to the edge, stooped down and pushed off into the water, smoothly without a splash, so the ripples made even circles from her, out and out to the very edges.
At first he sat on the mound, rearranging her clothes neatly.
Then he stood on their rock to watch as her body, weightless and pale in the clear aquamarine water, moved in graceful, long-reaching breaststrokes out across the pool, looking from above like a bird suspended in flight. He thought he had never seen anything so awe-inspiring, so beautiful.
‘My siren,’ he whispered, then, as she turned from the far side and swam to the middle and turned on her back, breasts and ribcage, thighs and feet lapping out of the water, he added, ‘my brazen hussy.’ He watched and willed her back to the shore, back to his arms. He would wait a few days more, he thought — then he would swim.
The inner fury Sturgess had felt for Blanche Hammond’s stupidity in allowing Liz and his witness to go off into the jungle was somewhat tempered by the frustration of his own scout’s unexplained disappearance. Entap had been difficult to control but Sturgess was convinced he would never have deserted.
In the end Sturgess led his party off with the definite feeling that he was moving to some kind of climax, not only in this particular campaign but in his own life. It felt curiously like a last trial, a last labour set by some gods — and if he fell down in this, he must be a complete failure.
He was thankful to have Sergeant Mackenzie with him. The rest of his group were unknown quantities, and the good and dapper doctor had made it clear he was not happy without a tracker. The doctor had unofficially ‘mentioned’ the matter to Chemor, but he still regarded himself as under instruction from his former employer. ‘My job stay with the mem and Rinsey,’ he insisted.
Sturgess had been incensed by the attempt at interference and had announced quite bluntly that the decision was his and they would go — time was of the essence — and Chemor would, as George Harfield had ordered, definitely stay put at Rinsey.
Briefing the doctor that his work harassing the Japs had equipped him with much jungle knowledge, he saw from his face that this statement had to be proved to be believed. The doctor made him feel very much like a patient being given good advice to which he was refusing to listen.
What he had not revealed, as they cut into the jungle towards the river named Sungei Woh, was that he had stayed with the Sakais on several occasions when trekking through their territory to blow up Japanese installations, to sever their lines of communications, or just hiding out.
But the best lead he had was personal knowledge of Heng Hou. Even in the war, John had not trusted this burly Chinese, who had, if not watched, taken more than his fair share of camp rations and had been disliked by many of his fellows. He had shot to leadership as the communists formed the jungle platoons after the war and, like many another communist leader, ruled by intimidation. His own men were frightened of him, and the civilian population, particularly the gentle and easily intimidated Sakais, were terrified of him.
John calculated that, deprived of his ‘luxurious’ jungle camp and his supplies, he would first take out his revenge and spleen locally. Anyone who stood in his path would be slaughtered as Aubrey and Joan Wildon had been. Even so, he guessed Hou would not yet have moved far. Josef had promised him his sister, and Hou could be as devious and persistent as any monkey hiding a banana in its armpit while holding out a hand for more.
He would be looking for a hiding place not too far from paths to local kampongs which could be plundered for food, especially the dried fish and coffee which Hou had a particular taste for. Hou’s appetites were his driving force.
John had hoped to take Hou quickly — and had wanted the Chinese girl, Lee, as bait. He had planned secretly to lay ambush around the Rinsey area, having leaked the information that the former jungle-camp girl was there.
Inwardly he brooded that he felt a bloody fool on three counts. He had seen the woman he had thought his devoted wife in Australia with another man’s son on her hip. He had found a young woman he would have liked as a successor running off into the jungle after one of his own guardsmen, and now one of the best trackers he had ever known had somehow been lured away and most likely murdered.
Sturgess vengefully attacked the tree ferns and creepers growing up from the jungle floor like giant performing snakes. He had not expected to have the added task of trying to track and protect Elizabeth Hammond. He felt she had acted like a little fool; if Cresswell had survived and was with the Sakais, he had no doubt sooner or later news of him would filter out. It had a feeling of demotion to realise that Liz had fallen for a conscripted guardsman, while Blanche Hammond was motoring to Ipoh to visit Gcorge Harfield at every opportunity.
Sturgess severed a particularly sturdy liana stem. George was a good enough chap — the very best. He got on with life, stood no bloody nonsense; one of nature’s gentlemen, you might say, but regarded few social niceties.
As the days passed, Sturgess’s self-questioning and the tormented energy it gave him did not abate. Perhaps, he decided as he supervised the laying of tripwires around their resting area, he would do better to forswear women for ever, just pay for services. His father had said that was all marriage was —another way of paying for services.
The next morning, he smelled smoke. It was some distance away but he drew his party’s attention to the sign. Soon he could discern the lingering smell of cooking. If this was a communist overnight camp, they were feeling fairly secure.
He followed his nose and soon they came to a small clearing, in the centre of which was a kicked-out campfire. This had been rather inadequately dealt with and wisps of smoke still came from the blackened circle.
The major knew he was not of the calibre of any native tracker, but it was impossible for men to use the jungle without leaving signs. He was sure he was on the track of the right group of communists. The very nature of their careless camp, and the haphazard way they had lain during the night, told of thugs on the make rather than campaigners for a cause.
The tracks he followed became confused as they traversed and sometimes followed better-defined tracks. Before dark overtook them again, they could all smell smoke and cooking odours, and soon they began to see traces of the smoke trapped beneath the dripping, dense canopy. John realised this was no meagre campfire; this much smoke must be from several fires — a largish Sakai settlement or even a Malay kampong near the river.
He called a halt and discussed with Sergeant Mackenzie and the doctor the way they would deal with it. ‘We’ll assume there are communists in the houses, perhaps even holding some of the villagers hostage. So cautious approach with men keeping ambush positions on the main paths.’
The sergeant nodded his approval. ‘Want me to take a couple of men and circle to the far side?’
‘We’ll move off as soon as we can see, then, when we approach, you two men, and you, doc?’ He questioned the other officer with a nod. The doctor nodded briskly back. ‘You lot hare around to cover the far side. Shoot for their legs if they don’t stop when challenged. Meantime we’ll have grub up early and then move in a little closer tonight.’
They ate quickly, the men ravenous but quickly satisfied with the hard tack biscuits and chunks of corned beef, washed down with sterilised water from their canteens. They were tired, eager to move those last few hundred yards so they could rest up for the night.
As Sturgess led the way to what must be a good-sized jungle kampong, a worm of apprehension stirred deep in his stomach. This smoke was neither cooking fire nor bonfire, though it might be both. He found Mackenzie at his elbow, and they exchanged glances. ‘Tell the men to stay here. We’ll go forwards and look.’
They waited to see the men well concealed by the pathway, then moved cautiously forwards on their own. They had walked some hundred yards farther when both men froze. Someone was coming towards them along the same path. Instantly they stepped out of sight, watching and waiting.
A desolate-looking yellowy-brown village dog came hesitantly towards them, his nose pointing first to one, then the other. They waited a moment or two more, then, sure the dog was alone, stepped cautiously out.
‘Come on, old chap,’ John said softly. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find your master.’ The dog very companionably fell in behind the two men, though when they reached the bank of the Sungei Woh where the village must lie, for they could see a row of fishing stakes in the river, it refused to follow them farther. Mackenzie urged it on with a wave of his hand but it lay down and put its head flat on its paws. It was at that moment Sturgess became sure they were going to find disaster ahead.
Walking farther along the river path, they could see what looked like an extension of the fishing stakes, but these poles were black. ‘Bugger!’ Sturgess breathed.
‘Poor bastards.’ Mackenzie echoed the sentiment as they went slowly forwards to the burned-out village where only the uprights of the houses had survived.
They looked all around. Some possessions the terrorists had no use for were scattered beyond the range of the fire, while in the ashes of the largest hut were burnt corpses. ‘Five, perhaps six,’ Mackenzie said, then corrected, ‘Five and a child.’
They reconnoitred the area thoroughly.
‘There’ll be other villages farther along this river,’ Sturgess mused, wondering about their fate. ‘We’ll move upriver quickly tomorrow, see if we can forestall the bastards.’
The sergeant took off his pack and extended the entrenching tool, half spade, half pick. It was part of the personal choice of equipment he carried, whereas Sturgess always brought along a Sten gun as well as his revolver. The sergeant began to dig at the edge of the clearing. ‘You want to fetch the others up, sir?’ he suggested, adding, ‘Pity this is their first bit of action. Some of ‘em are just wee bairns.’
The major ordered a brew up and an extra meal of bully-beef stew when the job was done. ‘A bit more smoke’s not going to make any difference,’ he said as he handed his tin of cigarettes around.
It was a sober group of men who finally settled for that night. Sturgess rigged tripwires at both ends of the place he chose just beyond the village. Some of the young guardsmen had now seen the grotesque attitudes of violent death for the first time. The dog came slinking in and lay with its back against Sturgess’s boot. He let it stay.
At first light they again moved forwards, Sturgess pushing them at speed for some four miles. Then he ordered caution; the riverbank was beginning to be more trodden,
beluka
rather than jungle edging the path. He went ahead and before long could see a Malay kampong. Its houses had been established a long time with platform and toilets built out over the river.
He moved away from the track and bellied forwards so he could see the centre of the houses. Pulling out his binoculars, he examined each house in detail.
Crossing the doorway of the largest hut he was sure he saw the shadowy figures of men who were not somehow right for this jungle village. He concentrated hard and at last caught the image he had half registered the first time: men with rifles on their shoulders, eating from plates as they strode about indoors.
‘Got you, you buggers,’ he mouthed, wishing he could glimpse that burly, square Chinese, just pin down exactly where Heng Hou was, but
his
style would be sitting down being waited on.
Nothing, Sturgess promised himself, would be allowed to go wrong on this operation. ‘You or me,’ he vowed.
He withdrew to his group, excitement and urgency in his voice as he detailed his plans. He would take four men and the sergeant and go to the far side of the village; the doctor would take charge of the remaining men.
‘Allow us half an hour to be round the other side.’ He paused and glanced at his watch. ‘It is now eight forty-nine. We all move in at nine-thirty precisely. The largest hut in the middle, its facilities backing right over the river, is the main target. Shoot anyone with a rifle who doesn’t surrender immediately. Don’t let any of the bastards get away.’
Sturgess stationed himself nearest the village, two men strung out to left and right, with Mackenzie keeping watch at the rear so they would not be surprised by any CTs wandering into the kampong from their side. As he pushed his sleeve back to watch the final seconds — nine twenty-nine and — there was a noise behind him. He turned to see his sergeant standing in the middle of the path signalling to him. The signal was a cupped fist to the mouth and a bend forwards as if using a blowpipe. It meant Sakais were coming from their side. He signalled back, using the flat of his hand in a stopping motion. He glanced again at his watch; nine thirty. Nothing more he could do. Turning back to the sergeant, he stabbed a finger at his watch, then waved Mackenzie forwards.
They moved in towards the village and Sturgess was only too aware that he had deliberately placed the doctor and his men nearer the village so that the communists would be alarmed first from that side and run into him and his men’s fire. Now he had one or more Sakais at his back.
He let his sergeant move ahead of him, wondering if he might warn this native arriving at the worst possible moment. Then, emerging from the jungle, he saw not just a Sakai but behind him a tall red-bearded figure. ‘Christ! Cresswell!’ he hissed — and the women must be with them. He fairly danced on the spot for one totally disconcerted moment, then, knowing his sergeant would go on and do his job, he ran towards the party, shouting, ‘Cresswell, bandits ahead. Take cover, and stay down!’
Turning again, he ran back towards the kampong without any caution now, disregarding the communists’ triplines which activated bundles of tins near the huts. There was shouting ahead, and then the shooting began, with the blood-chilling rattle of automatic fire.
A man with a gun of some kind came running towards him. Sturgess shot him between the eyes, jumped over his body and ran on, and suddenly he was on the edges of a battle. He dropped to the ground, for gunfire was coming from several of the huts. Mackenzie was obviously trying to edge his men in nearer to the main hut, but even as he did so, Sturgess from his position at ground level saw a burly figure jump from the latrine platform at the back into the river.
