Indonesian Gold. Kerry B Collison
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that he could not understand the Modang dialect, his anxiety growing with each passing minute.
‘We could drown him in the river and take all his money,’ the more confident of the two suggested.
‘Why don’t we just leave him after making camp?’ the boatman aft responded.
‘No,’ the other argued, ‘if we take his money, we can’t leave him alive.’ They had observed the geologist’s billfold when advance payment had been made for the longboat. The local currency, Rupiah, was far too bulky. Baird was carrying American dollars which were easily exchanged even in the most remote corners of this vast country.
The second man appeared unconvinced. ‘It would be better that someone finds an empty camp,’ he insisted. ‘We will surely be questioned. If remains of a camp are found, we will be believed.We could say that he sent us back.’
Baird’s uneasiness increased. He knew they were discussing him; their furtive looks a clear signal that trouble lay ahead.
‘Start the engines!’ he demanded, concern now evident in his voice. ‘I will pay you an extra fourteen days and no more.’ He hesitated, looking over his shoulder first at the man aft, then forward to the more belligerent of the two. ‘Okay?’
The Modang boatmen exchanged glances, considering their options. If they were to throw the foreigner into the river, it would be unlikely that his body would be discovered. The suggestion of establishing camp before killing the man made sense. They could poison him, take his money, then return to their village. The Penehing Dayaks would be blamed. The boatman nodded slowly, Baird interpreted this as acceptance whilst, in reality, the other was contemplating how he would remove the foreigner’s head to lay blame on the local inhabitants.
‘Boleh juga!’ The boatman answered, feigning acceptance. The foreigner nodded, and the outboard engines roared into life.
An hour later Baird called for the longboat to slow when they came upon a clearing that reached down to the riverbank. Baird gave the setting a cursory inspection, before ordering the boatmen to land. The area was roughly half the size of a soccer field surrounded by thick forest and, to the geologist, the absence of tall timbers suggested that this site had been cleared at some earlier time. When he stepped ashore he could see that the strip was actually a small promontory, and decided that this would be a suitable location for his primary base. And, fearing creatures that crawled in the night, the men immediately set about having a grassy area cleared for the camp.
****
As Baird and his reluctant team unloaded the longboat, their efforts were hampered by slippery conditions, shoulder-high grass, and fading light. As they worked, they were keenly observed. The Penehing Dayak shaman remained motionless, his almost invisible form woven into the intricate, rain-forest imagery as he leaned against the towering ironwood tree, contempt for the shadows that moved before him staining his face. Directly above, orchids of rare and dazzling beauty stood scattered amongst clusters of staghorns clinging effortlessly to the giant tree, whilst crimson-breasted wood partridges courted amongst the highest branches.
Jonathan Dau scrutinized the trespassers’ movements as they established camp, more concerned with the white intruder and what his presence might mean, than the Modang boatmen with their Twin-Yamaha powered riverboat. The shaman was surprised that the Modang had accompanied the foreigner this deep into Penehing territory. A cruel smile crossed his lips – not so many years before these men would have been swiftly dealt with, their heads left as a warning to others.
There was no doubt in his mind that the white man and his two Modang companions were there to investigate gold deposit potential, within his community’s territory. Angered at the intrusion, the shaman’s jaw clenched as he continued to observe the men clear an area and establish their camp. Darkness threatened, and he observed closely as one of the boatmen slipped away from the others, momentarily disappearing from view. Then the shaman caught another glimpse of the man again, as he continued along the river’s edge – and suddenly he was gone.
Jonathan Dau moved closer to the camp where he could see that the foreigner would sleep alone in the erected tent. He watched the fair-headed man eat from cans whilst preparing for the rapidly approaching night. Then one of the boatmen reappeared, standing half-crouched, directly within the shaman’s view. In his right hand, grasped between thumb and forefinger, a krait, the highly venomous snake’s striking, black and white banded body coiled around the man’s arm. The shaman watched closely when Baird entered his tent and the boatman moved cautiously along the riverbank until reaching the longboat where he bagged the snake, then waited with his co-conspirator.
An eddy of air gently touched the shaman’s face mimicking the caress of a woman’s soft breath. Jonathan Dau sensed the spirit’s presence and became even more alert, his eyes searching through the dim jungle light for evidence of its intentions. He spotted the black hornbill perched, almost within reach, overlooking the campsite. And, as Dayaks firmly believed the hornbill transported souls to heaven, the shaman’s eyes narrowed, considering the scene before him – and contemplated which of the three men was about to die. Then, with measured patience the shaman settled down to wait, the green hue that concealed his presence turning to dark, confused shadows as the remaining sunlight blinked, before disappearing under the onset of night.
****
Eric Baird sprayed insect repellent over his hands, neck and face, then sealed the two-man tent before climbing into his sleeping bag. He reached up and adjusted the Petromax light, then settled down to record the events of the day as the jungle’s darkness swallowed the camp. The two Modang boatmen stretched out comfortably inside their longboat smoking the foreigner’s cigarettes, and waited impatiently for him to go to sleep.
Having completed his notes, Baird placed them in a waterproof case then opened a small bottle and spilled the contents into the palm of his hand, swallowing several pills in succession. He looked over at the empty space alongside, admitting that, had Mardidi been there, the sleeping pills may not have been necessary. He then turned the Petromax lamp down, permitting the light to fade into darkness, his body slowly relaxing as his system reacted to the drug. Soon, Baird had drifted away and, by the time the boatmen approached with their deadly gift, he was asleep, the sound of the tent’s zipper being carefully opened going unheard.
****
Overhead, a brilliant moon sent scattered, blinking messages of light, the ghostly effect surreal as the silhouetted figure lifted the deadly krait. His hand moved towards the half-opened flap, the air still as a tiny, poisonous, Dayak dart, hit his neck. Instinctively, his free hand reached to where he had been stung, his heart ceasing to pump before the boatman collapsed to the ground. Startled, his companion jumped back to avoid being bitten by the now released snake.
Jonathan Dau raised the blowpipe he carried when hunting wild boar and aimed at the second boatman. He drew deeply, poised but for a moment then blew, the escaping air lost as the would-be-killer’s eyes opened wide in shock, the deadly dart killing the man instantly.
****
With the arrival of morning Eric Baird rolled to one side, the sleeping bag restricting his movement. A cramp in his lower, right leg jerked him awake from some convoluted dream. He winced, raised his leg and massaged the calf muscle trying to restore circulation, his head still groggy from the sleeping pills. He turned to wake Mardidi, frowning when he discovered that he was alone. Slowly, Baird dragged his body into a sitting position, reached for a cigarette and lit the clove kretek, burning his fingers as he struck the match. He swore as blood rushed to his brain, and succeeded in lighting the cigarette the second time around. He drew heavily on the unfiltered Gudang Garam, filling his lungs with the clove-scented aroma, the smoke bringing tears to his eyes and he coughed, then went in search for coffee. Baird wrapped a sarong around his waist and climbed out of his tent, surprised to discover that he had not sealed the zip properly. He wandered down to the bank to pee, yawning as he overlooked the stream, casting an occasional glance towards the longboat, relieved that the crew had not abandoned him during the night.