Nick looked at Maggie and smiled. “Heck, yeah!”
* * *
Like the boat Nick saw earlier, this one cut through the flat water with ease. He wondered what the ride would have been like in a storm. The craft sat deep in the water, with only inches separating them from the waterline and disaster. Nick grew up around Flathead Lake, about the same size as Batang Ai Lake, and had seen mountain storms swamp large ski boats. He pushed those fears away and concentrated on the two-hour journey across the lake.
The day was warming, but as they motored across the water, the breeze made it comfortable. Nick turned back and smiled at Maggie, who sat in the middle of the boat to balance the weight. Her hair fluttered under a large brimmed hat that she held in place with one hand. She had shed her jacket, and her fuchsia tank top flattered her olive skin and athletic build. Wright had convinced them both to wear shorts. Maggie’s eyes searched the horizon, and a wide smile wrapped her face—she looked as alive as Nick felt. Just like Wright had said, they were entering a different realm, and the cares of the world had been shed behind them. They were flying free into a new adventure. They had cast off the shore of one world to enter a new one.
As they came to the end of the lake, Wright steered the boat toward the mouth of a river.
“Hang on, the currents can get tricky here,” he yelled.
As they entered the confluence of the lake and the river, the currents pushed the boat hard to the right, and the motor strained to keep them straight. A competent boat captain, Wright maneuvered through to a crystal-clear river that snaked into the jungle.
The river slowed and deepened, and in minutes they were in the ancient Borneo rainforest surrounded by lush jungle trees and greenery that created an emerald canopy overhead. Nick looked around in wonder, unsure he had ever seen anything as mystical or beautiful. The temperature dropped a few degrees with the disappearance of the sun but remained comfortable as musky humidity hit his nostrils and brow.
“This is the oldest rainforest on the planet,” Wright said over the hum of the outboard. “There are fifteen thousand species of flowering plants, three thousand species of trees, over four hundred species of resident birds and freshwater fish. Since 2007, a hundred and twenty-three new species have been discovered. All our medical discoveries have come out of the jungle. Now you know the secret of Zelutex.”
A massive reddish-brown and white bird of prey flew over their heads and screeched as it swooped over them. It circled once and then landed in a rain tree looming over the river. It eyed them carefully, cocking its head from side to side, and screeched again. The bird looked like a golden eagle except for its white head and chest.
“Sengalang burong,” Wright said.
“Senga what?” Maggie asked.
“Sengalang burong, the bird chief. The Iban believe that the red-back sea-eagle is the manifestation of their god of war. The Iban believe this god lived on earth as a man. It’s why they worship birds.”
“What a beautiful bird,” Nick said.
“They also believe it is the god of headhunting.”
Both Nick and Maggie instantly looked back, and Wright smiled and shrugged.
“Okay, that’s twice you have mentioned headhunting. You’re kind of freaking me out,” Maggie said.
“The tribes of Southeast Asia were known for the practice. But rather than it being an act of war, like the current radical Muslim groups are doing, headhunting was usually a ritual activity for both joyous and sorrowful times. A warrior would take a single head for the coming of age or marriage or to signal the end of personal or collective mourning.”
“Weird,” Nick said, and added mockingly, “Here, darling, I can’t wait to get married. Look what I got you.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Maggie said. “Take a life, to mourn a life?”
“Welcome to the Iban. They are mysterious people. Thank goodness they gave up the practice long ago.”
“How long ago?” Maggie asked nervously.
“At least a few years.” Wright flashed Maggie a grin.
Nick looked from Wright to Maggie. Was he flirting with her? Maybe he was being dramatic to impress her. But the thought of the ISIS terrorists that he battled in Turkey and the horrific pictures of the group cutting heads off was no joke—a barbaric act both now and then.
The thick jungle encroached on the river, but as they motored around a bend, the river widened. The trees opened to an area that held a handful of boats occupied by only a person or two. Wright slowed to navigate the traffic. Nick now understood the design of the boats with their flat fronts. Fishermen stood on the bow flinging large nets into the water. The fishermen threw them with the precision of a cowboy tossing a lariat. One man hauled in his net teeming with small fish flopping against the mesh.
When the fishermen saw Wright, they stopped what they were doing, smiled and waved. One man whistled, and another shouted, “The White Rajah!”
The other men followed and repeated the words in the round of chants.
Wright greeted them and waved as they passed, seeming to take the greeting as praise. But when one of the men frowned and looked away, Nick wasn’t so sure. “Why were they calling you that, the White…Ra?” Nick asked.
“White Rajah.” Wright grinned. “It’s my heritage. I told you about my great-great-great-grandfather, Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, who owned the island off Singapore. Well, another great-great-great-grandfather was James Brooke. James Brooke, also born in India, was a son of a British judge. Maybe I’ll have the chance to tell his whole story this evening. James was a British naval man and entrepreneur that helped quell an Iban uprising here in Borneo. I’m afraid it was a bit of a rout…guns against spears…that sort of thing. But he brought peace to the island and was named the first White Rajah, abolishing piracy and headhunting.”
“Piracy?” Nick asked.
“Yes, the Iban were scoundrels when the British East India Company was trading in this area. That’s why the Brits sent him in the first place, to quash the looting of their ships.”
“Crazy,” Maggie said.
“Anyway, James had an illegitimate son, George, via an Iban girl. He’s my great-great-grandfather. Because George was a bastard, the Brooke fortune and titles went to his sister’s sons. It is why my father had no British title, and why I don’t as well.”
“It sure hasn’t hampered you,” Nick said.
Wright shrugged. “You are not British, my dear Dr. Hart. You would not understand. But you’re right; those things don’t matter much to me.”
Nick had to wonder.
“And you want to know an even zanier part of this history? The old Iban man you met yesterday at lunch, my butler, Robert—we’re related—through that Iban girl. Robert is my fourth cousin. I have Iban blood running through me…well 3 percent, that is.”
* * *
It had been four hours since leaving the research center. The twists and turns of the river seemed to make the water collapse and expand like a living set of lungs. At one point, the river squeezed into narrow rapids that required the men to leave the boat and forge the falls—Wright pushed from behind and Nick pulled from the front.
Nick glanced at the blister on his palm and wondered if they would ever arrive at their destination. He sighed; the trek was his to endure. Then he remembered Chang’s words of wisdom: “Our journey now is to be reborn into a new awareness and experience of what Jesus called the Kingdom of Heaven.”
What a journey it has been so far. His recent journey flashed through his mind—images of Qodshanes, Turkey, and the Russians who speculated that the original Garden of Eden existed in what was now an abandoned high-mountain village. If Nick was honest with himself, the dense jungle they now traversed was closer to his ideas about mankind’s origins. This mystic rainforest looked like where Adam could have walked with God in the cool of the day.
Still floating in his thoughts, Nick noticed an elderly couple on the high bank overlooking the river
. They stood like apparitions amid the mist. Nick wondered if it was a jungle mirage until the old man smiled and waved to them. The man’s weathered skin was covered in tattoos, and the woman was topless with saggy breasts.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that,” Wright said. “The Iban often don’t wear much clothing and look at breasts as utilitarian food sources for the babies. They’re not sexualized as in the modern world.”
At first, Nick thought they were both naked, but as they motored past, he saw shorts on the man and a skirt on the woman. He smiled and waved. Adam and Eve welcoming us to the rainforest. It occurred to him that maybe that was how God saw humanity, stripped of all worldly things, naked and unashamed.
Nick wondered where the couple had come from, but as the travelers came around another bend of the river, they saw a community buzzing with life.
“Welcome to the longhouse,” Wright announced.
CHAPTER 19
THE LONGHOUSE
Nick stepped from the front of the boat and back in time, landing on soil as foreign as the people gathering around him. His smile rippled out into reciprocating grins and prattle from the welcoming committee. Wright had told them that Robert’s longhouse had twenty-five apartments, and it appeared that most, if not all, of the two hundred occupants had come down to the edge of the river. With every eye on him, the village’s energy seemed full of friendly anticipation.
Nick wished he had asked Wright what the appropriate greeting was. He raised his hand like a Montana cowboy meeting a band of Indians. “Hi,” he said.
His greeting was received with laughter and chatter. The heat of embarrassment raced up his spine and he wished he could take it back. But the people understood it as a friendly greeting and moved toward him and the boat. Thankfully, he recognized at the forefront the old man from the research center, even though he had shed the ridiculous butler’s suit for a loincloth. His chest was bare and every rib showed, but what meat was on his bones was all muscle. His toned arms and legs were covered in dark, mysterious tattoos. One looked especially painful. It ran down his throat from the bottom of his chin to his sternum. But he smiled warmly and appeared to be one of the few men in the group with a full set of teeth.
“Dr. Hart, welcome to my home. Welcome to Sarawak,” the man said and offered his hand to shake.
“I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name,” Nick said.
“Robert,” the man said, touching his chest. “I’m the chief of this longhouse.”
“Well, Robert, call me Nicklaus,” Nick said, not sure why he had used his given name. But it was too late. Robert had spoken to the villagers and then repeated Nick’s name. It sounded like “Nickloss,” with the emphasis on loss.
A wave of echoes rolled through the people: “Nickloss.”
Nick smiled to himself. I guess I am now Nickloss. He turned to help Maggie. She handed him supplies, then took his hand and stepped off the boat. They looked at the crowd, a gathering of young and old, children and babies. Nick felt overdressed in his expensive shorts, T-shirt, hat and tennis shoes. The Ibans’ attire was as simple and uninhibited as their surroundings.
Maggie focused on the children gathered in front. The kids were all barefoot, and most wore shorts and tank tops, except the youngest, who were naked. One boy wore a huge smile and carried a small bouquet of exotic-looking wildflowers. Maggie bent to greet the child. He shyly handed her the flowers and retreated into the crowd, creating giggles and more chatter.
“Hello, Ms. Maggie,” Robert said, stepping up to her and embracing her with a warm hug. He turned to his people and waved to an elderly woman wrapped in a sarong, indicating that she should come forward.
“Ms. Maggie, this is my wife. She goes by the Christian name Ruth.”
Ruth stepped toward Maggie holding a string of dark wooden beads to place over her head. Maggie removed her large-brimmed hat and bent to accept the beads. After situating the necklace around her neck, Ruth reached up, held Maggie by both cheeks, and then rose on her tiptoes to kiss her on the forehead. Maggie reciprocated by placing her oversized hat on the woman’s head, and the crowd erupted in another round of cheers and laughter. Nick marveled at Maggie’s ability to charm strangers. She’s a natural.
Wright jumped from the boat, and two men waded into the river to push the boat farther up on the shore. Wright spoke to the people in their native tongue, which seemed to delight and excite them. Many of the children ran forward, clinging to him with affection.
While Wright entertained the children, Robert invited a group of men to meet Nick and Maggie.
“These are the elders of our longhouse,” Robert said.
The men were similar to Robert, short in stature with wiry builds and covered in tattoos. Most held warm, toothless grins with graying dark hair and bushy brows. Nick wondered if handshaking was not their natural greeting. Their grip was more of a touch, and one man even held out his left hand. The final elder, a man without a smile, was highly decorated with tattoos and wore an ornate turban—a red wrap with large, exotic bird feathers arranged similarly to a Native American headdress. The man didn’t extend his hand but rather gave a nod that seeped with aloofness.
“Welcome to paradise,” Wright said, grabbing Nick’s shoulders from behind. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ve fallen into the pages of National Geographic.” Nick smiled and let his eyes follow the well-worn path from the bank of the river to a large wooden structure. It was situated on the ridge above the stream and supported by large log stilts ten or fifteen feet off the ground. Smoke swirled from stovepipes sticking from the roof, shrouding the structure in a shadowy haze. A massive jungle canopy overhung the longhouse with plants of various kinds, including large-leaved banana trees and other fruit trees that Nick couldn’t identify. The complex sat naturally in the emerald-green rainforest.
“Please.” Robert indicated the longhouse. “My home is now your home.”
Nick followed behind the chief up the dirt path used for centuries, if not hundreds of centuries, to a set of stairs leading up to the longhouse. A large flock of chickens and three pigs scattered and ran under the longhouse for cover, squawking and squealing as they went. As he looked back, two young girls were holding Maggie’s hands. Affection flowed from the Iban children, and they talked with her in Iban as if she understood what they were saying.
Nick started up the old wooden stairs, and several creaked under his weight. He had gained a few pounds the last six months, but even at his normal weight, he probably weighed more than twice the average Iban. He hoped the rickety stairs would hold. When they reached the top of the landing, they stepped onto a patio—an expansive platform of bamboo. The slats were lashed together in a manner that left an inch between poles, allowing Nick to see the jungle below.
The area was clean and plain with a few wooden benches and tables. Woven baskets and large clay pots hung from the walls or were arranged neatly around the area. It had the feel of Wright’s tree house, but much more rustic. From the other side of the patio Nick noted three smaller outbuildings. The walls of the buildings were an eclectic mixture of bamboo, lumber and corrugated tin.
The crowd that gathered at the river followed them up into the compound, then dissipated, going on with their own lives. Robert scolded two mongrel dogs sneaking onto the porch and shooed them back down the stairs.
Nick looked at his wrist. He’d left his watch on the nightstand in the research facility. Then he realized he wouldn’t need it because in the far reaches of civilization where cell towers and internet connections were nonexistent, time didn’t matter. The afternoon sun faded somewhere beyond the canopy and shadows elongated. It had been quite a journey to the world of the Iban. Nick inhaled deeply and thought of Chang’s talk about different kingdoms. The air was fresh, mixed with a tincture of smoke and earthen musk. He had no idea where he would find another reality as distinctive and as full of intrigue and wonder.
He smiled at Maggie, who was looking arou
nd with the same expression of marvel, while Robert and Wright discussed something in Iban. Robert made a slashing motion across his neck with his thumb. The discussion between the two became more animated, and Robert repeated the gesture. Maggie looked wide-eyed at Nick, and they both stared at Wright.
Wright chuckled after seeing the alarmed look on Nick’s face. “No worries, mate. We were just discussing dinner.” His grin widened. “And the good news is, you’re not on the menu.” He laughed loudly with Robert joining in. “Robert was telling me he has to go butcher some chickens for our dinner.”
They all laughed together.
“I hope you see why I love Borneo. It’s the natural order of things,” Wright said. “I can come to the rainforest and leave the world behind…it’s like I find balance here.”
“A thin place,” Nick murmured under his breath.
“Pardon?” Wright asked.
Nick hadn’t meant for anyone to hear the statement and his face flushed with heat. “Oh, a friend of mine believes in thin places in the world. Where the separation between us and the divine thins somehow.”
Wright nodded, looked around and shrugged, “Who knows?”
Either way, Nick was enchanted. The place was beautiful—primitive and definitely wild, but pristine. And he was astonished that in this day and age, people lived like this. He was so glad to experience this slice of heaven on earth.
CHAPTER 20
DRAGON’S BLOOD
Maggie sat cross-legged on the bamboo mat of Robert’s apartment between Nick and Wright feeling more content than she had for years. She felt safe and protected by the two men. The Hope Center’s future was secure with the financial backing of the Wright’s Kids Foundation, and peace wrapped around her like a dream. She had to keep reminding herself of the reality.
As the sun set over the jungle and darkness descended around the longhouse, her contentment mixed with a smidge of fear. Guatemala was remote, but it seemed Sarawak was off the map. A sense of vulnerability swept over her, barely tempered by the flickering light of the candles and a small blaze in the corner fireplace. She was as far away from the comforts and safety of civilization as she’d ever been.
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