The Plantation

by Di Morrissey

  Charles put a calming hand on his father’s arm on one side and his grandfather’s on the other. He also spoke. ‘It is true. The dams will change Sarawak. Hydro-electric schemes and underwater cables to take their power to the rest of Malaysia, smelters and mines are planned. Long-houses like ours may also be flooded for more dams.’ He shrugged. ‘The old people do not want change.’

  ‘Is there anything that your grandfather can do?’ asked David.

  ‘He is keeping his fingers crossed. He hopes that the petara, the demi-gods will protect his family. He will ask the manang, the shaman, to call out to the dieties, Prince Kelieng and Princess Kumang in a special Gawai ceremony. They will kill a fat pig and smear the blood over his longhouse and family members to enable the gods to protect them!’ He paused. ‘This is my grandfather’s wish. But there are those who think that this is not enough and would like to take more action to fight the dams. But to fight the corruption, the political plans, the big business, the outside influence and investments is beyond simple people like us.’ He turned to Barry. ‘But it is a story I hope you will tell people. Show them what is being lost.’ And with that Charles rose and walked into the darkness.

  The tuak was passed and the old women also began talking and it was obvious to Julie that everyone was talking about what the old headman had said.

  Soon the music and singing began. The old songs, which told the stories of their past, the legends and the battles, echoed through the wooden longhouse. Children fell asleep where they were and the dipper went into the rice wine barrel to refill the jugs.

  Julie was feeling lightheaded even from a few sips of tuak. David, who had had Julie’s share of the rice wine as well as his own, was certainly starting to enjoy himself. Julie decided that she needed to step out onto the tanju for some fresh air, so she shuffled to the rear of the circle and, picking up her torch, quietly left the party.

  She stood at the railing, gazing at the outline of the jungle across the darkened river. What animals were about, she wondered? Would she ever be brave enough to sit out there, sleep in the jungle at night as her Great Aunt Bette could have done? Suddenly the jungle seemed too close and too confronting. But the laughter and singing behind her, the glow from the oil lamps, were comforting. She walked to the end of the open verandah and looked up at the mountains etched against the dark night sky. It was the first time she’d seen the stars clearly since being in Malaysia.

  She felt the bamboo slats beneath her feet shudder with silent footsteps and she was about to turn around when a monkey, quite close to her, let out a screech followed by squeals. Julie shakily turned on her torch and swung it around but she could see nothing out there in the night. As the beam of light swung back onto the tanju she let out a small scream and jumped.

  In the beam of the yellow torchlight faces leered and gaped at her. Empty eye sockets, grinning mouths, open in silent screams, a row of heads strung along a beam of light glared back at her.

  ‘Do not be afraid. They are old and harmless.’ Charles stepped forward. ‘They are trophies my forebears took in battle.’

  ‘Tuai Jimbun? Your grandfather?’

  There was a flash of white teeth in the gloom as Charles smiled at her. ‘Yes. He was one who took heads. Did you notice that the backs of his hands are tattooed? It is the sign that he has taken a head. It was a ritual to set one apart from other men. The White Rajahs tried to stamp out the custom. Like many things, it took some time, but the heads that were taken long ago are still highly prized and respected.’

  ‘What you said in there, about the future with the flooding from the dams, the development, the changes that will come, does that make you sad?’ asked Julie. ‘My family’s home is threatened by development, too, which makes my mother and me sad. But we are fighting to stop it.’

  ‘Sadly, it seems too late for us, the power of money is too strong. And many people think the change for the modern world sounds good. An easier life. I feel sad at the loss of the jungle – for the creatures. And for us. It holds many secrets we are yet to learn.’

  ‘Like medicines?’

  ‘For one, yes.’ Charles began to walk back along the verandah in the darkness.

  Julie walked beside him. ‘And what about your grandfather’s faith in the spirits and gods? Will that be any help?’

  ‘Who knows? We believe in summum bonum – good fortune, a sign of favour from the gods. Tuai Rumah Jimbun hopes we will be blessed with luck and I hope for as long as he lives he has that hope. For me, I know that the Iban will have to adjust to changing times.’ He paused. ‘But we try to keep the traditions alive, no matter where our longhouse may be.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Julie softly.

  She was thoughtful. ‘I had an aunt, my grandmother’s sister, who lived in Malaysia after the war. She was married to a Chinese man, which is why she was ostracised by the rest of the family. But she spent time among Iban people, I’m not sure where abouts in Sarawak, and she wrote a book about it. That’s the reason I came here.’

  ‘What did she tell you?’ Charles was interested.

  ‘I never met her. David found the book she wrote during his research. It was the first our family knew about my great aunt’s adventure.’

  ‘A lady adventurer! There have been many white ladies coming to Borneo to do extraordinary things. Sometimes for themselves as much as for the people and the jungle animals,’ said Charles. ‘Maybe my father or grandfather has heard of your relative.’

  ‘She wrote the book in the early seventies,’ said Julie. ‘Do you think Tuai James, your father, might know anything?’

  ‘I shall ask him in the morning. For now the dancing is starting. Come and see how the hornbill comes to life,’ said Charles cheerfully as they went back into the ruai.

  Julie was taken aback by the escalation in the festivities. Two of the men had donned elaborate feather headdresses and were dancing to the beat of drums and gongs, their arms mimicking the horned beak and the swaying of a large bird. Julie was instantly reminded of seeing films of Aboriginal corroborees where the dancers perfectly mimicked the kangaroo or emu.

  Some of the girls were pulling the visitors up to dance, and Matthew and David, both very merry now, staggered about in an attempt to follow the lithe male dancers. Barry refused to join them, but lifted his camera to capture the action. Julie just felt exhausted from the very long day and wanted to go to sleep.

  Charles sat back down by his elders but was swiftly pulled to his feet by one of the pretty young women. The women didn’t dance but clapped their hands, laughed and cajoled the men to get into the spirit of things.

  While David and Matthew were making what Julie thought was something of a spectacle of themselves as they stumbled and swayed about, everyone seemed happy and they were enjoying themselves.

  Chitra tapped her on the shoulder. ‘If you want to go to sleep that’ll be okay. Where did Indai Tuai, the old lady, put your things?’

  ‘She put me over there. I’ll just sneak away. See you in the morning.’

  By her torchlight Julie saw that there were two teenage girls sound asleep on mats on the floor and her bag was sitting in a corner near a mat that was covered with a blanket. In the darkness she undressed, wrapped herself in a sarong and lay down, pulling up the blanket as the night was surprisingly cool.

  The music continued, but the shaking and movement of the floor subsided as the dancing tapered off and a chanting, sing-song began in its place.

  Julie wasn’t sure if she’d slept or not but she was aware of shuffling as someone else came into the bilek. She rolled on her side and stifled a gasp as a hand touched her shoulder.

  ‘Hey Julie . . . You awake? Come on, you wanna dance?’

  ‘David, no. Go away,’ said Julie firmly, tightening the blanket around her.

  ‘C’mon, then let me get warm.’ He started to lie down beside her, stretching out and dropping an arm over her shoulders. ‘Did ya like the dancing? Hornbill, it was.’ He started t
o stifle giggles.

  ‘David, you’re pissed. Get out. Go away,’ snapped Julie.

  ‘I did you a favour, drank your tuak.’ He leaned over trying to kiss her.

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have. C’mon, stop it. This is disgusting.’ Julie sat up. And as he started to talk, somewhat incoherently, she pushed him away from her. ‘I don’t want you in here.’

  ‘S’orright. Iban very relaxed ’bout sex. Very healthy, very natural,’ he slurred.

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not. I’m choosey.’ She pushed him hard and yanked her blanket away, leaving him lying on the floor. She grabbed her torch and, wrapping herself in her blanket, debated about sleeping in the far corner of the room, next to the girls or curling up outside in the ruai. She stepped outside and closed the loose-woven apartment door behind her. A few figures were moving about at the far end of the ruai, and the coal embers of a small fire burned in a metal ring. The bitch and her litter were stretched out beside it. Julie curled up in her blanket by the soft warmth of the dying fire and promptly went to sleep.

  She slept very soundly, and when she stirred just before dawn she wondered if she’d dreamed that a figure had stooped over her in the night then continued past her. Her sleep had been heavy and she felt quite stiff. Several women were moving around. Another woman sat breast-feeding her baby. Two of the women picked up some water gourds and a plastic bucket and headed outside to fetch water. Julie followed them to freshen up and find some privacy.

  The morning was coolly crisp, mist swirling away over the jungle, and the sun not yet up. The world was utterly peaceful.

  Julie joined the women in the river, and they giggled as she shivered in the cold water. One handed her a spare sarong to dry herself and when she hurried back to the longhouse the smell of the wood fire and the blue curl of smoke coming from the kitchen was a welcome sign that breakfast was underway.

  David looked bleary eyed as he sat cross-legged in the ruai, a blanket around his shoulders, poking at the remains of the small fire in an attempt to get a blaze going.

  ‘Good morning, David,’ said Julie coolly.

  He grunted. ‘Bloody tuak. Gets you every time.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Julie as she went to dress, thinking how annoyed she was with him. While she could dismiss his drunken pass at her as the result of too much rice wine, he had, nevertheless, sunk in her estimation and she found she actually didn’t like him very much at all. She appreciated his help with her mother’s bypass fight and the fact that he’d opened a door to her family’s past, but these actions didn’t give him any rights of possession, which he’d been suggesting, not just last night, but for the last few days. Now she wondered how she was going to put up with him for the rest of the week.

  Nevertheless the day passed quickly and was full of interest. Tuai James, acting as tour guide, took them into the jungle, showing the area that had been cleared for their rice fields and other crops. He gave them a demonstration of hunting with the blowpipe, though he said that it was seldom used these days. By the river they watched the Iban catch fish by herding them into the big woven nets and traps and, finally, a group of men showed them how they cleared the jungle with the large and lethal parangs.

  They came to a beautiful, clear stream in a magical setting and waded upstream while Tuai James pointed out plants, monkeys and the paw print of a large animal. Barry filmed it all, including the time spent just sitting and smoking. By the time they trudged back to the long-house it was sunset and Julie found that bathing in the river with the women and children that evening was a cool and welcome relief.

  There was no singing and dancing that night. After the meal Tuai Jimbun lay back with his cigarette and everyone settled comfortably, looking expectantly at him.

  ‘Grandfather is telling a story,’ Chitra told Julie and she translated as the old man’s voice droned on, reciting one of the crowd’s favourites.

  Later, as Julie walked down the ruai to her bilek to go to sleep, Charles stopped her.

  ‘In case you’re interested, I am going downriver tomorrow. I have to return to Kuching. If you wish to come with me, you’re welcome. I understand the team has a lot more field work to do. Perhaps you are not all that interested in scientific work.’

  Julie leapt at the opportunity. ‘Yes, I’d like to. That would be great. Very kind of you. I’ll tell the others in the morning.’

  Charles nodded. ‘In that case we can talk on the journey.’

  Julie thought it an odd comment, the way he put it, but when she joined the girls on the mats in the bilek she had no trouble sleeping.

  David was surprised by her decision to leave suddenly. He said that he was concerned for her welfare and wellbeing, and was worried about her going back to Kuching with Charles. But Julie thought that he was just miffed that she was taking off.

  ‘Charles seems very competent and Ngali is taking us. I’m keen to get back and spend more time in Kuching. I’d like to meet up with Angie again. This has been a wonderful experience and I can’t thank you enough for bringing me along, but you have your work to do and I don’t want to get in the way. We’ll catch up again,’ she said vaguely.

  ‘I feel responsible for you, that’s all,’ he said. ‘I promised your mother . . .’

  ‘David! I’m a grown woman and while I mightn’t be as knowledgeable about the jungle as you, I’m perfectly safe with Charles. Now I’ll just say goodbye to the others.’

  Chitra explained the order of farewells and the appropriate expressions of thanks that Julie should say to the Iban, and by the time she had completed them all, the others had left on their field work. A small posse of children and some of the women followed her to the boat where Charles and Ngali were waiting for her.

  With fewer people and little gear in the boat, the trip downriver was easier and smoother.

  Apart from pointing out a few things of interest as the boat nosed through the cocoa-coloured water, Charles had little to say. But the return journey was as relaxing and as interesting as the trip upriver had been.

  It wasn’t until they’d got to the village near the old fort, thrown their belongings into Charles’s old car, which was ‘fully air-conditioned’ when all the windows were wound down, and had a sweet kopi susu, the local coffee, at a little shop, that Charles took off his dark glasses and seemed to relax.

  ‘So have you found this little adventure useful?’ he asked.

  ‘Interesting but for me it’s not like I’m researching, filming or writing anything. I was just trying to get a sense of how things used to be. I feel very privileged.’

  ‘How things were when your aunt visited the Iban?’ he said.

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t imagine a lot has changed since then.’

  ‘I spoke to my father and he thinks he knows about your aunt. She was married to a rich Chinese trader and came with him to Sarawak. Later she came by herself and stayed with some local people. I asked my father many questions but she didn’t stay at our longhouse so he doesn’t know very much. She stayed closer to the Kalimantan border. I gather she was also interested in the orangutans.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ said Julie. ‘I wish I could ask Tuai James and Tuai Jimbun more questions.’

  ‘I don’t think they know any more. Have you been to the museum in Kuching?’

  ‘Yes, the lady there was very helpful.’

  ‘Mrs Ping,’ said Charles.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘If anyone can find out anything more, she will. Summum bonum. Hang on to the idea of good luck falling on you.’

  ‘It seems to be,’ said Julie.

  Charles rose. ‘We must go.’

  When Julie walked into the Sarawak museum, Angie Ping looked up and smiled at her.

  ‘The traveller returns from the jungle. Was it all right? I thought you’d be away longer.’

  ‘I didn’t want to hold up the team, they had work to do. So when there was a chance of a lift back with Charles, the grandson of the old headman, I g
rabbed it,’ said Julie.

  ‘Ah Charles, Tuai James’s son, and Tuai Rumah Jimbun’s grandson.’

  ‘He did give me some exciting news on our way back. His father and grandfather remember my Great Aunt Bette.’

  ‘That is exciting for you,’ said Angie. She shuffled some books and papers on the counter. ‘Here, I found this.’ She handed Julie a small bound booklet with a faded photograph of an orangutan on the cover. Above it was the title, In Peril – the Lost World of the Orangutans, Bette Oldham.’ Angie smiled. ‘I’ve photocopied it for you. She sounds quite a woman, your aunt.’

  Julie took the stapled, photocopied copy of her great aunt’s booklet. ‘This is amazing. I’ll read it as soon as I can, and thank you so much for finding it.’

  ‘I’m so glad I could help. Come along, I’ll take you to my favourite place on the river for a coffee. It’s called the Rajah Brooke’s Café. More history,’ laughed Angie as she closed the museum shop and hung a sign, ‘Back in 15 mins’ on the door.

  7

  CURLED IN A DEEP rattan chair after a swim in the pool, the chick blinds lowered against the late afternoon sunlight, a gin and tonic in her hand, Julie felt relaxed and very at home. Shane, Peter and Martine, Shane’s beautiful wife, were eager to hear about her trip upriver in Sarawak.

  ‘I haven’t been to a longhouse and when we went to see the orangutans, there weren’t any,’ said Martine in her musical French accent. ‘I must try again. What do you think, Shane?’

  ‘It was fascinating,’ said Julie. ‘I fell in love with the orangutans. They have the most wonderful personalities. And the Iban are lovely people. They might have been headhunters once, but they have a very polite and caring society. I can see why Great Aunt Bette was so intrigued with their culture.’

  ‘We didn’t expect you back so soon,’ said Peter. ‘We thought you’d be gone for at least a week with the research team.’