Fire Mountain

by Rose elver

  with the weird sound of hammered chimes and gongs from a gamelan orchestra somewhere outside in the dark, scented distance.

  When Amelia woke from a heavy sleep the sunlight was streaming in and her wrist watch showed it was almost eight o'clock. She washed and dressed quickly, her only thought to contact Mr Kasir. The proprietor of the inn arranged for her to use a telephone and she tried the number again in some trepidation. This time it was Mr Kasir himself. He spoke good English and she heaved a sigh and began a halting explanation, but although he was intrigued by her call he was not keen to have her visit him. Somewhat belatedly he agreed to come and see her at the inn; in about an hour, he said.

  While she waited she breakfasted on fresh fruit and tea, seated on one of the cane chairs under the eaves of palm thatch, avoiding conversation with other visitors. For an hour and a half she lingered, looking at the sun-drenched colours of hibiscus, bougainvillaea and lilies in the compound, and was beginning to despair of Mr Kasir when a car drew up and a dapper, olive-skinned young man got out and approached her.

  Amelia stood up, speculating on how much he would be able to do for her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  `MADAME,' the young man bowed slightly. 'You are seeking Dr Daud?'

  `Mr Kasir? Yes I'm Amelia Leigh, from Lon-

  don. I have a letter for him from Dr Hallow, the specialist in tropical medicine. He knows Dr Daud well, and hoped that he would be able to help me.'

  `Ah,' his rather solemn face widened in a smile. 'I also know this Dr Hallow, I have met him in London. You are a nurse wishing to visit Dr Daud? I regret he is not here. He has had to go to Sarava with a medical team in case of epidemics. He is an expert, like Dr Hallow.'

  Amelia sat down and offered him a rattan chair near her. 'No, I'm not a nurse, Mr Kasir, but I want to go to Sarava too. Dr Hallow thought that Dr Daud might be able to use his influence to ... to get me there.'

  He looked taken aback, then shook his head. 'Out of the question, madame ! Even Dr Daud would not permit it. The area is very dangerous, and it is closed except to the medical and disaster workers at present.'

  At the finality of his tone Amelia turned very pale. He leaned forward, his brow puckered. 'Madame, you are all right? You are not ill?'

  `No, I'm not ill.' She straightened and faced him

  calmly. 'I must go to Sarava—urgently--for personal reasons. If you can't help me

  `I have not the power to do so,' he broke in worriedly.

  `Then I will find some other way.' She rose, her disappointment hardening into determination. 'I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Mr Kasir.'

  He stood up too, hesitating, concern and indecision in his expression : 'Have you a relative there? Nurse or missionary?'

  `No.' A pause. She asked quietly : 'Do you know Professor Donovan Lyne?'

  `Certainly! ' He sounded awed. 'Is it to him you go?' He shuffled uneasily for a few seconds, then turned a troubled face. Tor Professor Lyne I will do what I can.' Seeing the sudden hope in her eyes he added hurriedly, 'It is not much, I cannot arrange anything, but if you will not say to anyone that it was from me, I will tell you how you may try and go there.'

  He was eyeing her with renewed curiosity, and slight embarrassment, and it suddenly struck Amelia what he must be thinking. Her cheeks grew hot. If he thought she was Donovan's woman and was prepared to assist her, she was not going to enlighten him otherwise. 'I won't mention it to a soul ! ' she assured him. 'Not ... not even to Professor Lyne.'

  `The professor is an important man. When all the trouble is passed there will be time to tell him I helped you. That may benefit me.'

  `I'm sure he'll be grateful,' she said in a low voice,

  then nearly laughed to see him glance all round like a conspirator.

  `You must take the flight to Sumba Island. From Waingapu you can ride a bus to one of the villages on the coast. Then you may find a prahu, a sailing boat, that is willing to take you to Sarava. You will have to bribe them. You have money?'

  `Yes—enough, I think. Please ... when can I leave?'

  `If you are ready we can start now.'

  Amelia fetched her case and paid he; bill, surprised to find that her overnight stay had not cost her much more than the equivalent of a couple of pounds in English money. The beaming proprietor presented her with a spray of jasmine, 'our national flower', he informed her, inviting her to come again and tell her friends about the inn.

  Mr Kasir first drove Amelia to change her travellers' cheques into rupias, wisely advising her that she would be needing cash and it would be difficult to exchange them once she was out in the countryside. Then he took her to the airport, imparting some more tips about managing on Sumba and a few common phrases of Bahasa Indonesia to use. He asked her to pay his respects to the great professor when the opportunity arose—but not a word to Dr Daud, who would be angry if he knew!

  Amelia promised and thanked him sincerely, then said goodbye, almost sorry to see the last of his solemn face. She was alone once more, with the prospect of a difficult journey in strange places and no certainty of reaching Sarava. But at least she was

  better for a good night's sleep and had shaken off the utter helplessness which had beset her the evening before.

  Checking flight times to Waingapu she found, to her consternation, that the two scheduled services left early in the morning. She had missed them for the day ! She accepted this frustrating setback as calmly and sensibly as she could, and was preparing to return to the inn when she discovered that one of the flights had been changed at short notice. By hurrying through the formalities she was able to board it before take-off,

  Some hours later she was at Waingapu on Sumba Island. The resources of this small place were being used to capacity by the relief services, and rather than risk being sent back she slipped out discreetly. Armed with the phrases she had jotted down phonetically from Mr Kasir, she made inquiries about buses, found a reasonably clean place for the night and kept out of sight for the rest of the long, hot, tropical evening. After eating a nasi goreng of chicken, vegetables and fried rice, with side dishes of chopped peanuts and sliced banana, she retired to her room.

  The bus ride was the most uncomfortable and most colourful part of Amelia's unauthorised trek. She sat cramped in a babel of men, women and children, all brown-skinned and black-haired and bright-eyed, who shyly inspected her and smiled, then went back to their chatter of dialect. There were twice as many as the bus would normally hold, with chickens and a

  parrot to add to the clamour; and the rich, moist atmosphere reeked of perspiration, macassar oil, spices and over-ripe fruit. The bus lurched wildly over unmade roads from village to village. People struggled to get off and squeeze in. At one protracted stop Amelia had some tea, handed in to her through the window. Along another stretch a dispute started up in front and Amelia held her breath as the driver turned away from the wheel for endless moments to join in the argument; after which he switched on a radio at full blast, drowning everything in the drumming rhythms of native music.

  Gradually the number of passengers dwindled until Amelia and an old woman were the only two left as the bus rattled to a stop near the coast. The driver looked at her as if he thought she was deranged, hoisted out her case and took the tip she offered with a grin. She watched as he turned the vehicle round and set off at great speed. The old woman had disappeared. Case in hand, trembling and stumbling a little, Amelia approached the sea.

  The village was a daunting sight of dilapidated shacks and deserted lanes, littered with broken palm leaves. Nearer the beach she saw fallen trees, the' exposed roots dangling with clods of dried mud, and when she reached the foreshore it was a bitter blow to see the mess of driftwood and damaged boats. There was a layer of fine dust on the battered palm trees and lumps of pumice bobbing and rolling in on the tide. And the gusty breeze filled her nostrils with a very faint but sickening smell of sulphur.

  Fire Mountain! Amelia was frightened. Not only


  were these the grim signs of the spreading ravages of the volcano far beyond the horizon, but the end of her foolhardy attempt to get there. What chance had she now of finding a boat? She stood very still, gazing out to sea, immobilised by the sheer futility of her efforts. Donovan ... Donovan ... she clung tenaciously to the thought of him; she would reach him somehow, whatever the cost.

  Bracing herself to look round at the dispiriting prospects, she glimpsed some men moving about near two beached prahus further along the shore. She summoned her courage, but without much hope, and walked over and called out. They could not have been more surprised if she had dropped from the sky, and she was doing her best to make herself understood when a bearded sandy-haired young man appeared from behind one of the boats.

  `Je-eez !' He stared in astonishment. 'Where have you sprung from?'

  `Oh!' Amelia could have wept with relief. 'You're an Australian ! Please will you help me ... please? I wanted to know if either of these boats is fit to sail. I—I want to go to Sarava.'

  `You've got to be joking.' He looked dumbfounded.

  `Ask them, please,' she insisted breathlessly. 'Say I'll pay well.'

  `I don't need to ask them. This one,' he thumbed backwards, 'is mine. I got caught here on the tidal wave that flooded the coasts after the eruption, and it's taken me two weeks to get her into shape again.'

  Amelia pushed up her spectacles and bestowed

  her glowing smile on him. 'Then you could ... When,' she asked, 'when would you be ready?'

  `I was planning tomorrow, the next day—when it suits me. But I don't reckon Sarava much, lady. Too dangerous!' She was at the end of her tether, and his woolly-bearded features blurred before her eyes. He said gruffly : 'Don't look so shattered. What do you want to go to that hell-hole for, and what are you doing out in the wilds on your own anyway?'

  `Do you mind if I sit down?' She sank on to her suitcase and he squatted on his haunches beside her. The other men watched them before returning to work on their own prahu, the only one they had been able to salvage. Amelia pulled herself together and in a flat, tired voice recounted her story, which he pondered in silence. Bare except for scruffy briefs, the Australian looked none too prepossessing—nor do I, she thought, with my hair all. over the place, crumpled jeans and a sweaty shirt and no make-up. His blunt, open manner seemed reliable enough. He probably thought she was an obstinately eccentric `pommy'.

  He got to his feet, scratched himself, and kicked aimlessly at the sand for a long minute while she sat waiting for him to make up his mind, then he said reluctantly 'Okay, I must be as crazy as you are to agree to this ! But if a chick like you can risk it, I'm willing. Tomorrow, if the weather holds, but no guarantees,' he threatened as she jumped up elatedly.

  At that late stage they exchanged names; his was plain Sandy Smith, he said, and, 'I'll fetch you a bucket of water and you can sluice off back there

  among the trees. You can sleep on board tonight, I'll shack up in the village.' He wouldn't listen to her protests about putting him out, nor would he discuss taking money for the trip. Later, as they sat near the boat in eerie, sulphurous yellow moonlight, eating pannikins of boiled rice and vegetables, with prawn crackers called krupoek, he told her he was a student on an island-hopping sailing holiday from Malaya back to Darwin. The villagers assumed she had come to join him and left them together.

  `I still think you're crazy,' Sandy said. 'It was bad enough right here. Up the islands there was talk about earth tremors, but I wanted to push on and I was coming round the coast in the early hours of the morning when I heard the explosions. The last one was like an atom bomb—you could see the smoke on the horizon. By mid-morning it was pitch dark, raining ashes, sulphur and dust, and I switched to the engine and made for this bay. Then about an hour later the tidal wave hit us. Jee-eez ! '

  His sudden silence was more expressive than words. In spite of the warm, clammy air Amelia started to shiver uncontrollably.

  `It's been quiet here since then. But what it's like on Sarava ...' He glanced at her huddled figure and said, 'Change your mind and go home.'

  `N-no ... no,' she set her chattering teeth, 'I can face it, I must.'

  `You really do go for this guy ! ' he commented, shaking his head. 'Come on, I'll get you up on deck and show you the cabin. You look knocked out.'

  It was as poky and airless as a little box, cluttered

  up with Sandy's gear, but she crawled gratefully on to the bunk and subsided as his hairy bare legs disappeared and she heard him go over the side. What am I doing? she asked herself dazedly, her mind a jumble of disorganised impressions. Would I have believed this a year ago in Whimpleford—or a month ago in London? How safe am I with this man? ... this stranger ... She fell asleep.

  With the help of the villagers Sandy launched his boat next morning, and while he was busy Amelia gave them some money to ease their plight. After a meal of leathery, boiled sweet-corn they set sail on the afternoon tide. As the coastline dwindled behind them and the ocean swell took over, Amelia's stomach started to churn, something neither of them had anticipated, and to her mortification she was sick and had to retire to the cabin.

  Sandy was a trifle impatient, then sighed philosophically. There was little he could do. She refused his offer of a drop of brandy and water with a shudder, and when he suggested turning back she pleaded against it with such a white, distraught face that he shrugged and returned to his tasks on deck. She lay, almost semi-conscious, through the long, hot hours of daylight. The cabin grew dimmer, but no cooler. Sandy came down and, removing her spectacles, wiped her face with a wet rag. Then he opened a tin of meat for himself and went back aloft. The cabin dissolved in darkness, and still Amelia lay on the smelly bunk, inert and uncaring.

  A rough hand shaking her shoulder roused her sufficiently to sit upright, clutching her swimming

  head and groaning. 'What's happening?' she mumbled. 'What time is it?' Mercifully the dreadful pitching motion had ceased. She could hear the slap of water and a dull, intermittent rumble like thunder in the distance.

  `Nearly dawn,' Sandy told her. 'You'll have to go ashore now, Amelia, it's the best I can do.'

  'Sarava'?' She could scarcely believe it, but it was enough to stimulate her senses. A lurid glow illumined the tiny cabin, and the stench of sulphur was overpowering. She put her feet down, scrabbled for her sandals and stood up. He grabbed her arm as she swayed. 'I hope you know what you're doing, mate, the more I see of it the crazier it gets. Roll up your jeans, we'll have to wade in. I'll take your case. Come when you're fit.'

  A refreshing rub on face and arms with cologne from her handbag, a quick comb through her tangled hair; Amelia put on her spectacles, pulled out some money for Sandy and left it on his bunk to avoid arguments, then staggered up to the hatch and out on deck.

  Sarava, at last. It was almost too much for her to take in at once.

  They were in a small bay, in a sea of floating pumice. From the water line the beach curved like a burnt-out furnace of volcanic ash strewn with jagged chunks of rock and mangled tree-stumps, and behind this lay what must have been a tropical jungle, now changed into a desolation of ghostly trees withering under layers of dust. Amelia lifted her eyes to the blackened hills beyond, up along the remote ridges

  of the island to the blinding cone of Fire Mountain. A cloud of gas and dust still hung over the roaring cauldron of the crater from which streams of burning lava crawled down the sides, crumbling and spreading in fiery landslides of destruction.

  The volcano rumbled ominously and Amelia shut her eyes against the terrifying sight. For a few seconds she panicked. Sandy put a hand on her arm and said, 'It's greasy getting ashore, the volcanic ash and water has turned into slime. But I had a look round before I woke you and there's a big camp on a plain back of those trees. Think you can make it?'

  `I'll make it.' She set her teeth. Donovan would be there; that was all she cared about, all she could think about while Sandy wrung out a couple of r
ags in fresh water and instructed her to tie one over her nose and mouth. She slung her handbag round her neck and Sandy eased her slowly over the side. The water was shallow and warm, the pumice stones pelleted sharply at her bare legs. Somehow, clutching her sandals and his arm, she waded up to the beach and they stood for a moment looking at each other.

  `Sandy,' she clasped his hand close, 'I don't know how to thank you.'

  `Forget it ! You're not much to look at, but you're a goer! Ready?'

  `Yes ...' Taking her case, she asked, 'What will you do now?'

  `Get the hell out of here! Go on, Amelia. Good luck, mate.'

  When she reached the trees she turned and waved; he waved back and started wading out to the prahu.

  Scrambling over a fallen tree, Amelia followed a well-defined path through the ghostly forest. Here deadness reigned; not a bird, not the smallest sound of wild life anywhere. It was so unnerving that when an indistinct call reached her on the heavy air she started to run, kicking up thick, loose ash with her heels, until she was out of the trees and on the edge of a large encampment of tents. There were two jeeps and a bulldozer on the far side, and a distant airstrip where the red morning glow was reflected on a helicopter and a light aircraft with Red Cross markings.

  Light-headed with nausea, lack of food, and the thought of journey's end, she made for the nearest tent and stood faltering, dragging the mask away from her mouth and trying to push the words 'Anybody there?' through trembling lips. The tent flap opened, she had a cloudy impression of a white, buttoned shift, a broad pink face and a mass of gold hair twisted up in a knot. She heard a horrified exclamation, then blacked out in a sighing heap at the woman's feet.

  Some time later she passed her tongue over her lips and made an effort to lift her eyelids. She was lying flat on a low camp bed. The sides of the small tent sloped up to a ridge-pole. There was someone in the tent with her, so she asked in a wavering voice : `Can I have ... some water ..