“Is she scared of the tropics?”
“Well,” said Terry honestly, “you either want to come here or you don’t. Annette didn’t.”
“And you?”
She looked at him fleetingly and gathered nothing. “I like it all right,” she said with reserve. “The heat is a bit overwhelming, but it wouldn’t take me long to get used to it.” She had had enough of the subject. “By the way, I’d like to travel in something cooler tomorrow. May I open one of my cases?”
“Of course, but leave it till the morning. You’d better take off your outer clothes tonight and roll in a blanket. That ground-sheet the old boy gave me isn’t entirely waterproof, but you can have it doubled.”
“And ... and what about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Are you sleepy?”
“A little. I think it’s the smoke.”
“It’s a bit of everything—excitement, worry, sunshine, and village coffee—they mix ordinary coffee with herbs.” He sprang to his feet, flexed his shoulders and swung his arms. “Musn’t go stiff. Can you get along without brushing your teeth for the night? I’ll have it all organized for you in the morning.”
“I’m adaptable.”
“Good.” He unrolled the ground-sheet and folded it, placed a gaudy blanket on top of it. “Well, there you are. I’m going to take the canoe a short way dong the river, just to see if the moon will give me any clues for the morning. I shall be about half an hour, so you may be asleep when I get back. The fire is nearly out, but stay close to it and you won’t be plagued by insects. Keep covered, though, even if you stew.” He was already untying the canoe when he added, “Good night.”
“Well, good night,” she said in surprised accents.
He was not tempted to make a rejoinder, apparently, and Terry realized, a little dimly, that in clearing off for half an hour he was being tactful and considerate. But somehow she had never imagined his being anything else. However unconcerned he might be about Terry Fremont, the person, he was undoubtedly very thoughtful about the girl he had taken charge of in Vinan. The trouble was, she was pretty sure he would have done as much for anyone; he was the sort of man who naturally takes responsibility in emergencies. Was that how he regarded her, as an emergency?
Quickly, she got out of her blouse and skirt, bathed her face and arms at the edge of the river, and dipped her burning feet down into the water. The grass, as she trod back to the blanket, was soaking wet, and when she put a hand to her hair that was wet too. The humidity in the air must be terrific. Where the waistband of her skirt had been, the skin was tender and it smarted, and even the smooth surfaces of her arms and legs were thickly clammy with sweat. What a climate!
But ten minutes later, when she lay down on the blanket and pulled a fold of it over her body, Terry felt almost serene. She was several miles nearer to Annette and, barring accidents, the Sternham man would get her to Penghu in three or four days, so that she would arrive about five days before Annette’s wedding. That would give her time to rest for a while in readiness for the great day.
She tried to think intensively about her sister, but for some reason Annette was always just beyond a veil, not quite distinguishable. Which was peculiar, but perhaps the tropics did that to new arrivals. She would gradually recover from the feeling of being withdrawn from everyone but her immediate companion.
He came back quietly, and with eyes closed she listened to his movements. He came towards her, bent over and said softly, “Are you awake?”
She kept very still, and he must have been satisfied that she slept, for he moved away and sat down. She saw him unbuckle his rucksack and take things from it, heard the flick of the lighter as he lit a cigarette. Then she had to feign sleep again while he worked at something quite close to her. When she dared to look again her head and shoulders were covered by mosquito netting which hung over bamboo pegs, and the rest of her lay under a sheet of plastic. He seemed to regard her as some commodity which must be protected as far as possible from moisture and pests. She felt like an oversized caterpillar boiling away inside a cocoon.
Pete lay back on the other blanket, smoking a second cigarette and looking up into the dark branches. She wondered what he was thinking about, was suddenly disconcerted when he turned his head and looked at her. In a spit second her eyes had closed, of course, but she palpitated a little and her lips went dry. She thought of that moment when she had leaned to his lighter and, with a faintly devilish grin, he had withdrawn the flame and stared up into her eyes. He had meant to make her conscious of herself; she knew that. He had said she was the type of girl he found irritating, and perhaps when he was irritated he had to do something about it. She hoped not, but how could she know?
He had still told her almost nothing about himself. He was the manager of a rubber estate, had been on two months’ leave and enjoyed sophisticated good times in Bangkok. He knew Roger by sight and seemingly didn’t think much of him. He thought emotions could easily be controlled in the tropics, and maybe it was true, for him. Calm and enigmatic as he was, she might reach Penghu without knowing more of him than she knew now. On the other hand, there was that about him which caused an odd reaction in her senses; by the way he had steered the heavily loaded canoe, the sharp-eyed watch he had kept on the river banks, the swift and sure handling of the parang, she knew there was a great deal more behind the nonchalance than he would have admitted. She also had the peculiar conviction that he was capable of violent anger.
With a suppressed, shaky sigh, she told herself that it would be as well for her to emulate his coolness. And then she eased her bones on the hard ground and went to sleep.
As Pete had predicted, after passing a couple of villages where the permit was demanded during the course of the next morning, they entered the swamps. First it became noticeable that the river was spreading among the meranti and mangroves on each side, then the canoe seemed to be emerging from the rain forest and stunted trees grew everywhere, so that it was impossible to recognize the main drag of the river. Pete consulted the compass he had relied on in Burma and Siam, and kept going, but to Terry it seemed as though they were simply canoeing across flooded land. The paddles caught in submerged vines, a tree root rocked the boat, evil shapes followed them in the water, and the sun beat down upon mud and turgid lakes, upon the small canoe and its burden. Pete had to wear a shirt and a cloth tied piratically about his head. He insisted that Terry’s straw hat be lined with banana leaves, that she wear sun-glasses and keep her shoulders and legs covered. In the thin frock and wide silk scarf she wilted; her eyelids were leaden and her limbs felt swollen out of recognition. The boiled water was warm to the tongue, the coconut milk Pete had had collected and bottled at Vinan had gone rancid, and the only fruit were huge soft bananas with red skins, which were much too sweet.
To Terry, it was a miracle that Pete kept going at a steady pull. His skin was dark and glistening, his muscular arms moved with a narcotic rhythm, and sweat plastered the shirt to his body from collar to waist. There was no conversation between them, even when the lunch-hour came and passed. They could not stop here, where there was no foothold or shade. It was late afternoon when they came to a small island sprouting a clump of palms and a giant mandis tree. Terry’s knees were so locked in one position that he had literally to lift her from the canoe.
She straightened up, did a few gentle exercises. He made creaking sounds in his throat and she smiled.
“You’re a remarkable man, Mr. Sternham. How can you joke after eight hours of excruciating toil in this vast oven?”
“It might be cooler if it rained, but it would be a sight more difficult to contend with. Just be grateful it’s only sunshine we have to suffer.”
“Don’t say we. You’re the one who slaves. Will you relax and let me get the food?”
He pushed the cloth from his head. “Sure, if it will make you feel good. But there’s one thing we have to attend to first. You can’t continue to sweat without doing something about it. The ri
ver water is pretty murky, but it will wash off the salt. Go over there beyond those palms and take a dip, but he careful not to swallow the water. Put on something dry, from your case. When you’re through, I’ll do the same.”
She knelt beside the case he had opened, her cheeks rather pink. “I’ve been longing to get into cool water. I’ll take some soap, but I won’t be long.”
“Don’t be scared,” he said tolerantly. “I’m just a wee bit tired.”
Her smile deepened, but she didn’t look at him. “You’re very understanding,” she said. “I can’t think how a man of your kind ever got that way.”
“Maybe I’m surprising even myself. It seems it’s accepted in Vinan territory that I’m married to you, and perhaps I’m getting a kick out of the situation. If it were permanent it wouldn’t be in the least funny.”
“Thanks for the compliment!”
“Well, would it?” he said reasoningly, as he handed her the towel from his rucksack. “We scarcely know each other.”
She nodded. “And I think it’s right to remain that way. I won’t be long.”
She left him quickly and walked round to the other side of the thicket or rhumbia palms where she undressed and slipped down into the water. It was only waist deep, but she swam a few strokes to loosen her limbs, before soaping her skin and rinsing off. She dried herself, slipped on a clean cotton frock and with her hair hanging in strings she walked back to where Pete was cleaning a fish. A few thin flames already rose from a fire of twigs. He laid the fish on a leaf, took the damp towel and disappeared.
Terry sat in the shade and cooked the fish with a handful of rice in a tin of water; there was something marvellously pleasant about cooking for a man who worked so tirelessly. She had the coffee boiling when Pete returned, wearing clean shorts and shirt. They sat in silence and ate, drank some coffee and put on cigarettes. Terry lay flat, whisked insects from her face and wondered a little apprehensively about the belt of redness round her waist. Today she had worn a loose frock, yet the puffy band persisted. It was caused by heat and perspiration, she guessed, and probably there was a remedy for it, but she didn’t want to mention it to Pete. He had enough to think about. Still, she was sure he would have something which might help her, in his rucksack. A man like Pete Sternham didn’t go travelling in the tropics for a couple of months without a supply of medicaments. But how was she to get at his first-aid kit?
He said presently, “We won’t shift until the sun has cone, then maybe we’ll keep going till midnight. Can you fit more comfortably now the back of your seat has been reinforced?”
“Yes, but you can’t keep on paddling for ever! It’s almost inhuman.”
“Best not to rest too long or you go stiff. I want to get out of the swamps before dawn tomorrow. You can’t go on sitting in the canoe in the sun.”
She got up on one elbow. “You’re not to consider me! What makes you think I can’t take it, anyway?”
“You’re pale, and there’s not much of you; you’re not accustomed to the heat.
“I’m perfectly fit, and I’m getting more used to the heat every hour. I’m lucky to be here!”
“Let’s hope so. In this country you never know.” He looked at his watch. “Time for a salt tablet. Has that water cooled down?”
She reached over and touched the bottle. “Only a little, but I can drink it. Are you going to have one this time?”
“Only five left. I’ll have one tomorrow.” He took a salt tablet from the tin, opened the tiny wrapping and showed her the wet mass it had become. “Damp gets into everything. I hope you’ve nothing that can spoil in that unopened case of yours.”
“I have, but it doesn’t matter.” She drank the warm salt water, felt slightly sick but kept a smile on her lips. “Did you have to take medicines with you on your trip?”
“A few. The usual anti-malaria stuff, codeine, calomine, gentian violet jelly, dressings, and so on. I used some of it on boys I engaged at odd times, but most of it is still intact.”
“Calomine?” she said. “It protects the skin against the sun. May we use it up?”
“It’s not all that good, when you sweat a lot, but I’ll get it for you,” he said. And did.
Ostentatiously, she used a little on her reddening forearms. The bottle she slipped into the deep pocket of her frock; the very fact of its existence made her feel cheerful, and she began to hum a popular song, and sing a few words here and there.
“What’s that?” he asked lazily.
“One of the newer tunes. They played it on the ship several times. Do you own a gramophone?”
“A radiogram, no less. In Penghu, when the wind is in the right direction, we can get Radio Malaya. I bought a couple of records in Bangkok.”
“Of Siamese music?”
“Yes. Can’t promise you’ll hear them because they’re a gift for a friend of mine whom you’re not likely to meet. Actually, the discs were cut in England, but the recording was made out here.”
“Did you see any Siamese cats?”
“Not one, though I was commissioned to buy one for the same friend.”
“A man?” she heard herself asking.
“No, Teresa, not a man. Does that make you curious?”
It did, but she answered, “Why should it? It would be far stranger if you had no women friends. What else did you buy her?”
“A little carved box in Burmese teak and a small ivory replica of a temple in Rangoon. Three presents are enough for one woman, don’t you think?”
“Ample.” Terry was annoyed with herself for adding, “I expect she’ll be glad to have you back.”
He said calmly, “You can take my word for it that it will be a joyous reunion. She’s the only woman I’ve ever thought of marrying.”
Terry’s hand went a little tight, and pressed down on the ground-sheet. “What does she think of your determination not to marry?”
“She says she’ll wear me down, get a proposal out of me and then leave me flat.” And with his tongue in his cheek; “All in fun, of course.”
“Oh, of course.” She paused. “What is she like—this woman in your life?”
“She’s ash-blonde, has green eyes and a pretty accent. Her father was Swedish, and she’s mostly lived in Sweden.”
“Then I daresay she has a pretty name, too?”
“A fairly common one—Astrid. She owns a rubber estate with her brother.”
“Have you always been neighbors? I mean...”
“I know what you mean, Teresa,” he said, “and the answer is no. Astrid came out to visit her brother a year ago. She should have stayed three months, but she’s still here.”
Terry said casually, “So it’s during this last year that you’ve been considering marriage?”
“Not considering it, Teresa. Let’s say it’s come into my mind a few times when I was off guard. I’m too old a hand to be worn down in a year.”
“D’you think she’ll wait much longer?”
“Don’t you think I’m worth waiting for?”
“We’re strangers,” she reminded him. “How would I know?”
“That’s so—how would you? If you find Roger Payn attractive you aren’t likely to know much about my sort.” He lay back in his favorite attitude, with one hand under his head and his knees tented. “Did you kiss him goodbye when he left England?”
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“All right, you don’t have to be belligerent about it. It’s very sweet.”
“Don’t sneer. I hate that tone in your voice.”
“Oh, come now! You haven’t the right to hate any tone I might decide to use. What sort of kiss was it?”
“Really!”
“Can’t you distinguish one kind from another? Did you cling to him and smile at him through tears, give him something fairly fierce to remember, or merely peck at the chap? For your own sake, you ought to try and recall it.”
“Oh, be quiet!”
He laughed briefly. “
Are you embarrassed?”
“You meant me to be. Supposing I put that sort of question to you?”
“You want to know how I kissed Astrid when we said goodbye?”
“No. No, I don’t! I just want you to shut up.”
“That’s because you’re a coward. You’re not a bit sure how you feel about Roger now that he’s near, and if possible you want to start all over again with him. Only you won’t be able to, little one. If he’s been faithful to you—and I should say he has—he’ll expect you to fall into his arms. Are you ready for it?”
“I’ll decide when I get there.”
“But you’ve been thinking dreamily about him on the way over?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but commented with thoughtful mockery, “Funny that you should go for someone fair, too. But you’re fairish yourself, when your hair is normal. I noticed it on the steamer.”
“And I noticed that you were dark and supercilious.”
“But I’m awfully kind as well,” he rallied her. “You’ve said so yourself.”
There was a silence, which stretched on for some minutes. Then, eerily, there came a splashing sound and Terry sat up almost as precipitately as Pete did. A crocodile was climbing from the water, its gargantuan, teeth-filled jaws open about an inch in a murderous grin. It stopped, and its disgusting little eyes stared straight at Terry. Hypnotized, she watched those eyes become distended, so that they stood out like glutinous stalks. Water dripped from the scaly grey back, the little feet splayed over the mud and dug in as the creature moved forward.
Faintingly, she remembered reading about a Malayan crocodile that had killed grown men simply by fastening its jaws on the shoulder and whipping its tail round the body, to break the back. And this one was advancing, was no more than six feet from her legs; and Pete was a yard away on her other side, beyond the fire. She closed her eyes tightly, dug her nails into her palms and somehow kept perfectly still. She heard the dragging sound again, the great body coming near enough to be able to snap at her, and sweat ran in rivulets down her face and the whole of her body.
Dangerous Waters Page 5
