Dangerous Waters

by Rosalind Brett

  “All right?” he asked, above the noise of the cascade.

  “Splendid,” she replied automatically.

  “Then we’ll go on a little way before making some coffee. Too wet here.”

  Though he couldn’t have foreseen it, his decision brought luck. The swirling waters were left behind, the river widened to about twenty feet and a strip of starlit sky showed overhead. And to the left in a clearing which might have been hacked out by Malays a fire burned cheerfully and its glow illumined a quite magnificent prahu beside the bank. Pete steered towards the light and Terry saw that a remarkably good tent had been erected and a man was standing there waving both hands and beckoning. A white man.

  The man caught the rope Pete threw and pulled them in, beamed at them redly as he called his Malay boy and gave him the rope to fasten. He was thickset and middle-aged, wore khaki slacks and a sweat shirt. He pumped Pete’s hand, beamed once more into Terry’s grimy face. To complete the picture his wife came from the tent, a mixing spoon in one hand while she stretched out the other.

  “My name is Lunn,” the man said, “and this is my wife, Meg. They just came from down-river, Meg,” he explained to her. “Look at the man’s shirt!”

  “Pete Sternham,” said Pete. “This is Teresa.”

  “Poor child,” said Mrs. Lunn, who had fuzzy grey-brown hair and a kindly smile. “You look tired, my dear. I’m sure you’d like to wash and use a towel on your hair.”

  Terry laughed, rather helplessly. “You sound so matter-of-fact! If it weren’t so steamy hot this could be a wet night in suburbia.”

  “Well, we’ve lived here a long time, and you do eventually take everything in your stride. Come into the tent and I’ll fix you up.”

  The tent had room for two folding beds, a wash-basin on an iron pedestal, and a box of supplies of which the top was evidently used as a kitchen table. Mrs. Lunn poured water into the basin and left Terry to wash, dry her hair and brush a little life into the careless haircut. When Terry came outside Mrs. Lunn and her husband were setting up a folding table and looking out cutlery. Pete had added some of the food he had been given to that which the woman was preparing in a large iron pot, and he was now sitting back on the grass, smoking a cigarette and telling Mr. Lunn about the trip.

  When Terry had seated herself on a canvas stool, the older man leaned over to speak to her. His large surprised smile took in her sunburned skin and slim shoulders, and he said,

  “I’ve just been hearing what you two have been through. This man of yours makes it sound as if it were no more than a picnic in one of the wilder reaches of the Thames, but I’m sure it must have been very trying for you, straight out from England.”

  “Well,” she looked quickly at Pete, but received no cue, “you see, I had to get through.”

  “Seems you had a good man for it, anyway,” stated Mrs. Lunn. “Let’s have some soup. When we Lunns travel, we take half the kitchen stores with us!”

  “You’re going down the river?”

  “Up the river,” Pete corrected her softly. “We’re going down.”

  What was she supposed to infer from that? That this was merely a passing of ships in the night and she must behave accordingly?

  She played safe. “So you’re going to do the trip we’ve just done. With that boat down there? How will you get it through?”

  Mrs. Lunn poured soup straight from a saucepan into plastic soup plates. “We couldn’t go any further in that, bless you. We shall leave it here and our boat-boy will eventually take it back to the owner in Penghu. We have bearer boys to get us over the next five miles through the forest, and we shall send one of them to buy canoes at one of the villages. We shall be a party of eight as far as Shalak, where we’ll board the train. When we eventually get to the coast we’ll take a plane for Singapore.”

  “This journey will slice rather deeply into your leave, won’t it?”

  “We don’t mind this kind of thing, so long as we can take our time and boys to do all the work. Though we were rather angry when we heard about the wrecking of that train. The authorities in Penghu were livid.”

  “You come from Penghu?” Terry said quickly. “Then...”

  Pete broke in smoothly, “Mr. and Mrs. Lunn are connected with a new education committee in the district. They’ve finished with Penghu now and have orders to report elsewhere after leave.”

  “Oh,” she said, absorbing his implications as well as his words. “Oh, I see.”

  She was not to ask about Annette, which meant that he had told these people as little as he possibly could. She spooned up mushroom soup and ate a biscuit which had somehow been kept free from damp. Because there were only two stools, she and Mrs. Lunn were at the table while the men lounged on the grass as if this were an ordinary convivial evening.

  After the soup came a curried hash with yellow squash, and then tinned apricots and biscuits. The coffee sizzled close to the fire, a punctured tin of milk stood ready for those who liked their coffee white. They drank from cups and beakers, lit cigarettes and went on talking.

  Somehow the whole scene was unreal to Terry. These were the first white people they had met since the Dutch people on the steamer, and her first reaction had been one of relief that was curiously mixed with reluctance. They were past the worst, and more than halfway to Penghu; she ought to be glowing. Instead she felt hollow and melancholy.

  More coffee?” asked the other woman.

  “No, thank you. It’s been a wonderful dinner, Mrs. Lunn.”

  “Glad you liked it, my dear. I’ve been thinking that after such a day you ought to turn in early. You can share the tent with me. My husband won’t mind sleeping outside for once.”

  Pete leaned forward, his smile quite charming. “You’re very good, Mrs. Lunn, but we want to keep moving. We’re already a bit late. Terry can sleep as we go along. This evening has been a great pleasure, and I’d certainly prolong our stay with you if I could.”

  “You mean you’re going to go on paddling all night? Isn’t that rather straining things?”

  “We didn’t start out today till noon. After such a good dinner and a rest in excellent company, I shall be able to keep it up for a few hours. Then I’ll sleep till dawn. Are you ready, Teresa?”

  Terry stood up. “Yes, of course.”

  He was behind her, when he said in a quiet voice, “What’s this on your dress, just above the belt? Looks like blood.”

  “It can’t be,” she said lightly, and moved quickly forward into the shadows.

  But he took her shoulder and drew her back, bent and touched the marks. In a low tone he demanded, “Why didn’t you mention this? You’ve hurt yourself.”

  “No, I haven’t. It’s just a few blisters.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Lunn came right beside them. Concerned, the man said, “Blisters? Sounds like some form of prickly heat. You’ll have to look after that, old man.”

  This was the sort of obvious suggestion that Pete did not care for. Had Mr. Lunn not been his host he might have shot out some withering remark. Terry felt the fingers tighten on her shoulder instead.

  “My kit is in the boat,” he said. “Have you any propamidine?”

  “Only the usual gentian violet jelly, I’m afraid, and calomine lotion.” Mrs. Lunn went into the tent and came out again, held back the flap. She proffered bottle and tube. “I expect you’ll want to doctor it yourself, Mr. Sternham. Take your wife into the tent and light the lamp. You’ll find plenty of lint just inside the box I’ve left open.”

  Terry, her teeth so tight that her jaw ached, preceded him into the tent and waited while he struck a match and lit the tiny paraffin lamp. Then she said, “I can manage, if you’ll give me the calomine.”

  “Calomine!” he said in quiet, furious tones. “When was it you asked me for mine—was it yesterday? You already had this trouble then, didn’t you? And you carried on like a martyr, letting it get worse while you told yourself that the agony was the price you were called upon to pay for
a trip to Penghu with Pete Sternham! God, I feel like...”

  He didn’t say what he felt like, but before she could even realize what he intended, he had grasped a pair of long-bladed scissors from the box and with ruthless strokes was severing the top of her dress from the skirt, just above the fastening belt.

  “You can’t do that,” she protested faintly.

  But it was done. Her midriff was bare and he drew a sharp breath at what he saw. Across the front, where she had soaked the skin with calomine, the blisters were flat and scaly with hardly any rash, but at her back there were angry swellings and streaks of blood.

  The tense rage in Pete, as he sponged away the blood, dried the skin and applied the violet-hued jelly, was almost audible, yet his hands could not have taken more care. He cut wide strips of lint, tucked the edges into the skirt of her dress and gently pressed them into position, covering the whole area.

  “Well, that settles it,” he said briefly. “We’re staying here tonight.”

  She turned and looked at him with distressed blue eyes. “It’s not necessary. It feels cool and painless. Please let’s go on.”

  “I’m not risking it. The morning will be soon enough.”

  “The river is wider now, and tomorrow you’ll have to paddle in the sunshine. If I sit forward...”

  “We’re not leaving tonight. That’s final.”

  She looked away and moistened her lips. “Do you wonder I kept it to myself? You wanted to get through quickly, and I’ve held you back, several times. It was really through me that you stopped at the village last night. I don’t ask you to do these things, but you feel bound to do them. You hate it, though—having to consider me.”

  “I don’t,” he said crisply. “I suppose I thought of you as tougher than you are, and it’s just possible that I get a bit worried. You might remember that.”

  “I’ve tried not to be a nuisance,” she said despondently. “I’d have had this rash attended to as soon as we reached Penghu.”

  “In this climate, open wounds would have gone septic before that.” He dropped the scissors back into the box and folded the remains of the lint. “I’m more angry with myself than with you. You’re just a child—you can’t help your reactions to things you’ve never known before. I should have realized that from the beginning.” Taut sarcasm came into his tones. “I should have been bluff and big-brotherly—told you right at the start that to me you’re just a kid sister I’ve adopted for a few days. Only that happens to be one way I never feel about women—brotherly!”

  “I knew that,” she said thinly, “but you were kind, and coming along with you was rather less of a risk than it might have been with some men who profess to be hearty and paternal.” She steeled herself to add, “I’m terribly sorry I behaved like an idiot yesterday afternoon. I know you only meant to ... to stiffen me a little, but that beastly crocodile...”

  She tailed off and there was a small silence. Then he touched her shoulder, and when he spoke his voice was less chilly, and contained a smile,

  “In a few years you’ll be quite a girl, Teresa. You just have to give yourself time to mature. In a way, this trip has been unfair to you because you haven’t dared to be yourself. Let’s make a bargain. If we leave at sunrise tomorrow we can reach a village called Tembin by nightfall. There’s a road from Tembin to Penghu—a rough track, but it’s usable—and we’re bound to be able to hire some sort of conveyance...”

  “And the bargain?” she asked quickly.

  He shrugged, and his smile mocked at her. “Seeing that tomorrow will be our last day together we might as well make it a happy one, don’t you think?” He almost touched her waist, but not quite. “If this improves you’ll feel more normal. Let’s decide to treat it as a day out. You can be just a nice girl enjoying a jaunt with a man you know well enough to trust.”

  “I do trust you, Pete.”

  “You’d better. I’ve worked hard enough on it. You stay in here and get some sleep. I’ll give your toilet bag to Mrs. Lunn.”

  “Yes ... all right. Good night, Pete.”

  “Good night, little one.”

  He went out and let the flap fall behind him. Terry heard the Lunns question him, his calm replies. A few minutes later Mrs. Lunn came into the tent, carrying the floral bag.

  “I’m so glad you decided to stay,” she said. “There can’t be any desperate haste in this country, and a night in bed will help that rash. How silly of you not to tell your husband, my dear!”

  “I ... didn’t want to worry him.”

  “Because you’re only just married?” the woman asked archly. “I gathered that you were married several days ago, at the coast. Only gathered it, mind you. Mr. Sternham is not what one might call an informative man. You’ve had a poor introduction to the country, haven’t you?”

  “So far I’ve found it beautiful, and fascinating.”

  “But what a honeymoon!” Mrs. Lunn paused. “I believe I know how you feel. You met your husband in England, I suppose, and now you’re not quite sure he’s the man you became engaged to. But don’t let it bother you. Life as the wife of a plantation manager can be very pleasant, and I’m sure that once you’re settled in your husband will be very glad you’re there, even though he may consider you too young in many ways.”

  Terry did not examine that statement; she merely thought, fleetingly, that this woman was too knowledgeable about human beings to be deceived into thinking Pete could be in love with a slight creature who had mid-brown hair and blue eyes.

  Terry took off the dismembered top of her frock, bore with Mrs. Lunn’s exclamations about the wretched garment and lay down as she was, on the camp bed. Mrs. Lunn herself did no more than shed the faded print dress she had been wearing.

  “It’s never safe to undress completely when you’re camping,” she told Terry. “I’ve heard tales of tigers coming right into the tent, and rock cobras curling up beneath the bed, out of the rain. The worst that ever happened to us was bird-eating spiders. They festooned the outside of the tent and had to be smoked off. Are you comfortable there, dear?”

  “Very much so, thank you.”

  “Then I’ll put out the light. There.” The other bed creaked as she lay down. “Perhaps tomorrow night,” she said in the darkness, “you’ll have reached the rubber estate. Mr. Sternham was telling my husband that his house is about eight miles on the other side of Penghu.”

  “You don’t know it at all?” Terry ventured.

  “No. We were stationed for six months outside the town and were too busy for much social life. Three or four years ago, so they told us, Penghu was only a glorified village with just an importer’s warehouse and offices, and a few stores. When the railway was finished and expansion started the place was re-planned and some proper shops built. There’s even a block of flats, and the old bamboo bridges are being replaced by concrete affairs to take heavier traffic.”

  Terry said carefully, “I believe a British firm has the contract.”

  “Oh, yes. There are four bridges in the district to be built in three years.”

  “Did you meet any of the officials of the construction Company?”

  “Not to remember them. There aren’t many white people in Penghu, but we weren’t in a position to be friendly with even those few. I was once invited to some outdoor function where I was introduced to a number of people, but I haven’t remembered many of the names. Actually, of the faces I only remember Mrs. Winchester. She’s a striking-looking woman.”

  Terry’s heart leapt. Mrs. Winchester was the wife of the construction company’s superintendent of works; it was she with whom Annette was staying until her marriage ... and it was in Mrs. Winchester’s house that Terry herself would live while in Penghu!

  She longed to put more questions, to describe Annette and ask Mrs. Lunn if she had seen her. Annette, with her model’s poise and expensive clothes, her reddish hair and good voice, must be even more attractive than Mrs. Winchester. But possibly Mrs. Lunn had met Mrs.
Winchester some time ago, before Annette’s arrival.

  Mrs. Lunn went on talking, about the job her husband had done for Malayan education, about the many places at which they had been stationed during the past fifteen years, about faithful Malay servants and the Chinese problem. After their leave she and her husband were going south, and only a year after that they would retire to a small fruit farm in Kent.

  Possibly it was seldom that Mrs. Lunn had a white woman listener. She did not stop talking that night till sleep caught up with her. After which Terry lay there, conscious of the faint slapping of the water and distant cries in the jungle.

  And still, with perhaps less than fifty miles of the river between herself and Annette, she could not feel her sister’s nearness. By now, of course, Annette would have accepted the fact that Terry must arrive late. Having heard nothing, Annette might be persuaded to believe that Terry had taken the only alternative route to Penghu, by way of the coast by plane or vessel, and then across country by some kind of hired vehicle.

  But tomorrow night...

  Terry thrust the thought away, lay there with her hands gripping at her elbows while she stared at the double roof of the tent. There was still the whole of tomorrow and the bargain she had made with Pete. A happy day to round off the trip. To be really happy with him, she mustn’t think of the future, not even of the near future, when she would meet Annette.

  There was a heavy mist next morning, the usual blue, turning to white over the water as the suri rose. The river flowed sluggishly and the Lunns’ Malay boys waded into it with fishing baskets which they had taken from the prahu. They brought numerous small fish and cleaned them, handed a dozen or so to Mr. Lunn, for frying over a small fire which had been kindled within a circle of stones.