Blood Is a Stranger

by Roland Perry

  ‘Well, I suggest you get him back here fast and interview him.’

  ‘Then you’re giving it the go ahead?’ Dunstan asked.

  ‘You’ve got your budget for it,’ Hartford said, ‘but 1 want to see a rough-cut before we make a decision on airing it. If you can satisfy our lawyers and me, we’ll run it.’

  The prison guards left Cardinal alone through the first night and into the next day with only two indirect communications in the morning. Unpalatable grain in hot water was pushed through a latch in the door in return for the bucket. Both times the guard grunted something but was gone before Cardinal could conjure a suitable response from his limited Indonesian. There was a compelling desire to make verbal contact and vivid reminders of solitary confinement in Manchuria. Then, he had often reflected, his unformed intellect and strong body had given him a certain rigidity which stood him in good stead under pressure. Now softer in body and alone he was not confident of withstanding the desolation of prison.

  His suitcase was hurled into the cell mid-morning, and Cardinal was surprised to see that nothing had been confiscated. He wondered if the commandant was letting him know he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Cardinal filled in the rest of the morning by going through a two-hour exercise routine. Normally he would do about twenty minutes a day, but in the last week or so he had been intent on just making it through each day with little or no sleep, and his disciplines of yoga and swimming had not been possible.

  He followed the long session by scribbling out things to think about through the rest of the day. He remembered the sketches of Chan in an inside pocket of the suitcase.

  He unzipped it. They had been removed. Cardinal brought his fist down hard on the suitcase. ‘Damnit!’ he growled. He felt stupid for not having destroyed them.

  The sun baked his cell, and sweat dripped from him. Cardinal fought a continuous listlessness as time acted like a loose anchor on his mind. He clutched at every mental game he had used when a Korean war POW. Cardinal had been a tops maths student at West Point, but when he tried to jot down some calculus, he found his sophisticated numeracy had been ravaged by the years. He made a chess board from loose pebbles in the cell, but after one game with himself became bored.

  Cardinal wrote out all the poetry he could recall and included a verse by Robert Graves, ‘Love at first sight’.

  Love at first sight, some say misnaming,

  That feeling of twinned helplessness,

  Against that first huge tug of procreation.

  It made him think of Rhonda. He wrote a letter to her and put it in a grubby envelope which he addressed to her TV network and put in his trouser pocket.

  At eight pm a bowl of foul-smelling, lukewarm meat and potato slid through the hatch. Cardinal considered it as it stopped at his feet. He had eaten little, but the heat had killed his appetite. Still he began to munch away for something to fill in the time.

  He was distracted by the sound of a helicopter. Cardinal stepped on to the bunk to watch the big-bellied chopper settle on the other side of the administration building. Cardinal wondered who would be paying Bum a night visit. Initially it intrigued him, for Webb had been adamant about the dangers of flying any aircraft around the remote islands at night. Could it be something urgent, he mused. Could it have anything to do with him? When nothing happened, Cardinal tried to sleep but was only half successful. He lay for four hours in the thick stifling heat. Mosquitoes attacked him relentlessly. He sat up when he heard the sound of marching feet echoing down the corridor. Keys jangled in the lock as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Two guards growled orders at him and kicked his suitcase, indicating that they wanted him to dress. Cardinal obeyed, apprehensive because of their attitude, which was not that of people about to show benevolence. He hauled on jeans, a shirt and sneakers and was marched out of the cell block and across the compound to the com’ mandant’s office.

  He was pushed into the sparse room. The compound lights were on, and he could see figures sitting in the chopper. To his horror they were both in the unusual black uniforms Perdonny and Rhonda had said were worn by the forces Utun had been training at Ujung Pandang. He walked to the window but stopped as the commandant sidled in followed by two guards. He eyed Cardinal and seemed on edge.

  ‘Sit on the chair,’ he said.

  Cardinal obeyed and could hear the unsteady tread of someone else shuffling towards the room. In the split second the man entered Cardinal did not recognise him under the head bandage wrapped low enough to obscure the eyebrows. The man’s right arm was in a sling. But slowly he realised it was Chan! Cardinal rose from the chair automatically. The Khmer Rouge leader did not acknowledge Cardinal and moved to the only other chair in the room. Chan gritted his jagged and protruding teeth. He was sweating and used a red scarf to dab his brow. He waved a hand at the commandant and, in English, ordered him to open the window. His voice was shaky. His eyes lifted to meet Cardinal’s.

  ‘You thought I would be dead,’ he mumbled, ‘didn’t you?’

  Cardinal glanced at the commandant who did not seem to have been expecting the night visitor. His hair was awry, and his tunic seemed to have been thrown on hurriedly.

  ‘Sit,’ the commandant said.

  ‘I want you to know,’ Chan said in a squeaky, faltering voice, ‘that we did not murder your son. You tried to kill me for no reason.’ His eyes fluttered as he spoke. ‘I wish to know who supported you in the preparation?’ Chan said. ‘Was it Blundell?’

  Cardinal turned to the commandant. ‘Have you been in touch with the American Ambassador, David Temple?’

  ‘Tell me!’ Chan shrieked, ‘you must tell me if the CIA was behind the attempt . . . tell me, and nothing will happen to you! Nothing!’ Chan gripped the arm of the chair and breathed heavily.

  He must have taken both bullets, Cardinal thought. Yet he travelled from Jakarta only seventy-two hours afterwards. He had to be keen on revenge, or concerned about his relationship with Blundell. Cardinal stalled; Chan called for the two men in the chopper. The two black-uniformed commandos came close to him.

  ‘Did Blundell get you to do this?’ Chan hissed.

  Cardinal turned his body to face the two men but did not answer.

  They were given an order, and one drew a baton that had been slung out of Cardinal’s vision.

  Cardinal stood up to defend himself and was caught a hard fist blow to the stomach from the other man. The baton was slammed across his shoulders. He slumped to his knees, winded and in pain. Cardinal struggled to his feet and was pushed back in the chair. He was breathing fast.

  ‘Answer me now!’ Chan said, struggling to his feet with the commandant’s help.

  Cardinal caught his breath. ‘I . . . don’t . . . know . . . what you are talking . . . about,’ Cardinal said with a trace of defiance.

  Again, the baton was used, this time across the side of the head.

  Cardinal fell to the ground. He was dazed like a boxer, down for the count, but he battled against unconsciousness and managed to get to his knees.

  Four heavy boots went into his body, and he fell flat. He was hoisted into the chair.

  Cardinal stared at Chan who stood behind the chair. Another brisk argument began between Chan and the commandant. The two commandos stood behind their quarry, waiting for the next opportunity.

  Cardinal ran a shaking hand over his face, and blood smeared his palm and wrist. There was an eerie silence. Chan looked at him again. He seemed disappointed.

  ‘We will continue to smash you!’ Chan said through his teeth. ‘You tried to assassinate me! You made an error! Did the CIA help you?!’

  Cardinal felt the two commandos preparing to strike out again. He lifted his elbows as if to defend himself and then swung them back into the stomachs of the two men, catching them unawares. He stood up and threw a punch at the man with the baton. He fell over the desk holding his jaw. Cardinal turned to defend himself from the other man, and the commandant bellowed at the two guards. Cardinal
struck some heavy blows at the second commando before he was overpowered and held at rifle point.

  Extra guards arrived as the commandant examined the injured commando.

  ‘His jaw’s broken,’ the commandant said. ‘He must go to the hospital.’

  Cardinal began to cough up blood.

  ‘Better get him to hospital too,’ the commandant said.

  ‘No!’ Chan screamed. He barked an order at the remaining commando, who stumbled out of the room.

  ‘I don’t want a murder on my hands!’ the commandant objected. Chan fumbled an envelope from a coat pocket and shoved it at the commandant.

  ‘Utun has ordered that I may use whatever means possible to find out who tried to assassinate me.’

  The commando returned with a cord attached to clamps.

  ‘Bastards!’ Cardinal yelled. I’m finished. I’m going to fight, he thought. He lashed out again. Two more commandos rushed in. It took five men to restrain him and tie him to the chair. The cord was attached to a power point. The clamps were placed on Cardinal’s wrists.

  Cardinal swallowed and braced himself. Chan slid his chair close to him.

  ‘Were you working for the CIA?’ Chan said.

  Cardinal’s mouth and throat were burning. He couldn’t answer.

  ‘Did Blundell order you to kill me?’

  Cardinal tried to speak, but began to choke on his blood. Chan cursed. He gripped Cardinal’s hair.

  ‘Just nod your head!’

  Cardinal gripped the chair’s arms and stared at Chan defiantly. Chan made a chopping motion. A commando flicked the switch. The shock whipped through Cardinal’s arms and stabbed his heart. His chest heaved and his wrists seared. Cold sweat broke out over his face.

  Get it over with, you animal! Cardinal wanted to say, but could only think it. The switch was thrown again. Cardinal’s body convulsed and his legs kicked out. His chair jumped and fell sideways. Four commandos struggled to right it.

  Chan leaned forward from the chair. ‘Blundell urged you to do it?’

  Cardinal’s eyes met Chan’s. Cardinal lashed out with his foot and caught Chan hard on the shin. He clutched at his leg. Cardinal coughed and spat blood into the face of his tormentor. A commando lashed out at Cardinal and sent the chair flying backwards. The cord was wrenched from the wall, and the room was plunged into darkness. Cardinal again struggled to regain consciousness. Chan and the commandant were arguing fiercely. The chair was put upright, and torches were shone in Cardinal’s eyes. He felt himself being untied. He tried to stand but he could not control his limbs.

  I’m paralysed, he thought. His head spun, and the dancing torch reflections on the floorboards fused into black.

  Only the stark cries of crows broke the early morning silence. Perdonny stood reading the names of the marble memorial commemorating the deaths of Allied forces -mainly Australians and Indians - on the island during the second world war. Like all the older members of the town he remembered the day when most of these allied fighters had been beheaded by the Japanese.

  Perdonny knew he was being watched. He could see the Bakin car out of the corner of his eye. He wandered further into the memorial grounds. A taxi pulled into the gravel-pathed entrance. Webb got out. The car pulled over to the roadside and waited.

  Webb approached Perdonny. ‘Did you see that car?’

  ‘They stayed outside my house last night,’ Perdonny said. ‘I’m allowed to move about, but they’re under strict orders not to let me out of their sight.’

  They began to wander across the cemetery.

  ‘Cardinal has been taken to Bum,’ Perdonny said. ‘What the hell happened at the airport?’

  ‘I told him to come around the island,’ Webb said with a rueful sigh, ‘but they cornered him. I watched him bundled into a chopper.’

  Perdonny acknowledged a toothless old gardener who bowed, all smiles. He was honoured to have the great man in his garden.

  ‘How do you know he was taken to Bum?’ Webb asked. ‘Several of my people saw his capture,’ Perdonny said. ‘The chopper flew west. There is only one destination in that direction.’ He glanced at the road. ‘We know the prison had some strange visitors during the night.’ Webb looked surprised.

  ‘You must have seen the military plane arrive,’ Perdonny said.

  ‘I was woken up by it,’ Webb said, scratching his head, ‘and a chopper took off again soon afterwards. So?’

  ‘Chan was on board.’

  Webb’s forehead stretched. ‘Shit! Do you know what happened?’

  ‘Not yet. But if Cardinal is alive, we must try to get him out.’

  ‘You’re crazy! No one has ever escaped Bum.’

  Perdonny stopped at a gravestone and read the inscription: ‘Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for another.’

  ‘Listen, pal,’ Webb said. ‘I’m not laying down my life for some crazy Yank killer on a revenge kick! Not for you or Canberra or any bloody one!’

  ‘You wouldn’t have to do anything except fly us in and out,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no damned landing strip on Buru. Only a helipad in the prison.’

  They wandered on, Perdonny stopping now and again to read other inscriptions.

  ‘Besides,’ Webb said, eyeing Perdonny, ‘how the hell would you get away from that tail on you everywhere?’

  They began to stroll to the road.

  ‘If you got involved,’ Webb said under his breath, ‘your cover would be blown. You would have to escape.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘What about your wife and family?’ Webb persisted. ‘Would you be prepared to desert them?’

  ‘I think I have already been exposed, don’t you?’

  Webb’s face clouded. He bit his lip and looked at the Bakin car.

  ‘You can count me out of any adventures on Bum,’ he said. ‘As far as those apes are concerned I’m in the clear. I just work for the company. I want it to stay that way.’

  Perdonny looked up at Webb’s ice-green eyes. ‘Time’s running out, Spider, for all of us.’

  In his concussed state, Cardinal had been trying to focus on a blur. It could have been hours or even days. Realisation seeped through the confusion, and his befuddled brain drew satisfaction from the discovery that it was a sneaker. He stared at it for another indeterminate period and found himself marvelling at the invention of every part, from the thread in the lace to the roll of the rubberised heel.

  My soul mate, he thought to himself as he uncoiled from a foetal position on the floor. His brain told his body to sit up, but it took a long time to obey.

  Slowly all his senses rolled into play. There was the nauseating smell of blood and vomit - his own. He touched his dry, burning mouth and tender nose. He heard voices. He was back in that confounded cell, and there were people somewhere outside. Perhaps they had been observing him through the hatch. He didn’t know, didn’t care. He would play dead on the floor. It wouldn’t be difficult, he thought. The voices faded. Cardinal lay quietly for another hour or so, forcing his memory to explain what had happened.

  ‘Chan,’ he whispered to himself, ‘was he real?’

  He forced himself on to the bed but could not stand up. He wanted so desperately to look out into the light and see that chopper, but he could not straighten up. Cardinal lay on the bed flexing and massaging his muscles. He made a pathetic attempt to exercise, but after half a minute fell gasping for breath. He heart beat so fast he thought it would burst through his battered ribcage.

  I’m too weak to even cry, he thought.

  The latch on the bottom of the door pushed open and a bowl of food slithered across the floor. Cardinal watched it collide, as if in slow motion, with the vomit-stained sneaker. He fell off the bed in an effort to stop it spilling. He clawed at the contents, which seemed to be the same tasteless muck he had had before. It revolted him, but he was determined to keep something down.

  He had just scooped up the last lump when he heard key
s in the door. It was pushed open. A guard nodded and grunted at him, signalling that he wanted him to put on clothes. Cardinal blinked at his jeans lying crumpled in one corner. He crawled over to them and noticed they were streaked with blood. He gripped them and heaved them on. The guard stood impassively as Cardinal struggled with a shirt and then the sneakers. Another guard appeared and the two men hoisted him to his feet and half-walked and half-dragged him down from the cell into the compound. Cardinal looked for the chopper. There was no sign of it. He began to have doubts that an angel of death had visited him after all. The guards left Cardinal in the middle of the compound near a group of prisoners. He rested on his elbows. It was still well before noon. The sun’s rays were warm but not hot. Three prisoners shuffled over to him and offered him water, which he took gladly. It revived him and in the following minutes he looked around the buildings for some sign to help his splintered memory.

  Workers were washing out the commandant’s office. He studied the faces of the guards outside the door and recognised one of them who was staring at him. A white-coated woman appeared from a hut next to the administration office and walked over to Cardinal. She was joined by the commandant who stood over Cardinal and spoke about him in Indonesian.

  ‘You are lucky to be alive, Mr Cardinal,’ the commandant said. ‘He wanted to kill you last night. Even after you collapsed.’

  ‘What stopped him?’ Cardinal rasped.

  ‘I did. I had not been told to let him commit murder in my prison.’

  ‘When will I be set free?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the commandant said. ‘Chan wants to make sure you are executed. I have put a call through to the appropriate minister for a ruling.’ He turned and walked back to his office.

  Rough hands lifted Cardinal to his feet, and he was helped into the jungle by the prisoners. The guards straggled some distance behind them.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Cardinal asked like a beleaguered drunk.

  ‘We work,’ one prisoner said with a sympathetic smile.