Stars Over Sarawak (13 page)

 All the women and some of the men were attired in the brightly-coloured sarongs; all the ornaments had come out for the occasion — earrings of hornbill, beads of great value, having been handed down through many generations so that they were now genuine antiques like the dragon jars and the gongs and cannons. Heavy brass rings hung from the women's cars. Some of these women were tattooed, but the young ones seemed to have let fall this fashion, preferring to keep their lovely bodies unmarred except for what they did to their ears.

 Chickens had been killed for this special occasion, and the dinner really was a feast with music afterwards and the borak flowing.. Several girls danced, without much movement as on the verandah there was little room. One beautiful seductive girl was obviously the most important female present. Carl told Roanna that this was owing to the fact that she happened to have the longest ears in the whole village. Her name, he said, was Neesa, and she was the daughter of Bang Kulong, the chief. As she danced she kept coming close to Carl, and her movements were such that Roanna went hot all over and kept her gaze away from Carl.

 Neesa stooped and spoke softly to him, her smile of the kind that quite openly invited. Forced by something beyond her control, Roanna glanced up at last, into Carl's face; his expression was impassive as for a moment he listened to the low-toned voice of the lovely girl. Then he smiled graciously and spoke to her in Malay, his glance darting to the girl's father who was watching the proceedings intently from his pale and deeply-sunken eyes. Whatever Carl had said seemed to be about Roanna herself, for Neesa glanced swiftly at her, then gave a shrug of impatience, shaking her head at the same time, causing her weighty earrings to clang against one another, for she wore about six or eight in each ear. Neesa spoke again to Carl, who appeared to be completely at his ease even though Roanna gained the impression that he was involved in a very awkward situation. Bang Kulong rose and joined his daughter, listening to what she was saying and nodding his approval all the time. His expression as he looked at Carl was both expectant and affectionate. At length he too spoke to Carl, who in the end shrugged resignedly, gave both Bang Kulong and Neesa a gracious smile, and spoke quietly ... giving Neesa his answer.

 Roanna felt herself go cold. Malcolm had told her that a girl invariably offered herself to a male visitor to a longhouse, and it was an insult to refuse. That Carl had tried to refuse was plain and Roanna felt that he had perhaps said that owing to his sister's presence, it would not be right for him to accept Neesa's offer. But if that was his excuse — and Roanna was inclined to believe it was — then it had been brushed aside both by Neesa and her father.

 The evening was spoiled for Roanna, although for the life of her she could not understand why she should care that Carl was to spend the night with the lovely Native girl. It had nothing at all to do with her, she told herself angrily. In any case, as Carl was used to visiting these longhouses it was more than likely that this was by no means the first occasion of its kind.

 'We're to have a game,' he was telling her some time later. 'If I remember correctly they have a hat of horn-bill feathers which they pass round while music is played by people banging on the antique gongs over there. I think I'm right in saying that the one holding the hat when the music stops has to dance for the rest of us.'

 'It's like musical chairs?'

 'That's right.'

 Everyone was happy and laughing. The hat was being passed round and away by the wall several young men banged away at the gongs. The music stopped and Neesa held the hat. Roanna suspected the men had stopped on purpose, on seeing the hat pass into her hands.

 She rose and danced, her lithe figure a delight to watch. Neesa moved several times to Carl, but although she came very close she never actually touched him. What were his feelings? wondered Roanna, watching him and noting the lack of expression on his face. Surely he was affected by the beauty and seductive qualities of the Native girl? Roanna in all fairness could excuse any man for succumbing to her charm.

 The music changed and the hat was being passed round again. Roanna, suddenly suspecting that she would be the next one called upon to dance, tried to pass it on instantly, but the girl at her side dallied and laughed — and the music stopped. Everyone laughed as, confused and blushing, Roanna turned to Carl with the intention of making a protest. But without giving her time to utter a single word he said abruptly,

 'Get up and dance, Mrs. Barrett.'

 'But—'

 'The rules are made to be followed. Everyone is expecting you to dance.'

 It would be an insult to disregard the rules, she supposed, rising with great reluctance to her feet.

 'Mr. Denver,' she began desperately as she realized she would make a fool of herself, having no proper space in which to dance. The village girls were adept at using the small space and Roanna could only see herself clumsily trying to perform the impossible.

 'Dance, Mrs. Barrett — at once.'

 She began to take a few steps, but to add to her confusion she failed to keep time to the music. She felt almost physically sick from embarrassment, thinking of the beautiful movements of Neesa, who was even now faintly jeering at her — or so it seemed to Roanna.

 'Can I stop now?' she said on passing close to Carl.

 'Keep on until the music stops.'

 It went on and on, but stopped eventually. Everyone cheered, but Roanna was very close to tears. Little had she thought when embarking on a quick visit to a long-house just what she would have to go through.

 'It was very good.' Carl spoke merely to help lift her embarrassment, but her answer was that she danced clumsily. 'No such thing.' Without warning he placed a hand firmly on her arm. 'Cheer up,' he said almost gently. 'It's of no great importance.'

 At long last the party was over and people began drifting away to their own doors.

 'Will it be all right for me to go now?' she inquired of Carl, and he nodded his head.

 'I'll see about those clothes,' he said as the thought occurred to him. 'I'll tell Bang Kulong that your case went overboard when we nearly capsized on meeting a submerged
batang
. I don't approve of lies, hut on occasions they're necessary. It's absurd to have the case lying here when you're in such great need of its contents.' He spoke to the
tua rumah
and Roanna saw the man smile and call to one or the women. 'The clothes have all been washed,' Carl informed her. 'Bang Kulong is delighted that you can use them.'

 'Thank him for me, won't you?'

 Carl did this and the chief turned to her and said something in Malay.

 'He says he is not to be thanked, as the pleasure is all his.'

 'He's nice.' Roanna looked at the old man and returned his smile. 'These people are far different from those others.'

 'Not they. The others were angered; these people could be the same if provoked. That's why it's so very important never to decline any offers they choose to make.'

 She looked away swiftly, thinking of Neesa, whose offer, coupled with that of her father, the long-house chief, could not be refused.

 The woman sent to get the suitcase returned empty-handed. She spoke to Bang Kulong who in turn spoke to Carl, even though Carl had heard what the woman said.

 'The suitcase is in your room,' he informed Roanna. 'And if you wish to go now it will be quite all right. I will say your good nights to Bang Kulong and his wife.'

 As Roanna got up her path was barred by a lean young man who was talking to one of the girls who had danced prior to the musical chairs game. The girl frowned and shook her head; Bang Kulong gave a small laugh and Carl smiled faintly. The youth went away, but Bang Kulong spoke to Carl, at the same time waving his hand towards Roanna.

 With a small sigh of resignation Carl said,

 'I have to tell you what's going on, because Bang Kulong thinks you're looking puzzled. That young hopeful was making a proposal to Dista here.' A small pause and then, 'She refused him.' Roanna said nothing, but appeared surprised, or so Carl thought, for he added, 'Yes, in the longhouse they can refuse. They have a rather charming way of doing it. The girl has merely said that she has to be up early in the morning.'

 'And that is sufficient?'

 'To let him know he's got the brush-off? Well, what do you think?' He was amused and in a teasing mood — a totally unfamiliar mood, but attractive. Roanna went off to her room and lifted the lid of the suitcase. All the clothes were neatly folded, there being a nightgown, underwear, slacks and a couple of shirts. There was also a tweed skirt and a pair of shorts. A pair of stout shoes were very welcome, being just about half a size too large but comfortable for all that. The case contained among other minor essentials a tube of toothpaste and a brush, a hairbrush and comb and a large tin of talcum powder.

 Roanna sighed with satisfaction. How valued these things were, here in the primitive jungle. The toothbrush she would have scorned to use in any other circumstances would be scalded in boiling water and then employed vigorously to teeth that hadn't been cleaned for over a week. The hairbrush and the comb would be similarly treated.

 She decided to wear the nightgown after having made absolutely sure that it had in fact been washed. It was long and full and rather pretty; it was also a luxury, protecting her body from the blankets provided for her covering.

 A great deal of noise was still going on outside and although she was tired almost to exhaustion level she failed to get to sleep. But eventually all went quiet and she was just managing to doze when the door creaked and she went stiff with fright. A male voice spoke in Malay; she recognised it at once as that of the youth who had wanted to sleep with Dista.

 'Go away!' she commanded, fully aware that he would not understand the words but hoping he would understand the tone of voice.
'Go away!'

 But he came into the room, murmuring all the time, and when she was certain that she would not get rid of him in any other way she let out a shout. Almost immediately there was a great clamour outside on the verandah as people began running from their rooms. Everyone seemed to be talking at once and Roanna suddenly wondered if she had done irreparable damage by refusing to allow the youth to stay. Well, so be it! It might be all right for a man, but it most certainly was not all right for her!

 Carl appeared holding a lamp. The youth had already gone and was not even among the crowd that had gathered round her door.

 'What the devil's the matter now?' He sounded exasperated, she thought, her vision swiftly catching on to what her shout might have interrupted. 'Another lizard?' with faint scorn. 'Or is it a snake this time?'

 'That young man who wanted Dista. He came in here.' She had risen and was standing in the pretty nightgown. 'I told him to go, but he wouldn't — not until I shouted, that was.' She realized she was trembling still from the fright she had received on hearing the door open and the voice of the young man who was then in her room.

 'I'll see to it,' he snapped and, with a few words to the crowd standing by the door, he had them all returning to their rooms. 'You'll not be disturbed again,' and with that abruptly-spoken promise he left her, closing the door firmly behind him.

 But of course she could not sleep. Her nerves were unsettled for one thing, and for another her mind was now fully occupied with Carl and the beautiful girl who was with him. He had been dressed in pyjama trousers only and she still saw those powerful brown shoulders and muscled arms, the strong chest and the broad back as he left the room.

 Was he even now holding that delectable girl in his arms—? Breaking her thoughts, she rolled over in the bed. Why was it so unbearable? Why did she suddenly hate the girl with a venom as primitive as the seething merciless jungle around her?

 But why pretend when the truth blazed forth like a searchlight in the dark?

 Several times she had regretted coming here into the
ulu
with Carl Denver, but never had she regretted as much as she did now.

CHAPTER NINE

FIREFLIES glowing and a moon-filled sky; the drone of cicadas and the sough of the breeze stirring the jungle trees. A primitive world unspoiled by man ...

 This was the Sarawak of the Upper Kaipantu River, another tributary along which Carl had chosen to travel, sailing far into the mysterious
ulu
to terrain uninhabited by any human being, not even the Punans, a tribe said to be among the most primitive in the whole world.

 Carl was working this time on a paper which he himself intended to present, a paper entitled
The Geology and Mineral Resources of the Upper Kaipantu and Adjacent Areas
.

 He sat on a chair in his tent, perusing what Roanna had typed, while she herself was at the typewriter, making a top copy of that part of the work with which Carl was perfectly satisfied. But she knew that he would have to come up here several more times before he had all the information needed for his paper. And she would not be here to assist... .

 She glanced at his hand; it was still bandaged, but he could use it quite well and today she had even noticed that he could write with it.

 He glanced up as she stopped typing. She saw his inquiring lift of one eyebrow, a mannerism which, absurdly, she had begun to find inordinately attractive.

 'Sorry,' she said. '1 was indulging in a little idle thought.' She would have begun typing at once, but he spoke before she could do so, lowering to the table in front of him the papers he had been examining.

 'What idle thought, Mrs. Barrett—?' He stopped and frowned. 'I'm not going to call you that again. You're not Mrs. Barrett any more, in any case. I shall call you Roanna.' No request for permission, but then she knew him well enough by now to be sure he would do just as he liked, permission or not.

 She flushed delightfully at his use of her name, for the very first time — although he had known what it was of course, because of the letter she had once sent to him.

 'It's difficult to imagine myself as a widow,' she murmured almost to herself.

 'You look far too young. But it's a good thing that the fellow's dead.'

 She nodded. She had told Carl everything, for a new and pleasant friendship had grown up between them in the three weeks they had been together in this world so far from civilization. Friendship or enmity was bound to occur, for three weeks was more than long enough for two people to find some kind of emotional feelings for one another. For Roanna's part it was much more than friendship she felt for him, but even had he returned her love she would never have, consented to marry him. He was too forceful, too masterful by far; this much and more she had learned about him during these three intimate weeks, weeks that, looking back, seemed more like months; not because she was in any way unhappy but because the aloneness was so utterly complete that time meant nothing at all. It did not exist because here man had never introduced it. Light years would affect it, but not the sort of time that ran alongside man's brief life span.

 No, she would never have consented to marry him. Once was enough; Rolfe had been the forceful type who, having mastered her, then proceeded to humiliate her in every way possible, mainly by his unbridled passion. Carl was of a similar disposition in that he would be the supreme lord and master; and as for the more passionate side of his nature, she felt instinctively that he would be far too demanding for her. The trouble was that her experience with Rolfe had almost put her off sex for life, and it was only with someone like Andrew that she could be content. He would never demand, and Roanna even thought sometimes that they might eventually drift into a most satisfying platonic relationship.

 'I do feel a little sorry for Rolfe.' The murmured words came in response to a questioning glance from her companion, who obviously expected some comment on what he had just said. 'I hated him, as you' know, but I didn't want him to suffer as he did.'

 'He deserved it all. Apart from what he did to you there was this question of robbing these simple people — or at least, people who in the main are simple. They show us something more than simplicity when we anger them, as this fellow Barrett learned to his cost.'

 'When I think of Bang Kulong I just can't imagine his giving an order for someone to be murdered.'

 'He could give a worse order than that. I've known him some time and seen him once in a rage.' He paused and smiled faintly. 'You've witnessed my temper once or twice during the past three weeks, but you've not really seen anything to compare with that of Bang Kulong.'

 Involuntarily she shivered. Carl had inflicted pain on her twice, the first time being when she had wandered off and fallen into the mud. But the second time he had actually slapped her, hard — on the leg. He had seemed to lose control altogether on that occasion, but she knew she had asked for what she had received.

 Carl had annoyed her by ordering her to remain in her tent, as there was a family of snakes about and the two Natives were trying to locate them. But the overpowering heat of the tent had made her feel quite sick and in the end she had been driven out into the air. No one was about and apart from the sounds of insects and birds, of the low chuckle of the mongoose and the cry of a gibbon, she might have been alone in the jungle. But without warning a snake appeared — the most deadly snake in the world, the king cobra. She had stood, paralysed by fear, waiting for it to strike. No scream left her lips this time, for terror blocked her throat. The creature was over fifteen feet in length, she afterwards learned, but for those few horror-stricken moments it seemed of even greater length, as it came towards her, its body slithering along the ground, its eyes seeming to hold her in some sort of spell.

 And then Carl had appeared; she had pointed, still unable to speak. He carried a revolver and within seconds the thing was thrashing about, its neck pierced by a bullet. But it had been a close thing and, literally staggering her by his violent reaction, Carl unhesitatingly took hold of her round the waist, bent her across his outstretched knee, and proceeded to slap her leg until it was red and swollen with his fingermarks. She had sobbed, but all she received was a threat of more and the thundering reminder that when he gave her an order she would obey it. His fury seemed altogether out of proportion, since up to that moment he had taken very little interest in her at all other than that shown on one or two minor occasions and, of course, that which he was forced to show as a matter of courtesy because of the way in which she was assisting him with his work.

 She looked at him now, and remembered vividly that moment when he had taken hold of her. His grip on her waist had hurt; the way he bent her over had caused her back to feel as if it were breaking. Yes, he had reminded her of Rolfe in that particular instance, and his treatment of her had gone a long way to helping her to accept that he would never make a kind and gentle husband and, therefore, she would have refused him should he have made her an offer of marriage. Not that there was the remotest likelihood of his doing so, but the knowledge that she would never have married him anyway did help to make bearable her unrequited love for him. She hoped it would also help her to forget him, quickly, before Andrew came upon the scene. This latter wish was not to be granted; she was sure of it. Nevertheless, she felt convinced that once she saw Andrew again Carl Denver's image would begin to fade into insignificance, or almost so.

 Carl was speaking, breaking once again into her thoughts. He spoke of Rolfe, and the way he had robbed several longhouses of their inherited treasures — Sung and Ming brought into Borneo hundreds of years ago by the Chinese traders; copper and bronze of great value, and much antique jade. He had made a wonderful haul when, word having been passed from one longhouse to another, Bang Kulong had at length received it and, estimating the whereabouts of the boat which was on its way to the coast, he had sent off a couple of men with blowpipes.

 However, it was not his orders after all that had resulted in Rolfe Barrett's death, for he was already dead when the two men found his boat, fast in a tangle of water-hyacinths, its owner lying in it, a knife in his chest.

 'I suppose, as you say, he deserved it,' she said when Carl stopped speaking. 'It was such an awful death, though, and all I hope is that he didn't suffer too much before he died.'

 'As you'll never know there doesn't seem to be much point in troubling your head about it,' he pointed out, and she gave a nod in agreement. But this attitude of Carl's only strengthened her conviction that he was a hard and ruthless type to whom compassion was totally unknown.

 'I really must get down to my work,' she decided suddenly on taking a glance at Carl's wrist-watch. 'I'd planned to have this done this evening, but at the pace at which I'm going it'll still be here tomorrow evening.'

 'You're, doing fine.' He spoke sincerely and she glowed at his praise, brief and unemotional though his words were. He scarcely ever gave her a word of praise, or even thanks; he just took for granted what she did for him — or this was how it appeared to Roanna, who believed she fully understood his nature by now, but was at times, not quite sure. He sometimes seemed to have two separate personalities: the assured, self-sufficient one where superiority and authoritativeness were manifest in his every word and act, and the other — the lonely man who seemed a little lost on the rare occasion, the man who would like to cushion his head on a woman's breast.

 Her mind-wanderings naturally bringing a soft flush to her face, she glanced down, so as to hide her colour from his perceptive eyes, and reaching for a piece of paper and was about to insert it into the machine when Carl said, with his customary edge of imperiousness,

 'Leave it for tonight. I think we'll depart from practice and take time off for a social evening.'

 'Social evening?' Instinctively she glanced round the tent. 'But how can we?'

 'Just the two of us, you mean?' Faintly he smiled, that twisted smile that in the beginning had denoted the approach of some mocking remark or cynical comment. 'Why can't we? We've got some wine and a tape recorder. What more do we require?'

 Roanna held the paper in her hand, undecided. Wine and dancing ... was that what he meant? Too dangerous by far — for her, that was. Carl Denver's touch was to be avoided, since it had too disturbing an effect on her.

 'I'd rather carry on with this, if it's all right with you?'

 'It isn't.' Rising from his chair, he took the paper from her hand and placed it on a pile of similar sheets. 'Cover the machine and I'll put it away.'

 Instinctively she began to shake her head but, catching his changed expression, she decided to obey at once — rather than be made to do so by a show of his authority.

 Ten minutes later they were sitting outside the tent, in an atmosphere of sheer magic where the lovely world around them was theirs alone. Tangan and Agwai were in their shelter behind the rocks, playing some game with cards and drinking the potent borak.

 Carl seemed strangely thoughtful; he was a long way from her, much farther than usual, while Roanna herself felt tensed, poised above some kind of precipice which drew even while it repelled.

 'Can I refill your glass, Roanna?' Carl, wearing a black sweater, high in the neck, and tight-fitting cotton drill trousers, rose from his chair and took up the bottle from the small table he had brought from the tent, along with the two folding armchairs. 'No, don't shake your head. Hold out your glass.'

 Reluctantly she obeyed, the notion that he intended to get her intoxicated being instantly dismissed as absurdly melodramatic and fanciful. But he did know that she was not used to wine, and that a couple of glasses was more than enough to make her happy, to say the least.

 'Not full, Mr. Denver,' she protested, but he took not the slightest notice.

 'We have plenty more,' he said, filling up his own glass and taking a long drink from it. 'We'll have some music,' he decided, and went into the tent.

 Her brooding gaze followed him. What was the matter with him? she wondered. He was different, somehow. Not quite so confident as usual; not harsh-faced or tight-lipped.

 He brought the tape recorder and placed it on the table. The strains of the waltz from
Swan Lake
floated out on to the purple velvet night.

 'Let's dance,' he said, and took the glass from her unsteady hand. 'What's wrong, Roanna?' His fingers touched her cheek as he spoke; she quivered, caught in a web of desire for the hand to stay ... and stray ...

 Was she under the influence of the wine already?

 'Wrong?' she echoed, trying to sound flippant.

 'Nothing's wrong. "Why should it be?'

 He frowned and shrugged and took her in his arms. The ground was rough, but it did not seem to matter, not when he was merely swaying with her, scarcely moving his feet at all.

 'Tell me,' he said after a while, 'what exactly are your feelings at this moment?'

  She tried to consider the question, but surprise was what possessed her most and she asked a question of her own.

 'Why should you want to know what my feelings are?'

 'Curiosity.'

 'You once chided me for exhibiting curiosity,' she could not resist reminding him.

 'Perhaps I did. You haven't answered my question.' He stopped swaying and stood still, his warm hands on her bare arms, his body close... too close.