Indonesian Gold (3 page)

They had been contracted to ferry the geologist upstream,
clear a site for his base camp then return. Baird had originally planned on spending two weeks
surveying the area and was counting on the local villagers to provide river transport back to the
transit station. But now, with Mardidi not at his side, and having not seen any semblance of
village life in over two hours, he accepted that his plan lay flawed.

‘
Okay
,' Baird sighed, tapping the wallet they knew
he kept in the jacket's pocket. ‘
I will pay you an extra five day's charter if you continue
for another day
,' but the men immediately started shaking their heads.

‘
This is a bad place,Tuan.We don't wish to
continue
,' one complained.

‘
Alright
,' Baird's experience warned him that now
was the time to be generous. ‘
I'll pay you for an additional ten days if you
continue
.'

While the two men discussed the situation, heatedly, Baird
waited anxiously for the expected counter offer, annoyed that he could not understand the
Modang
dialect, his anxiety growing with each passing minute.

‘
We could drown him in the river and take all his
money
,' the more confident of the two suggested.

‘
Why don't we just leave him after making camp?
'
the boatman aft responded.

‘
No
,' the other argued, ‘
if we take his money,
we can't leave him alive
.' They had observed the geologist's billfold when advance payment
had been made for the longboat. The local currency, Rupiah, was far too bulky. Baird was carrying
American dollars which were easily exchanged even in the most remote corners of this vast
country.

The second man appeared unconvinced.
‘It would be
better that someone finds an empty camp
,' he insisted. ‘
We will surely be questioned. If
remains of a camp are found, we will be believed.We could say that he sent us
back
.'

Baird's uneasiness increased. He knew they were discussing
him; their furtive looks a clear signal that trouble lay ahead.

‘
Start the engines!
' he demanded, concern now
evident in his voice. ‘
I will pay you an extra fourteen days and no more
.' He hesitated,
looking over his shoulder first at the man aft, then forward to the more belligerent of the two.
‘
Okay?
'

The
Modang
boatmen exchanged glances, considering
their options. If they
were
to throw the foreigner into the river, it would be unlikely
that his body would be discovered. The suggestion of establishing camp before killing the man
made sense. They could poison him, take his money, then return to their village. The
Penehing
Dayaks
would be blamed. The boatman nodded slowly, Baird interpreted this as acceptance
whilst, in reality, the other was contemplating how he would remove the foreigner's head to lay
blame on the local inhabitants.

‘
Boleh juga!
' The boatman answered, feigning
acceptance. The foreigner nodded, and the outboard engines roared into life.

An hour later Baird called for the longboat to slow when
they came upon a clearing that reached down to the riverbank. Baird gave the setting a cursory
inspection, before ordering the boatmen to land. The area was roughly half the size of a soccer
field surrounded by thick forest and, to the geologist, the absence of tall timbers suggested
that this site had been cleared at some earlier time. When he stepped ashore he could see that
the strip was actually a small promontory, and decided that this would be a suitable location for
his primary base. And, fearing creatures that crawled in the night, the men immediately set about
having a grassy area cleared for the camp.

****

As Baird and his reluctant team unloaded the longboat,
their efforts were hampered by slippery conditions, shoulder-high grass, and fading light. As
they worked, they were keenly observed. The
Penehing Dayak
shaman remained motionless, his
almost invisible form woven into the intricate, rain-forest imagery as he leaned against the
towering ironwood tree, contempt for the shadows that moved before him staining his face.
Directly above, orchids of rare and dazzling beauty stood scattered amongst clusters of staghorns
clinging effortlessly to the giant tree, whilst crimson-breasted wood partridges courted amongst
the highest branches.

Jonathan Dau scrutinized the trespassers' movements as
they established camp, more concerned with the white intruder and what his presence might mean,
than the
Modang
boatmen with their Twin-Yamaha powered riverboat. The shaman was surprised
that the
Modang
had accompanied the foreigner this deep into
Penehing
territory. A
cruel smile crossed his lips – not so many years before these men would have been swiftly dealt
with, their heads left as a warning to others.

There was no doubt in his mind that the white man and his
two
Modang
companions were there to investigate gold deposit potential, within his
community's territory. Angered at the intrusion, the shaman's jaw clenched as he continued to
observe the men clear an area and establish their camp. Darkness threatened, and he observed
closely as one of the boatmen slipped away from the others, momentarily disappearing from view.
Then the shaman caught another glimpse of the man again, as he continued along the river's edge –
and suddenly he was gone.

Jonathan Dau moved closer to the camp where he could see
that the foreigner would sleep alone in the erected tent. He watched the fair-headed man eat from
cans whilst preparing for the rapidly approaching night. Then one of the boatmen reappeared,
standing half-crouched, directly within the shaman's view. In his right hand, grasped between
thumb and forefinger, a
krait
, the highly venomous snake's striking, black and white
banded body coiled around the man's arm. The shaman watched closely when Baird entered his tent
and the boatman moved cautiously along the riverbank until reaching the longboat where he bagged
the snake, then waited with his co-conspirator.

An eddy of air gently touched the shaman's face mimicking
the caress of a woman's soft breath. Jonathan Dau sensed the spirit's presence and became even
more alert, his eyes searching through the dim jungle light for evidence of its intentions. He
spotted the black hornbill perched, almost within reach, overlooking the campsite. And, as Dayaks
firmly believed the hornbill transported souls to heaven, the shaman's eyes narrowed, considering
the scene before him – and contemplated which of the three men was about to die. Then, with
measured patience the shaman settled down to wait, the green hue that concealed his presence
turning to dark, confused shadows as the remaining sunlight blinked, before disappearing under
the onset of night.

****

Eric Baird sprayed insect repellent over his hands, neck
and face, then sealed the two-man tent before climbing into his sleeping bag. He reached up and
adjusted the Petromax light, then settled down to record the events of the day as the jungle's
darkness swallowed the camp. The two
Modang
boatmen stretched out comfortably inside their
longboat smoking the foreigner's cigarettes, and waited impatiently for him to go to
sleep.

Having completed his notes, Baird placed them in a
waterproof case then opened a small bottle and spilled the contents into the palm of his hand,
swallowing several pills in succession. He looked over at the empty space alongside, admitting
that, had Mardidi been there, the sleeping pills may not have been necessary. He then turned the
Petromax lamp down, permitting the light to fade into darkness, his body slowly relaxing as his
system reacted to the drug. Soon, Baird had drifted away and, by the time the boatmen approached
with their deadly gift, he was asleep, the sound of the tent's zipper being carefully opened
going unheard.

****

Overhead, a brilliant moon sent scattered, blinking
messages of light, the ghostly effect surreal as the silhouetted figure lifted the deadly
krait
. His hand moved towards the half-opened flap, the air still as a tiny, poisonous,
Dayak dart, hit his neck. Instinctively, his free hand reached to where he had been stung, his
heart ceasing to pump before the boatman collapsed to the ground. Startled, his companion jumped
back to avoid being bitten by the now released snake.

Jonathan Dau raised the blowpipe he carried when hunting
wild boar and aimed at the second boatman. He drew deeply, poised but for a moment then blew, the
escaping air lost as the would-be-killer's eyes opened wide in shock, the deadly dart killing the
man instantly.

****

With the arrival of morning Eric Baird rolled to one side,
the sleeping bag restricting his movement. A cramp in his lower, right leg jerked him awake from
some convoluted dream. He winced, raised his leg and massaged the calf muscle trying to restore
circulation, his head still groggy from the sleeping pills. He turned to wake Mardidi, frowning
when he discovered that he was alone. Slowly, Baird dragged his body into a sitting position,
reached for a cigarette and lit the clove
kretek
, burning his fingers as he struck the
match. He swore as blood rushed to his brain, and succeeded in lighting the cigarette the second
time around. He drew heavily on the unfiltered
Gudang Garam
, filling his lungs with the
clove-scented aroma, the smoke bringing tears to his eyes and he coughed, then went in search for
coffee. Baird wrapped a sarong around his waist and climbed out of his tent, surprised to
discover that he had not sealed the zip properly. He wandered down to the bank to pee, yawning as
he overlooked the stream, casting an occasional glance towards the longboat, relieved that the
crew had not abandoned him during the night.

The geologist strolled lazily back to his tent, changed
into field clothes then went down to the longboat, mystified by the absence of the boatmen.
Assuming they had wandered off in search of game, he prepared breakfast for himself, demolishing
a can of corned beef whilst he waited. With coffee on his mind, he lit the portable primus then
sat on his haunches waiting for the water to boil. Half an hour passed before Baird concluded,
that for the boatmen to leave their vessel unattended this long, something had to be amiss. Aware
that it would be foolhardy for him to leave the camp until they had returned, the invitation for
them to steal everything in his absence too great, he strolled back down to the longboat, calling
out as he approached. There was no answer. Annoyed, Baird climbed down into the boat and went
searching for the missing cartons of cigarettes. He flicked the loose cover tarpaulin to one side
and froze.

Both crewmen lay stretched out, their faces grim evidence
of how they had died. Baird leapt backwards, stunned, and fell overboard. Desperate, he groped
his way up the muddy bank tearing nails from flesh as he slipped and slid, finally making it to
his feet and ran towards his tent, terrified that whoever had murdered these men might still be
lurking close by. Realizing that was no place to hide Baird stopped in his tracks, and stared
around. Fear gripped his heart; in moments he was shaking with shock.

****

The shaman had followed Eric Baird's movements fascinated
with the foreigner's behavior. He had removed the deadly darts and placed his victims' bodies in
the vessel, expecting Baird would decamp immediately upon discovering the dead crewman. The Dayak
chief had considered killing the foreigner, but reasoned that an expatriate death would only
bring grave consequences, for all. That he had taken the lives of the two boatmen in no way
troubled the chief; the
Modang
had brought the white man to a sacred site and desecrated
the soil by establishing camp there. He was deeply distressed that the outsiders had selected
this location, and his concern that others would follow and disturb ancestral spirits in their
quest for gold, prompted his next step. The shaman removed his clothing and extracted his
father's
golok
from its leather sheath. With the machete raised in one hand and the
blowpipe in the other for effect, he let forth a most terrifying call, and started running
towards Baird.

The Australian heard the blood-curdling scream, and his
jaw fell. When he realized that this savage looking creature meant danger, he snapped alert and
ran back towards the river, slipping and sliding down the embankment. He scrambled on board the
longboat, released the lines then climbed over the boatmen's bodies in his haste to get to the
engines. He hit the starter – dismayed when the engine coughed and died. He punched the button
hard, again, with the palm of his hand, a wave of relief flooding through his body as the
outboards caught, and roared into life.

Standing further along the riverbank Jonathan Dau
continued with his show, dancing around like the proverbial wild man of Borneo, yelling and
cursing in his native dialect, waving the intimidating machete in the most menacing manner until
Baird disappeared from view. Satisfied that the intruders were done with, he strolled back to
where he had disrobed, dressed quickly then commenced the two-hour journey back to his village,
through the densely timbered forest.

****