The Plantation - Di Morrissey [36]
Two or three days later she again went out with Roland. She watched him walk the length of one row of rubber trees, disappearing into the shadowy green light. He seemed to enjoy the conformity, the neat exactness of the rows of trees and Margaret wondered if he’d played with tin soldiers as a boy, lining them up in serried ranks.
‘Sorry, dear, hope you’re not bored coming out here again. But if I don’t check, the workers get sloppy with their cuts and either they don’t cut deep enough to get the latex, or they go too deeply and kill the tree. I’ll take you down to the river now. You’ll like that,’ said Roland, flinging his hat on to the seat of the Bedford truck.
‘Have you ever got lost?’ asked Margaret. ‘Everything looks the same.’
He stared at her in surprise then laughed. ‘Gosh, no. I know every tree. I’ve been around this estate ever since I could walk!’
Margaret was pleasantly surprised when they came to the river. They drove past the smoke house where the latex was made, a workshop and a small factory, which was really just a shed shaded by an attap with open sides where the latex was rolled out and stacked ready to be sent downriver. They came to a solid wharf that looked as though it had been built many years before. The riverbank had been cleared except for a few shady trees, and nearby was a small locked storehouse.
‘That’s where we keep all the goods that come up here by boat. It’s always locked, although Ho has a key if we need to replenish household supplies. Possibly we could also let Ah Kit have one too, so that you can get anything you need. Once a month the workers can buy their bulk rice and sugar and other basics from here, too.’
‘The river is pretty,’ said Margaret looking at the broad brown sweep of water, bordered by thick jungle that came to the water’s edge on the other side. ‘Can we take a trip down it sometime? Do you have a boat?’
‘There are several longboats, small praus and a motor launch upriver, near the village. We’ll organise a picnic and a river trip. Get the social club together for an outing. Be good for everyone to meet you.’
‘What sort of club is it?’ asked Margaret.
‘Basically, our neighbours and friends have a clubhouse, about half an hour’s or so drive from here. We get together regularly for tennis and cards, tiffin, stengahs, that sort of thing. A break from the routine.’
‘It’s sounds fun,’ said Margaret enthusiastically.
‘It is, rather. Sometimes we also go to each other’s plantations or have swimming parties. There’s also a lodge in the hills we can use.’
‘What’s the lodge like?’
Roland smiled. ‘Father built it years ago with some of his friends. Carved it out of the jungle. They built a very simple bungalow but it can sleep ten people or so if they want to stay over when they go out hunting. Wait till you see it.’
‘Hunting animals, you mean? Like tigers? Deer? Pigs?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, Father’s a pretty good shot. Good fishing in the headwaters, too.’
‘It all sounds exciting,’ said Margaret, pleased at the idea of socialising.
‘Before we head back, I’d like to show you another rather special place. It’s a bit a drive, I’m afraid.’
Margaret nodded. ‘Lead on,’ she said.
As Roland drove into the hills surrounding Utopia, Margaret looked down into the jungle-clad ravine. He pointed out landmarks and talked of how his father, Eugene, had come as a young man to establish a plantation in such rugged country.
‘Tiger country. All kinds of wild animals used to come around at night. That’s one reason why the houses are built on stilts. There weren’t the roads, rough as they are, that are here now. I’ll show you the lodge one day. It’s basic, but quite an adventure. And it