The Plantation - Di Morrissey [71]
Ritchie squatted on an impossibly slim branch and looked annoyed. He waited, and then Amber made her move. Leaping through the air, arms, legs and tail spread wide, clutching at tree branches, Amber was away and out of sight in seconds.
‘What’s he going to do now?’ asked Julie.
‘Eat, probably,’ said Angie. ‘There’s fruit over there.’
They all watched Ritchie unhurriedly lumber away, then stop and daintily pick up a small fruit. Turning his back to them he ate it nonchalantly. The tourist guide rounded up his charges and moved them all towards the carpark.
Angie stood up. ‘Come on, Julie, I’ll show you a little more of the sanctuary.’
‘Angie, that was just extraordinary. I can’t thank you enough,’ said Julie, glancing back at the great orange hulk sitting and eating quietly. ‘I’m so glad everyone else left. I feel like I’m on safari and way out in the wilds. I mean, could anything go wrong? Would big Ritchie attack anyone?’
‘Well, not so far. Orangutans are not known to be aggressive but as you saw today some tourists can be rather silly. People forget we are in their domain. And Ritchie is well over one hundred kilos, so it’s wise to be cautious.’
They wandered back to the information centre and Angie showed Julie the photographs and histories of all the orangutans that had been released into the sanctuary.
‘Can you believe this pathetic little thing was Ritchie?’ asked Angie, showing Julie a story and photo from a local newspaper about a baby orangutan who’d been kept in a cage by poachers.
Julie looked at the photo. ‘Oh, the poor thing! This was twenty years ago. He was rescued by a reporter?’
‘Yes, the reporter was James Ritchie. He was onto the story of some illegal wildlife poachers and he caught up with them at Nanga Sumpa Iban longhouse. Nanga means estuary in Iban. James wanted to make a citizen’s arrest but he was in the middle of nowhere and there were no police around. So he bought the poor thing for fifty ring-git, and took it back to his place. He was only about six months old. James had him dewormed and the next day the forestry officials came and brought him here. The state secretary though it would be nice to name the little orangutan after big Ritchie, so that’s how he got his name.’
‘Wow. What a great story.’
‘Come with me and we’ll see if we can find my favourite old grandmother.’
Angie led Julie away from the buildings to a separate dwelling which Julie realised was the infirmary and health clinic for the orangutans. Angie told her that any new arrivals were kept here in care till they were strong enough to be released.
‘There’s a quiet area at the back, and that’s where the grandmother is.’ Angie collected several bananas and went to a small clearing and, looking into the trees, began to call out and whistle.
‘Naaaana, naana. Come, come.’ Angie paused, listened and repeated her call.
‘What’s that? Up there, look!’ exclaimed Julie as she sighted the shiver of a tree and, there on a limb, was an orangutan holding a very small baby.
Angie went closer, holding out the banana. Julie stayed still, watching,
‘This is Booma. She’s old, a grandmother many times over. And this is her baby. Her last baby. Chick, chick, come on,’ called Angie quietly.
Julie could well imagine that the old female was a grandmother. Her fur wasn’t lustrous but looked straggly and patchy. Her expression was tired, not the bright darting eyes of the other orangutans she’d seen earlier in the forest.
‘Poor old girl,’ said Julie. ‘Her baby is very young. So tiny.’
‘I looked after this old girl once when she was sick. She’s back in the forest now, but she keeps coming back for her banana treat. So she knows that when I call, I’ll have something nice for her.’
Slowly, not with caution but at her own pace, the old orangutan climbed down from the tree, hitching her infant up onto her back