The Plantation - Di Morrissey [74]
Two more punting attempts finally found them jammed between two rocks, unable to move. Chitra, translating Ayum’s commands, had them all step out of the dugout, and, stumbling and sliding, they pushed it over the slimy rocks and through the rapids. When there was smooth, deep water ahead of them, they scrambled back into their craft and surged forward once again.
‘There’s no way ahead!’ exclaimed Julie some time later as the engine stopped below a small waterfall tumbling over the rocks. ‘What now?’
‘Portage,’ sighed Matthew.
‘We carry everything around the waterfall,’ said David, hoisting his backpack.
‘And then what?’ wondered Julie.
‘There’s another dugout waiting for us to go upstream,’ said Chitra, stepping daintily into knee-deep water, mindless of her expensive boots.
‘Okay.’ Julie stepped gingerly out, too, turning back to pick up her backpack. But the old man stopped her and as Ngali dragged the bow of the dugout towards the bank, he took Julie’s arm to steady her and they inched together over the slippery stones to a large dry rock. Silently he handed her the backpack and returned to help his son manoeuvre the dugout closer to the bank.
All the gear was piled onto the large flat rock and, with Ngali leading, everyone carried their bags and the extra equipment and headed along a small track over the rise. The path was merely a foot wide, it led around a bend and back down to the river again. The sun was now beating down and Julie felt hot and sweaty. In front of her, Chitra walked easily, looking cool and comfortable, despite her waterlogged boots. As they waited at the river, the two boatmen made a return trip to the dugout and came back carrying the motor and petrol jerry can.
‘Where’s the taxi?’ joked David.
Chitra spoke to the boatmen, who nodded their heads and sat down on the grass to smoke.
‘Someone will be here soon,’ she said. ‘That could mean minutes or hours.’
Everyone opened their water bottles and shared a packet of biscuits.
‘The water looks calm, could we swim?’ asked Julie.
Matthew shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t. You never know what might be in there.’
Ayum cocked his head. ‘Coming.’
‘A boat is coming? Yes, I hear it,’ said Julie.
They waited as the engine noise grew louder and, around a bend in the river, came another canoe manned by an Iban who looked older than Ayum. Even at some distance Julie saw that it was smaller than their original dugout and lower in the water, giving her the impression that it could be leaky.
She was right, and by the time everything had been loaded and they were all seated, the gunwale was only inches from the water. Julie held on tight, her fingertips trailing in the river.
‘No more changes,’ said David cheerfully.
‘Have you noticed how the boats get leakier each time we change over?’ said Matthew.
‘Oh, no,’ sighed Julie.
‘The river is very low at this time of year, so boats can’t get all the way up. In the monsoon season you don’t have to stop at all,’ said Chitra.
‘Bit of a pain to go to the shop for bread,’ commented Barry.
‘Well, you asked for remote, traditional, picturesque,’ David reminded him.
The dugout was now travelling close to the bank when, suddenly, there was a shriek, and a group of monkeys swung through the trees, chattering and calling. Then, for the first time, Julie saw human activity as they passed two Iban men tending their fishing nets, and, around the next corner of the river, she saw her first longhouse tucked among the trees. It was a long, intricate wooden and thatched building. Julie was surprised by its length. Dugouts and small praus were pulled up on the bank beneath it.
‘There’s a white flag. What does that mean?’
‘No visitors. Hospitality along the river is a given, once you observe the protocol and are formally invited by the headman. But a white flag means there is something wrong, an illness, a death or