The Plantation - Di Morrissey [77]
As she glanced around she realised that this room was the Tuai Rumah’s bilek, which he shared with his wife. Julie hoped she wasn’t being asked to share with them. But the chief’s wife handed her a rolled mat and one of the beautiful blankets and beckoned her to follow. Julie was led to a smaller bilek next door, which was more simply decorated with fewer possessions. The woman took Julie’s blanket, spread it on a floor mat, and dropped Julie’s bag onto it. This room was to be her lodgings, but who her roommates were she had yet to discover.
When Julie returned to the ruai, it seemed that the bedara, the welcome ceremony, had already begun. Everyone was seated in a circle. The women and children were on the outer circle, the men and the visitors at the front. Seated beside the headman was a very old man, his sculptured face cast in relief in the dim coolness. He wore his grey hair cropped in a short pudding-basin style with a fringe clipped in a straight line across his forehead. His ear lobes were splayed and hung heavily, almost to his shoulders, and he wore only a cawat, the local-style loincloth, folded in the front from the waist. He was heavily tattooed, even on the backs of his hands. Everyone showed him great respect.
‘This is Tuai Rumah Jimbun. He is the father of Tuai James. He’s eighty years old and used to work in the Sarawak Rangers in colonial times. He is greatly respected, not just because of his age, but because he has won a George Cross and, as you know, that is a very great honour,’ said Chitra.
The old man made a short speech and the wife of Tuai James placed a jug in the centre of the circle and glasses and plastic mugs were handed around.
‘It’s tuak, which is fermented rice wine. But you can’t refuse to drink,’ David whispered to Julie. ‘That causes offence.’
There was much laughter, explosive declarations, teasing and cajoling as the glasses were filled and passed. Julie took a sip of the tuak and found it to be extremely strong, but when she went to pass the glass on to Chitra there were howls of objection from everyone. Julie had no choice but to empty her glass. However, after three glasses, Julie felt quite dizzy, and looked at Chitra for help.
Chitra spoke to James’s wife and then said to Julie. ‘Nenek, grandmother, will take you outside. To the toilet space. It’s rather rustic, I’m afraid.’ She smiled apologetically.
Chitra was right about the toilet but as Julie made her way back to the ruai, she met a group of children playing outside. Some of the boys were scampering up a tall jackfruit tree to collect the heavy, spiked fruit. Two little girls, overcoming their shyness, tugged at Julie’s hand and led her under one end of the longhouse where there was a chicken coop containing some recently hatched chickens. One of the girls reached in and brought out a chicken for Julie to stroke. In a large bamboo cage nearby perched a sleek cockerel, which Julie assumed was a fighting cock.
By now it was late afternoon and the evening bathing ritual began. Julie was wearing a swimsuit under her shorts and shirt, but Chitra emerged from the long-house in a sarong and the two of them followed the other sarong-clad Iban women upriver while the men headed in the opposite direction.
In the river all the women chattered as they washed their long glossy hair, dunking themselves into the cool water. Chitra let her own dark hair swing loose, and to Julie she appeared to be at home in the water, like a sleek seal, her large, dark eyes shining. Julie floated and drifted away from the women until a voice called to her and she stood up, looking around.
A man was standing on the bank and while he was an Iban with the traditional long hair tied back in a smooth, knotted ponytail, his skin a deep honey colour, his features finely drawn, he looked out of place here because he was wearing aviator sunglasses, a stylish watch, and a pale-blue safari-style shirt tucked into well-cut shorts.
‘Be careful, there are sharp rocks a little further along, near the men’s pool,’ he said.