The Plantation - Di Morrissey [79]
‘But they still lost their land, their forests are logged, highways eat into the jungle and their way of life is gone. The animals are gone. The politicians, the men in the suits in the cities and their friends get rich,’ snapped his son Tuai James.
Charles put a calming hand on his father’s arm on one side and his grandfather’s on the other. He also spoke. ‘It is true. The dams will change Sarawak. Hydro-electric schemes and underwater cables to take their power to the rest of Malaysia, smelters and mines are planned. Long-houses like ours may also be flooded for more dams.’ He shrugged. ‘The old people do not want change.’
‘Is there anything that your grandfather can do?’ asked David.
‘He is keeping his fingers crossed. He hopes that the petara, the demi-gods will protect his family. He will ask the manang, the shaman, to call out to the dieties, Prince Kelieng and Princess Kumang in a special Gawai ceremony. They will kill a fat pig and smear the blood over his longhouse and family members to enable the gods to protect them!’ He paused. ‘This is my grandfather’s wish. But there are those who think that this is not enough and would like to take more action to fight the dams. But to fight the corruption, the political plans, the big business, the outside influence and investments is beyond simple people like us.’ He turned to Barry. ‘But it is a story I hope you will tell people. Show them what is being lost.’ And with that Charles rose and walked into the darkness.
The tuak was passed and the old women also began talking and it was obvious to Julie that everyone was talking about what the old headman had said.
Soon the music and singing began. The old songs, which told the stories of their past, the legends and the battles, echoed through the wooden longhouse. Children fell asleep where they were and the dipper went into the rice wine barrel to refill the jugs.
Julie was feeling lightheaded even from a few sips of tuak. David, who had had Julie’s share of the rice wine as well as his own, was certainly starting to enjoy himself. Julie decided that she needed to step out onto the tanju for some fresh air, so she shuffled to the rear of the circle and, picking up her torch, quietly left the party.
She stood at the railing, gazing at the outline of the jungle across the darkened river. What animals were about, she wondered? Would she ever be brave enough to sit out there, sleep in the jungle at night as her Great Aunt Bette could have done? Suddenly the jungle seemed too close and too confronting. But the laughter and singing behind her, the glow from the oil lamps, were comforting. She walked to the end of the open verandah and looked up at the mountains etched against the dark night sky. It was the first time she’d seen the stars clearly since being in Malaysia.
She felt the bamboo slats beneath her feet shudder with silent footsteps and she was about to turn around when a monkey, quite close to her, let out a screech followed by squeals. Julie shakily turned on her torch and swung it around but she could see nothing out there in the night. As the beam of light swung back onto the tanju she let out a small scream and jumped.
In the beam of the yellow torchlight faces leered and gaped at her. Empty eye sockets, grinning mouths, open in silent screams, a row of heads strung along a beam of light glared back at her.
‘Do not be afraid. They are old and harmless.’ Charles stepped forward. ‘They are trophies my forebears took in battle.’
‘Tuai Jimbun? Your grandfather?’
There was a flash of white teeth in the gloom as Charles smiled at her. ‘Yes. He was one who took heads. Did you notice that the backs of his hands are tattooed? It is the sign that he has taken a head. It was a ritual to set one apart from other men. The White Rajahs tried to stamp out the custom. Like many things, it took some time, but the heads that were taken long ago are still highly prized and respected.’
‘What you said in there, about the future with the flooding from the dams, the development, the changes