Never Judge A Book By It's Cover , Chapter 4. The Unlikely Union of Harold and Andeline and Chapter 5. Fork 'n' Knife

4. The Unlikely Union of Harold and Andeline

Andeline squatted beneath the beams of the bamboo structure, dissonant gongs, gong gonging above her head, her mini dress hitched up around her hips. She contemplated the day she had had as she emptied her bladder, unable to stifle a laugh at what a hopeless romantic she obviously was. How could she have gone from being aloof, to planning a marriage, she wondered. Uh, she was worse than Stephanie!

The gong beats grew faster and more urgent as the unceremonious ceremony of the killing of her father’s best pig drew ever closer. She hated it when this happened. She was a real lover of meat, but she did not want to hear her dinner dying. The squealing began. How her father couldn’t make it less harrowing she would never understand. The pig had begun squealing at the outset as it became aware of the prospect of it’s destiny, an urgent call for help.

A frightened call, “Squeal, squeal, squeal… Why did you love me and stroke me and feed me, now you are forcing me to the ground and tying my feet together? Squeal, squeal, squeal… Why are you hurting my trotters? Squeal, squeal, squeal. Why are you not smiling today? Squeal… What have I done to deserve this….. Squeal, squeal. Oh, no! I remember you did this to my piggy friend, several curly tails ago. Squeal. I never saw her again… Squeal, squeal, Squeal!”

Andeline stood up and rubbed her head. The knowing grip of anxiety asphyxiated her breath and she remembered the way her mother used to hold her hand when the animals were being slaughtered for dinner. The squealing grew louder and turned into a great gizzard piercing roar of a petrified cry as if an oil tycoon’s minions had dug too deep into the Earth and let out the contents of Hades. Andeline shuddered. The cry only lasted a few minutes but felt like half an hour. Andeline remained rooted to the spot, unable to continue back inside with the parallel of empathy she felt for the pig, who had spent it’s life wondering round the grazing area, happily nuzzling into the out held hands of Endal, their family and Andeline herself.

Sympathy for the pig, the loss of Billy as he turned from a handsome soldier into a perfect bastard and the memory of her mother caused her emotions to swell and swirl so the adrenaline hurled forth to produce the internal sting of tears as they sprigged up into her eye ducts. She forced them back. Sniffing.

“Would you like a hanky?” The speedy gongs and the general atmosphere spiked with rice wine and betel nut had left Harold gasping for air. He had stumbled out of the longhouse, losing his footing down the bamboo plank steps, out into the warm moist night air to find Andeline leaning against a post. Her beguiling appearance wafting into his vision so that he forgot all his own personal woes.

Andeline stared at Harold. Relieved that he had not caught her peeing.

“It’s clean.” Harold waved the white square of cotton at Andeline, when she did not respond. “I haven’t used it yet.”

Andeline smiled. Her eyes glistening. She tried to hold her tears back.

“The sound of the butchering was ghastly wasn’t it?” Said Harold in a rare moment of empathy and understanding.

“It was,” sniffed Andeline. Unable to hold her tears back as Harold’s smidge of kindness lay resting on her emotional state at just the wrong moment, the hot tears sprang forth thick and fast as though that fated little Dutch boy had just taken his thumb out of the dike. Years of remaining strong for her siblings, pent up emotions and maybe just a tiny dash of PMT came tumbling out and Andeline rushed into Harold’s unsuspecting arms for a soothing hug.

Harold who could not even remember having received a hug before stood shocked and unhelpful as Andeline cried and cried and cried some more on his shoulder. Her aural fluids seeped into his shirt, but he did not mind. Her mascara was staining his sleeves, but he did not mind. Her nasal mucus was trickling down his neck, but he did not mind. For her hair was tickling his face and he rather liked it. He felt the flutter of her little sobbing heart against his chest and he wanted to be there forever. He lifted his hand up and patted her on the back. “There there.” he soothed. What could he do to cheer this little lady up? What did Harold do when he was feeling down? Oh, yes, he knew just the thing, he rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a small square of something wrapped in tin foil. “Would you like some Kendal Mint Cake?”

*

The Jivaro Indians in South America had a penchant for removing their enemies’ heads, but they were preserved with their skin, eyes and mouths sewn shut, shrunken by age old methods, long flowing hair still in place and dangled from a stick for all eternity. Tourists would tout the tribes as recently as the 1930s buying these poor people’s heads for twenty five dollars a piece. Twenty five dollars, the price for a shrivelled up head that had once usefully sat on someone's shoulders.

The Celt's of Europe also practised headhunting as the head was believed to contain a person's soul. Ancient Roman's and Greek's recorded the Celts' habits of nailing heads of personal enemies to walls or dangling them from the necks of horses. The practice continued approximately to the end of the Middle Ages in Ireland and the Scottish marches.  The religious reasons for collecting heads was likely lost after the Celts' conversion to Christianity. Heads were also taken among the Germanic Tribes, but the purpose is unknown.

The tribes in Borneo, undisturbed from the civilised world by the canopy of the rainforest, continued their headhunting for many years. Just as Hank and Billy had described to Andeline and Stephanie.  Like The Celts, they too believed in capturing the spirits, but they thought that the spirits would bring them great luck.  Semengat.  If a Bidayuh man wanted to marry a Bidayuh girl, first he would leave the village kampong and venture to another tribe to take the head of another man.  Then he would take the head to the girl he loved and present it to her.  If she loved him back, she would take the head and dance with it in acceptance.  If she did not love him back, then the head would be ignored in scorn and that would be that.  Bad luck for the young lover and rather more bad luck for his victim who would have died in vain.

*

C/O Tuah Kampong

Sungi Duuh

25^th mile

Kuching Sarawak

Dear Mother and Father,

How are you both? I trust you are well. This is the first opportunity I have had to write home. I have been so busy. I am sure that you will have been out blackberry picking back in Blighty and Mother will be churning out the jam and scones.

The journey to this country was rather treacherous. Ten weeks on a boat felt like a lifetime. But I feel like Darwin himself or Captain James Cook. As I have been thrown head first into working in the wonderful wilderness of this savage country. They are not really darkies out here, except for the ones who have spent too long out on the padi (rice) fields. Their skin is light brown and they are all fascinating creatures. A very gentle, honest and hard working bunch.

I am lucky enough to be living and working on what they call a long house with a tribe of Bidayuh‘s. They used to be headhunters! I’ve been told that they haven’t performed this ritual for around 20 years though. Even though it was forbidden before then. They had a nasty turn with the Japs you see and their skulls taken by the Bidayuh warriors are still hanging in the head house which is a large ceremony room with an open fire in the centre of the longhouse.

These longhouses are very long indeed - they are made entirely out of bamboo and are about two-three hundred feet long and about fifty feet wide. They are raised on posts and everyone lives on the first floor. They are very beautiful indeed and I shall be sending some photographs over soon if I get a chance to go back into the City of Kuching (Cat City) to have them printed.

It is customary and polite to walk around barefoot in the longhouses and before any building is entered. They find my socks rather amusing. But I can’t stand the way my sandals chafe. So I am often the last inside as I have to remove both my shoes and my socks. Then they like to point and laugh at my white feet. I am slowly picking up little bits of the language. They call me Branda, which means “white man.” I am not sure whether it is mockingly or not. Because they are always chuckling away. Everything is just so funny to them. I find it rather endearing.

My first assignment was to deliver a baby. Can you believe it? The poor woman gave birth to her child on the floor of the jungle, which had only just been hacked back by my comrades Kasan and Topa. She had a little girl. Now this will amuse you. She called her “Harold.” Baby Harold!

The food is basic but plentiful and every time I visit anyone they absolutely insist that I eat with them. They pull out bowls of cooked rice, dust off the ants, throw in some veggies and request that I eat. Of course, most of the time I’d really rather not - but I wouldn’t like to offend anyone. I keep dreaming about Mother's roast dinners!

I must sign off now. But I will write again soon.

Your loving son,

Harold

*

Borneo Hunter

Oh, savage man who rules the jungle with mortal machete,
Lord of the boar and monitor lizard‘s adversary,
Walking erect with anthropomorphic scorn,
Ignoring your primate cousin‘s cries;
Born from the same mother,
Mother nature she be.

Rest your blade, rest your mind, rest.

By Harold Harpington-Smythe August 1966

5. Fork 'n' Knife

Against all odds, Harold soon got in to the flow of his work with the overseas mission. He spent just a few months sleeping on the floor in the longhouse and running his surgery from the make-shift clinic in the jungle, teaching the locals how to make simple life saving salt, sugar and water solutions to prevent dehydration and an untimely death from diarrhoea. He was making friends and photographing nature, making notes and writing poetry based on his surroundings and spreading the word of God. While Andeline went back to the college and continued with her studies, dropping back to the village every couple of weeks. When she and Harold saw each other - they smiled and nodded politely and occasionally chatted, each one harbouring a vested interest, each one having had a little seed planted when they hugged over Kendal Mint Cake and each one not allowing themselves to get caught up in love’s fantasy as they both thought the other to be completely out of their league.

After a further two years at college from that fated day, Andeline qualified as a teacher. Endal was dragged out of the village and put into an oversized sweaty suit crafted from the finest polyester that machine can make which belonged to Paul’s brother, to see his daughter graduate in the city. He was so proud to see his wonderful daughter’s achievement, but felt so out of place in Kuching with it’s sharp edged buildings and Western influenced skyline. They went to a restaurant afterwards to celebrate with other parents and families. Endal did not like sitting at the table on a chair, he was confused by the cutlery and had his hands rapped like a naughty child by Nayla as he attempted to shovel his rice into his mouth with his fingers as he had always done.

“Samah! No!” Nayla chastised Endal. The restaurant was smart for 1960s Sarawak, but nothing compared to the ostentatiousness of today’s restaurant standards. It had neatly tiled walls and tables and chairs, with table cloths and napkins. Endal gave his daughter a filthy look, a look as filthy as the sole of his foot after he had waded through pig shit to rescue one if his grandchildren who had climbed over the fence into the pig’s quarters. He did not like the way his children lost their respect for him when he was out of the village. He was Tuah Kampong. Village leader! Endal the great hunter. He was important and respected. Don’t you know who I am? Here, he was nothing. No one gave him a reverend Namaste bow. He was just met with seas and seas of blank unrecognising faces mainly from other parents who thought that their children were the most precious, most intelligent, most wonderful creature that ever walked the Earth. And frankly, he didn’t like it. He could see straight through them. What a joke. He noticed it always seemed to be the rich Chinese family’s with their porky overfed children too. Well, his children may all be thin, but he had plenty of them and they were all fed enough to stay alive. So take that Mr Chan and Mrs Chan, Mr and Mrs Fatty Face. To say that Endal was out of his depth was an understatement. To say that Endal was like a fish out of water was reasonably accurate. But to say that Endal was like a cat at the bottom of the ocean was probably more so, he was drowning in civilisation, with bricks in his pockets and tarmac above his head. All these constraints and "dos" and "don’ts." 

All this tarmac, all these bricks ,all this concrete, Endal would have been thinking had he actually known what everything was called. The Bidayuh are a simple race, not simple in their thinking, but simple in their ways. One word covers each functionality. Only one word for water and the same word that applies to anything of water and water actions. Water, drink, sea, river, wet, rain, piss… all the same word. The same applies to sit, chair, seat, seated, sit down… all the same word. They talk to each other quite well and get their point across without any longwinded rambling. Literal literary at it‘s finest.

Endal sighed. He had endured the speeches, that meant nothing to him. He could not make out what they were talking about. It was all in English of course, but he did not know that, it could have been Taushiro, a language of native Peru, a language so rare that it is pretty much extinct for all Endal knew or even cared. Now he was enduring this unpleasant form of eating, where he could not use his hands and was expected to use these metal objects to place the food in his mouth, industrial implements with a mocking steel shine. Endal shuffled on his chair like a bored school boy.

Nayla gave him a warning look. The look a mother gives their child when they are on their last chance. The look that promises no pudding, no going out to play and an early night with nothing but a spank if they‘re lucky. “Samah is so embarrassing,” she said to Paul. She made every effort to sit straight in her chair as though her back were made from one of Endal’s poker straight blow pipes. She had had two more babies since Baby Harold had arrived and all six of her children were back in the Kampong with some of her younger sisters and cousins. She was wearing a red and black batik dress sewn into a tight fit so it showed off her remarkably slim figure for someone who had cranked out six babies at such speed. She was determined she was going to have a good day.

Paul just grinned and helped himself to another glass of wine from the centre of the table. It tasted like the sour bile of an orangutan to him, but he liked the effect it had.

Endal wished his beautiful wife Namari was here. She would have understood. She was the one who listened to the Great White Rajah’s and the missionaries’ words. She took to the English language like a child to sugar. Lapping it up greedily, eager to learn more. She was soon babbling away with white faced Brandas, and their churlish pale wives. And Endal couldn’t have cared a hoot at the time, he was off out hunting, organising the trees of rubber, planting pepper, drying out cocoa beans, seeing to the coffee harvest and tending to the animals. He knew everything there was to know about the land they lived on, what more of an education could he need. He looked over to Andeline, his beautiful daughter, the replication of Namari. Andeline was wielding a pair of chopsticks and adeptly picking up slippery squid from the centre of their round table. What a show off. Andeline had become more and more like Namari each day.

“I am not an old man. I am not a little child. Do not give me that look daughter!” Endal reminded Nayla. In an act of defiance, he took the strangulating appendage of the tie from around his neck and tied it round his head so he looked like a small simian faced Rambo.

“Samah, what are you doing?” Andeline looked up and began to laugh at her father’s odd behaviour.

Roll reversal is a curious thing, for every generation of family there are new ways and peculiarities. Steadfast traditions and brand new relaxations. The miniskirt to the British who once found a glimmer of ankle to be naughty, the knife and fork to the Bidayuh who have no problem with breast exposure. The breastfeeding toddler. Oh me! Oh my! When the world average is a whole four years of breastfeeding. What is the problem? With the none sexualisation of ankles came the sexualisation of breasts. Always some new perversion coming out play, to make mothers worry and humanity guilty. With the reformation of the headhunters came new necessities, queuing, queue jumping, taking turns and the use of the napkin. All completely unnecessary but all bringing with them new dilemmas and a new point of judgement for the uneducated.

“Samah!” Nayla, looked at Endal crossly. “You are showing Andeline up.”

“Stop talking to me like I am one of your babies or I will take all of these stupid Branda clothes off and sit here in my loin, like the hunter warrior that I am!” Endal did not like being made a fool of and he certainly wasn’t afraid to strip naked. He was Tuah Kampong. His father and his grandfather and his great grandfather and his father before him were all great warriors, who ruled their land, justly and fairly striking fear into neighbouring enemies, unless they were peaceful, in which case his tribe would be peaceful too, they had countless heads hanging in their head house and had lost only the tiniest percentile of their own tribe’s heads in comparison. He had no time for polyester suits and knives and forks and these airs and graces that were listed as manners. Good manners is sharing your food, good manners is offering your companion the tasty parts first, the fish eyeballs, the sweet meat still attached to the bones, your last grain of rice. Not this posturing and pretending.

Tok laughed at his father, “Oh, Samah! Great warrior!”

“Yes, Samah - Tuah Kampong!” Joined in Paul. He raised his glass and took a long swig.

Endal smiled. He looked across to the next table where Stephanie was seated with her parents, he could see Stephanie’s mother looking in surprise.

She nudged Stephanie’s father who, fat like Buddha was too busy ramming food down his throat as if he had a deep trench to fill in a race and the chopsticks were a mere extension of his fingers. Shovel, food, shovel, food, shovel… He looked up as Stephanie’s mother whispered in his ear and indicated to Endal. Stephanie’s father stopped with the shovelling and stared at Endal open mouthed, tongue coated in noodles with his cheeks as round as the Earth itself.

Endal nodded in acquiescence and pulled the tie harder across his forehead, his bulging veins blue and heaving beneath the striped navy polyester of the tie. “Heh heh!” He laughed. “Heh, heh, heh…” He was beginning to have fun. Nayla ignored her foolish father, but their relative companions got the joke. The other diners paid no attention to the family, everyone else was too concerned about themselves and their own posturing. They wouldn’t have noticed the love and warmth that emanated from their blissful beings if it had floated out of their backsides and spat them in the eye.

It was of course by now 1967. The summer of love. The course of history hit a new milestone and teenagers and young people everywhere were turning on, tuning in and copping off. The likes of Stephanie and Andeline were safe in their country far away from the mad world that Britain had become. But Harold’s old medical peers were dabbling in all sorts of extreme and wondrous narcotics, then fixing themselves with a nightly saline intravenous drip straight into the vein. The perfect cure for a come-down-come-hangover on a forty eight hour shift in a busy London hospital. Tom and Monique were working like billio, minds messed up with acid and hash. But no one seemed to notice, erratic medical behaviour was always put down to tiredness or the eccentricity of a brilliant mind.

Newly qualified, Andeline began her first job as a teacher in the village of Bunuk, which just happened to be where Harold was now stationed. They shyly peered at each other over their hymn books at church every Sunday until the Very Reverend Stubs finally introduced them properly. Their first date was a success as Harold’s bumbling ways were lost in translation and became pure comedy for Andeline. She thought he was divinely handsome with his pale skin and dark glasses. It made perfect sense then that Andeline, beautiful, intelligent belle of the village that she was would fall for Harold who in reality was a blundering klutz with pink parched skin, thick bottle top glasses and a fondness for socks and sandals worn together.

Never Judge A Book By It's Cover - novel - Chapter two and three

Oh boy.  As I have been unable to write due to a huge load of work on the shop needing doing.  I do not have much to report.  so I may as well throw my soul on the line and allow my self esteem to be crushed into a thousand more pieces due to lack of response.  But here goes.  Here are chapters two and three for you.  I have another sixteen chapters written.  So if you would like to read more, then please comment and I will post more.


It is unedited, so I apologise for the bad grammar, spelling mistakes and things that might not really make sense.

These are the two main things that are taking up my writing time, my youngest and my Anne-Claire Petit pouffes

So far, the main feedback I have had is that there is a lack of description from the outset.  But I am skipping back and forth on purpose. I also wanted to leave it up to the reader's imagination, but somewhere as far away and unimaginable as the rainforest deserves a good description , so I have added some new paragraphs and I will be detailing it much more in my continuation.


 Some of the sentences are very long, because I am trying to write rhythmically, the way that Salman Rushdie does for example, and I stress example so hopefully it is more simplified than his elegant writing style as I am no way any where near as stylish as he is in prose.


Oh and the chapters are very long. You may need a coffee to go with them to keep you awake. if you are new to this blog you can read chapter one here: http://www.abigailmansell.com/2010/10/chapter-one-delivery-womb-extract-from.html




2. Jackie O, Sarawak 1965


Meanwhile a pretty young Andeline the second daughter of village elder Endal and his deceased wife Namari and younger sister of Nayla mother of the purple headed one, swung her legs off a high wall overlooking Sarawak  River in the capital city of Kuching.  She sucked on a  frozen red drink shrouded in plastic  that she had bought from a street seller by the hawker stalls and giggled with her friend Stephanie as two tanned and rather buff American army guys walked by and winked at them.


“Hee hee, Amercan G.I.!” whispered Stephanie.  “They so handsome I would love to marry one.”


“Handsome yes, but they will break your heart,” said the ever sensible Andeline. ”American men all have wives and many children all over the World, they tell you they love you, then they leave you with only ten American dollars and a growing belly. Then no man will love you because you are a jezebel with a bastard baby!”  Although this was not necessarily true, Andeline had been told this by one of the nuns at the Catholic School that she and Stephanie attended so she firmly believed it to be set in stone.


Naïve Stephanie who’s parents were Chinese rubbed her flat little stomach.  “How can you have a baby without being married?!”


“That is how bastard babies are made!”  Said Andeline, who at nineteen years old, still hadn’t fully got to grips with the world of procreation either. ”They pretend to marry you even though they already have a wife.”


“Oh dear.”  Stephanie looked sad.  “American soldiers are not very nice are they?  I don‘t like the name Jezebel.”


“Look at the soldier on the left,” said Andeline indicating to the two soldiers over her shoulder who were now purchasing tepid cans of cola from the hawker stall behind them.  “He is so handsome I am sure he has never had to fight in a war to keep his face so pretty!”


Stephanie laughed out loud but looked away blushing as she caught the eye of one of the handsome men in uniform.


They carried on swinging their legs over the high wall where the swirling swollen river below played host to fishermen’s boats and huge hungry crocodiles, some of which were in turn playing host to the bones of once hungry fishermen.  Along the way were the majestic English and Dutch colonial buildings built by  the great white Rajah’s over the past 100 years.  Directly opposite them were the water shacks of the Kampong villages, spewing out over the river on raised wooden platforms like mini bamboo pier homes - typical of the Sarawak indigenous style.  The midday sun beat down on them ferociously, so the girls held a newspaper over their heads to avoid the rays from turning their skin any darker.  Dark skin was a sure sign of poverty in this country.  The fairer the skin the more beautiful a girl and the darker the skin the more outdoor work must have been performed, making her look poor and unattractive in their eyes.  Unlike their English and American female counterparts who were busy abusing  their skin in a cancerous free era across the continent.


Hank Glassman one of the two American soldiers,  picked up a flutter of enthusiasm from Stephanie with his finely tuned girl radar and gave a nod to his friend Billy Henstrom.  They began walking over to the two girls.  Life was easy for these two men as Kuching City was a laid back place.   There were some problems with Chinese Communists that meant that the area of Siburan just outside Kuching was controlled by a strict curfew that ran from 6am till 7pm. This was where Harold was based and unbeknown to him, there was actually a bus and a road that lead to the outskirts of the village he had just undergone his ordeal at.  But for some reason,  the overseas mission had decided to smuggle him in to do his work in secret to avoid having to log his presence with the soldiers manning the gates of the boundaries which they hoped in turn would not alert his activity with the Chinese Communists. The people of Sarawak were highly obliging good honest people and no trouble as far as soldiers like Hank and Billy could see, so they spent most of their days wandering around Kuching enjoying it’s laid back lifestyle and indulging in some of it‘s more laid back inhabitants.


“Hello!”  Said Hank brightly.


“Herro,” replied Stephanie, eagerly leaning forward because she could not  believe her luck that these two handsome men were talking to her.


Andeline gave a half smile and turned back towards the river to show that she wasn’t interested.


“My name is Hank,” said Hank.


“And I’m Billy,” continued Billy.


The two men held their hands out and shook hands with Stephanie, who was beaming away.


She looks like a nincompoop.  Andeline thought to herself.  She knew what these men were after and they weren‘t going to be getting anything from her.  But then, an American boyfriend would be kind of cool.  She held her hand out and blushed when she was greeted by the firm grip and unfaltering gaze of Billy.


“Billy Helstrom,” he stated and gave a little smile that lead to well formed creases at the corner of his mouth, little creases that enhanced his smile and which were irresistible to Andeline.  “We are American soldiers.”  He pointed to the badge on his chest.


The twang in his voice reminded Andeline of Elvis.  Andeline, Billy Helstrom’s gal.  Andeline considered.  But then she gathered herself.  “Of course we know you are American soldiers!” scoffed Andeline.  “We are not stupid girls.  We are college girls!”  Because everyone knows that indigenous tribe college girls are not at all stupid as they are away from the jungle for the first time without any parental guidance.  And of course - their parents had taught them everything about the big bad world of city living. Well, actually, no, they hadn’t but Andleine did know how to differentiate between soldiers uniforms.  As Endal had taught all his many children using a few grainy black and white photographs that had been left with him by previous Western visitors.  Which of course is about as useful in life as a cat-flap on a submarine.  But on this day - it gave Andeline the huffy superiority she wanted to convey.


“Hey, hey, sorry!”  Said Hank who had a great way of defusing situations with his smooth talking.  “We weren’t sure if you could speak English.”  That was of course a bit of a lie as there was a great deal to be said for social dialogue and there weren’t many young people who couldn’t speak English sitting on walls sucking frozen flavoured ice on walls in Kuching.  The uneducated ones were still back deep within the deepest darkest confines of the jungle.  But he was a charmer and charmers will say anything to swing the situation their way.  Not only was Hank a charmer but an excellent one at that, his very words were often enough to excite and entice the ladies, young and not so young, into removing all their clothes back home in California.  Maybe it was the wavelet of his chest, the sun-kissed blondeness of his hair or the lure of his blue (of course)  all American double lidded eyes.  Because somehow, all these attributes rendered girls useless. Hank was the antithesis of the ‘girl in every port’ kind of man.  The exact kind of man that Sister Geraldine the nun had warned Andeline about.  But sister Geraldine needn’t have worried because it was young Billy that was causing sweet Andeline to swoon.


“So, do you ladies live in Kuching?”  Asked Billy opening his can of cola.


“Yes, we do while we are at college,” answered Stephanie who hadn’t been referred to as a lady before thus causing her to have her ego thoroughly stoked.  She had by now swung both of her legs back over the wall to face the two men, with one flip flop dangling off her big toe.  The top of her long black hair had been teased into a semi-beehive in an attempt to mimic the Western fashion.  In the newspapers they had seen pictures of Priscilla, the girlfriend of Elvis looking chic with her smokey black eyeliner and gravity defying hair.  Trend following girls across the world wanted to look like her and Stephanie was no exception.


“Ugh!”  Billy exclaimed as he took his first slurp of warm tingly cola.  “This drink is almost hot.”  He spat the contents of his mouth onto the pavement and all four of them watched as the sugary cola sizzled in the sun before laying motionless and all out of fizz.


The two girls couldn’t help but giggle.  Sarawakians find humour in most everything and Sarawakians of the teenage variety were no exception.


“Warm cola again Billy?”  Enquired Hank.


Billy nodded.


“Say, I don’t suppose you two lovely ladies know of anywhere that we can get a nice cold drink do you?” Asked Hank in his Southern drawl.  “This stuff sure tastes nasty all warm.”


“Yes, there is Chan’s Café,” said Stephanie helpfully.  “He has ice for drinks and good pau.”  Paus being mouth watering Chinese dumplings filled with char siu pork.


“Or you can buy red frozen drink from that hawker stall,” said Andeline.  Pointing to where she had bought hers from.  “Only two cents, nice and cold.”  She sarcastically attempted to mimic Hanks Southern drawl.


“How about somewhere where we can get a nice cold beer - you know - somewhere where we could take two beautiful and sophisticated ladies such as yourselves?”  Asked Billy giving Andeline a cheeky wink.  He patted his slicked up hair reminding Andeline once again of Elvis.  Secretly she was very pleased to be referred to as beautiful and  sophisticated.  Those two words alone, two words that are rarely bestowed to a mild woman of Borneo such as Andeline were like the Oscars of compliments, the Nobel Peace Prize of flattery, the Knighthood of adulation, regardless of whether or not the presenter was earnest in his speech.


The two girls looked at each other.  Stephanie was grinning and nodding and swinging her legs in excitement.


Andeline screwed up the wrapper of her frozen drink and rolled her eyes.  “Okay, kay.  We can go to Aurora Hotel.  Near Sarawak Museum.  They have bar with beer.  I have seen soldiers go in there with sophisticated ladies.”  She spoke the word sophisticated slowly.  She liked the way it sounded.  The way it conjured up images of British princesses and American first ladies, noble and stylish.  That was who she most wanted to be in her heart and dreams as she fell asleep at night, the last few warming thoughts on her mind before the rapture of sleep gently tugged her through the boundaries of consciousness into islumber’s magical world.


“Sounds just perfect - hey Hank?”  Said Billy.  “Shall we?”  He bowed slightly and offered his arm out to Andeline who now smiling at last skipped off the wall and threaded her slim arm through his solid elbow limb which was pumped to the max from hours of voluntary press-ups and enforced military training.


The perfect set up had been cannily orchestrated for an easy pick up scenario.  Hank and Billy were more than acquainted with the Aurora Hotel having been there a number of times since arriving in Kuching a month ago, why it was probably one of them that Andeline had seen visiting there before with a sophisticated lady as she walked passed there from church back to the college dormitories every Sunday lunchtime.
*


Three beers each had passed the lips of the two soldiers, Stephanie was rosie cheeked and giggling continuously on her second vodka martini, even though each sip burned her throat and made her eyes water.  Andeline had been talked into a Jackie K, the cocktail de jour which thankfully was tall, syrupy and creamy.  She sensibly - as ever - made sure she savoured every sip, partly because it was such an expensive drink but most importantly because she did not want to get drunk and lose herself or her carefully guarded virginity.  The quartet were talking freely and Andeline so that she felt like she had known these two strangers her whole life  The initial wariness had faded fast with the first few trickles of the alcoholic nectar and she knew that she would be saying “yes” were she offered another Jackie K.


Billy and Hank were both particularly taken by Andeline.  She had a pretty face with even small features and an air of dignity about her which made her stand out from the seas of wide nosed mono-lidded Asians they were used to meeting.  Back in the village kampong she had always been mocked for being so aloof.  But she had held her own and today her actions were paying off.  Because it doesn’t get more cool to a nineteen year old girl who grew up in a tribe of headhunters immersed in the jungle of Borneo, than sitting in a marble clad hotel drinking a Jackie Kennedy cocktail and talking to two good looking American men about whether Paul McCartney  is the best Beatle, if Cher should stay with Sonny and reciting their favourite lines from Audrey Hepburn films.   They could easily have been companions for years thought Andeline.


“You are Dayak aren’t you?”  stated Hank, taking his chance to try and win Andeline over from Billy’s enchantment.


“Yes,  I am - Bidayuh,” said Andeline surprised.  “How can you tell?”  Westerners couldn’t usually tell the difference between Chinese and Malaysian never mind accurately be able to tell when someone was from an indigenous tribe.  “You say, you only been here four weeks.”


“Yes Mam, that is true, we only been here one month.” Explained Hank trying to connect his gaze with Andeline’s.  Her face reddened as if to mimic the grenadine laced liquid she was slurping.


“Could we get more drinks please?”  Called Billy indicating to the bar tender.  “Thirsty ha, Andeline?”  He winked that winning wink once more.


Flustered, Andeline looked down and noticed her glass was empty.


“Well, ya see, a’m from a small town outside Texas, an we don’t have any Asian people there.  But I seen pictures of your tribe.”  Hank took the new tray of drinks from the bar tender and waved him away with his hand.  “My father was out here back in 1945.  Nearly a gonna so he was…”


“Was he a missionary?”  Asked Andeline.  In addition to the British missionaries like Harold, there had been Dutch and American missionaries before him spreading the good word of the bible to the headhunting tribes of Sarawak.  They were very highly regarded by the indigenous tribes as they had brought much kindness along with their new teachings.


“No mam, my father was a soldier and so was his father before him.  His name was John an’ he was serving our country fighting the Japanese who were trying to take over Sarawak.”   He leaned back in his chair, chest puffed up proudly thinking of his heroic father.


“Nasty folk those Japanese,” interjected Billy. “We heard stories from surviving prisoners of the Japanese telling us how they would torture and mutilate.  They tie people down over sharpened growing bamboo shoots if they catch you and let the sharp shoots, which grow real fast, pierce into their bodies, guaranteeing a slow and painful death!”


“Uh!” Cried Stephanie.  “That is the work of evil men!”  She shifted uncomfortably on her rattan chair painfully aware that it was made from bamboo.  Bamboo was a gift of nature used for almost everything from food to clothing to building houses.  She couldn’t believe that it also lead to such a grizzly sinister  death.


“Some unlucky folk had their private parts cut right off and shoved into their mouths, then their mouths were sewn up and they were sent back to their camps as an example,” Hank acted out the slow sawing off of his own genitals, then he pretended to put them in his mouth and sewed his lips up.  “This was the Japanese’ way of instilling fear and terror in to their enemies, but it backfired as the Allies only became more determined when they learned of this behaviour.”


Stephanie’s head began spinning from her third vodka Martini and the gruesome thought of the poor men who had had to endure the abomination of having their genetalia hacked off and then being sewn back inside their mouths.  She retched and jumped up to run for the toilets before anyone had the chance to wear the contents of her stomach.


Andeline was morbidly fascinated with the story and was eager to hear more, so that rather than aiding her poorly friend, she chose to stay and listen on.


“Well my father he was shot down with his crew from their US Army aeroplane by the Japanese when he was only 19 years old, he was lucky he had a parachute and I think three of his crew died and seven of them survived when they landed in the jungle.  They were of course terrified.  They knew they were in Borneo  and they were either gonna get their heads chopped off by Japanese or by the terrifying head hunting tribes they had heard about living in the jungle.”  Hank shook his head in wonder.  “My father landed on some awkward branches and a branch stuck neatly in his right butt cheek, but he considered himself to be a lucky one to still have his life.  Their burning aeroplane was a big giveaway as to their whereabouts so they had to get a move on before the Japanese found ’em.”


Stephanie staggered back from the bathroom sniffing but unperturbed.  Fuelled by vodka martini she snuggled in to Hank’s chest and he reciprocated by putting his arm around her.


Andeline smiled at her friend and looked at Hank to continue.


“Well, they spent the night in the jungle - they were army men, but they didn’t know jack about where they were.  They found a river with fresh water in it and were just taking a welcome drink when they were approached by these  wild men wearing loin cloths and carrying spears.  Can you imagine how scared they were?  My Pa thought he was gonna be dinner!”


“What did they say?” asked Stephanie.


“My Pa and his friends put their hands up and stood very still.  The Dayak hunters just stood there at the other side of the river.  They were just as scared.  They’d seen the burning aeroplane you see, and then they’d followed the tracks left by the airmen.  Then the bravest one came across and had a proper look.  You’ll never guess what the Dayak hunter said next.”  Said Hank grinning and scratching his neck.


“How do you do?” joked Andeline in her best cut glass impersonation of Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady.


“How do you do?” said Billy, changing the inflection and taking the opportunity to squeeze Andeline’s skinny knee.


“Nope,” said Hank.  “But that’s a pretty good guess.  He looked at their uniforms and shouted “American!” back to his fellow tribes men.  He only went and recognised their uniforms and knew that they were American. It was the last thing my father was expecting him to do. Those Dayak hunters had had American missionaries living in their village but the nasty Japanese had taken them away and executed them, men, women and their children as a warning to the allies.  Then they took  Pa and his crew deep into the jungle to hide from the Japanese.”


“Amazing ha? I love this story,” said Billy.  “Your tribe saved their lives!”


“It sure is neat!” said Stephanie picking up the American colloquialism after spending the afternoon with Hank and Billy.


Hank gave a quizzical look to Billy and raised one eyebrow before giving her a little hug.  He realised that he was going to be the one with Stephanie tonight and not Andeline.  He could feel it in his army trousers.  


 “Well, the Dayaks hated the  Japanese for what they had done to their missionary friends and they wanted revenge.  So, to cut a long story short, they hatched a plan  which involved luring the Japanese men in to the river with beautiful naked ladies.  Beautiful ladies like you.“  He looked at both Stephanie and Andeline in turn.


Andeline’s face reddened once more and Stephanie beamed wildly gazing up at her big tall American companion.


“The Japanese fell for it and went into the water to get their wicked way.  But when they got down there, the Dayak men pounced on them and murdered them in cold blood.  Then, they did something that had been outlawed for many years in Sarawak.”


“They took their heads didn’t they.” Affirmed Andeline.


“Yes mam they did.  They scraped the meat clean off their faces and smoked them in the longhouse to release their spirits,” Hank pointed upwards as if a rack of heads were tied up high in the rafters.


Stephanie shuddered.  She had heard tales about the headhunters, but as it was not her culture, she did not fully understand what it was they did and why.


“There was a big celebration after that and the families in the longhouse partied and celebrated.  But my Pa soon got bored with life.  He was getting real thin and where the other men were happy spending time with the Dayak girls - he just wanted to get back home to my Ma.  I was growing in her stomach and he thought he might never get to meet me.”


“Oh, your Mummy must have been lonely,” said Stephanie drunkenly staring off into the distance and taking the opportunity to stroke Hanks impressive forearm.


“She sure was,” said Hank.  Running his hand down the smooth lengths of Stephanie’s long black  hair. “They didn’t have to wait too long though, because some British troops turned up and got them out of their on their aeroplanes.  So, what are you studying?”  He said changing the subject back on the girls.


“We are both training to be teachers.”  Said Stephanie.  “But Andeline is the clever one.  I am very stoopid!”


“No you are not!”  Replied Andeline.  “No, she is not!”  She said looking to both men in turn. “Uh, talking of college - it is getting late.  We should go back to our dormitories now.”  Andeline jumped up, clearly flustered.  She hated to be late for anything, she was as organised as the Oxford dictionary and if it wasn’t for her - Stephanie would have been completely behind on her training course.


Billy stood up politely when Andeline jumped up.  Stephanie stayed slumped in Hank’s arms.  Hanks was whispering sweet unmentionables into her ear.


“Let’s go Stephanie!” said Andeline.


“No, I’m so happy here!” replied Stephanie.  Who was indeed very happy.  Probably the happiest she’d ever been aided by her three martini’s and the company of a hot American soldier.


The bar tender raised his eyes from where he stood polishing glasses.  Because he had witnessed Hank and Billy doing their thing all month.  Most of the girls they had brought in there looked like street rats - easy pickings, a definite score, some of the girls were even questionable as girls, the lady-boys, the Pondans, the he-shes, the she-males,  the  chicks with dicks, the chaps with baps, he liked that term and chuckled to himself as he thought of it.  He had even seen Hank and Billy courting a smart American lady on her own and listened as they had an interesting conversation about the government and American politics.  Only to have the shock of his life when he dropped a napkin while clearing the tables and bent over to pick it up only to notice that she wasn’t wearing her shoes and was gamely massaging both their crotches with her feet as she chatted and drank. He was shocked, but couldn’t help but thinking that they would all be excellent at poker, his favourite pass time.  This was the first time though that the bartender had seen Hank and Billy come in with anyone so young.  He wondered for a moment whether to intervene, but then he remembered the generous tips they always left.  Partly because the cost of living was so low to Hank and Billy and partly because they knew to keep him sweet.  The sentiment of a crisp American bill meant nothing to them and everything to the bartender.  He  was the all seeing eyes - an unspoken middle man, a bridge between Hank and Billy’s activities and their conscience.  Besides, it looked to him as if Andeline could take care of herself.


Hank caught the bartender staring and almost in response he took a ten dollar note from his breast pocket, straightened it out and placed it under his empty glass smiling. “Come on sweet cheeks, “ he said to Stephanie, pulling her up.  “Let’s take you for a walk.”


Stephanie obligingly stood up with both her arms wrapped round Hank’s waist still, the top of her head only coming up to level with his extraordinary chest.  She snuggled in tightly, losing all sense of shame.


Andeline was very much interested in Billy, but she also had a rational head on her.  She knew she had to get back before the nuns became suspicious as to their whereabouts, but if they set off now, there would be time for some kissing and cuddling she hoped.  Andeline’s urgency was Machiavellian in tactic as she planned to have a romantic encounter with Billy while still remaining dignified on the surface.


Stephanie’s feet barely touched the floor as Hank heroically held her in one arm
as she allowed herself to be dragged like a Chinese raggy doll along the street.  The air was warm as darkness had already taken over Kuching, giving the world a new ambience that replaced the day time hussle of the city.  The street hawkers were still going strong as they walked back along the path by the river. Selling noodles and dim sum, their enticing smells of al fresco flavours tantalising the senses for anyone who might be a little hungry or for those without any will-power, but not registering a dot on the nostrils and bellies of anyone with canoodling on their mind.  The night was clear and Andeline looked up at the thousands of stars in the sky.


Billy took her hand as they walked.  “Stars are romantic aren’t they?”


“Yes, I like to try and count them!”  Said Andeline.


“You try to count them?”  Laughed Billy.  “That must get very difficult.”  He began to tickle the back of Andeline’s hand with his fingers as they walked to raise the energy between them  It was certainly working as Andeline felt her synapses kicking in and the hairs on her arms began to raise along with her heartbeat.


“I like to look up at the sky knowing that it’s the same sky that my family back home can see.  We don’t get darkness at the same time everyday back where I’m from, it’s very different from being so near the equator like we are here.  The stars seem closer too.”  Billy told Andeline.


 “They are closer - we are closer to everything in the sky here near the equator.” Andeline looked over her shoulder and noticed that Hank and Stephanie were far behind and fervently necking as the Americans called it.  “Closer to God too.”  She added.


“Are you religious?”  Asked Billy realising that his luck might not be so in with this one.  The religious girls always had their morals especially the Christian ones, they were harder to spot, the Muslim girls were easy to identify with their hair covered in scarves and morals and good up-bringing made Billy’s job as a carnal hunter much harder.  Still, he enjoyed the chase.  He’d even got the scarf off a Muslim girl when he was stationed on mainland Malaysia.  He just needed to do a little more sweet talking with Andeline.


“Yes, I am a Christian” Said Andeline proudly.  “Are you?”  Andeline hoped that he was.  Her destiny in life was to marry a good Christian, she could hear the wedding bells ringing for her and Billy already.


Billy hesitated for a minute, he knew that his answer here would determine which way this situation was going to take him.  If he said “Yes, I’m a Christian,” then Andeline would probably fall in love with him there and then.  If he said, “No, I am not,” then the chances were that he would not even get so much as a brush of her lips.  He began with a compliment.  “You have beautiful eyes…”


They stopped walking.  Billy held her face with his hands, ready to kiss her.


Andeline looked up to him, heart pounding, her mind in total disbelief that she was here in the evening about to be kissed by a handsome American soldier that was actually interested in her.  Andeline a Bidayuh girl who grew up in the jungle.  They could get married and he could come and live in the village with her and her family and they would have lots of babies and he could help run her father’s farm and they would dance and sing and be happy every day… They kissed and Andeline’s head was so full of crazy ideas about the future that she forgot to even enjoy the kissing.  She had kissed a boy back in the kampong once but it was nothing like this.  It went on and on and…”Uh!”  Andeline pulled back in surprise.  Billy’s tongue had fallen right inside her mouth.  She wasn’t expecting that and she didn‘t like it much.  It was about as welcome as the time she’d found a long hair in her mouth when she was eating her favourite noodles at a café.


“Are you okay?” Asked Billy also surprised as the moment between them was interrupted.  “That’s how people kiss you know.”  He held her again and introduced his tongue more softly in demonstration.  “See?”


“Ooh,” said Andeline.  “Your tongue tastes like beer.  I don’t like beer.”  She looked to the floor, realising that she seemed quite childish and that there was probably a lot more that she didn’t know about apart from not knowing how to kiss properly.  Still, she could live with that strange way of kissing if she was going to be Billy‘s wife.  She wasn’t sure that she would be telling their children about it though.  “So,” changing the subject.  “Are you a Christian?”  She asked again.


“Billy resigned himself to the fact that he was not likely to get what he wanted this evening. “No, sweet cheeks.  I am not.  I don’t believe in God or any other God.”


“Oh,” said Andeline looking down at the ground.  This was not good.  She couldn’t marry a none Christian.  What would God think?  Where would they get married?  Maybe this is how American men left bastard children everywhere.  His kissing is quite horrible anyway, she thought.  This American GI, Billy Helstrom was not to be Andeline’s man.


Billy looked at Andeline, trying to work out what she was thinking.  He had no idea how insulted she was to hear that someone did not believe in God, who wasn’t a Christian and… please no…. she had just kissed him.  With tongues even though it wan‘t entirely intentional on her part.


“It’s getting late,” she finally said.  “Stephanie!”  She called and looked up to see Stephanie and Hank coming up for air.  They began walking slowly back to Andeline and Billy.  Andeline was feeling really cross.  As if she had somehow been duped, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  Her mouth felt dry as the rancid aftermath of alcohol began and she didn’t have that nice warm fuzzy feeling that the cocktails had given her earlier - only the beginnings of a headache.  “Stephanie! It’s late!”  She ran back to the couple and began dragging Stephanie along by the arm.


“Hey, don’t take my new baby away from me.” Protested Hank.


“She’s not your baby.”  Hissed Andeline as the anger’s rage began to bubble to the surface of her usual good nature.


Andeline began marching Stephanie back to their college.


“I want your baby!”  Exclaimed Stephanie, stumbling in a zigzag, ricocheting between  Hank and Andeline.


“Shut up and act sober, we are nearly back to school,” said Andeline slightly out of breath as they rapidly approached the gates of the college.  “The nuns will be on the look out, it’s the weekend and it’s been dark for hours.”


“Aww, come on girls.  Don’t be like this.”  Said Billy.


“You should leave us now.” Warned Andeline.


“No!  Don’t leave me Hank.  I love you!”  Stephanie yelled protesting.


“Ssssh!”  Andeline put her hand over Stephanie’s mouth.  “Stop being such a drunken floozy!”


“Come on girls!”  Tried Hank.  Who was walking along side them thoroughly amused by the debacle.


“Leave us alone!”  Shouted Andeline a bit too loud.  “Now!”


They came level to the college walls.  The whiteness of the colonial building with it’s great railed walls glowed eerily in the light of the moon’s lunar radiance.


“So, do you wanna go on another date with us?”  Jested Billy.


“No, we do not.”


“We could go see a movie.”


“No we will not!”


“I will, I love you Hank!”  Called Stephanie into the night.


“Shut up!”  Andeline clasped her hand over Stephanie’s mouth once more and gave her head a little shake in frustration.


“What are you doing?”  Came a voice from the shadows.  Andeline jumped out of her skin.  But she didn’t have to worry for long because it was  a man’s voice and not one of the nuns. It was her brother Tok.  Andeline was the second eldest of thirteen.  We have already been introduced to her eldest sister, Nayla who had the new baby.  One year after Nayla was born came Andeline, then eleven months after Andeline was born came Tok, thirteen months after his birth came Jonah, eleven months after Jonah came Sessy.  There was a little respite after Sessy because it was another fifteen months before another girl came along who was named Kisha, eleven months after Kisha came their brother Sobah, then thirteen months after Sobah, Nepcha, a girl was born, then once more their mother Namari had a little respite because it was a massive sixteen months before, Deekoh came along, but a much shorter gap came between her and Reta, after Reta came Fanboh, a boy one year later followed by Toola a girl only eleven months later and finally Boyboy was born.  Boyboy was Namari’s last baby.  Sadly she passed away when he was only six months old.  Already pregnant with yet another child.  The rest of the family were left to bring each other up all by themselves.  Deep in mourning, Endal threw himself into hunting and making money for his family without his beautiful wife.  And Nayla and Andeline the two oldest became Mummies to their siblings.


Fortunately tribal life was intimate and all the other families most of whom were related one way or another to Namari and Endal and everyone chipped in.  The younger brothers and sisters may have grown up without their mother, but they still had all the love and good nurturing that any child could want.  The longhouses were not just a dwelling place but a great community with their days structured  and each one was filled with a sense of belonging.  When girls married - their husbands would move in with their wife’s family.  Before then, all the boys and young men would live in the Barok which is the main ceremonial room , also where the trophy heads were kept.  Tok had been spared of this fate, because of the unusual circumstances of being brought up without his mother.  He would scream and had nightmares about the decapitated heads, so after only lasting a fortnight living in the Barok, he was allowed to move back in with Endal and the rest of the family.  Tok was exceptionally close to Andeline, but unlike her he did not have a head for learning and preferred to follow in his father’s footsteps to hunt and farm on their cocoa and rubber plantations.


“Tok?” Exclaimed Andeline in surprise.  “What are you doing out passed the curfew?”


But before Tok had a chance to answer, Stephanie  began to cry.


“Don’t leave me Hank.  I need you.”  She ran up to Hank and wrapped her stringy arms round his solid waist.


“Do you want to come back to our place little girl?”  Asked Hank softly patting her ridiculous beehive.


“No Stephanie!”  Said Tok in concern.  “You cannot go with the American GI.  He will tell you he loves you then leave you with a growing belly and a bastard baby!”


Billy stood laughing at Tok.  “Is that what you think we are like Kampong boy?” Billy considered whether to start an argument, he had just enough beer to take any insult personally and to the next level, but seeing as there was just a little truth in Tok’s comments - for  all he knew - he could have knocked up a dozen girls by now.  He made a decision to stick to the lady boys, they were certainly just as hysterical when they’d had a few drinks, but they were not likely to get pregnant.  Not in this day and age anyway.  “Aw, come on Hank.  Let’s get back to the bar.  It‘s still early.”  He peeled Stephanie’s arms off Hank.


“See you around sugar lips.”  Hank said to Stephanie and off they sauntered back into the night.
“What’s going on Tok?”  Asked Andeline.  She hugged Stephanie into her who was sobbing like a small child.


“You have to come back to the longhouse, Lin,” he said shortening her name to use the last syllable as the Dayak’s always did.  “La has had her baby.“


“Nayla has had her baby!  Aaaaaghh!”  Screamed Andeline.  Even though it was Nayla’s fourth baby,  they never tired of new arrivals.  Each new life was just as precious and exciting as the one before.  “Aaaaghh!”  She screamed again.  Have they started the party yet?”


“They are just getting ready now. Sama is going to kill his best pig!”  Sama, means father in Bidayuh.


“Your father is going to kill his best pig and I have lost my American husband!”  Wailed Stephanie.


Andeline hugged her closer and leaned against the lip of the college wall with her.  “How can we get back?  How did you get here?”  She asked Tok.


“Oh, I just waited until the soldier went to take his piss and then I went under the border gate.”  Smiled Tok at his own cunning.  “He took a very long piss.”


“I will get my bag and tell the nuns I have to go back to the village.  First you must stop being a drunken Jezebel Miss Stephanie.”  She turned to look at her friend.  Black eyeliner trickled down her face like hot melted tar on a newly built road.


“Has she been drinking  tuak?”  Tuak is fermented rice wine that the Dayak’s make and drink.


“No, martini.”  Andeline gave Stephanie’s face a wipe with her thums, causing her make-up to smear laterally as well as the path it was already following to her jaw line.


“Martini?”  Repeated Tok.  “Ah, shaken, but not shtirred!”  He said imitating Sean Connery as best a young man from Borneo who had only seen the film once could manage.


“Hee, hee!”  Andeline laughed.  “Shaken but not shtirred!”  She managed to pull it off a trillion times better as she had a keen ear  for language and had been to see the film a number of times.  


“I am shaken, but not shtirred!” Sniffed Stephanie finally snapping out of her hystrionics.


“Heh, heh.  I like you Stephanie little Chinese girl,” laughed Tok.  “You are very funny!”  It was true enough.  Tok did like Stephanie a lot.  He had met her a few times as she had been to visit the Kampong with Andeline and he certainly found her attractive as he was a young red blooded male.  But he was also proud and had listened hard to the Bidayuh stories told to him every evening as they were children growing up.  He wanted to continue the Bidayuh tradition and was not going to be the one who had relations with a Chinese girl.  No, no, no.  That would never do.


Stephanie began to smile.  She rubbed her dirty face on the underneath of her skirt.  “Do I look better?”
“Now you look like a baboon’s bottom!”  Teased Andeline.






3 Heads Will Roll, Sarawak 1965


A cluster of energetic elderly Bidayuh women had escorted and dragged Harold through the jungle from the confines of his new make shift clinic and out into a clearing where he was met by the majestic appearance of three great bamboo longhouses, surrounded by more smaller houses and shockingly to Harold, a lumpy potholed road with a couple of trucks parked on it.  Harold was more than confused by this as he thought he was somewhere quite remote after his two day trek into the jungle.  He looked for Topa and Kasan but they were nowhere to be seen amongst the crowd of people.


The women were man-handling Harold who was hot and bothered and completely unaccustomed to such close contact with other humans.  Particularly these peculiar creatures with their wrinkled skin and black teeth and bright red gums, dyed this unflattering colour from years of chewing beetle nut.  A custom in Borneo, that involves mixing a paste of white powder from the lime plant, wrapped in leaves from the betel nut plant, along with a piece of the said betel nut.  This is all chewed together which releases the alkaloids leading to euphoria and in larger doses - sedation.  Harold thought that they could probably do with introducing some missionary dentists to these regions never mind doctors.   The blackened teeth look was not the most attractive of visions.


The longhouse however was an amazing sight to behold and Harold tried to get his camera out from his rucksack, not knowing if he was going to be staying here long.  


“We celebrate. Doctor Harold.”  Said one of the women who looked to be middle aged as she was not as grey as some of the mad women that were rushing him along.  It was Lennie, one of Andeline, Tok and Nayla’s aunties.    “Come, come.”  She took hold of his hand and lead him towards the steps which were cut from a single large piece of bamboo the width of an elephants trunk.


As they got to the stop of the steps, Harold only just managed it without falling, guided mainly by the agile little old women, they began to pull at his shoes and socks.


“What the devil are you doing?”  Exclaimed Harold.  “No, please don’t….Oh, heh, heh, that tickles!”  He exclaimed and before he knew it his socks and shoes were off and his feet were being roughly washed with cold water.


There was a tussle as the women seemed to be fighting over who was to take away the dirty bowl. They each wanted the water because they believed that they had taken some of Harold’s good spirit and the water was now blessed.


“Come, come, give him some space,”  came a familiar voice.  It was Topa.  “Doctor Harold.  Please meet Endal.”  Topa elbowed his way through the gaggle of women bringing with him a small aloof looking man.  


Endal was most welcoming to all who came his way, but he was embarrassed to not be able to speak English the way that all his children and most of his fellow villagers could.  By way of inheritance, he was a wealthy man, owning large parts of the land surrounding their village.  He was greatly respected, but he was not sure how to interact with Harold, this great red and white ghost of a man who had the spirit of a frightened baby toucan.  He smiled widely displaying a row of betel nut blackened teeth just like his female counterparts.  He touched Harold on the hand and then pulled at it gently.




“He wants you to follow him,” said Topa.


“But my socks, my shoes…”  Began Harold.


“We don’t wear shoes in longhouse Doctor Harold.”  Topa told him.  “We don’t wear shoes in homes.”  he added helpfully.


The women moved out of the way from Endal.  Endal took the bowl containing the dirty water that Harold had had his feet washed with from one of the women.


“You know, I always have very clean feet.”  Said Harold embarrassed by the blackness of the water.  “They are just very dirty because I have been walking through the jungle for two days without the chance for a bath.”


Endal looked at the water, he gave it a sniff and then held it to his lips and took a sip.


“Yay!”  He cheered.


“Yay, yay!” Everyone else cheered in response as Endal held the water up above his head in victory.  He carefully passed the bowl back to the women who scurried away with it.


Harold was nothing short of disgusted.  Disgusted and dismayed.


“They believe in “Semangat” the life spirit of all living things, they have your good spirit in that water now.”  Explained Topa.


“Oh,” said Harold.  Still puzzled.


“You are very special man Doctor Harold.”  Topa told him. “Now he has had a drink of your water, he is more special too.  They will use that water like it is holy.  They will sprinkle it on their rice fields, they will use it to bless their children in honour of the semangat spirit that you have given them.”


Harold couldn’t help but feeling that he had a lot of work to do if they were practising such  pagan type rituals.  But he was rather impressed by himself for being so important so early on his arrival.


Harold was lead into the Barok, the head house, the main ceremony room.  Where the fire was lit ready for the celebration beneath the hundreds of skulls, black from smoke of all shapes and sizes, hanging there macabrely watching over the room’s daily comings and goings.


They all sat down and a tray was passed to Endal.  It contained the leaves and lime and betel nut ready for preparation.  Endal adeptly rolled the correct pieces into a wrap and gave it too Harold.


“Chew.”  Said Topa.


“Ah, choo,”  Repeated Endal and gave Harold a double thumbs up.  “Kana, kana?”  He said.


“He say, ‘kana?’” Said Topa, he wants to know if you think it is good.”


“Good?” Repeated Harold with a mouthful of the rancid mixture.  “Um, kana!”  He lied to Endal.  He chewed and chewed and began to feel quite hot with a racing heart.  Not particularly pleasant.  He wasn’t fond of alcohol at the best of times and now he seemed to be eating some peculiar pagan drug.  He hoped to God he wouldn’t begin to hallucinate.  There was only one thing for it - he was going to have to swallow it all down as quickly as possible.


A young girl came along with a tray of drinks.  She passed one to Harold, he took it and swigged it quickly to wash down the unpleasant betel nut concoction.


Endal began to laugh.  He pointed at Harold and said something that Harold didn’t understand.  Everyone began to laugh.


“Oh, no Doctor Harold,  you are to spit it all out.  Now you will be very stweng.”  Topa thought hard for the right word to use.  “Very, er, very drunk.”


Endal picked up an old powder tin and held it to his mouth.  He spat into it, the red juice of the betel nut trickling down his chin.  He grinned at Harold, his lips and teeth extra juicy as though he had been chewing raw meat from a fresh carcass.


Harold clasped his hand to his head.  Suddennly, he found it all very funny too.  He laughed and laughed and laughed a bit more.  For some reason he was ridiculously elated, he could not stop himself from chuckling.  He looked at everyone else and howled out loud.  They all laughed too. This was hilarious, the most fun he‘d ever had!


More trays appeared with lidded bowls on them.  Endal lifted the lid off a bowl it was cooked rice with something brown on top.  Harold was feeling pretty hungry by now.  It had been a good while since he’d had anything to eat and all that jungle trekking was hard work. Endal brushed at the top of the rice.  Harold look closer to see what they had in stall for him. He was looking forward to trying the local cooking. The brown topping was not something delicious but hundreds of tiny brown ants.  Endal swept them aside, although, there were still a few left meandering in the amongst the white grains to be fair.  Then he took a scoop in his hand and offered it to Harold.
“Man,”  He said.  “Man, tobi.”


“He say, eat.  Eat rice.”  Said Topa.


Endal popped the contents of his hand into his mouth.


Harold rubbed his eyes.  There was no way that a man would eat rice that had just been infested with ants. Maybe he was hallucinating, he made a mental note never to eat betel nut washed down with tuak wine ever again.  But until then he was going to enjoy this pleasantness for now.  A lifetime of pole up the bum up-tightness seemed to melt away, for Harold probably for the first time ever in his existence allowed himself to relax.  Every muscle in his face that gave him that unique grimace and every tendon and sinew that snatched his buttocks up high and taut gave way to gravity.  His always short, sharp breaths, gave way to slow deep inhalations ans even controlled exhalations, which in turn took Harold unknowingly into a meditative transience of deep deep relaxation.  Perfect for taking in the festivities to welcome Endal’s new granddaughter into the Kampong.


The dull rhythmic banging of the Bidayuh gongs began their discordant yet pleasing tunes and the Bidayuh ladies who had now changed into their traditional costumes of black with yellow and red trimmings, began to dance around the fire.  Platters of food began to appear, prepared by the people of the village, each bringing a gift to both Endal for his new arrival and Harold for brining her into the world.  Whole fishes dressed with greens and onions, sweet sticky cakes and piles of tapioca; prepared in every which way possible, fried tapioca, steamed tapioca, boiled tapioca, mashed tapioca, tapioca with veggies, tapioca leaves.  Every time Harold saw something new to try - he asked what it was and was told each time that it was tapioca.  If he ever wanted to take a trip to tapioca heaven, well, he could just take himself right there to where he was.  He was already in tapioca city on the tapioca express.  
“Tapioca is good.   Um, kana, good.”  Said Harold giving Endal the thumbs up.


Endal grinned back at Harold with his sooty black mouth and offered Harold the fish.


“Oh, um, no thank you.”  Said Harold, not sure how he was supposed to take any without any serving silver.  He was just about managing to eat the tapioca as it was in pieces and thanks to his inebriated betel nut and tuak state, his inhibitions were very much down.


“Yes, man!” Said Endal telling Harold to eat as he waved the fish two inches from Harold’s face.


“Oh, really, really, no.  Not thank you.”  Harold politely repeated again.


Endal rolled his eyes at Harold.  He wasn’t really offended but he did find him quite peculiar.  Realising that Harold did not understand him, he held the plate up two inches away from his own face and plucked out the fishes eyeball then put it into his mouth, allowing the juicy goodness to explode as he bit into it.  If Harold wasn’t going to eat it, then he was.




“Mmm, raruh kana!”  Said Endal, meaning, very good.  With added accentuation on the ‘very.’   Fish eyeballs are a real delicacy in South East Asia and he was offering one to Harold as that is the kind of giving people that the Dayaks are.  What does a Westerner think of eating fish eyeballs or any kind of eyeball?  Surely there is nothing delectable in the chomping of a ball of sclera and retina.   Western man is all about aesthetics when it comes to food.  The butcher slaughters the meat and away goes all the bits and pieces the English do not want to see on the table.  There’ll be no, eyeball eating, claw crunching, trotter chowing, penis munching, going on for them.  Oh, no.  Long gone are the eating habits of  the medieval days of good old Henry VII and their ability to strip and devour every scrap and morsel from a carcass.  Somewhere along the line it became easier to not view the meat as a creature and to enjoy the meat between the cow’s rib bones as ’fillet steak,’ the nasty bits all neatly stripped and arbitrarily squished into sausages or ground down to make mince or reformed and packed with breadcrumbs to make rather bland tasting fish fingers. Yes, it’s okay to eat fishes fingers.  Somewhere along the line, the English chose not to eat cats and dogs or frogs or snails or birds any smaller than a wood pigeon. Bum holes  and teeth only became palatable when they no longer look like bum holes and teeth, who can resist a fine juicy hamburger, which isn’t actually made of ham.  They’re beef.  Or bits of beef, the bits of beef nobody wants to eat. Delicious.  Young Harold had enjoyed tripe stew and tongue sandwiches, but balked when he discovered their true  origins and refused to entertain them based on the British cuisine culture of probably over analysing everything.  He had of course been forced to eat every last gag inducing  scrap with a stick held high ready to rap his shaking knuckles as he clung to his cutlery for dear life, which in turn lay the foundations for  his compulsive and excessively emotional patterns of behaviour.


Harold couldn’t hide his disgust at the sight, his bottom lip curled right inside his top lip.  In spite of his intoxicated state he began to silently pray to The Lord for strength to cope with this bizarre and foreign land.  How was he going to cope?  All he wanted was a hot shower and a large bar of soap.  It was not too too much for Harold to ask, but it wasn’t going to be materialising in a hurry either.


Endal deftly wrapped up some new betel nut for he and Harold to chew.  He gave to Harold who obligingly took it.


“This time you spit  - no swallow,” Topa reminded him.


Nayla shuffled into the great room with her husband Paul.  Paul was proudly carrying his latest addition Baby Harold with her purple gentian violet ointment halo.  He joined in with the dancing girls for a few bars mimicking their movements to the dull clunk clunking of the gongs.  They giggled but carried on, taking their roles as dancers and entertainers seriously.  Shuffle to the right, straighten and bend the arms, then shuffle to the left, straighten and flick the wrists ad infinitum.


“Ah, it is the great Mr Doctor Harold!”  Exclaimed Paul as he sat down on the floor with his wife to join the party.  


“I am not really very great,”  said Harold pretending to be humble.  He had to exude that great-I-am and keep up the air of importance, even though, he had not actually had to do anything to with the safe delivery of the baby in the end.  His only mark on the delivery, was the babies’ blueberry-esque scalp and the rather unfortunate new name.


Harold looked up and saw the macabre skulls hanging above the open fire for the first time.  He gulped.  These people seemed so primitive to him, not only do they munch on the eyeballs of fish like a child on a penny sweet, but they hang skulls up on display for everyone to see,  the dead are not even buried in peace he thought.




Paul noticed him looking and said to Harold, “Don’t worry, they are very old.  Long time since we took man’s head.  Long, long time.”


“Yes,” said Topa.  “One week already!”


“W- w- w- One week?” Stammered Harold.


Paul sniffed his new baby’s skin. The Dayaks had a sweet way of showing affection, by inhaling the skin causing a suction on each other’s faces with their flat noses.  A few sniffs in and out.   Sniff sniff.  Ah.  Very satisfying for the flat of nose, completely unobtainable for the pointy nosed Westerners.  “No, no, he is pulling your heart strings.  He is making you a scaredy man.  Are you a gullible fool  Mr Doctor Harold?”


“Ha, ha!”  Laughed Harold.  “Me sc-sc-scared?”  He pretended to stammer?  Scared.  Harold? I AM the great I am.  He chewed away at his betel nut, his mouth growing dryer yet excessively full of the grotesque reddy/black liquid by-product.


“Some English people very gullible Mr Doctor Harold.  You not gullible are you?  You are a very clever man.  I can tell.  You have big Semengat.”


“Semengat,”  piped up Endal reminded of the great age old belief of good spirit living in everything.  He held the tin up for Harold to spit his betel nut remnants into.


Harold spat obediently.


Endal dipped his finger into the mix of spittle and betel nut leftovers.  He rubbed the red mixture onto Baby Harold’s forehead.  “Amen.”  He said looking to Harold for recognition.
“Oh, er, amen.”  Affirmed Harold slightly puzzled that the age old tradition of spiritual superstitious semanget was getting mixed up with the age old spiritual not so superstitious religion of Christianity.


Kasan who had just returned from a cold swim in the river, leant over and whispered to Topa, “Doctor Harold, he has the face of a thousand frightening thoughts.”


“And a million nasty smells,” Topa whispered back.


Baby Harold blinked just as surprised, but completely unperturbed to be sporting a nice slobbery red streak on her forehead to go with the violet cap she already had.  All this on her first day in the world too.


Endal stood up and rubbed his flat little tummy.


“He is going to kill his best pig,” said Paul.  “In honour of Baby Harold and you Mr Doctor Harold.”


Endal disappeared out of the main room and back down the rickety carved step.


Harold remembered the cars and the road outside.  “Topa, why are there cars outside.  I thought we were in deepest darkest.”


“Ha, ha.”  Laughed Topa.  “Initiation test.”  he lied.  He couldn’t be bothered to give an explanation, besides, he didn’t really know all the ins and outs of why and what for.  He just did as he was told.  That was his strong point, obedience, that and not to ask too many questions.  Too much knowledge brings too much trouble, Topa had learned that from a  young age.


“We are here!  I found her!”  Came an excited voice from the other side of the room.


“Tok!” Nayla and Paul called out together in recognition.


“She’s here,” shouted Tok as he clambered his way over the sea of seated revellers.


“I am here!”  called out Andeline.  She tip-toed over the eating guests stopping, stooping and sniffing little children on the cheeks as she stepped through the crowd, meeting and greeting like a celebrity till finally she bent down to hug Nayla.  “Oh, I missed you.  I am sorry I wasn’t here when she arrived.”  She said in Bidayuh to Nayla.


Andeline took on a different persona when she was back in the comfort of her own tribe, back in amongst her precious family.  Here she was important.  Here she was special.  Revered for her intellect and respected for her beauty and status as Endal’s daughter.  Here she exuded confidence and an enigmatic charm and seemed like a wise lady rather than the silly school girl she came across as in the city. She was a bit like the Bidayuh equivalent of Grace Kelly.  “Who is our guest?”  She asked in English and nodded graciously towards Harold in acknowledgement.


Harold had noticed her entrance.  The flurry of excitement amongst everyone upon her entering the room.  The way she held herself in a poised manner, chin up, shoulders back with her face friendly and welcoming.  Her Western outfit of pale pink mini-dress, a copy of a Mary Quant that she and Stephanie had seen in an English newspaper  stood out from the rest of the females who were either wearing traditional costumes or a simple batik sarong and emphasised her petite figure.  Her make-up enhanced brown eyes were flicked into feline perfection with heavy black eyeliner on the top lids.  She was fresh and composed, no-one would have guessed that she had just travelled twenty-five miles on the back of a truck with Tok as they escaped the Nun lead college and the memories of her brief but wretched rendezvous with Hank and Billy.


“This is Mr Doctor Harold!” Said Paul.  “He our guest of honour!  He brought Baby Harold safely into the world!”  He snuggled and sniffed his newest daughter as though she were the most wonderful precious thing in the world.  She as just as special to him even though she was baby number four.  There was no tiring of babies to this man, which was just as well seeing as there was a distinct lack of birth control available to the Dayaks in 1965.


“Baby Harold?”  Questioned Andeline.  “I thought you had a baby girl.  Tok - you say they had baby girl.”  She said to Tok presuming he had got his information wrong.  It was understandable seeing as he was sent off to get Andelline the very moment everyone had become aware of the baby’s safe arrival.


“Oh, no.  She yes a girl.”  Said Paul sniffing her cheek delicately for the umpteenth time that day.


“But Harold is a man’s name!”  Exclaimed Andeline looking at Nayla in horror, then apologetically at Harold senior.  “It is a very nice man’s name though.”  She gave a half curtsey as the nuns had taught her to.”


“It is a beautiful name.”  Said Nayla.  “Ramus raruh,”  she said, meaning very beautiful in Bidayuh  as if to double affirm it.  Nayla took her baby from her husband.  “Look she beautiful.”


Andeline couldn’t help but being amused.  She knew the name Harold.  “Have you not heard of the Great British Prime Minister Harold Wilson?  Or the famous Harold Lloyd?”


Paul and Nayla looked blank.


Harold nodded in agreement.  “I have heard of them.”  He added helpfully.    


“Hurray for Harold Lloyd,” sang Andeline, smiling.  There was something about this Mr Doctor Harold who was sitting in her family’s long-house all pasty and pink with thick rimmed spectacles that reminded her of the real Harold Lloyd.


“Yes, der, der, der, der, der, derrr, derrr.”  Sang Harold.


Andeline laughed.  “You are very nice man.”  She told him.  “Now let me see my new niece.”  She took Baby Harold from Nayla.  “Uh!”  She cried out.  “Uh!  She has purple hair!”   Andeline rubbed the nasty spittle of betel nut juice from the baby’s forehead.  “semangat is so disgusting.”  She said to Harold.


“Actually, the purple hair is my fault.  Gentian violet.”  Harold fiddled with his shirt buttons and looked apologetically at the floor.


“Is it forever?”  Asked Andeline rubbing at the purpleness on baby’s head with the sarong she was wrapped in.


“I hope so,”  said Nayla.  “She will make a great leader with bright hair.”


“Actually,” said Harold.  “One interpretation of the name Harold is ’leader.’  But no, the stain will only last a few weeks.”


“Wallow!”  Paul exclaimed, which was a variation on the word ‘wow!’ in Bidayuh.”


“Wallow indeed,”  Andeline said to herself.  “Don’t worry,” she whispered in the baby’s ear as she sniffed in the super soft sweetness of her newborn cheek.  “Your Aunty Andeline is here now.  I will take care of you.  I will protect you from this crazy family.”


Harold gazed at Andeline, he wanted to feel her soft little nose pressed up against his cheek in that maternal loving manner.  When Paul had sniffed Baby Harold’s cheek it seemed bizarre and overly familiar even for a father to his child, but when Andeline did it, sniff, sniff.  It made Harold want to feel the gentle inhalation too.   He couldn’t believe that someone so - dare he think it - normal .  Was in this madly ludicrous place where they think it normal to ingest.  Yuk.  Someone else’s spit.  Double yuk.  Yet strangely (for he had always been an outcast in his family back in England, he was never quite good enough for his parents and he was always a bit of an oddball amongst his fellow school pals and college peers) yes indeed, strangely, he felt a sense of belonging.  He liked his new revered state of deity.  He liked the funny little Endal.  He liked the shiny bamboo floors.  He liked the tuak.  He liked the betel nut.  He liked the bang bongy gong music.  He liked Topa and Kasan and Nayla and Baby Harold. He even liked the ghoulish smoked out skulls hanging above the fire.  And he loved this beautiful young maiden they called Andeline.  Swit swoo, his woozy boozy mind sang out in his head.  Swit swoo.  Monique, with her scarlet hair and her cultivated continental mannerisms?  Pah, ancient history.  There was a new lady filling Harold’s mind.


Harold sighed.  There was no way that Andeline would be interested in him.  No woman had ever been interested in him.  The fact that he had made it all the way to thirty three years old with a theology degree and a doctorate in medicine under his belt and yet still not even a sniff of a girlfriend sang testimony to that.


He watched as Paul rolled up a betel nut wrap and offered it to Andeline.  She screwed her nose up and shook her head.  Oh, wallow, thought Harold.  He loved the way she screwed her little nose up till it wrinkled and she looked like a funny little shrew.  Oh wallow.