As usual, this is presented entirely unedited, so please forgive the typos and lack of sense that may occur!
The day after Andeline and Harold returned from honeymoon, the sense of love, marriage and romance was still there, as much as it ever could be between the unlikely paring and life quickly swang back into normality. They went to stay with Paul and Nayla while they had time off work. Andeline had just swept up after making lunch for Nayla’s children, when Nayla came staggering through the door carrying the body of a dead dog.
“Ugh! What is that?” Exclaimed Andeline, inspecting the carcass of the dog that appeared to have no injury. Were it not for it’s complete stillness, Andeline would not have known that the dog was without spirit and she would have thought that it were simply sleeping in Nayla’s arms. But there is something about death that speaks to you with it’s unmoving silence and unspoken deafening peacefulness.
“It’s our dog, sister. Our beloved dog Sarah.” Nayla sobbed quietly, the dog’s body resting on the bump which housed her and Paul’s latest marvel of procreation.
“Since when did you get emotional over a dog? It is dead, why did you bring it inside?” Asked Andeline. As fun as dogs were to play with, the Bidayuh did not get sentimental over their pets in the way that Westerners do. They lived and survived alongside the tribe. They were given titbits and rice leftovers, no special treatment. No cans of Chum, no walkies, no cuddles, no treats, no sleeping on the bed and no being in the main part of the house, dead or alive. Dogs were not by any means “man’s best friend” in Borneo. Andeline walked over to Nayla and took the dog’s body off her and placed it on the table, curious to know why Nayla had brought this particular dog inside. “Tell me what has happened.”
Andeline sat her sister down on the black PVC back seat of a car, which served as a sofa in the main room of their house.
Two of Nayla’s toddlers one of which was baby Harold came wandering up to the table and peered curiously at the dog’s body. It was still soft, having not had time to welcome rigamortis in to it’s flesh and sinews. As if to sense the seriousness of the atmosphere, they did not say a word and kept their hands to themselves despite the burning intrigue of a young child’s mind.
“I was going to the other side of the river,” Nayla sniffed. She looked down to her ever distended stomach and stroked it soothingly. Remembering that she was incubating another life helped her to snap back together and stop the crying. She took a deep breath. “Poor doggy.”
Another one of Nayla’s children Albert, who was seven years old came in, .he was brandishing a stick that he had been playing with outside . “What is this Samah?” He asked his mother. He poked the dog lightly on the tail to see if it would rise up and begin yapping.
“It is our dead dog, son.” She drew air through her teeth to let him know she was not happy that he had come in and interrupted her and Andeline. “I had to cross the log bridge to go and pick tapioca from the other side of the river.”
“The little bridge? That is so dangerous Nayla, you could have fallen and drowned is that what happened to the dog?!” Andeline vexed, thinking that the dog must have fallen into the river and drowned. The bridge was simply made up of some bamboo poles, not as study as some of the other bridges in the area which had the addition of ropes to hold on to, making it rather precarious.
“It is not dangerous!” Nayla rolled her eyes showing the cloudy whiteness to her sister and her aggravating conclusions. “The dog is not wet, see.” She pointed to the dogs warm dry body.
Albert gave the smooth brown fur a stroke to check that the dog was dry. He looked at his mother to hear the rest of the story.
“Well, if you will let me continue. I was about to walk across, the bridge. And I would have been just fine.” She added. “I have very good balance for someone who looks like a bloated coconut.” Nayla stood on one leg and held her arms out. “Look, see. Perfect.”
The two little children giggled at their mother. Albert leant in close and sniffed the dead dog, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Bidayuh people like to sniff everything as well as each other. They really are quite primitive in more ways than one.
Andeline lightly smacked the back of his head and gave him a stern loook.
“I was about to cross the bridge, but this stupid dog would not let me. Raff, raff. She barked at men. Raff, raff. ‘Get out of the way stupid dog’ - I said to her and gave her a little kick. But she would not move. The dog turned mad. Barking and snarling at me. I thought maybe she must be having the rabies. She is not a big dog, so I began to walk onto the bridge anyway. But of course with a crazy bitch dog barking and a snarling, it was a bit dangerous when your belly is the size of a Malay mosque. As I tried to get on the bridge. She bit me on the ankle. Look.” Nayla pulled up her sarong and showed tiny red teeth marks on her leg. “It was not a big bite. So I went to fetch a stick to hit her with. Crazy. I thought. I got the stick and held it to the dog, she didn’t cower, just carried on barking. Raff, raff, raff, rafff, raff!” She snapped at the two little ones, making them giggle.
Albert sat on the floor picking his nose and listening to his mother. Andeline hit him on the back of the head again. Slightly harder this time.
“So, why was she acting so crazy? Did she bark herself to death? Did you beat her with your stick? Why were you so sad, if she was a crazy bitch dog anyway?” Asked Andeline, completely puzzled.
“Well, I just thought I would try and walk passed her, I gave her a kick before she had a chance to bite me again. Next thing, she ran half way up the bridge and…. Raaaargh…” Nayla screamed, causing her four spectators to jump. “A great black cobra rose up from the grasses at the end of the bridge. The dog barked at it as fiercely as she could manage, she was clearly trying to protect me. But the evil snake just spat it’s venom, right into poor Sarah’s eyes. She was about a metre away too. Didn’t have a chance. It didn‘t seem too interested in eating Sarah, it just slithered away. Poor Sarah. Poor poor Sarah, she snivelled some more.”
“Oh, Nayla. That could have been you. What a wonderful dog, putting her own life before yours.” Andeline shook her head in amazement.
Albert stroked the dog, to let it know what a good little dog it had been. “Oh, Samah, she is a special doggy.” He said.
They all sat still, staring at the dog’s body on the table in contemplation.
A whirring of motorcycle from outside, lifted the silence. Paul came in and listened to the story in wonder.
“Wallow!” He looked at the dogs body too. Poking it lightly and sniffing it, just as Albert had done.
Albert, still smarting from the blow he had received to the back of his head looked to see if anyone would smack the back of Paul’s head but of course no one did.
Andeline lit a fire and put a pot of water on to boil to start cooking rice. “What shall we do with the dog?” She asked.
“We cannot cook her.” Said Nayla.
“No, I guess not.” Said Andeline.
“She is quite meaty though.” Said Paul.
“Bad semangat from the evil snake venom though,” said Nayla.
Hmm. They all nodded in agreement.
“Should we say a prayer?” Asked Albert. “Do dogs go to heaven?”
“This one will,” Nayla confirmed.
They all sat silently again, staring at the body on the table.
Harold arrived back from a walk up the mountain. Everyone gabbled to tell him the story. He half listened as he took his camera off from around his neck.
“You mean you are allowing a dead dog to lay on the table?” He exclaimed incredulously. “How revoltingly unhygienic.” He took the stick that Albert was still holding off him and poked the dog’s stiffening body onto the floor where it landed with a thwack.
“Harold, where is your respect? That dog saved Nayla’s life!” Andeline shouted at him.
“But dogs and tables do not mix, Andeline. Besides that dog is dead. It could make us all sick. Nayla prepares food on that table.” he explained, surprised that everyone was annoyed with him. He thought that he was doing them all a favour.
“What if the dog was going to be our dinner?” Paul teased.
“You people, really do not know an awful lot about hygiene do you?” Harold continued. “It is my job to teach you.”
“No it is not!” Shouuted Andeline. “Your job here right now is to be my husband. When you are working in the clinic with the fieldworkers, then it is your job to teach them how to be clean.” She picked the dog up and put it back on the table.
“Andeline, you shouldn’t pick it up without gloves on!” Harold chastised her.
Andeline growled at Harold. “Don’t talk to me like a child.” She picked up the pestle and mortar and flung them both at him in temper. The pestle missed but the mortar caught him on the shoulder.
“Ouch, you hit me!” Harold exclaimed. He didn’t quite know how to react.
“I was aiming for your stupid face!” Andeline spat. Then she picked up the pan of now boiling water up from the fire, her hand trembling with the weight of the water. She held it up to throw it at Harold, but Paul grabbed her arm with his strong hands and stopped her from losing complete control.
Harold was flabbergasted by this outburst. All the time he had known Andeline, he had known a sweet girl that everyone was bowled over by and here she was now acting schizophrenically as if she had been taken over by another person. He began to worry that marrying a wild woman of Borneo was perhaps the wrong thing to do. Oh, how his parents would be angry with him. He thought to himself. All they will do is say “I told you so.” Except they hadn’t even so much as done that. How could they have not even sent a telegram of good wishes. Or a letter of warning? It’s not as if Harold was trying to test them by marrying Andeline or rebelling against them by going against their wishes. But some word, any word, cross or delighted would do.
Harold had been preaching up at the high church and had been hob nobbing with the Bishop and other travelling missionaries. Despite the fact that that the colonial ruling had ended back in 1963, there were still ex-pats living in Sarawak, enjoying the weather and the low cost of living. They had big ex-pat chips on their shoulders though, as they still acted as if they were great white rajahs. In their minds they were kings and queens simply by believing that they were far more superior than the very people who owned the land. This had lead to a rather unfortunate and unnecessary conversation between Harold and the Very Reverend Stubbs.
“Harold, I am sorry to have to discuss such a delicate matter with you, but it is something that has come up amongst the ex-pat community and all those involved in the local parish that is operating in Kuching.” The Very Reverend Stubbs breathily told Harold as he joined him for tea one afternoon. How The Very Reverend Stubbs managed to maintain his obese figure in a country where there was nothing to eat but rice and vegetables was beyond Harold. But still, there he was, rotund and larger than life.
Harold stirred sugar into his black tea and waited for The Very Reverend Stubbs to carry on. This did not sound like it was going to be a pleasant conversation and Harold did not like conflict. He wondered what he had done wrong. His father was never so tactful when he was angry with him. He would always strike out first and then explain why afterwards. Quite often, Harold would receive a beating for something that he had no notion of, which goes some way to show why Harold was living a life of constant bewilderment, as he was constantly caught in that childhood purgatory of confusion.
Bang went the cane on his eleven year old hand. “You took a slice of bread without asking. There are crumbs all over the kitchen floor.”
“But it wasn’t…” bang went the cane on his hand again.
“Don’t answer back.”
And so Harold rarely answered back. In fact he never answered back. He wasn’t sure how to hold a conversation, or how to defend himself, or how to speak out when he felt that something was wrong. He had spent his life listening and observing, with a million thoughts and words in his head all fighting to come out, but never reaching the exit of his mouth. When the Very Reverend Stubbs slurped at his tea and told Harold quite carefully that the rest of the ex-pats and the Overseas Mission’s team were not too impressed by Harold’s choice of wife, Harold just nodded and agreed not to bring her to the forthcoming dinner.
“It’s not that I don’t like her, Harold old chap, she’s a lovely girl, lovely lovely girl, he said, almost slobbering, she’s just too… well, she’s just one of them… and you’re one of us, aren’t you? The other wives find her pretty little dresses a little. A little offensive. It‘s not very British is it? Maybe if she cut her hair and dressed a little more conservatively - made a little effort to fit in… I know she‘s a teacher and highly respected in her own circles, but still. You understand what I’m saying don‘t you Harold?”
“Um.” Harold looked at the floor. He didn’t understand. He was supposed to ask his wife to cut her hair? He loved her hair, it was beautiful and long and swishy and he liked to smooth his hands down it when she wore it in a ponytail and admire it’s glossiness. He liked the dresses that she wore, but then he did not mind what she wore as she looked perfectly wonderful in everything she wore to him. What he did know is that she would not take too kindly to being told to change. She was her own person and very strong headed. He did not realise just how strong headed she was until the pan of water incident though. Rather than actually tell Andeline what the Very Reverend Stubbs had said, he simply did not say anything and on the day of the dinner he did not turn up - nor did he tell Andeline that it was even taking place. That made everything a lot easier for both of them.
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