Chapter 9. Mighty Warriors

It has been may months since I published a new chapter.  There are still only fourteen chapters written for this novel.  I will publish more before too long.

Since I last wrote on here, I have been busy running the markets and being a single Mummy, the writing of my poor novel has taken even more of a back seat.  But hey.  That's life isn't it?  Always getting in the way!

Picture taken from latest photo shoot with Hamilton Studios

If this is the first time that you have started reading this blog - I suggest you go back to the beginning and start reading from  chapter one. You can find the first chapter by clicking here.

Chapter 9. Mighty Warriors

“Quiet now Mr Doctor Man. The wild beasts are not your patients. They have no respect for you here.” Paul crept through the thick of the undergrowth, his rifle held over his shoulder. He knew that the chances of catching or shooting anything on the hunt that day was highly unlikely with his clumsy English companion on the team.

Harold’s hands trembled as he tried to keep up with Paul and his brothers. His palms were slimy from perspiration so that the rifle he was carrying kept slipping from his grip. Everywhere that Harold normally trod, people parted and looked at him in wonder as if he were Jesus on a mountain, robed and ready to spread goodness and healing to anyone who even so much as looked at him. Here Harold was The Great-I-Am more so than he had ever been back in Blighty. He was treated with the same respect that the “Great White Rajah’s” the white Christians who had trodden before him on the path of virtuousness and enlightenment for the people of Borneo had been treated.

Endal was hunting with them too, but in true Endal style, he was carrying a spear and a blow pipe to hunt with. He used his gun round his farmland whenever it took his fancy, so for this expedition to be a challenge, he needed to do things the traditional way. His spear was sharper than the wittiest of minds and his blow pipe was packed with paralysing poison collected from the Upas Tree. The Bidayuh do not traditionally use blow pipes, but Endal had traded with a member of the Penan tribe who had shown him how to make and use his own blow pipe.

 Endal was carefully dressed in an unassuming brown t-shirt and his favourite loin cloth. He nimbly ran through the trees and vegetation in his bare feet with all the excitement of a young child set free in an amusement park.

Bevis, Paul’s youngest brother patted Harold on the shoulder as he walked passed him to join Endal. He was much taller than Paul and almost as tall as Harold. Standing at around five foot seven, he looked quite unusual for a Bidayuh. “Don’t be scared Mr Doctor Harold,” he said. Trying to calm Harold down. “The animals will sense your fear and you will be come their dinner instead!”

Paul chuckled out loud and patted Harold on the shoulder too.

“I only teasing you, Hairy old Mr Doctor man!” Bevis laughed and gave Harold the same twinkly eyed warm hearted look that Paul had. Bevis, unlike his older brother, had not found himself a wife yet. He was intelligent but uneducated and preferred to work out in the fields. His skin was as brown as the mesocarp of a coconut from spending long days in the padi fields. He was a good looking young man with smooth skin and even features but girls were turned off by his darkness. No modern Bidayuh girl wanted to date a field worker they were keen to find their way out of the Kampong and live like a rock and roll star. In direct contrast to Bevis like to opposing teams in a game of chess, the women were quite literally throwing themselves at Harold.

“Doctor Harold,” tee hee hee… “Would you check my heartbeat?” Tee hee hee…

But fortunately for he and Andeline, he was much too honourable and in love to act upon it and Andline had strong enough self esteem to not be phased by the behaviour of other women to her husband.

Harold could certainly tell that Paul and Bevis brothers were brothers. He smiled at their family mannerism resemblance. He wished that he had a brother. He had nothing in common with his sisters. And so much for his own parents - they had clearly disowned him. It had been six weeks since he wrote to them inviting them to his wedding. He knew it was short notice - but that was what he wanted to do. Plus, he felt he ought to marry Andeline before she changed her sweet mind. And now he and Andeline had been married for three weeks and still not so much as a, “Don‘t bother coming back son!”

Harold had already made up his mind that he would not do any shooting and would simply stick to keeping up with everyone else. Paul’s brothers ran on ahead with Endal. Harold trudged along. He loved Paul dearly - he was like the brother he never had - but this was not his idea of fun. In fact Harold was not sure what his idea of fun actually was. But anything was better than staying in the village for yet another weekend as Andeline sat doing very little but chat chat chatting with her sisters, which was truly boring for Harold. He was quite good at understanding the language, but every time he attempted to talk back in Bidayuh, everyone dissolved into fits of giggles which rocked his confidence and left him practically mute. He sighed as he dodged in and out of the tree roots, he remembered his first entrance into Sarawak with Topa and Kasan. It was not unlike this jungle trek, only he felt a bit more comfortable this time. He knew where he was going, well kind of and who he was with, well sort of. He wondered how his sisters were and his Mother and Father. He could well imagine his father striding proudly through the trees, gun held high, ready to bang the brains out of the first moving thing that came his way.

Even though the other three men had disappeared, Paul kindly hung back with Harold. He had a heart of gold, and he loved his English brother-in-law as though he were his own brother too. Paul held onto Harold, who was ungainly unsteady on his feet.

The jungle seemed to be closing in on Harold. The fact that they were having to be silent added to the eeriness. Even though Harold had been in the rainforest many times now, the sheer magnitude of the oxygen rich air never ceased to amaze and take him over. There were creatures, plants and trees living and multiplying all around him. Plants within trees, insects in plants, flowers and animals living and passing on by so rapidly that the forest was in a constant state of birth, death and rebirth. The sheer buzz of the intensity of the being inside the rain forest was filling Harold with both excitement and fear at the same time. While the other men who were fully adept to the realms of the rainforest by the very genetics that were flowing through their own living chemistry were simply energised and excited by being there.

Their purpose that day was not for food but for sport. The land they were treading on was so unique that there were species surrounding them who faced extinction were they hunted much more, but they did not know that. They were given that land and so they made use of it.

A rotting smell of putrid flesh began to waft under the noses of the two men.

“Ugh,” Harold covered his nose up with his handkerchief. “Something must have died nearby.”

“Oh, wallow.” Whispered Paul. Pausing. “Look here, a Rafflesia.”

“A rafflesia where?” Gasped Harold. He had waited years to see a rafflesia plant. The rafflesia also known as the corpse plant because of it’s vile smell was the cause of the nauseating stink.

Sure enough Harold looked on the ground a few metres away to where Paul was pointing and saw the splendid red flower with white speckles, one metre in diameter large as life looking bizarre and hugely out of place in amongst the other greenery in the area with it‘s three dimensional cartoon like proportions.

“Oh my goodness.” Said Harold snapping away with his camera with glee.

“Sssh, you will scare all the beasties away. Endal will get mad if he sees you flashing away, my doctor brother.”

“Ah, but I simply have to,” said Harold. “I hunted the whole of Bako National Park for this sight and found nothing. And here it is a whopping great huge one. Just sitting there waiting for me on this journey. Would you take my picture with it?” Harold handed Paul the camera.

Harold took a couple of pictures of Paul. “Aw, you take picture of me?” Asked Paul, changing his mind about the stealthy silence he had been trying to promote. Paul lay on his side, resting his head on his hand - posing like a Roman god. “This will only flower for a short while and then it will be long long time before you see it again. Very good ha? Borneo special place.”

“Indeed it is Paul. A very special place.” Harold stroked the rafflesia and discovered it had tough old petals and was more like a flower shaped fungus. He imagined it would make a perfect home for fairies. “Paul, thank you for stopping Andeline from throwing that pan of water over me the other day.”

Paul looked surprised. “I was not protecting you. My children were in the room. Very dangerous to be picking up and throwing hot water pan. I am good at catching them.” He winked. “Nayla is just the same. You will learn. You will see it coming next time. The words they become louder and the eyes become more angry and just when they are rolling so you can only see the milky whites - then that is when they are ready to throw. That is when you must be leaving or saying how sorry you are. Mr Doctor Harold my brother in law friend. ”

You will learn? You will see it coming next time? Next time? Harold didn’t want there to be a next time. Before long, he could be a black smoked out skull hanging over the fire in the great ceremony room. Harold shuddered. He could just see Andeline cackling like a wild old witchy woman wailing kronchong at the top of her voice and rubbing her hands in happiness at the sight of his disembodied head. 

Oh dear. Oh dear. He loved his little Andeline with her sweet pretty face. But he was not sure that he could cope with a fiery temper for the rest of his married days. He wondered if his father was right. He had written to Ernst about how he was getting on and all the wonderful people he had met. He had written about Andeline and how beautiful and intelligent she was. How he had fallen in love. How she was from the Dayak tribe, but she was Westernised as she had become a teacher. And how for the first time in his life he had found someone who truly loved him back. He knew he was treading on dangerous territories as he had always suspected his father to be something of a racist. But the response he got knocked him for six. Actually, no. Double that.  It knocked him for twelve and then twenty-four, followed by a whopping forty-eight, a slap in the face and a veritable kick in the teeth.

Heap Cottage

Rydal Road
Ambleside
Cumbria
LA22 9BA
England
United Kingdom

12th February 1967

Dearest Harold,

I am so pleased to hear that you are continuing to do well on your mission. I hope that the good run may continue. I am especially pleased that you are preaching with the bishop and making good contacts with the other ex-pats.

Your mother and I are very well. She has been busy planting seeds in the green house, ready for our summer vegetables. I am looking forward to the runner beans. There is nothing quite like their sweet tastiness before they overgrow and become tough and stringy. Much like myself.

Joking aside. Harold. I am most concerned for your state of mind. I know you are not the brightest shilling in the pile dear son. But what are you thinking? I cannot believe that you have become involved with a native girl. A native girl from the jungle! It is just not a good thing. She is not one of us. From what I can gather, these people are easily lead. No offence my dear boy, but the missionaries have been heading over to the Far East for years attempting to convert savage tribes to Christianity and they lap it up. Particularly the tribes in Borneo. They lap it up like a cat with a saucer of cream. They have weak minds. I do not mean to make light of the work you are doing, but you are actually only preying on their feeble mindedness as far as I can see, which is why they are so easy to convert from their spirit world beliefs into Christianity.

Your mother and I hope that it is merely a holiday romance. You really should not be dabbling around with silly flings at your age dear Harold. You should be settling down and having children, Heaven knows your sister never will, but I have more faith in you. The jungles of Borneo are not the place to be finding yourself a respectable wife. You need to find a strong beautiful intelligent woman yes. But she must carry the right genes to make excellent children with, like your mother.

 I am sure you understand. I dearly hope you take heed of my words son. You are our only son and we need you to carry the good name of our family onwards into another generation. Heaven forbid if you do have a child with this savage woman. It could be very wrong indeed, it could be disabled or even more weak minded than you are. I jest now. I am sorry.

Your mother sends her love.

Write soon.

Best Wishes,

Father

　

　

He had known he was going to marry Andeline for a long time. But he was afraid to tell his parents, which is why he had left it so last minute to tell them and to make matters worse he had chosen to use the cowardly “telegram” option as opposed to the brave and direct “telephone” call option. Oh dear, oh dear.

“You look sad Harold. Don’t be sad. Andeline is a fine woman. The finest of the fine. Every man would like to have her for a wife.” Paul stood up from his spot on the ground next to the rafflesia. He brushed his trousers down, put his fingers to his lips and pulled Harold in close to him. He cocked his head as deftly as a lioness listening to it’s prey in the wind.

Harold tried hard to hear what Paul was hearing. He cocked his head in the same manner as Paul to see if he could hear better - but it appeared to make very little difference. “What is it?” He whispered as quietly as he could but his letter  tees came out over pronounced and shot into the air like a misfire.

Paul pointed into the trees which looked the same in every direction. He got his rifle ready and ducked behind a large fern. He motioned to Harold to pull the leaves back for him so he could see better.

“What can you see?” Asked Harold as he duly obliged with the holding of the fern leaf duties.

“It’s not what can I see, it’s what can I hear.” Paul un-clicked the safety latch on his rifle. “There is something coming towards us. It is moving quite slowly. It could be wild boar.”

A wild bore indeed thought Harold. He could be at home playing chess with himself, or listening to Andeline chat to Nayla - then on the other hand. “Are you going to make sure before your shoot?”

“No,” laughed Paul. “Shoot first - or not at all, Mr Doctor novice man.”

Harold didn’t like the sound the guns made when they fired - they were just so loud, they went through him as though they had the found their way into his own torso, whether they were the guns that had been fired for the start of a race or guns that were aiming for a clay pigeon on a firing range, sometimes even the guns on a Western at the pictures would leave him  gasping for air, Harold just couldn’t handle them. The echo of the bang would ricochet through his chest pinging around his head so that he felt his brain was going to explode. 

He was so easily overwhelmed, but that was Harold. That was how the world treated him. A sensitive man with a sensitive soul. Cotton sheets were too scratchy if they weren‘t of the finest thread count, to Harold they felt like he was lying on sheets made of tough old horse hair. Modern rock and roll music - too loud, the bass would thump against his chest like an axe murderer trying to break his door down. Ladies perfume would get into his nostrils and leave him feeling nauseous as he became overwhelmed by the smell. Poor Harold. The twentieth century world of Europe and all that it had to offer was not the right time for a man like Harold, while the laid back colonial lifestyle that smacked of a bygone era suited him to a tee. Anything was fair game for the rich ex-pats who would go hunting for wild lions tigers and rhinos within the gaming reserves in India and Africa. Fortunately the rain forests and their oxygen rich diversity was left to the tribes of Amazonians and Borneans to treat it with the respect it deserved.

Harold put his fingers in his ears in anticipation of the loud bang that was coming, letting go of the fern which pinged back into Paul’s face. Paul fired the gun as he jumped at the pinging fern and his finger automatically squeezed the trigger. BANG!