Dangerous Waters (8 page)

Faintingly, she remembered reading about a Malayan crocodile that had killed grown men simply by fastening its jaws on the shoulder and whipping its tail round the body, to break the back. And this one was advancing, was no more than six feet from her legs; and Pete was a yard away on her other side, beyond the fire. She closed her eyes tightly, dug her nails into her palms and somehow kept perfe
c
tly still. She heard the dragging sound again, the great body coming near enough to be able to snap at her, and sweat ran in rivulets down her face and the whole of her body.

Then, suddenly, Pete moved. He snatched up the wet towel, grabbed the hot fire ashes and cast them straight at those horrible eyes. The next moment he had leapt across Terry and was slashing with the parang at the crocodile
’
s gullet. The tussle lasted no more than thirty seconds. The dead crocodile slipped sideways in the water, a scarlet stain spread and became muddy as the body sank. Pete dipped his hands to clean them, turned back swiftly and knelt beside Terry.

She had turned on her side, with her face pressed hard against her fists, and her limbs shook uncontrollably. He touched her shoulder.

“
It
’
s gone. Don
’
t let go, there
’
s a good girl.
”

But her nerve had snapped. She stayed there, trembling as if with a tropical chill. Pete got right down and lifted her, put both his arms round her and held her till she stopped shivering. She felt him, warm and vibrant and strong, smelled toilet soap and recalled, almost hysterically, that he had borrowed hers. And then, like a prolonged electric shock, came the realization that it was heaven to be held and protected in this frightening place
...
even by Pete Sternham.

She pushed half-heartedly away from him, said weakly,
“
I
’
m sorry. The last time I saw one of those it was in a zoo, and behind wire.
”

He said quietly,
“
You
’
ve nothing to apologize for. If I
’
d been able to warn you I
’
d have told you to do just what you did—
si
t tight and leave things to me. I daren
’
t try anything till it was near enough so that I could be fairly sure of hitting the eyes. The hide wouldn
’
t have felt the heat of those ashes, but the eyes are vulnerable
...
”

“
Please don
’
t talk about it,
”
she said tightly.
“I’m a
fraid I feel
...
sick.
”

“
Oh, no—that
’
s just revulsion. Lean back against me and be quiet for a minute. You were great.
”

“
I was simply too terrified to move.
”
She felt his hand on her shoulders, persuading her back against him and had just enough strength to resist it.
“
No,
”
she said, her voice still a bit scratchy with nerves.
“
I
’
ll be all right.
”

“
Don
’
t be an idiot
.
”
He sounded ste
rn
.
“
Just give in for a moment.
”

Because she couldn
’
t control them, her teeth snapped.
“
I don
’
t want your arm round me!
”

She felt his reflex action; an instantaneous withdrawal, both physical and mental. From the depths of her heart she wished she had submitted, if only for a minute. But it was too late. He got up and began to stow the tins they had used back into the canoe. She saw his profile as he bent to fold the groundsheet; it looked as it had been carved from teak. The single glimpse she had of his eyes showed them cold and jet-dark.

As Terry got back into her seat in the canoe she knew they had passed through a small crisis which had left behind something as delicate and disturbing as quick motion sensed out of the corner of the eye. Because the subtle complication was the very last thing she had expected upon the journey with Pete, it was almost shattering.

The sun disappeared into a haze above the swamps and for half an hour there was just a soft golden light. Then Pete looked up at a flight of birds, he took his binoculars from the rucksack and used them.

Expressionlessly, he said,
“
Those birds mean padi fields, and growing rice means a village. We
’
ll push on till we reach it.
”

On the stroke of six, it seemed, darkness fell. Pete kept on paddling, and within an hour the trees thickened and the river closed in. There were a few empty canoes drawn up among the tree roots, a houseb
o
at or two, dwellings on stilts and a narrow earth bank where a fire burned and women were preparing the inevitable rice and fish.

The tuan
’
s canoe was hailed with good-humored shouts, and a boy swam out excitedly to grasp the rope. They tied up and stepped ashore, Pete talked to one of the older men, showed his permit, and apparently addressed him with the brand of humor the Malay liked, for there was laughter among the bystanders, hands were waved towards the huddle of high dwellings among the meranti trees.

To Terry, Pete said impersonally,
“
This is the last village in Vinan. I
’
ve been offered a house for the night, and told them we
’
ll take it.
”

Without looking at him she asked,
“
Will it slow
you
down?
”

“
Bound to, but
i
t can
’
t be helped. You need a good night
’
s rest.
”

He was implying, of course, that her nerves needed the sedative of normal sleep. She ought to be grateful to him for trying to keep everything open and safe, but instead she merely felt miserable.

She went with him, following the man who had offered the house. It was the usual grass habitation of one room placed about seven feet above the hot soggy earth. Terry had not entered one before, but now she was incurious. She saw a low wooden bed covered neatly by a sarong in bright batik, an orderly row of pots and gourds and a grass mat. Over the doorway, just inside the room, hung a bunch of dried leaves and mosses which were intended to repel evil spirits.

Pete said,
“
I
’
ll get your case and some
cl
ean water. You
’
ll be all right here.
”

Actually, that was the last time he spoke to her that evening. The case and a pot of water arrived, and later on she was served with a surprisingly good omelette. These people knew nothing about omelettes and she guessed Pete had cooked it himself. She could have put questions about it in sign language to the shy young girl who brought the dish of food, but that might have started some sort of suspicion in the village. Here, they had to believe in the joint permit.

She applied some calomine lotion, wished she could undress and get into pyjamas. It grew noisy outside and she came into the doorway and watched a feast which was in progress down in the
cl
earing, about fifty yards away. There was a huge camp-fire with a pig roasting in the flames on a spit. There were pots of rice, yellow lumps of vegetable. The villagers were there in numbers, all wearing sarongs while the women also wore the baju, a tight Malay blouse. Their triangular faces gleamed in the firelight, they laughed and chattered, and one or two of them were encouraged to start the evening
’
s fun even before the feast. They danced and turned somersaults, wrestled and laughed at their own antics.

Pete sat there. She could see him talking with a venerable village elder and applauding the performers. Someone cut the roast pig and gave him a plateful of meat and a bowl
of rice. He ate it as they did, the meat with his fingers, the rice with some wooden implement. Except that when he stood he was half as tall again as most of them he might, in the firelight have been taken for some important member of the village just returned from civilization.

Dully, Terry turned back into the room and lay on the hard bed. He didn
’
t want her down there with him, probably found it a tremendous relief to know she was tucked away up here, out of his way. Not that Terry blamed him. However you looked at it, he had saved her life this afternoon and she had rewarded him meanly, by suspecting an ordinary friendly gesture. Since then she hadn
’
t been able to meet his glance.

The noise outside stopped early; Pete
’
s doing, she supposed. She waited, her heart somewhere up near her throat, for him to come into the hut and spread a blanket on the floor. But an hour passed, two hours, and the only sounds were the occasional yapping of the small Malayan dogs, the eternal singing of cicadas and the usual creaking in the walls and the roof of banana leaves. So he had decided not to come into the hut; no doubt it felt good to be free of her for a few hours. Was he sleeping, or perhaps lounging in the already familiar attitude and thinking of the fair woman named Astrid, to whom he was bringing gifts?

Terry tossed uneasily. She didn
’
t want to think of Pete as a person, still less as a man. And she certainly didn
’
t want to think about his blonde friend. Neither of them really had anything to do with Terry Fremont.

She had slept for about an hour when the rain roused her. Tumbling, cannonading rain which sounded as if it would never cease. It kept her awake till the thick grey dawn, when she looked out upon a deserted lake which stole up the stilts of the house and threatened to submerge everything that grew less than three feet from the ground.

CHAPTER
THREE

THE Malays in that last village in Vinan territory could not have been more charming. When, at about noon, the rain stopped, they waded out and exchanged cheerful greetings with each other, hung their grass mats on the dripping branches and swept their rooms clear of mud and debris beaten down from the roofs. When Pete came to Terry
’
s hut he told her they had apologized to him for the rain and begged him to stay on till the waters lowered. After he had regretfully refused, they had insisted that he accept pieces of roast meat and a gourd of cooked rice, bunches of bananas and a grass bag full of mangosteens.

“
We
’
ve enough food to last us the rest of the trip, without cooking anything more,
”
he said.
“
That means we
’
ll be able to keep moving.
”
Then, offhandedly,
“
Did you sleep well?
”

“
Yes, thank you. What about our goods in the canoe? Are they wet?
”

“
I wrapped the plastic tent round them, but they won
’
t have escaped entirely. The wet gets into everything. Oh, by the way,
”
with cool emphasis,
“
they
’
ll make gifts as you go down to the canoe. They want to show they regard our staying with them as an honor.
”

“
Do I have to do anything in return?
”

“
Only smile,
”
he said laconically.
“
Just to demonstrate how lucky you consider yourself in being my wife.
”

For a moment, then, she badly wanted to apologize for her behavior of yesterday afternoon. But he was cool and distant, his smile was a blend of distaste and cynicism, and she couldn
’
t risk a further rebuff.

“
Then we
’
ll leave at once.
”

She said,
“
I
’
m ready when you are.
”

From plump, giggling girls, Terry received squares of batik, a necklace of orange-colored beans, a beautifully woven grass dish. At the water
’
s edge stood the old man with whom Pete had sat last night. In each hand he held a split bamboo which contained pink-looking rice grains swimming in coconut milk. His slit-like eyes disappeared in a wrinkled brown smile, and he bowed as he handed one bamboo to Pete and the other to Terry. Pete took down the mixture in one swallow. Terry hesitated, and managed it in three. The stuff was cloyingly sweet and tasted slightly alcoholic.

The old man said,
“
Tuan, we hope to see you here again, with your mem. Remember what I have told you about swift waters in the narrow of the river.
”

“
I
’
ll remember,
”
Pete said, shaking the leathery old hand.
“
And I
’
ll be back to see you again, old man. Tabek.
”

“
Tabek, tuan. Tabek, mem.
”

The canoe must have been upturned for the night; it was wet, but held no water. Terry tucked her gifts under the plastic cover and sat down, the rope was dropped into the canoe and half a dozen eager boys pushed the heavy little craft out into midstream. There were shouts and more laughter, Pete raised a hand and began to use one of the paddles. Forest swallowed the village and its sounds. They moved along the thick muddy river and the smell of it overpowered every other odor. The sky was a heavy grey as they arrowed into a sudden blanket of mist. Why was mist always blue among these trees? Terry wondered.

She felt clammy and unrefreshed. The dress she had put on was an oldish flowered one that she had packed when bright with hope that she would be able to help Annette in the preparations for the wedding. Now she would be too late to help very much, even if the rash at her waist didn
’
t develop into anything serious. In spite of the calomine, it burned and smarted, and this morning she had noticed pinpoints of blood in the red welts. She wished she had some antiseptic cream, but Pete hadn
’
t listed it among his first-aid kit.

Now he was unapproachable. Not angry, she thought, not in the least. He was too indifferent towards her to be anything so positive. He had simply realized, very clearly, that she was young and easily scared and that his only obligation was to get her to Penghu as soon as possible. It seemed that he didn
’
t even need someone to speak to. So long as she sat looking fairly comfortable he was apparently uninterested in what she thought of the changing river banks.