Kijana (31 page)

He handed me the piece of paper that carried her message. The words that stood out were Original Punans, Grandfather Kila, Rattan and Metun.

‘So does this mean a guy called Grandfather Kila is an original Punan?' I asked Josh.

‘As far as I could understand, two days ago Grandfather Kila left for a place called Metun to deliver raw rattan to some original Punans.'

‘How far away is Metun?'

‘I don't know,' Josh replied.

‘Then how do we get there?'

‘I didn't get that far. It was hard enough getting this.'

When the game of pool was over, we told Charlie, who translated Josh's discovery to Shian. She appeared totally uninterested in our search for Punans, to the point of being reluctant to help us. Maybe she didn't want her house guests to leave. Or was our information about Metun misleading and she knew it?

We pressed Charlie for information, but he was not the local expert. All he knew was that Metun was too far to walk and, besides, there was no track leading there. Grandfather Kila would have travelled by canoe.

Shian interrupted, wanting to know how we would eat if we went there. We explained that we had a camp stove and we would be all right.

That appeared to convince her that we were fair dinkum, for she suddenly became a bit more forthcoming with information. She told Charlie the name of a man who might take us in his canoe, but we'd have to pay him. Fuel for the long-tail engine was expensive and you could always expect to lose at least one propeller on long river trips.

We woke Beau to tell him the exciting news before following Charlie through the village until he found the canoe man, Elijah, down by the river. Charlie made the request on our behalf.

After negotiating a price, Elijah agreed to take us. However, the river was too low for a canoe to get to Metun. If there was sufficient rain that afternoon to raise the water level, we may be able to leave early the next day. If we encountered no problems, we might arrive before nightfall.

It was our biggest breakthrough since discovering the MAF, and re-ignited our hopes of discovering real Punans.

The daily downpour arrived that afternoon, as it had each afternoon we'd been in Suleh. But we knew that only a morning inspection would confirm whether we could leave for Metun.

That night we packed our bags, filling them with hope more than anything. After dinner Beau and Josh went to sleep, while I sat outside on my own for several hours, listening to the insects and watching the village lights turn off one by one. I was too excited to sleep.

As I sat, lost in thought about what lay ahead of us, a few dogs on the other side of the bridge began to howl for no apparent reason. Suddenly, every dog in the village joined in. After a few minutes of howling, the dogs went silent. Just as they did, I heard the door to our room open and I turned to see Beau come around the corner.

‘Can't sleep, hey?' I asked. ‘Did you hear the dogs?'

He sat with a bewildered look on his face and gave half a laugh.

‘Something really weird just happened.' I knew by the tone of his voice that something was troubling him. He continued. ‘I've been awake for about 15 minutes. I
was
asleep, kind of half-dreaming when I heard, or
thought
I heard a voice say to me “wake up”.'

As he spoke I remembered Charlie's story about ghosts spooking the local dogs, and felt the hairs on my back standing upright. Beau continued:

‘I opened my eyes to see stuff moving around the room – like shadows. You know, it's dark in there so it didn't look like anything I recognised; it looked like something was moving. Then I looked over at Josh. He looked like he was moving his arms around in the air in front of his body. I said, “Josh are you awake?” but he said nothing. I didn't know if my eyes were playing tricks or not so I waited probably five minutes, while the shapes kept moving. I called his name again louder, but he was asleep. Then the moving stopped and shortly after those dogs started howling.'

‘Shit,' I said, goose bumps now extending along my arms. ‘Were you scared?'

‘Not really. It was weird. But I swear someone told me to wake up, that's why I noticed it in the first place.'

He seemed at ease, which put me at ease. After he had a cigarette I followed him back to our room and set up my bedding. Before blowing out the candle, I went to my bag and pulled out the book by the Blair brothers. I scanned through the paragraphs I'd highlighted, which described the Punans:

The shyest, most jungle-wise of all the tribes, they wandered with
the migratory seasons of their game, hunting monkeys and flying
squirrels with poison blow darts, spearing pig and bear, making
instant shelters at night, and moving on at dawn; men, women
and children, scrambling fast and silently through primary forest
so dense that no other tribe could follow them . . .

I skipped ahead until I found what I was looking for.

They were thought of as a fey and ghostly people, barely human . . .

I couldn't explain it and Beau certainly couldn't. I blew out the candle, yet I was certainly not about to fall asleep. Maybe I was reading more into what had happened than it deserved. Nevertheless, I kept my eyes open and ears straining to hear the voice Beau heard. None came before I lost the battle and fell asleep.

I woke to the sound of Josh opening the camera cases and found myself scattered over three sleeping mats. Beau asked Josh if he'd been moving his arms in the air during the night. He had no idea what Beau was talking about. He hadn't even heard the dogs!

We repeated Beau's story of the night before.

‘Ah great!' Josh said in mock indignation, ‘I'm possessed.'

We wandered downstairs still laughing at Josh's reaction and said good morning to everyone. Shian handed us coffees and began to speak to us in a jumble of English and Indonesian words. Until then our communication had extended to ‘makan' meaning food. But this morning she seemed determined to ask us something. It required our three brains to work out what she was asking.

We slowly pieced together her words and were suddenly stunned when we realised what she was asking – ‘Did you hear the dogs last night?'

We looked at each other, and my goose bumps returned. Of all the things she chose to communicate with us, why would it be this? What did she know? Unfortunately, we never found out.

After breakfast, we dashed down to the river where we found Elijah preparing his canoe.

Through Charlie, Elijah advised that the river level was high enough for us to travel.

We rushed back to get our bags and say goodbye to Shian, confirming with her that Elijah would return to Metun in a week to pick us up. She gave us a hug and some of the locals gathered to wave us off.

We plonked our packs in the middle of the canoe and piled in around them. Elijah got in the front, armed with a paddle, while a boy named Ramblas, who could have been his son, started the long-tail engine. We were off in search of the Punans. Children waved from the bridge and adults raised their heads from their jobs to watch us leave.

My imagination was racing with images of what we would find in Metun. I was also conscious of the importance of what we were doing.

The cost of flying to this remote area of Borneo needed to pay off. We were setting out on an incredible adventure, something that would breathe new life into the journey of Kijana and get the office off my back. I was the happiest I'd been for a long while, for I felt we were on the verge of discovering something very important.

The canoe was a metre wide at its widest point, and about six metres long. Apart from our three packs the boat was fairly empty. A shotgun, parang, an aluminium pot and a small bag were all that our river guides had brought along.

Elijah kneeled at the bow, occasionally digging his paddle into the river to help the canoe along, or using it as a rudder to navigate the winding river. I was surprised at how fast the forest on either side of us passed by. We were travelling downstream and the current, combined with the engine, shot us along like an arrow.

Initially, we sat bolt upright, not daring to move in case disaster struck. If someone made a quick shift of position, one side of the narrow canoe would roll towards the water, threatening to capsize us. Even the smallest movement would be detected by Elijah, who'd shoot a glance at us as if to say, ‘Watch it. I felt that!'.

The river was alive with activity. Butterflies flashed in and out of sight as their wings caught the sunlight with each flutter. Crickets chirped in orchestras that came and went. Each bend in the river casually slipped by, revealing another scenic masterpiece. No stretch was ever the same. The river would swing violently left, then right, its banks separating into a vast expanse of water, then converging to form a narrow fast-flowing channel. The masterpiece was ever-changing, yet always original. I was spellbound and wanted it to go on forever. I glanced at Beau and Josh. They were lost in the same world.

No longer were we sitting to attention. Rather, we had slumped around the canoe, each a counterweight to the other. Josh's shoulder was wedged against the side of the canoe with his arm dangling above the water. His fingers intermittently broke the water's surface, like creepers dangling from a sweeping branch. Beau sat with his back against the opposite side, his head higher above the water and his weight compensating for Josh's outstretched arm. I sat in the middle, but slightly to Beau's side. I subtly shifted myself to the centre of the canoe, a smidgen closer to Josh's side. Without comment he pulled his arm back into the confines of the canoe to rebalance the vessel, while continuing to stare at the shore. We were like a finely-tuned machine – an orchestra of our own! Wow, I loved my crew.

We passed a tree teeming with monkeys, then shortly after came across a makeshift camp opposite an adjoining estuary. Surely this wasn't Metun already? It took a few minutes to realise Elijah had stopped for a break and to catch up with friends. I looked up the estuary. It was a lot narrower than the river, with bumps on the surface of the water indicating stones below shallow water. The main river continued flowing steadily ahead. I had no idea which way we would go.

From his bag Ramblas produced a cardboard box which contained neatly packed half-size bottles of whisky, which he handed over to the campsite residents. Was this a centre for smuggled goods, where shotgun shells and alcohol were traded out of the eye of the head honchos in town? Or was this some sort of bribe that allowed us to pass. I never asked, as I doubted anyone wanted to talk about it. Besides, I was happy not to know for it only added to the suspense of getting to our destination.

After 15 minutes it was time to climb back into the canoe and continue on our way. Ramblas started the engine and pushed us off. We turned and headed upstream into the estuary. This new river grew smaller with each kilometre. It was now a test of Elijah's and Ramblas's skills to negotiate their way.

We came to a section where the forest opened up. Across our path lay a huge fallen tree. Elijah made a desperate motion with the paddle for us to duck our heads as Ramblas aimed for a gap under the trunk. Like piano keys, we each ducked in turn, rising to look back and marvel at how we managed to squeeze through. As we did so, we felt an enormous jolt that nearly sent Ramblas overboard. An unbearable screeching sound indicated something was wrong. Ramblas quickly lifted the shaft from the water to reveal the propeller missing. Elijah paddled us to a beach of small rounded river stones to investigate. It was, as Shian had predicted, a busted propeller.

‘Broken,' I said.

Ramblas nodded and pulled a spare from his bag. Not only had we lost the propeller but the sheath covering the shaft had split, giving rise to all the noise.

Elijah and Ramblas got to work fixing the shaft. A length of bamboo was cut and some rattan vine was stripped to form a strong twine. The bamboo was placed on the shaft and the twine wrapped around it to keep it in place.

As Elijah and Ramblas worked, Beau stayed in the canoe, sucking on a cigarette, while Josh convinced me to go for a swim. We walked upstream and let the current drag our bums over the rocks. It reminded me of those Japanese torture shows you occasionally see on TV.

We got back to the canoe but the guys were still slowly shaping the bamboo. They didn't appear to be in a hurry to get it done, so I picked up a stick from the edge of the forest and started whacking small river stones towards Josh, who was still swimming. I'd throw a stone in front of me, then swing, making sure if I did hit him it wouldn't do too much damage. He quickly headed for shore, both for his safety and to have a crack as well. The closer he got to the bank, the more I missed and the faster I tried to hit them. Then one connected and went in the opposite direction. Josh laughed.

I kept swinging until gradually I got into a groove and started to hit every stone I threw.

‘Hey Josh,' I yelled at him, ‘Check this out!'

He covered his face expecting one to fly straight at him.

‘Nah, I'm not aiming for you any more.'

I swung with all my might, hoping to impress. It landed by my foot.

‘Wow, I didn't even see that one land,' he said sarcastically.

‘I was getting every one of them just before. See how many you can hit.'

I tossed him one of my selected stones. He took a stick and swung but missed.

‘It's all about timing, hey!' he said.

I focused and missed again. I thought back to what I'd been doing before and remembered I hadn't been thinking about hitting the stone, but rather, I was thinking about the result – the stone flying through the air. So I thought about hitting the branches on the other side and swung. A crack rang out that even turned Beau's head.

‘Cool,' I thought. Gayili was right. ‘Only think of what you are looking for,' she'd told us four months before in Arnhem Land. ‘What you think about will happen.'