The Plantation (19 page)

‘I wish I could visit their plantation again. You know, you can’t help but see palm oil estates everywhere you go, but most of the big companies are very protective, in fact almost secretive, about what they’re doing. They’re not tourist stops, that’s for sure.’

‘You sound critical,’ said Julie.

‘Julie, palm oil is such a contentious subject. There’s so much of it in our food. Do you know that you ate about ten kilos of palm oil last year and you probably weren’t even aware because often it’s not labelled? Not just that, palm oil plantations are causing havoc for the wildlife and forests. While Utopia is trying to be a modern, sustainable plantation, it’s still in a business that causes deforestation, which destroys animal habitat. It’s not just the big mammals that are becoming rarer, but because palm oil is a monoculture, the plantations don’t provide enough variety of foods for the smaller wildlife, like birds and insects, and they are disappearing fast, too. Many plantations have displaced the indigenous population, and the rapid expansion of them is frequently related to government corruption.’

Julie stared at David in astonishment. ‘Is this what your work, your research, entails?’

‘It’s part of it. I am trying to find out as much as I can about the indigenous tribes, like the Iban, before their traditional lifestyle is gone for good. It’s not just tigers and orangutans that are losing their habitat and dying out. It’s people as well.’

‘I thought there were sanctuaries for the orangutans,’ said Julie. She didn’t quite know what to think about David’s passionate outburst. And she was surprised at her own, suddenly defensive, feelings about Utopia because it was part of her family history and heritage.

David must have sensed her shift in mood. ‘Look, I suppose the plantations that moved from rubber to palm oil aren’t as bad as those where old-growth forests are being cut down to establish palm oil plantations, because the damage to the natural vegetation has already been done. And you’re right, there are places on the island of Borneo that provide sanctuary, whereby if the mother orangutans are killed, the babies, if they have been lucky enough to be found, can go to a care centre. But there’s little chance of them ever being released back into the wild because of the lack of safe habitats.’

‘That’s sad,’ said Julie. ‘I’d like to go and see some orangutans.’

‘That’s easy to organise,’ said David. ‘Now, what are you going to order?’

Julie’s parents took her to Brisbane airport.

Caroline hugged her. ‘Darling, just have fun. I hope you enjoy your cousins but remember, they lead a very different life from you.’

‘Yes, that’s true. I just feel a need to know more about our relatives in Malaysia. And it would be good if they can tell me something about Gran and Bette. Aren’t you curious?’ asked Julie.

‘Not enough to go to Malaysia, at present,’ said her father. ‘But we’ll love to hear what you find out. Just keep safe and don’t take any risks.’

‘Oh, Dad, I’ll be fine. Oh, gosh, we’re boarding. I’ll send you a text message the minute I land. Love you.’ She kissed her parents quickly and went through the security gates.

The hotel where Julie was staying had arranged a car to collect her and she was swept away from the tourist throngs at the airport feeling a bit like royalty. It was a long drive to the hotel and she was amazed at the newly built, multi-lane highway, the smooth traffic flow, and the highrises and housing developments they passed on the way.

Kuala Lumpur seemed to be full of new apartment complexes, shopping malls, grand hotels and skyscraper office blocks. Occasionally, she glimpsed colourful old areas of shophouses, markets and food stalls still surviving in between the modern glass and steel. Without these reminders Julie felt she could have been in any modern city in the world.

Early in the evening the hotel desk clerk directed her to a block of restaurants specialising in international cuisine. She chose an Indian one, enticed by its smells and the fact that it was not dissimilar to one close to her home in Brisbane.

The following morning she rang Utopia and spoke to Peter who was charming and polite.

‘Welcome. We are looking forward to meeting you. We shall come to Kuala Lumpur tomorrow and pick you up. Does that suit you?’

‘Of course. If it’s not too much trouble. I’m looking forward to getting out of this big city and seeing something of the country.’

‘We will certainly do our best to show you our part of Malaysia. See you at nine tomorrow morning at your hotel.’

Julie set out to explore the area around her hotel and found that she was in a very exclusive and expensive shopping area. Shopping complexes flaunted top international designer names and Julie visited one plush mall that had two floors devoted to nothing but designer watches, each costing thousands of dollars. Liveried doormen, thick carpets, chandeliers, art on the walls, perfumed air, banks of orchids and live music made the expensive atmosphere quite different from what she was used to at her local mall.

Then she discovered the food hall in the basement and took photographs for her mother. There were leather lounges, mirrors, fresh flowers, plump sofas and table settings covered with linen and silver. Smartly dressed staff were ready to bring food and drink orders. Customers could choose from a dimly lit cocktail bar, a replica Japanese tea house with beautiful waitresses in kimonos, an Indian restaurant with a tall Sikh doorman in a red uniform with gold braid, a Swiss chalet and a Chinese garden restaurant.

Julie decided to eat at the Noodle House, which appeared to be comparatively inexpensive. Sitting up to a long bar where she could watch the strolling shoppers and people relaxing and socialising, she felt that she was in a sort of club. Later in the afternoon she took a tourist map and explored other parts of the city until she was too tired to walk another step. She took a taxi back to the hotel feeling on overload from the astounding sights of a city going skywards at an amazing rate.

It occurred to Julie that she had no idea what her cousins looked like but as she stood in the lobby with her bag at her feet she spotted Shane and Peter the minute they came through the revolving door. The two brothers were both slim with dark-brown hair. One had a slight curl, the other’s straight hair flopped into his eyes. Both wore white, short-sleeved, open-collared shirts tucked into smart well-cut slacks. Even at a distance Julie could see that their leather shoes and belts were expensive.

Seeing her standing there, they broke into smiles and came to her, hands outstretched. ‘Julie?’

She wished she had dressed up a little more and not just worn her white cotton jeans and loose shirt. ‘That’s me. So who is cousin Shane and who is Peter?’

‘I am Shane.’ The curly haired, slightly older brother shook her hand. ‘And this is Peter. The baby. He’s two years younger.’

‘I’ll ignore that comment,’ said Peter. ‘We are so happy to meet you. We hardly know our Australian side of the family, so this is wonderful.’

‘Is this your bag?’ Shane nodded to one of the porters and waved towards the door. ‘Our car is here. It is a bit of a drive to Utopia, but you’ll find it interesting. And we can catch up on each other’s news, yes?’

Julie thought she detected a faint accent more European than English. The cousins seemed, like their email correspondence, to be formal, polite and correct.

When she stepped outside she was a bit stunned to see a sleek new silver Jaguar waiting at the entrance. An Indian driver was putting her bag in the boot, as the hotel concierge held the back car door open for her. Julie got in and sank into the soft, new-smelling, dove leather. Peter sat beside Julie and Shane got in beside the driver.

‘This is Ramdin. He’s been with the family a long time. His grandfather, Hamid, drove great grandfather Eugene,’ said Shane. Ramdin turned and flashed Julie a wide smile.

On the three-hour drive north, the Elliott brothers told Julie about Utopia, and how they were trying to move it forward into new business practices. They said that they were part of an international group dedicated to raising the standard of plantation operations to make them more sustainable and environmentally safer, at the same time making them more productive and setting sections of natural habitat aside for wildlife protection.

‘We have a larger community of workers than they did in my father and grandfather’s day,’ said Shane. ‘And like us, several generations have grown up on the plantation so the trees, the workers and our family are all intertwined.’

‘It’s probably better if you wait till we show you around before we try to explain how it all works,’ said Peter. ‘There is quite a lot to Utopia and its subsidiaries. We have taken the company in a slightly new direction, increasing our yield with new research and development, so it’s a lot more scientific than in our father’s day,’ he added.

‘I know very little about Uncle Philip, your father,’ said Julie. ‘I suppose that’s because he was brought up here while my mother lived in Australia.’

‘Our father spoke a little about his sister in Australia,’ said Peter. ‘We were told there had been a falling out between our grandparents. I suppose, being a boy, our father was expected to stay here and learn the family business.’

‘I believe it was the war,’ said Shane. ‘It disrupted many lives. Very sad.’

‘It would be interesting to know the whole story,’ said Julie. ‘Do you know anything about our Great Aunt Bette?’

‘As we said in the letter, we know only a little. We were surprised when Dr Cooper contacted us. We didn’t know about her exploits in Borneo until he told us. But if you want to know more about your grandfather, you could read his war memoirs,’ said Peter.

‘That sounds interesting,’ said Julie.

‘I suppose it is, if you’re interested in his war exploits,’ said Shane.

‘And your parents? My mother said there was an accident?’

‘Tragically, yes. They were both killed out here in a car accident about fifteen years ago,’ said Peter.

‘So you both grew up here? Did you go away to school like our grandfather Roland and your father?’ asked Julie.

‘We were educated in England and in France at the Sorbonne. I did a special horticulture course in Holland,’ said Peter. ‘Shane spent more time in France – it’s where he met his wife, Martine,’ he added with a smile.

‘And she is living at Utopia?’ asked Julie.

‘Yes. But at the moment she’s in England visiting our children and then she’s in France to see her family, but she’ll be home fairly soon,’ said Shane.

‘And you, are you married, Peter?’ asked Julie.

‘No. But I have a girlfriend in Holland,’ he answered. ‘I would like her to come here but she finds it a bit … far away from Europe. And she has a very good job in marketing and promotions.’

‘Really! That’s my field,’ said Julie.

‘Ah ha. Then you know how driven she is and how she works in something of a pressure cooker,’ said Peter.

They sped down a broad motorway. Julie was staggered at the endless stretches of neat and regimented acres of palm oil plantations marching from the edge of the freeway across the countryside and into distant hills.

They stopped in a large township which, for the first time, gave Julie a sense of the exotic with its bustling small businesses, restaurants, car repair places, stalls and markets. Ramdin parked the car at the back of a small supermarket and stayed with it, leaning against the driver’s door, smoking a cigarette. Shane and Peter took Julie into a small restaurant. Out the back were clean toilets, including a western toilet, which she was pleased to see. The squat-style hole on a small, raised, tiled platform looked incredibly uncomfortable to her. Julie then joined the brothers and they all sat at an outdoor table where Shane suggested that Julie try the murtabak.

‘It’s like a stuffed hamburger, very delicious. Pour some curry sauce over the top,’ said Shane.

‘We were thinking that on the way to Utopia, we’d stop and show you one of the places first built by our great grandfather Eugene,’ said Peter.

‘Wonderful. What is it?’ asked Julie.

‘It’s a small place on one of the original estates,’ said Shane. ‘It’s not used any more, though we sometimes have informal board meetings up there.’

‘It was used during the Emergency by some of the British as a clandestine meeting place,’ said Peter.

‘Really. I’m afraid I’m a bit vague about Malaysian history,’ admitted Julie.

‘We’ll let things unfold rather than give you a potted history,’ said Shane. ‘Shall we go? Ramdin has cold bottled water in the car if you need it.’

The car eventually turned off the highway onto a trunk road that wound upwards through thick forest until it turned onto a small local road where palm oil plantations covered the hills as far as the eye could see.

They drove through an entrance marked by two large trees, across a grassy knoll and stopped under tall pine trees. Stretching into the distance was a spectacular view over the plantation, patches of jungle in the distance. At this high point, at the very edge of the knoll, sat a heavy wooden seat facing the stunning vista.

Further back stood a tiny white church, its roof of faded red tiles, a well-tended garden in front, bordering the white gravel path to its door.

‘What a sweet little church!’ exclaimed Julie. ‘Is it still used?’