Indonesian Gold. Kerry B Collison

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ had emerged and assumed leadership over the village community, with the exception of the occasional, isolated incident that inevitably arose because of territorial or intertribal disputes, headhunting had become a thing of the past; the stories cherished and passed down from father to son. The Penehing, Modang and other Dayak groups had been absorbed into the greater Republic of Indonesia, with many of their number accepting Christianity or the Kaharingan beliefs. And, without exception, Jonathan Dau’s community, all professed.

      The shaman recalled a time when the presence of a European attracted great curiosity along the Mahakam’s upper reaches. The first to come were the fair haired Dutch explorers followed by missionaries, but their mark had not been felt until the delta communities commenced trading further upstream, bringing Western religions and cultures to the untamed hinterland. For centuries, accounts of cannibalism carried back to civilization discouraged visitors, leaving the greater part of plateau-dwelling communities without any real change until the quest for gold drove the more adventurous deeper into the mountains. When the Japanese occupied Borneo, even they had hesitated in venturing too far into the wild jungle and, of those who did, some remained for decades after the war had come to a close, without realizing that hostilities had ceased.

      But now, Jonathan’s people, their land and culture were under threat with an increase of mining activity over recent years, the impact upon the downstream-Dayaks, devastating. His concerns had grown with reports of wild game, fish and, occasionally, humans dying from pollution associated with the foreign controlled, mining operations throughout East, Central and Southern Kalimantan. Recently, he had traveled downstream and witnessed the devastation brought to one community, where the streams were severely polluted with mercury, the water fouled forever as a result of unsupervised gold extraction.

      Jonathan firmly believed that if the Dayak communities failed to form a common front to combat the spread of migrant settlements, then it would soon be too late, and they would be overrun by Madurese and Javanese settlers.

      ****

      Angela Dau fought back the tears as she pulled away from her father, his powerful hands holding her firmly by the shoulders. ‘Thank you again, Papa,’ was all that was left to muster. The orang-utan at her feet knew, instinctively, that she was about to be abandoned, and wrapped her disproportionate arms around Angela’s thighs.

      Jonathan shook her gently. ‘If your mother could only see you now…’

      ‘But, she can, Papa, she can.’ Stoically, Angela suppressed the threatening tide of tears.

      ‘Goodbye, ‘Gela.’ Everyone from the Longhouse had gathered to farewell the chief’s daughter. A chorus of children now spilled from the raised, wooden verandah overlooking the village jetty and called her name. Angela had left many times before, but that was only for schooling downriver in Samarinda. Now, she would be gone for an extended spell – and, to live amongst the Javanese.

      For the women of this village, Angela’s success represented a major breakthrough, providing hope for others who wished to further their educations. Angela’s scholarship had been awarded based on political considerations, yet none harbored animosity in any form towards the intelligent, attractive young woman whose achievements were proudly perceived as a reflection on the entire female community. They expected that Angela Dau would be the first of their number to achieve a degree.

      ‘Send us photos,‘Gela!’ one teenager pleaded, then shrieked, turning to pinch her friend alongside for pushing.

      ‘Write, and tell us about the boys,’ another called, deliberately teasing the adolescent lads who idolized Angela.

      ‘Don’t fall in love over there!’ This, from one of her many admirers amongst the young village men, the hint of sarcasm lost in the moment. Angela looked up into her father’s misty eyes.

      ‘When we have re-installed the radio, you will be able to send messages via the provincial affairs office, in Samarinda,’ Jonathan reminded her and, for the umpteenth time, ‘so don’t forget to telephone us regularly.’

      ‘I won’t, Papa,’ she responded, looking around anxiously at the longboat as engines coughed into life, signaling the boatmen’s impatience. Water levels had dropped over recent weeks and they wished to cross the rapids while light permitted. Jonathan scowled at the men then released his grip and stepped back with the broadest smile he could stage.

      ‘Go,’ the chief ordered, ‘and make us even prouder than we are today.’ Angela kissed her father’s hand respectfully and turned before tears could flow. She stepped down from the raised boardwalk and with one final wave stepped into the longboat and settled down for the long, monotonous voyage to the provincial capital.

      Jonathan Dau looked on in silence as the boat gained speed, the villagers still waving and shouting in festive mood until Angela disappeared from view. Then, he returned to his office where he slumped into his grandfather’s rattan chair, sighed heavily at the paperwork he’d neglected and attacked the pile of correspondence with forced enthusiasm. The Central Government was to implement yet another of Jakarta’s grandiose development schemes, designed to drag so-called primitive, tribal groups into their world. Questionnaires, directives, communications relating to the general plans had inundated his office over past weeks, Jonathan unwilling to address the outstanding correspondence, distracted by his daughter’s departure. He let the pen slide from between his fingers, clasped his head between his hands, leaned forward and stared vacantly into space.

      Ageing black and white photographs of a younger Jonathan standing proudly amongst a group of graduating MiG pilots lined one wall of the leader’s inner sanctum, amidst these, a much-cherished portrait of Angela. His eyes locked with hers and he smiled, lovingly, the moment again filled his chest with pride. She had completed the dukun initiation ceremony – and he could now derive some comfort from the fact that she was now better prepared to go out into the world alone. Excluding any visits Jonathan might now make to Bandung, he accepted that it would be unlikely that he would see too much more of his daughter whilst she was away, studying. It had been difficult enough, he admitted, even when she had been placed downriver in Samarinda for her secondary schooling, and lodged with the same Chinese family that had cared for her father a generation before. Now she was to attend the Institute of Technology in Bandung, more than two thousand kilometers across the Java Sea.

      Jonathan reflected on his own life at twenty-one, his forehead slowly creasing into a weathered-frown, the images of those times still seared into his consciousness. He closed his eyes and, inhaling deeply, shifted the imagery of those times, blanketing the past, permitting his mind to drift. With practised skill the dukun willed his body to relax, the tension dissipating effortlessly as taut muscles succumbed, transporting Jonathan to a floating, near comatose state.

      Later that day, when Jonathan Dau informed senior members of his council that he would be absent for some days, the villagers understood – and went about their ways as the shaman trudged off into the jungle.

      ****

      Angela arrived in Samarinda at the end of her third day, rested overnight, then proceeded to Balikpapan by minibus where she boarded a Garuda flight to Jakarta. Once in the nation’s bustling capital, Angela continued her long journey by train to Bandung, where she would commence her first year studying at the Institute of Technology, founding President Soekarno’s alma mater.

      ****

      The Philippines

      Sharon Ducay removed her shoes and tiptoed along the corridor, entering СКАЧАТЬ