Indonesian Gold (33 page)

‘How is Nuri?'
Jonathan
Dau wanted to know, anger and deep resentment running through his veins as he looked down on the
badly beaten, Dayak village girl.

‘She will live, if she has the spirit,'
the old woman attending the teenager answered philosophically, whilst gently
sponging wounds. The girl's body bore evidence of a most savage attack. Blows to her chest caused
a shattered rib to pierce a lung, and cigarette burns to her lower abdomen determined that her
attackers could not have been of Dayak origins.

‘Call me the moment she regains
consciousness,'
the chief ordered, leaving the gray-haired woman
to care for her grandchild. Jonathan then returned to his quarters and summoned the youth who had
discovered Nuri, questioning him, before gathering with the other elders to discuss the attack.
Then, he waited, praying that the young woman would survive and reveal who was responsible for
the brutal rape and beating. An hour passed, then another, a child sent to fetch Jonathan
tripping over in her excitement as she ran down the main Longhouse corridor and into the meeting
hall, where he had been waiting for word. The chief's long, powerful strides took him to the
little messenger's side and, with one arm, scooped her up, placing the child on his hip then made
his way back to where the injured teenager lay.

For Jonathan, it was now obvious that Nuri had but a short
time left; with each lung-racking cough she dribbled blood. Under the anxious eyes of her family,
the
dukun
sprinkled potions over her body whilst calling upon her ancestral spirits to
come to her side, the air so filled with grief it was clear that those gathered accepted she
would surely die.

****

Nuri had been one of a number of young villagers to leave
the Longhouse environment, attracted to the mining camps downriver where they sought employment
as laborers, cooks and other domestic roles. Although saddened by this exodus, Jonathan did not
blame them for leaving in search of greater opportunity, understanding why the village girls
ventured down to the mining camps, enticed by things foreign, and the money they were offered. He
knew that once they had fallen into the trap, only an occasional few would return to their
communities – those with child, abandoned by their transient lovers and others, who had been
dismissed because of injury, sent home without compensation.

Nuri had gone to seek work at the newly established
drilling camp downstream.

When her broken body had been discovered, the camp manager
ordered the youth to take her away, indifferent to her condition. The young Dayak man had
requested assistance and, when none was forthcoming he had stolen a powered, rubber dinghy then
transported Nuri home to their Longhouse. It was not until the family had removed what was left
of her clothing did the extent of her injuries become apparent. When word spread through the
village that she had been raped, the mood amongst the men was one of retribution, the call for
all Dayaks to abandon working at the mining site, all but closing the foreign operation
down.

Jonathan observed her eyes flicker, and he leaned forward
to speak.
‘Can you tell us who did this, Nuri?'
he whispered, holding her hands
reassuringly, brushing strands of matted hair that had fallen over her brow. She struggled to
respond, her throat offering only a hoarse, gurgling rattle and she choked, her eyes stuck wide
open in panic as she drowned in her own blood. Jonathan felt her hands go limp and he knew that
nothing could save her now.
‘Rest now, Nuri,'
he spoke, softly, placing a cloth across her
eyes.

Amongst the babbling, background cries of anguish, Nuri
recognized the
dukun's
voice and heard the soft, beating wings of a bird, and her
weightless spirit was swept away by an intense calm, the crushing pain in her chest extinguished
as she surrendered her physical presence, and drifted peacefully away. Jonathan, sensing the
moment of transition, closed his eyes and commenced the chant for the dead, to lay Nuri's spirit
to rest.

The Longhouse community tended to her remains as custom
dictated, after which Jonathan slipped quietly away and climbed to his own, special place set
high amongst Bukit Batubrok's cloud-draped slopes, where he remained in meditation throughout the
night. He prayed for Nuri, pleading that her ancestral spirits view the young woman with kindness
and accept her into their world, asking also for guidance to reveal those responsible for her
death. Enveloped in darkness, Jonathan lapsed into an induced trance in which he transcended his
earthly surrounds, his spirit wandering the forests and rivers and floating through moonless
skies across seemingly endless seas. In his
latihan
state the shaman was transported to a
place where men gathered around, shouting and screaming with strange tickets held high in their
hands, the scene convoluted by an image of others, their pockets filled with gold, sobbing as
they lay incarcerated in cells. And he saw Nuri standing in the distance, waving, calling out to
him and, as Jonathan approached he cried out in dismay, the face of the dead girl transposed with
that of his daughter, Angela.

Even after Jonathan returned from his spiritualist
wanderings he remained anxious for his daughter's life. The shaman hurried back to his village
and made radio contact with Samarinda, and sought their assistance in contacting Angela to see if
anything had befallen her. Later in the morning a hook-up was successfully arranged and Jonathan
spoke to his only child, the relief in his voice immeasurable once his fears had been allayed.
Confused by his dream, he concluded that Nuri's spirit was hostile and would remain so until her
death had been avenged. Jonathan decided to visit the mining campsite to determine for himself
what had transpired there. Two days passed when word was sent from the drilling site that one of
the expatriate drillers had died, ostensibly of alcoholic poisoning.

That evening Jonathan returned to the mountain and again
induced the
latihan
state, the dreams that passed through his mind confirming that the
dead driller had indeed been the one responsible for Nuri's demise. With his concerns for Angela
assuaged, Jonathan Dau, chief and shaman to his Dayak community, smiled for the first time in
months as he strolled back through his beloved forests to his Longhouse enclave.

 

* * * *

P.T. Kalimantan Gold (Ind.)
Drilling Site – Mahakam River

‘Screw this! I'm not working this fucking rig without
laborers!' Calvin Alderson picked up a rock and angrily tossed this at a stand of dieseline fuel
drums, missing widely.

‘What's the bitch doing about it?' Carl Patrick's dark
mood matched that of his fellow expatriate driller, the pair deeply annoyed with not only having
to do most of the manual work themselves, but also the Filipino's refusal to replace their late
colleague.

‘She sent one of the locals back downriver to recruit more
men from his village, before she pissed off to Samarinda.' Patrick looked on sullenly as the
other driller selected another rock, tested this for weight then discarded it.

‘I knew this would fucking well happen!' Alderson kicked
at the ground with his heel, his eyes filled with loathing as he looked over at the camp. ‘What a
fucking mess!' He removed a grease-stained cap, running a filthy hand through his wiry mat of
hair. ‘Why don't we just shoot through and leave them to it?'

Carl Patrick wiped sweat from his brow with a forearm,
dragged heavily from somewhere deep inside his chest then spat, aiming the phlegm at a discarded
packet of cigarettes. ‘Don't tempt me.'

‘When Ducay gets back, let's go and read her the riot act.
Tell her we want time off to go down to Samarinda for a few days.'

‘Think she'd let us hitch a ride out on the
chopper?'

‘Nah,' the other roughneck snarled, returning to reality,
‘she's not about to let us go.'

Patrick's wandering hand found a used toothpick in a
trousers' pocket, absentmindedly playing with this as he considered their position. ‘You don't
get the feeling that's just what the bitch wants?'

‘Whaddya mean?'

‘Shit, Cal, she's done nothing but fucking complain about
us since she set foot on site!'

‘You reckon she wants us out?' Alderson squinted, cocking
his head at his workmate.

‘Dunno. But what she really wants is a bloody good
screwing, ' Patrick had, by now, retrieved the dirty toothpick and was worrying something loose
from between his teeth.

‘Do you think Baird's been slipping her one on the side?'
Alder-son's comment brought a half-hearted laugh in response.

‘That bastard may have tickets on himself, but it's not
bloody likely. I could hear the dirty little turd-burglar going twenty to the dozen with that
poofter mate of his the other night.'

‘Mardidi?'

‘Yeah.'

‘No wonder Baird's been wandering around half the bloody
time like a stunned mullet!'

‘Had a drink with a guy in the
Tanamur Bar
who used
to know of Baird when he was married,' this from Carl Patrick, referring to one of his regular
haunts in Jakarta. ‘Said that his missus back in Melbourne tossed him out, cause he couldn't get
it up.'

Alderson thought about this for a moment, then twisted his
face in disgust.

‘Doesn't seem to have that problem with little boys.' He
returned to breaking the heavily crusted soil with the heel of his boot. ‘Why do you reckon she
won't let anyone into the shed?'

Carl Patrick glanced over in the direction of the locked
shed built from a half-container. A galvanized roofed lean-to had been erected alongside,
providing shade as a comfort station for Sharon Ducay. She had caused a rift by declaring her
premises off limits to all.

‘Hasn't Baird been in there yet?'

‘Nope.'

‘Wanna go and take a peek while she's away?'

Alderson shook his head. ‘Nah, that'll only give her an
excuse to shunt us out.' He stretched, then put both hands on his hips. ‘Got any of that rum
left?'

Patrick raised an eyebrow, then glanced at his watch.
‘Yeah, why not – I've had enough of this shit for one day.' With that, the two men strolled
slowly away from the silent rig, the intense tropical heat beating down on their backs as they
made their way up the slope to where their tents had been erected.

****

Within hours of the expatriate driller's death, Sharon
Ducay had radioed Samarinda and called for a chopper to airlift the man's body to the local
morgue. She had not even considered the alternative, as a voyage downriver would require at least
two days. The only available helicopters fitted with sufficient fuel reserves to cover the
distance were based in Balikpapan. Sharon had already made one such return flight, the month
after establishing the mining site when she felt the necessity to speak privately with
Kremenchug, by phone. Once mobilization had been completed and the heli-rig and ancillary
equipment finally transported to the site, supplies of the Jet A1 refined kerosene fuel had been
placed on standby at the Longdamai camp, for such an emergency. The helicopter had arrived within
hours, Sharon certain that the surrounding jungle had filled with inquisitive eyes, as Avtur was
hand-pumped into the aircraft.

Uneasy with leaving the field operations, but also
accepting that it was in her interests to convince the provincial authorities that the driller's
death had been by misadventure, Sharon boarded the Bell JetRanger for the two-and-a-half hour
flight.

She had accompanied the deceased to the provincial
capital, but even wrapped with heavily scented sheets prior to departure, the driller's remains
still reeked of death. Sharon had filed the necessary reports at both the hospital and police
headquarters, and made arrangements to have the body flown to Balikpapan, then on to Jakarta. The
authorities had treated the incident with indifference and, as they concluded that there was no
question of foul play, accepting the cause of death as alcoholic poisoning, Sharon was able to
complete the formalities within the day. Tired, and desperate for a bath to cleanse the lingering
memory of the driller's corpse, she booked into the Mesra Hotel, had her clothes taken to the
laundry, bathed and ordered room service. Then she spent the evening in air-conditioned comfort
preparing for the return charter flight arranged to depart at 0600 the following
morning.

****

As the helicopter beat its way back across the dense
jungle Sharon could see the devastation inflicted upon the rainforests, the bleak tracts of
scarred landscape carved across the earth below, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Unconcerned, she turned to her notes, re-checking geological data obtained from core samples
extracted at the Longdamai site, determined now to accelerate her plan to initiate the
‘discovery' process in view of the expatriate driller's death. Although tempted, Sharon had
resisted spiking the core samples until then, conscious that she had to build credibility by
demonstrating that a serious drilling program had been undertaken, before any discovery
occurred.