Indonesian Gold (48 page)

‘Have you been faithful to me in my
absence?'
he teased the widow.

‘Go away with you or I'll take you to my
knee!'
she cackled, warding him off with one hand, while covering
her mouth with the other.

‘Here, I have brought you something.'
Jonathan reached into the canvas bag attached to his waist and extracted a
black dotted orchid, placing the flower in her hair.
‘Now you will have to beat the young men
off…'
he laughed, rising to full height and continuing to his own quarters. The villagers
knew not to disturb their chief at this time, their activities respectfully subdued while
Jonathan bathed, then meditated; the cleansing process a matter of routine and discipline, and in
a way, an act of expiation on his part.

Refreshed, the Dayak leader attended to his administrative
chores, then opened his door to his fellow villagers, encouraging them to come to him with their
problems. Together, they would resolve these through discussion, deliberation and, hopefully,
consensus. With village matters cleared from his mind, Jonathan would join other elders following
the evening meal, a forum that provided the unofficial council the opportunity to discuss matters
of relevance and import to the
Penehing Dayak
people. On this occasion, as leader,
Jonathan opened the informal meeting by reading a response from the newly appointed, provincial
governor in Samarinda who continued to parrot Jakarta's official line. When he finished, Jonathan
passed the official letter around, the elders' faces grim as they absorbed the import of what
their future might now bring.

‘The Governor has again refused to intercede on our
behalf, with respect to our sacred locations,'
the chief
explained, solemnly,
‘which we should interpret as meaning that the homes of our ancestral
spirits will no longer be sacrosanct.'
Jonathan swept an arm through the air.
‘The
Javanese are carving up our ancestral land for others and, soon, if they are not stopped, we will
be under their feet.'

‘Perhaps you should go to Samarinda?'
one proposed, others nodding their support.

‘I intend doing so, next week,'
Jonathan revealed,
‘I think it's time I met the new governor.'

‘Don't forget the radio,'
another reminded. The provincial authorities had also refused to fund replacement
equipment, the community's communications frequently down due to Samarinda's failure to send
spare-parts.

‘While I am away, it is imperative that the younger men
avoid any open conflict with the interlopers.They are not to cross the river for any
reason.'
The elders again nodded, all in agreement with
Jonathan's instructions, aware that hot-blooded village youths could easily embroil the community
in direct confrontation with the migrants.

Jonathan knew that the one-man war he had waged against
the migrants was certain to inflame Jakarta interests. Sadly, he also realized that his measures
merely delayed the inevitable, that the powerful timber and mining factions would eventually push
further and further into the territory, bringing armed soldiers to defend their interests. In the
absence of any resistance, he firmly believed that the Dayaks would be pushed from their land and
become as endangered as other Kalimantan forest dwellers had – possibly, within a relatively
short space of time.

For Jonathan, it mattered not whether the migrants were
Madurese or Javanese. It was clear that Madura's poor soil and lack of industry had driven waves
of poverty-stricken villagers to accept the central government's offer to relocate and, although
he understood their plight, in no way could he accept that Dayaks should be displaced in their
favor. In his mind, the entire transmigration scheme had been doomed from the outset, the
architects of the plan having failed to identify the irreconcilable differences that existed
between the ethnic groups. The
Penehing Dayaks
retained their traditional culture of
ancestor worship, and animism – these beliefs in fierce contradiction to Islamic code.

****

Jonathan was aware that at least half of the men gathered
around him had, at one time or another, taken enemy heads, as this had been an accepted practice
during their generation. He recalled his father often breaking into laughter, while recounting
how the Dutch colonialists were convinced that they had succeeded in persuading the Dayaks to use
buffalo heads in place of human sacrifice. In reality, the practice of using human skulls never
really died; his secretly hidden harvest, evidence of this – the ultimate penalty imposed on
those who had desecrated the holy site.

Months before, when the distant, but familiar sounds of
helicopter activity first alerted Jonathan that outsiders had entered his domain, alarmed, he had
hurried through the forest – overwhelmed when he discovered what was happening. He crept as close
as the forest's thick underbrush would allow, selected an observation post in the fork of a tree,
then settled down to monitor the scene. When a number of sturdily built foreigners climbed out of
the JetRanger and made their way along the river's edge, he feared the worst, his suspicions
confirmed with the arrival of longboats carrying supplies and equipment, and a task force of men.
Jonathan waited, his chest filling with rage as an area was cleared, and what he correctly
determined to be a drilling rig, was transported to the site. The helicopter returned; the Dayak
chief recognizing Eric Baird as he climbed from the aircraft. An Asian woman had followed –
lifting a wide brimmed hat from her head she ran her fingers through short, black hair then
stood, hands on hips in arrogant style absorbing the scene. Jonathan's attention focused on her
face, attempting to determine her origins. He could see that her features were not dissimilar to
those of Menadonese Indonesians but, from her confident strut and authoritative manner, Jonathan
decided she was foreign.

As the day wore on and it became apparent that the
longboat men and their coolies were to withdraw, Jonathan reconsidered his assessment of the
situation, concluding that the incursion was temporary in nature – and that the area was to be
used only as a staging point for operations, further upstream. He returned to his village,
satisfied that the intruders would soon be gone. The following morning he established radio
contact with the governor's office in Samarinda, to determine the exploration group's final
destination. As village chief he was entitled to such information and, when he was advised that
Longdamai Sial was, in fact, the area to be drilled, Jonathan had called a meeting of the elders
to establish what could be done. Incensed with the news, the council had decided unanimously to
take whatever measures available, to prevent the operation from proceeding.

Over the next weeks during what became a waiting game,
Jonathan maintained vigil at the site, his curiosity aroused by the absence of any real activity.
Then, when a flotilla of longboats arrived carrying more than one hundred Madurese, he set about
hindering the operation by killing those who ventured into the jungle alone, poisoning many with
his deadly-tipped tine; his tally, after three months of stalking the Madurese as they penetrated
deeper into his forest, now rapidly approaching twenty.

Even with his moderate success, Jonathan was forced to
accept that he was losing the battle. Saddened by the inevitable, Jonathan knew that survival of
the
Penehing
and other Dayak communities could only be guaranteed through a united, Dayak
front. And with this purpose in mind, Jonathan Dau, respected leader and spokesperson for the
Upper Mahakam tribes, initiated dialogue with other community leaders, to determine how they
could achieve this aim.

****

Chapter Eighteen

Malaysia
– Kuala
Lumpur

After almost an hour of suffering the taxi's monotonous,
diesel-engine drone as they were driven along Kuala Lumpur's congested freeways from Subang
Airport into the city, Stewart could only wonder how long this journey would take once the new
Sepang Airport had been completed, in 1998.

Although their view remained hampered by the weather as
they passed by landmarks, many remnants of British colonial times, Campbell wiped breath-fogged
windows clear enabling Angela to see, unaware that her mind was elsewhere. Rain fell,
incessantly, reducing the inner city, early-evening traffic to a crawl and, as they entered the
central business district, the Indian-Malay driver's erratic driving and the constant stop-start
jerking motion came dangerously close to taking its toll.

‘If he doesn't take his foot off that brake I'm going
to throw up,'
Campbell
announced.
Finally, they passed through the Golden Triangle, revitalized central city district and arrived
at the Equatorial Hotel, Campbell groaning thankfully when hotel porters appeared and gathered
their luggage. They checked into the hotel Angela, surprising Stewart by suggesting an early
night.

‘
Will you have breakfast with me before the opening
ceremony?
'

‘Of course,'
he
assured,
‘but what about right now? It's still early.'

‘I hope you don't mind, Stewart, but I'd like to spend
time going over my presentation.'

He tried to hide his disappointment.
‘But that's not
until the second day. You can't stay in your room on our first night away together. Why don't you
freshen up, then I'll take you for a walk around town?'

Angela waved when she recognized a delegate from her
Ministry.
‘Only if you promise that we'll be back inside an hour?'

Campbell
acquiesced.
‘Okay.'

They had completed the registration formalities and were
now being escorted to their rooms.
‘Give me a call when you're ready,'
Campbell suggested,
then went off to unpack.

****

Angela took the time to read through her dissertation.
Absolutely determined to maximize the opportunity destiny had provided, she remained resolute in
her commitment to raise international awareness of the indigenous communities in Kalimantan. More
than two hundred delegates from the ASEAN member nations would attend the conference, and Angela
remained confident that such an august gathering would attract immense media attention. She would
take advantage of this forum to raise regional awareness with respect to the demise of the Dayak
people, and destruction of their traditional habitat. When the phone rang, she glanced at the
bedside clock, surprised that it was already past nine.

‘Thought you might have dozed off,'
Campbell
's concerned voice reminded her of
their appointment.

Angela frowned.
‘I'm really sorry,
Stewart.'

‘I understand,'
he
offered,
‘but it's not that late. Do you want to slip out and get something to
eat?'

Angela sat twirling a biro between thumb and forefinger,
her thoughts preoccupied with the papers spread across her bed.
‘Stewart, if you promise not
to hate me too much, I'd prefer to remain in the room revising my presentation.'
She waited,
the ensuing break in their conversation evidencing his disappointment.
‘Stewart?'

‘Have they changed the program?'
he came back,
‘I thought you weren't on until the second
day?'

Angela knew now that he was annoyed.
‘No, the program
hasn't been changed. It's just that I really need to have this…'
She looked around the bed in
quiet desperation, wishing he would understand.
‘…this…finished in time.There's still so much
I have to do. You do recall that this presentation is entirely in English?'

A wordless vacuum filled the line while she waited for his
response. Then,
‘Okay, Angela,'
she heard Campbell surrender,
‘conditional that you
give me all of your time once the conference is finished.'

Relieved, she was already sorting through papers with one
hand as she gave him this commitment.
‘All yours…I promise!'
and replaced the receiver
leaving Campbell waiting for more.

****

Wondering why he had even bothered to accompany Angela on
this journey, Campbell decided to go out alone, determined to salvage whatever he could of the
evening. Making his way through a lobby crowded with conference delegates returning from dinner,
the doors to the lounge on his right opened as he was about to leave the hotel, the music
spilling from inside immediately grabbing his attention. He stepped into the Latino,
music-charged atmosphere, his spirits instantly lifting as he was escorted to a dimly lit table.
Campbell sat, spellbound, fascinated with the scene, the crowded dance floor filled with guests
tangoing to the band's rendition of Julio Iglesias'
Viejas Tradiciones.
Staff slipped
between tables taking orders, Campbell soon settling down with his first drink, caught off-guard
when a young, Eurasian girl slipped alongside and ran her hand, suggestively, along his
thigh.