by Jack Twist
Chapter 9
But the silence gave me time to think. When Abbie had woken and the light was good enough, we would make our way back to the bank where I’d dropped the jerry can, climb back up, follow the slope down to the bamboo and find the road. Even were there no petrol to be had in the village the search party would find us in the daylight.
My confidence grew and I felt only slight shame for my blind panic in the early morning darkness. I’d been sure we were being pursued, VC guerrillas a palpable presence at my back, expecting gunfire at any second, visions of the red remains of the lieutenant’s head vivid in my mind. Now it seemed the girl might have been right. But I wasn’t sure and who knew what this jungle harboured. I would not fall asleep.
So while panic faded deeper fears remained, as I sat there, at dawn, nursing a strange Asian baby in a strange Asian jungle. I was not prepared for this. A truck driver/soldier, dubious digger at the best of times, I looked at my only companion lying on the rocks beside the stream. In different circumstances she would have made for easy looking, but just then I’d have preferred a soldier. Lieutenant Jefferies would have looked better just then, or, if it had to be a driver, Lyle O’Malley, the platoon’s number one volunteer, who knew as much about jungle warfare as some grunts. I was not prepared for this.
It had been easy to laugh. For a Vung Tau pogo, our only apparent danger the chance of reckless gunfire or the odd landmine, it was easier to laugh. Being alone and in a jungle took me back to my initiation, although the rubber plantation where it happened hardly compared with this, and, in the end, it turned out to be a laugh.
It was at Binh Ba, the plantation along Route 2, the road north to Ngai Giao, and on their first day out with the convoy, new arrivals incountry, called ‘reos’ for reinforcements, were sent into the rubber trees to ‘recce’ the area. Most sensed an initiation joke, an advantage being taken of their greenness, but unsure, did as they were told and went gingerly, on guard, into the trees. Only Tony Carmody had called the corporal’s bluff.
“Sorry, Corporal. Not on my first day out.”
So that we were all gob-smacked, even the corporal who loved this sadistic little prank. Until Moll laughed and then we all laughed, eventually even the corporal. It had been easy to laugh.
Then Al Stanley arrived, and he was the biggest laugh. Asking about tigers and stepping so slowly, so anxiously, through the rubber plantation. And looking back with such absolute dread on his face and we all striving to hide our laughter, not to spoil our fun. Then Al’s rifle going off. All laughter stopping and the corporal charging off himself into the trees calling out for Al to come back. It was just a joke.
And everybody beside themselves when Al returned, except the corporal who was white-faced, because Al swore he saw a tiger. And Al copping all the blame because there were never any more recce patrols by reos into the Binh Ba rubber trees after Al, only much recalling of the different times and different reactions, and Al being asked at least once a day, “Seen any tigers today, Al?”
Soon after that he became ‘Crazy Al’, but not so much for that inauspicious start to his active service. Al was political. He got worked up every now and then with outbursts against our country’s involvement in the war, for which we had no time at all because at a personal level he was so openly and uncontrollably nervous. And easily shouted down.
“Listen, Al,” Bushfire Daniels would tell him “Next time we’re up at Ngai Giao, head off into the rubber trees. First nog you come to you say, ‘Excuse me. Where’s the recruiting office. I’m a communist’.”
And then Bushfire’s mate, Barry Love. “You could shoot a few more tigers while you’re out there.”
At which Crazy Al went quickly back into his shell.
Tigers. It had been easy to laugh. But not now. Holding the sleeping baby I stared hard into the trees. I would be ready. I would fire if I had to. It would be them or me.
In the growing light I looked at the baby for the first time and saw a lightness in her hair colour. Thin and wispy though it was, it lacked the usual darkness of Asian hair. I put it down to the dim and dappled daylight. ‘So tiny’, was the comment you heard with new babies and the size of this one, even the thin piece of cloth wrapped around her loins, emphasised her helplessness.
But she was nothing to me, I told myself, certainly no one to die for. As unnecessary as our dash into the jungle might have been, we were alive and comparatively well, and for that I was thankful. I would feel much relieved though, when they were both unloaded, the body of the lieutenant taken care of, and I was on my way back to my unit.
A large striped spider dropped onto my trouser leg and I jumped as I knocked it away. It stumbled about deliriously at the edge of the stream until I pushed it into the water with the rifle barrel. The stream took it instantly. My movement disturbed Abbie and she let out a small startled cry and sat up suddenly, rubbing her eyes.
“Oh,” she said. “How is she?”
“Asleep.”
She stretched out her legs and began rubbing her knee. “You must need a break. Do you want me to take her?”
“Okay. When you’re ready. And now that it’s getting light I think we should get back to the Land Rover as soon as possible. If we can find the jerry can it’ll show us where to climb up out of the gully.”
She was watching me and the baby. “Thank you for minding her. How long was I asleep?”
“I s’pose nearly an hour.”
She nodded and crawled across to the stream where she splashed some water onto her face. “Oh, God. I’m so stiff. I bruised my knee when we fell down that cliff into the creek. Can you hold her for a moment longer? I need to go to the bathroom.” She reached for her handbag. “I guess I should go downstream, huh?”
“Downstream would be best.”
I moved the rifle as she climbed past me, feet first, across the rocks.
She had barely disappeared among the leaves when she reappeared, terrified, her hands brushing the branches aside frantically. She pointed upstream. I got up as quickly as I could and scrambled uphill. She was right behind me again.
“Here,” I whispered, turning and handing her the baby and as soon as Abbie took hold of her the baby started to cry. I cursed the sound as I pushed through the low hanging branches and some of them swung back and smacked her in the face. The squeaking cries of the baby grew louder.
When we reached a clearer space where the mountain stream fell into a pool I took her hand and we waded in. She slipped but maintained her grip on the baby as I dragged her to the side and we climbed up the bank away from the creek. I was hoping to lose our followers that way, whoever they were. I wanted to ask her but she seemed too preoccupied with moving on quickly this time and with holding the baby.
The thick undergrowth that surrounded the stream gave way to a grassy patch and we climbed through it on our knees. Flashbacks to jungle training reminded me of booby traps that could blow your legs off, and more than your legs. Hidden pits with bamboo ‘punji stakes’ planted rigid, sharpened like razor blades and dipped in shit to infect whatever flesh they penetrated. I wished I had paid more attention to methods of detection.
But grass made the going easier, for me at least, though we left an obvious trail and I kept looking back as we crawled. I saw no one beyond Abbie. We had more light then away from the trees and I could see her face. She was in some pain.
“You okay?” I whispered.
“No. My knee hurts and my arm is tired.”
“We’ll stop when we reach those trees. What did you see back there?”
“A man.”
I had hoped it might have been an animal of some sort. The baby was crying. When we reached the tree cover I stopped and sat against a large tree-trunk. She sat, dropped the bag from her shoulder and changed her hold on the baby. I sat watching the grass, holding the rifle ready. Abbie moaned as she drew up her knee.
“Give me,” I said. She passed me the baby and I held her in my free arm.
Abbie panted audibly. “Tell me what you saw.”
She moved her leg to get her knee more comfortable before she said, “I don’t know. It was dark. Someone.”
“Someone? You’re sure it wasn’t an animal?”
“No. It was a man.”
“Just one?”
“Yes. I only saw one.” She started to get her breath back. I waited, watching her as she rubbed her knee. “But I’m sure he wasn’t one of those back on the road. I mean, I was behind him and it was dark and he was downstream a way, but he looked different somehow.” While she spoke, the baby, lying in the crook of my left arm, stopped crying. We both looked at her. “Remarkable. What’s your secret?”
The silence was a relief. “Do you think he saw you?”
“I don’t know. But he must have heard the baby. Look. I’m going behind the tree before I wet myself, even more than I am already.”
She slid around behind the tree and almost immediately I heard the flow of her urine. She looked more comfortable when she came back but grimaced as she arranged her leg again.
“Can you bend your leg okay?”
She nodded. “I guess it’s only bruised but crawling through that long grass was hell.”
I became aware then of a wet sensation on my mid-forearm. “Bloody hell! I’ve been shat on.”
Abbie leaned across. “I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s okay. She’s sleeping like a ... a baby. They all do that.”
“Do what?”
“That black stuff. I forget what it’s called. It’s something to do with their feeding before birth. Once it’s gone they’re more comfortable.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I’m an uncle. Three times.”
“Is that right? Well, she certainly looks more comfortable. Uncle.” She moved in closer.
“Keep back.”
“What?”
“I want a clear view of that grassy patch.”
She crawled across to sit on the other side of me. “Give her to me now.”
“She’s sleeping peacefully.”
“Please?”
As soon as she took hold the baby started to cry. “Oh, shut up.”
“Give her head more support.”
She looked at me and then changed her hold. The baby settled again and was quiet and Abbie looked at me with a smile so ingenuous I couldn’t help returning it. It made me wish, and not for the last time, that we were alone together somewhere else.
“We’ll have to get back to the creek before too long,” she said.
“Yeh. Doesn’t look like we were followed out this way. So we can search for the jerry can.”
“Oh, sure. But I want to wash this diaper too. Or whatever it is. Not very absorbent, is it?”
“No. And I’d like to wash my arm. I’m wondering if we should head through that way, where there’s more cover, and pick up the creek further downstream, nearer to where we first met it. Might avoid whoever you saw.”
“He could be anywhere by now.”
“Yeh, but if he was after us, he’ll’ve gone upstream. And there were probably others with him.”
“Okay. You’re the soldier.” She put her weight on one knee, holding the other one. “But wouldn’t it be more that direction?” She pointed at the wider expanse of grass.
“I don’t think so. That’s too close to the way we came.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Did you notice what he was wearing?”
“No. It was dark. In fact, his shirt looked so dark I think it might have been black.”
“Black?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
We set off again, steadily and without a sound, at last, from the baby. I stared about me. As we left the grass, the trees closing in around us provided some cover, but now that the dawn exposed us further, I imagined what else they could conceal and passed each tree with a sense of relief, as if the flora itself conspired against us. We welcomed the rippling sound of a creek and came upon a clear flowing stream surrounded on both sides by grass. Under normal circumstances it might have been a pretty scene. But we didn’t recognise it.
“This is a different creek,” said Abbie.
“Or else we’re just further downstream.”
We moved upstream to check. Sunlight now lit up parts of the grassy bank and flickered in the shallow water but then the undergrowth closed in. A low spiky branch ripped at Abbie’s forehead and drew blood, but she insisted we keep moving. Then the stream diminished to a trickle.
I would learn one day that this mountain was predominantly rock and not thickly treed. By entering at the bamboo we had stumbled into the only forest section, but in our search for a way out that day it was big enough to confuse us.
I suggested we head downstream, hoping this little creek emptied into our original. Abbie washed the baby and I my arm and as we moved on we heard the murmur of more flowing water. When the undergrowth cleared we were standing atop a shallow cliff-face looking down at a stream at least three metres wide. It flowed swiftly in cascades and upstream tumbled from a high ledge to splash onto a loose collection of large rocks. I reasoned that both creeks we’d come across so far were tributaries of this bigger one. But I was guessing. The baby started to cry and we were lost.
We climbed down in this new gully and I pulled off my boots and socks to reveal blood-covered ankles and heels. Three or four leeches were busy at different parts of each ankle and there were bleeding openings where others had been. I had to drag hard to remove the hungrier ones.
Abbie was horrified, and pleased that her pants had stayed in her boots, denying them access. “And thank God they couldn’t get at the baby.” She was holding her out in front, smiling at her. Then she frowned. “I hope she learns to take some of that mixture soon.”
I spied an opening in the rocks, almost a cave, on the other side of the stream near the base of the waterfall. We decided we could do with a rest, and cover, while we worked out which way to go, and made our way across the water, which was refreshing and tasted so clean I filled my water bottle. Then it was my turn to go behind a tree.
The opening of the indent in the rocks was wet from the waterfall’s spray and the whole thing offered little more than cover for our backs, but I checked for residents and we crawled in. Leaning against the dry rock wall I put the rifle down pointing outwards while Abbie rocked the baby, who was crying again.
We looked at each other. She seemed close to tears herself. “I’m sorry,” she said.