by Tara Haigh
‘And how do you plan to ask all that?’ Rudolf looked flummoxed.
Ella’s morning cab rides to the hospital in Hamburg had given her plenty of practice in coming up with plausible excuses, and a few ideas presented themselves already.
‘Perhaps somebody called Richard lent me some money in town, or left something lying on a bench,’ Ella mused.
‘I could pass myself off as a businessman – somebody like Otto. Tell them that the plantation was recommended to me.’ Rudolf’s grey matter kicked into gear.
‘Well then, what are we waiting for?’ asked Ella.
‘I’m still sure we won’t encounter anyone at this time of the afternoon, though,’ interjected Rudolf once more.
‘Who does the plantation belong to, anyway? After all, it’s the first one we’ve encountered since leaving Singapore, so it’s a very likely candidate,’ said Ella.
Somewhat hesitantly, Rudolf consulted the numbered list of plantation names. Ella guessed that his reluctance was because he was tired and didn’t want to have to tackle the possibly more challenging route through the plantation.
‘The Foster plantation,’ he finally answered.
‘Richard Foster,’ said Ella, more to herself. The idea that this man might be her real father sent a shiver down her spine.
‘It would be better if we found some lodgings, had a bite to eat and then set off first thing tomorrow morning.’ Rudolf was as stubborn as a mule. He wasn’t normally so averse to spontaneity.
‘Would you do me the favour if I implored you? I won’t sleep otherwise,’ said Ella. No gentleman could possibly turn down her request, and her plan met with success. Rudolf was unable to cast off his self-appointed role, and gave a sigh of resignation as he put the map back in its bag; but then he reached for the reins more spiritedly and steered the horses towards the Foster plantation.
Ella had never previously considered where rubber came from or how it was produced, though she was familiar with the rubber tree as an ornamental plant. The first thing she noticed on the wide track through the rubber plantation was an intense odour that reminded her of cut flowers, although the scent was a little sweeter than that. Within this shady forest of tall trees crowned with thick oval leaves, the fragrance was most intense in the areas where the rubber was being harvested. Native workers used long knives to cut through the bark of the trees. So much for ‘we won’t encounter anyone at this time of the afternoon’. Ella withheld an ironic remark, however, as she was fascinated by the sight.
‘They scrape the bark away from the trunk, and the tree starts to bleed,’ explained Rudolf, who was just as interested as she was.
A white fluid flowed along a channel carved into the trunk before collecting in a small bucket attached to the tree. Dark-skinned young men flitted through the forest, clad only in aprons wrapped around their hips. Most of them were busy pouring the small containers into larger pails, which they tied onto wooden yokes with ropes. They then lifted these onto their shoulders to distribute the weight more evenly and make it easier to carry. The men looked like living sets of greengrocers’ scales, struggling to maintain their balance with each step. The workers carried the buckets to a large cart that was drawn not by horses but by water buffalo, which were presumably stronger and better suited to transporting heavy loads.
‘Back-breaking work,’ remarked Rudolf.
Just then, Ella heard the sound of a rapidly approaching horse. The dull thud of its hooves on the hard forest floor was unmistakable. She turned round and saw a young Malay man riding towards them.
‘I hope we’re allowed to use this road. It might be private,’ speculated Rudolf, who had also noticed the man.
Once the rider reached them, however, their doubts were dispelled by the warm smile with which he greeted them. The young man must have been in his early twenties, and unlike the workers, he was wearing a pair of trousers and a white shirt. His thick, black hair was well-groomed and he was extraordinarily attractive. Only his almond eyes and tanned skin showed him to be Malayan.
‘Where are you going?’ His English betrayed only the slightest hint of a Malayan accent.
‘To Johore,’ answered Ella.
He brought his horse into step with their carriage and Ella noticed that he seemed to study her for just a moment too long. Perhaps that was because white women didn’t generally wander into this part of the peninsula.
‘Around half a mile from here you’ll find a fork in the road. Keep left – the path to the right is private,’ he explained.
‘Thank you,’ replied Rudolf curtly. It clearly hadn’t escaped his notice that the young man had addressed himself solely to his female companion.
Ella decided to take advantage of his obvious fascination.
‘The private road leads to the Fosters’ house, I presume?’ she asked.
‘Yes, why?’ answered the rider in surprise.
‘My father used to work in the rubber trade. He told us we would need to pass by the Foster plantation in order to get to Johore. If I remember correctly, it belongs to Richard,’ she said in a conversational tone.
‘You must be mistaken – there isn’t a Richard Foster on the plantation,’ the man replied.
Ella cast a meaningful glance at Rudolf. That meant they could already cross off one of the possible plantations. Rudolf looked amazed at how quickly she had elicited this information from the young Malay.
At that moment, a shriek rang out through the forest, followed by a confusion of voices in the local language. The rider immediately dug his spurs into his horse and rode up to a group of workers.
She watched in astonishment as two of the workers bound the wrists of a bare-chested young man, threw the rope over a sturdy branch, and hauled him upwards until he could only just stand on the tips of his toes. The lad kept shouting ‘tidak’, which meant ‘no’ in the local language – one of the few words that Ella had retained from the ethnographic guide she had read in the library on board the Danzig.
One of the workers fastened the rope to the boughs of the rubber tree. An older, dark-skinned hulk of a man, whom Ella estimated to be in his fifties, emerged from the undergrowth. He looked Indian, and carried a whip in his hand. Ella could imagine what he planned to do with it.
Rudolf immediately slowed the carriage. He looked every bit as stunned as Ella.
‘Rough customs,’ he said in dismay.
Just then, the Indian seemed to notice them for the first time. His hostile glare spoke volumes. Evidently he expected them to leave immediately.
Once again, Ella heard a desperate ‘tidak’ from the captive’s lips, followed by a torrent of words she didn’t understand. Even at a distance, it was clear that the man’s entire body was trembling with fear. The Indian lifted his whip to cast the first stroke, but then the rider shouted something to him as he reached the scene of the action. He dismounted from his horse and entered into a discussion with the giant.
Although Ella couldn’t understand a word, she could tell from his tone of voice that the young Malay was doing his best to win the Indian over.
Ella fervently hoped that the worker would be released. Perhaps it would help if they remained where they were and refused to drive on until the lad was free again. The presence of unknown observers might encourage them to leave him alone – but there, Ella was mistaken.
The Indian handed the whip to the young Malay and immediately took up position in front of the captive. He called something to him. Ella thought that the captive would once again beg for mercy – but he remained silent. Instead, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in expectation of his punishment.
The first stroke of the whip cracked against the man’s back, leaving a red mark on his skin. Before the second blow, the rider turned to face them, as if he thought it wrong that they should watch this abhorrent spectacle. Ella couldn’t believe that this pleasant young man was capable of such brutality; it just didn’t conform to his warm demeanour and the winning smile he had flashe
d at them earlier.
The second blow of the whip came down on the captive’s skin, and he gave a suppressed cry.
‘Rudolf, we can’t let this happen.’ Ella was on the point of leaping down from the carriage to confront the torturer.
The third stroke of the whip left its mark.
Rudolf was the first to dismount, and he marched up to where the workers were assembled. ‘Stop that!’ he called to them.
The young Malay paused instantly, though he looked not at Rudolf but at her. Ella thought she could see in his eyes that whipping the worker sat uneasily with him.
‘Go on your way,’ the Indian ordered, turning to face Rudolf.
Ella couldn’t bear to remain where she was any longer. She too dismounted and hurried over. She simply couldn’t allow such a barbaric act. The only question was whether she or Rudolf could do anything to stop it.
‘What did that man do to make you treat him like this?’ Rudolf demanded of the Indian. Ella marvelled at his courage.
‘What business is it of yours?’ came the scornful reply.
‘In the name of humanity, I ask you to let this man go.’ Rudolf’s voice was firm, earning the respect of the young Malay, at least. He lowered the hand holding the whip.
‘Keep going,’ the Indian commanded.
‘Stop, or I will take the matter up with the owner of this plantation,’ Rudolf threatened.
To Rudolf’s obvious chagrin, the Indian merely laughed. It seemed the Fosters didn’t care how their plantation workers were treated.
‘I deserve it.’ Astonishingly this interjection came in clearly intelligible English from the lips of the captive, of all people. He turned to face them, and his eyes seemed to beseech them to depart. With good reason too, for the Indian had by now drawn a machete from his horse’s saddle and was holding it threateningly towards Rudolf.
‘Please, go on your way.’ The young Malay also urged them to leave – almost implored them. ‘Everything is as it should be.’
The Indian – presumably the foreman of the plantation – made it unmistakably clear that he was not to be trifled with. His machete sliced through a branch as if it were paper. He fixed his eyes grimly on Rudolf as he wielded his blade.
‘Rudolf, let’s go.’ Ella hoped he would listen to her.
‘The lady has more sense than you. Go now.’ This was presumably the Indian’s final warning before he resorted to violence. Yet what had really moved Ella to give up on her rescue attempt was the imploring gaze of the young rider.
‘Please, Rudolf,’ she urged him, before anything worse happened.
Rudolf nodded reluctantly.
It almost seemed to Ella that the rider and his victim both breathed a sigh of relief. What a bizarre situation. Ella turned away and walked with Rudolf back to the carriage. Once they had reached it and Rudolf had helped her aboard, she turned back once more.
The workers were standing rooted to the spot. Nobody moved. Everybody seemed to be waiting for her and Rudolf to finally drive away. They did so with heavy hearts, and behind them, another whip crack echoed through the forest, followed by a shriek.
CHAPTER 7
Although Ella remained shocked to the core, not another word was spoken about the incident in the rubber forest for the rest of their half-hour journey to Johore, which proved to be bigger than Otto had described it. As they travelled from the edge of the town to the centre – the Colonial District – the stilt houses gradually disappeared, and even gave way to a few stone buildings, whereas Ella had been expecting a handful of huts. Nonetheless, the place was minute compared to Singapore. According to Otto’s map, the boarding house he recommended with the rather uninviting name of The Dragon’s Breath was close to the sultan’s palace, and a peek through the palace gates as they passed revealed a huge, imposing building standing on a slight elevation and surrounded by landscaped gardens. An unusually wide tower adorned the centre of the façade, which was made of light-coloured stone. With such a residence, it was easy to imagine how powerful and wealthy the sultans must once have been, and how they had controlled the fate of the country for centuries.
Now, however, the British were in charge, though Ella knew from her many conversations with Otto on board the Danzig that the old rulers still exerted influence over their sultanate and officially cooperated with their colonisers. They allegedly did so in order to hold together the melting pot of different cultures that existed here – but in Otto’s view, that was just a flimsy excuse that allowed the British to snap up Malacca’s valuable resources in return for preserving the sultan’s status and wealth. Be that as it may, there was no shortage of ethnic or cultural diversity here either. An Indian temple standing right beside a Catholic church – the Church of the Immaculate Conception, according to the map – provided the best possible illustration of that. Nor did they have to wait long for their first Chinese temple. Ella had already spotted its red masonry.
The boarding house itself was also Chinese-owned, and The Dragon’s Breath turned out to be tastefully decorated and was in no way as terrifying as its name suggested. They were greeted by an atrium decked in colourful tiles with an ornamental fountain at the centre, whose soothing plash could be heard from every room, since they all had windows that opened onto the courtyard. Ella could already detect the scent of incense emanating from the central room on the ground floor – presumably the reception – which was occupied by an older Chinese lady. That must be Lee, whom Otto had mentioned.
The name ‘Otto Ludwig’ instantly rewarded them with a beaming smile and two particularly lovely rooms. Ella would have gladly gone straight to bed, but now it was Rudolf who insisted that they plan out the rest of their search that very evening.
Before their food had even been served in the restaurant next door, he had laid out the map on the table and compared it to Otto’s list of names.
‘We can already cross one name off the list,’ Ella remarked.
Rudolf seemed lost in thought.
‘The Fosters, no? There isn’t anyone called Richard on the plantation,’ Ella prompted. He finally nodded and crossed out the word ‘Foster’ with a pencil.
‘We should start in the south and work our way north,’ he said, pointing at the relevant marks on the map.
‘What do you think? How many will we manage per day?’ asked Ella.
‘No more than two. But it depends on the condition of the roads. And as for the plantations further north . . . In all likelihood, I think we’ll have to find lodgings on the way.’ Rudolf’s assessment seemed realistic to Ella, judging by the roads they had travelled on so far.
‘Perhaps we’ll be lucky and the families will know each other,’ mused Ella.
Rudolf’s sceptical expression suggested just how likely he thought that was.
‘We’ll be on the road for at least two weeks, then,’ Ella concluded.
‘Unless we split up. I can travel more quickly on horseback than the two of us can by carriage. It must be possible to hire a horse here somewhere. You take the plantations to the west, and I’ll try the ones in the north that are further away. What do you think?’
Ella took a closer look at the map.
‘The roads here in the west look to be well paved. It’ll only be a few minutes’ drive – half an hour at most. I could even arrange for somebody to drive me. I’m sure it won’t cost the earth.’
Rudolf nodded.
‘I’m excited to see which of us finds your real father first. We should drink to that,’ he declared as he saw the waiter approaching with their wine and two glasses.
‘I worry that I’m just chasing a phantom,’ Ella murmured.
‘No, I don’t think that’s true,’ answered Rudolf – surely just to lift her spirits. He seemed so convinced they would find this sinister Richard that Ella was utterly baffled by his confidence.
The next morning, Rudolf had made Ella promise that she would hire somebody to drive her to the Ffresens’ plantation. For his part, Rudolf wo
uld head north to investigate a Dutch plantation and a British one, as agreed the previous evening. It would be much quicker to get there on horseback, and he could manage two or even three plantations in a day that way. Ella wasn’t an accomplished rider, but she also didn’t feel like making small talk with a hired coachman. Nor could she find a driver at such short notice; that was a service offered only by big hotels, and it needed to be booked in advance. According to the owner of the boarding house, however, the route was safe, even for a woman. Ella therefore plucked up her courage and set out on her own. By all accounts, it was impossible to miss the Ffresens’ plantation. There would be a sign pointing out where to turn off the road towards it. The only problem was that signs tended to become overgrown fairly quickly in these parts. Nonetheless, Ella managed to find it after just under an hour on the road.
Unlike the plantation she had passed through yesterday with Rudolf, there was grass growing between the trees here. She reasoned this was because the plantation was closer to the sea, and was therefore supplied with more moisture, although it also meant the air was much muggier here.
The main road was well paved and the house belonging to the Dutch owners already in view. Although she caught the attention of the workers, nobody asked any questions. As she trundled the last few yards up to the main house, Ella considered what reason she should give for her visit – but she had no time to come up with a suitable pretext.
‘Richard! We have a visitor!’ called an excited voice from somewhere in the house. It was a young voice, and belonged to a woman who couldn’t be more than thirty years old, to judge from her appearance as she stepped out from the shadow of the veranda. A man of around the same age with red hair and a stubbly beard emerged from the barn opposite. Ella might as well have turned her carriage around right then and there, for the Dutchman was clearly too young to be her father – yet it was too late for that.
‘You must be Elizabeth,’ the young woman surmised as Ella brought the carriage to a halt in front of the house. For a moment, Ella considered saying yes, but that would inevitably lead to complications. Once again, her improvisational skills came to the fore.