A Woman of Courage

by J. H. Fletcher

  His English was good, his accent strong. He was very young, very German, very correct.

  Craig answered him. ‘There are volcanoes in Indonesia.’

  The German laughed. ‘Indonesia? So far? So we should be safe enough here, ja?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  The engine picked up; they motored on.

  It was eight twenty-five.

  It was just after nine when they dropped anchor off the entrance to the hong. The tide was out and on either side of the entrance, dark and mysterious, they could see the line where the sea reached when the tide was full.

  The fishing boat had a kayak, which the crew launched over the side. The captain issued them with life jackets and checked to see they put them on correctly. He nodded approvingly.

  ‘This very wonderful place. Others have many tourists but here you the only ones.’

  ‘Shall we see birds?’

  The captain threw his arms excitedly into the air. ‘Birds, mangrove trees, maybe snakes: many, many things.’

  ‘Snakes? Not deadly ones, I hope?’ Craig said.

  ‘Oh yes, very, very deadly,’ the man assured him.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ Craig said.

  They climbed down into the kayak and settled themselves behind the burly young man whose job it was to paddle them through the dark tunnel and into the snake-infested marvels beyond.

  Nine-twenty.

  A surly slop and surge of water marked the entrance but the boatman negotiated it safely and paddled on into darkness. The rock ceiling, low to begin with, became still lower the further into the tunnel they got. In the confined space the sound of the sea slopping against the rock walls was very loud. The kayak was barely moving now. Before long they had to lower their heads as far as they could but still from time to time felt the rock brushing gently against their hair. It was absolutely dark; Hilary could see nothing, had no sense of any movement or even of the rock pressing close about them. All she could hear was the movement of the water, the dip and splash of the paddle, the thud of her heart. She remembered Dr Chang and thought what a great place this would be to have a heart attack.

  Still the tunnel continued, a cleft in the body of the cliff that seemed to go on forever. Except that now there was a change: she found that she could see the faint outline of the paddler in front of her, the faintest shadow against the returning light. The outline became stronger and soon she could make out the walls of the tunnel, black and glistening with water. The passage must have changed direction because all at once the light came flooding, the entrance into the hong open before them. After the dark tunnel the brightness was dazzling. The paddler increased the speed of his strokes until they emerged into daylight. Her eyes growing accustomed to the brightness, Hilary looked wonderingly about her. They had entered a hidden garden surrounded by vertical cliffs of white limestone that rose hundreds of feet into the sky. Trees with smooth trunks clustered on the open ground between the lagoon and the cliffs while mangroves showed their tangled, snake-like roots in the shallows. Cycads grew high on the cliffs and the air was still.

  ‘We’ve gone back in time. It’s like I always imagined the Garden of Eden,’ Craig said. He looked up as the branches were shaken far above them and pointed at a black face peering down at them from the shelter of the leaves. ‘Monkeys!’

  ‘I seem to remember a snake,’ said Hilary. ‘I don’t recall any monkeys.’

  ‘I guess Eve got into enough strife without monkeys,’ Craig said.

  While Hilary sat, staring and wondering. This is so good, she thought, so perfect. It is a sacred place and I am so glad to be here and see it with Craig, with my true love. It is like a glimpse of heaven and it is far, far better than I could ever have imagined.

  She turned to the boatman who was grinning as proudly as though he owned the hong and all that was in it. ‘Can we go ashore?’

  He seemed to understand because he nodded and Hilary and Craig stepped out of the kayak and waded ashore.

  It was ten o’clock as they stepped on to the dry land.

  Hilary, eyes shut to hold the image and the wonder more closely to herself, thought: So this is it. We are here together and it is perfect.

  There were birds in the trees, a flock of birds. She looked up in the hope of identifying them and at that moment they took off in a noisy chorus that circled over their heads before flying up and over the cliff tops and vanishing. A monkey chattered furiously.

  That’s funny, Hilary thought. Something must have alarmed them.

  At that moment Craig said in a voice that was not at all like his normal voice: ‘Something is going on.’

  She looked where he was pointing. It was past low water yet the water level in the hong was still dropping. They stared at each other.

  It was ten-fifteen.

  TSUNAMI

  1

  In the two hours since the fishing boat had passed, the beach had filled up. Holidaymakers were everywhere: family groups with children playing; young couples oiling each other’s backs; individuals strolling along the water’s edge. The two Germans were working on their yacht. Along the road that bordered the beach bicycle salesmen had parked beneath the trees, hoping to attract customers to buy ice cream, fresh fruit, newspapers, sun lotion. In the town the shops were open, the cafés full of people eating a late breakfast; motor scooters whizzed to and fro; townspeople shouted cheerful greetings to one another; and in the main street flowers were being placed before portraits of the king at shrines set up in his honour. It was a hot morning and getting hotter; in the resorts on the edge of town the swimming pools were full. The sky was blue and there was no wind. It was the ideal day to rest and recover after what for many had been an over-indulgent Christmas Day.

  Mrs Cornelia Mudge was one of those who had eaten too much. She had never been one to resist a second helping and Christmas – a Christmas in Thailand, what was more – had made it almost a duty to take the most of her opportunities. She wondered what her friends back in England would say if they could see her now.

  About as different from Reading as it’s possible to be, she thought. It had cost them a packet but had been worth every penny.

  Husband Brian was lying at her side. He’d eaten too much as well and drunk his share and maybe more, but Christmas, this Christmas in particular, was special, wasn’t it, and he would soon get over it. Daughter Sylvia was off somewhere but Cornelia Mudge was not worried. She wouldn’t be far. Sylvia was only ten but as bright as a button; she was more than capable of looking after herself.

  2

  Three hundred metres from the beach in the wood-walled shanty she shared with four other families, Chailai Suttikul and her daughter Dao were at the charcoal stove, preparing their meal from the fish she had begged that morning from Kamnah the fisherman. She knew he fancied her; she liked him too. But would he protect and support her? He was young and men were fickle. She nursed a secret hope they might make a life together but she was already twenty years old, a widow with a child of three, and knew how little she had to offer. A body and a willing heart, but bodies were cheap and how could any man read a woman’s heart?

  Later she would pay a visit to the Tiger Cave temple and pray yet again to Kwam Im that the goddess should show compassion on her.

  The fish was cooked. She took it off the fire.

  3

  Hans Bauer had gone below to examine the charts in preparation for their cruise down the coast to the Malaysian island of Penang when Rudi called out to him.

  ‘Step up here a minute.’

  He went up on deck. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Look at the sea.’

  Hans looked; his eyes opened wide. ‘What the…?’

  Because the sea was barely there. The ebb was over an hour since; the tide had no business to be still going out but it was.

  He jumped to the controls and checked the depth under the keel.r />
  ‘One metre forty-five?’

  It was impossible but there it was.

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  Rudi gaped. ‘What?’

  ‘If we don’t move we’ll be aground.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I don’t care why. Let’s move it. Hurry!’

  4

  In the village Hilary and Craig had visited two days before life continued as usual. Goaded by small boys, water buffalo were working in the communal paddy field a short distance away. A narrow track led to a muddy beach where the children were sometimes sent to gather tiny clams and other shellfish. The tide had gone out almost half a kilometre, much further than usual, but the children were in school, the majority of the inhabitants were farmers and no one thought anything of it.

  The school echoed with the shrill chanting of the pupils learning by rote as they recited the Ramakien, the national epic of Thailand.

  It was ten twenty-nine.

  5

  On the town beach the tide had gone out so far the sea was barely visible. Children from holidaying families were prospecting a long way from shore, some with shrimping nets, checking pools of water for whatever fish they might find. The yacht was heading for the horizon when Sylvia came racing up to her parents, half-asleep on the warm sand. She started shouting well before she reached them.

  ‘Mum, Mum…’

  ‘What is it, dear?’

  ‘There’s something wrong with the sea.’

  Cornelia Mudge was slow to move or respond. She tended to be tolerant of her daughter’s alarms; Sylvia was always coming up with some crazy theory so her present excitement was nothing new. Added to which Cornelia was comfortable where she was and did not feel like leaping to her feet just because something had pressed her daughter’s panic button.

  ‘What is wrong with it, dear?’

  ‘Look at it!’ Sylvia’s excitement moved up a notch. ‘It’s gone right out.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be back when the tide comes in,’ she said.

  ‘But it’s gone miles! It’s not just the tide. It’s something different. We did it with Mrs Willis at school. It’s what happens just before a tsunami strikes.’

  Cornelia Mudge had only the vaguest notion what a tsunami was. ‘Isn’t that some kind of tidal wave?’

  ‘That’s right!’ Sylvia was dancing in agitation; she reached down and shook her mother’s arm. ‘Get up, Mum! Get up!’

  Cornelia saw her daughter was close to tears. ‘Why should there be a tidal wave?’

  ‘I don’t know why! All I know is that when the sea goes out like this it’s a warning. First it goes out for miles and then comes in really fast: fast as an express train, Mrs Willis said. And when it hits the beach the waves will be enormous, higher than the trees. They’ll drown everybody if we don’t get them off the beach.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Mrs Mudge said.

  But her husband was on his feet. ‘Sylvie’s right. There is something wrong.’

  The tone of his voice made Cornelia get up fast. The sea had certainly gone out a long way; it had almost vanished. She looked around and saw groups of other people, standing and pointing. Mothers were setting off after children far out on the wet sand, screaming at them to come in, come in now. The bicycle salesmen had packed up and were heading into town, standing on their pedals and making tracks as fast as they could go. She could sense panic building.

  Brian Mudge obviously shared Sylvia’s alarm. With her beside him he was running from group to group, talking urgently to each in turn. It was obvious to everyone by now that the sea’s behaviour was out of the ordinary and might well indicate that some catastrophe was on the way. Better safe than sorry, Cornelia said to herself, and began to gather their towels and other bits and pieces together.

  She heard a distant sound, like thunder. She turned and looked across the mud flats to where the sea should have been and saw emerging from the horizon a line of white: a gigantic wave extended as far as she could see, boiling and growing larger with every second and roaring as it came. The sound grew rapidly, became deafening, and the speed with which the wave advanced was so great that for a moment it mesmerised her. She forced her legs to move. She knew they had to get away at once if they were to have any hope of survival. Waiting only to confirm that her daughter and husband were also running for their lives, she abandoned their possessions and fled. While the monstrous wave raced landwards, its crest higher than the trees, and its roar engulfed the world.

  6

  A friend stuck her head around the door of Chailai’s hut.

  ‘The tide has gone out a long way. People are saying there should be lots of pools where fish may be trapped. I am going down to try and catch some. Are you coming?’

  Extra food was always welcome. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Bring a bucket.’

  Chailai settled baby Dao on her hip and set off with her friend down the track to the beach where both women stood and stared in amazement.

  ‘Hau!’

  The sea was gone. Neither could think what it might mean, nor did they waste time wondering about it. The retreating tide had indeed left many pools and already there were people moving from one to the next, scavenging what they could find. The two women set out across the oozy mud to join them.

  The pools nearest to land had nothing in them; others had already emptied them so the two women went further out. A boy ran past them with a big crab in his hands. The crab’s claws waved frantically and the boy’s face was bright with triumph. They saw the bent backs of women, their hands busy as they raked through the silt-lined pools, but there were plenty of pools. They walked on until they found one with nobody beside it. Chailai set the child down on the sand and began to search.

  Tiny fish darted from side to side of the pool. They were hard to catch but little by little the two friends managed to trap them. The surface of the pool began to tremble.

  ‘Could it be a big fish buried in the sand?’ the friend said.

  Again their fingers raked the bed of the pool, sending the sand swirling. They found nothing but the water continued to tremble, the movement much stronger than before. Chailai frowned; it was very strange. She stood to ease her back. For the first time she heard a rumble like the engines of the big trucks that sometimes drove through the town. And now it was not only the water in the pool that was trembling; the ground itself was shaking beneath their feet.

  The two friends stared at each other. They had come further out than the other villagers and were alone on the shaking sand. And the noise was much louder now.

  Chailai looked out to sea. Her hands flew to her mouth and she screamed. An enormous wave was roaring towards them. She ran and snatched up the baby. Her friend was screaming too, both of them running frantically towards the land, both of them knowing it was far too late. No way could they hope to outrun the roaring sea and there was nowhere to hide. They stopped, knowing that all was lost, clinging with their despairing arms wrapped about each other, eyes and mouths wide with terror, as the tsunami fell upon them.

  7

  The water smashed into the land with the force of a nuclear blast. Ancient trees, some over a hundred feet high, shattered like matchsticks. Food stalls vanished; those who had stayed to protect their property from looters vanished too. Wooden shacks were ripped apart. The splintered fragments were swept away with many of the occupants.

  Running flat out, eyes wide with terror, Cornelia Mudge and her family escaped by inches, the foaming sea licking at their heels as, breath like fire in their chests, they reached higher ground and safety. An old man who had come on holiday to get over the recent death of his wife managed to escape with them only to die of a heart attack in front of their horrified eyes. Not everyone had got away from the beach in time and many died, lost in the tumultuous seas.

  In the lower parts of the town even stone buildings were affected, flood waters head high smashing windows and doors and destroying all in thei
r path: tables, chairs, old people and babies asleep in back rooms, shoppers, those eating or working in the cafés. Broken pieces of masonry fell from inundated buildings, crushing those beneath.

  Outside town giant waves engulfed the village where Hilary and Craig had bought coconuts and rambutans. Fruit trees and paddy fields were destroyed, the water buffalo and their minders drowned; bodies were swept away or buried metres deep in mud. Of the peaceful village and its school only ruins remained but a car that had been travelling along the road when the first wave struck was found half-buried in mud in the place where the school had been. A few children survived, clinging to debris and being swept along in the torrent until they reached higher ground and safety, but most died with their teacher in the gutted school.

  Far out at sea the Germans’ yacht was trapped beneath the monstrous waves. Overturned, mast gone, hull torn open, it was swept back on the crest of the toppling wave to be shattered into fragments on the shore. The two young men were snatched by the sea.

  At the entrance to the hong the fishing boat captain eyed the dropping sea levels and fired up the engine. He ordered the anchor brought in; within a minute the boat was motoring along the coast in an attempt to avoid being grounded by the retreating seas. He was apprehensive; as a child he had heard stories of the sea retreating only to return later, destroying all in its path. One kilometre from the beach he had his first sight of the wall of water roaring in from the horizon. With the engine already running flat out there was nothing he could do. The disaster of ancient legend had returned to devour the land. All he could do was carry on and hope to reach shelter before the waves struck. He knew there was no chance of it and was right. The tsunami caught and destroyed the vessel and everything aboard. The last thing he saw was the face of death as the massive wave devoured them.

  8

  In the hong the area uncovered by the retreating sea had doubled in five minutes. Hilary and Craig stared at it and at each other.