by R. B. Shaw
Jan crawled out of the tent, closely followed by Dave. They moved to the tepid sea for a quick dip before breakfast. Fang stood at the water’s edge dabbing his abraded knuckles with salt water.
‘Who were you talking to last night, Fang?’ Dave demanded curtly.
Fang paused before answering. ‘Tiana.’
‘What the hell was she doing here? Spying again?’
‘She came to see me and explained everythin’.’
Jan burst in angrily. ‘You’re an idiot if you get involved with her again. Can’t you see what she is? She’s using you again.’
‘Bullshit! Only her sister is hawkin’ the fork. Tiana wants to help us. She said Kless knows about the gold shipment and was arrangin’ for more searches of the barge and foothills.’
‘You’d believe anything,’ Dave shouted. ‘Can’t you keep your brain above waist level? A pretty piece of fluff flutters her eyelashes and you’re suddenly arse over head in dreamland again.’
‘And if you’d pull your head outa your arse for five minutes and listen, we might get somewhere!’ Fang sneered.
Dave contained his rage. ‘Okay, five minutes, but don’t give me no shit.’
‘Tiana said there’s a Jap workin’ with Kless. It’s Harada and they’ve got the diary.’
‘Impossible,’ said Dave uncertainly.
‘Well, how the hell did she know the Jap’s name and about the bloody diary?’ Fang snarled.
Dave considered the turn of events. ‘What can she tell us about the diary?’
‘Probably nothin’, so I’ve asked her to photocopy it while Kless’s bombed out. In return she wants us to help her and her sister to escape from Kless.’
‘Good thinking but this puts a whole new perspective on things. For a start we’d better expedite the search of the barge and watch our step. This creep is powerful and out to get us.’
Fang’s thoughts were elsewhere. ‘The barge is nearly cleaned out Dave. We gotta make time to help Tiana and her sister.’
‘Bit awkward at the moment. We can’t even get on the estate. We could probably sneak in and out via the nearby beach, but it’d be better to wait and use the Angry Egg.’
Jan had been listening intently to Fang’s story. ‘Before we go near Kless again, we need to find out more. I’ll contact Joe and ask him to drop by our camp tonight. I know he does weekly checks on the volcano and I think he’s going up tomorrow. While he’s here we can ask to go along on his volcano expedition and visit the sacred grounds of the Sangami Fire Cult.’
‘Good idea,’ said Dave, ‘but we’re losing precious time. Seiji in particular is anxious for results—we have to do something. I’ll tell him about Harada and send him off with Jake to explore the country between here and the foothills. Should be okay as long as they stay well clear of Rimbula.’
That evening they sat outside the tent as night fell. A pastel sky tufted with purple and peach topped a luminous flat sea tinted mauve by a crimson setting sun. Gradually the sea and sky merged in a vanishing horizon. Featureless silhouettes of local villagers busied themselves in the last rays of light. Within minutes the fire became the centre of light in the short twilight. The familiar din of Joe’s old Ford disturbed the tranquillity of their camp.
Two people alighted from the car and even in the twilight gloom Dave recognised the unmistakable limp of Ted Frazer. ‘Ted! You okay? I thought you had gone back to Zawan.’
‘I did, only to give Richard a decent burial in the place he was born.’ Ted looked younger despite his years. He seemed more confident and taller in stature, clearly a man on a mission.
‘How’d you find us?’ said Fang.
‘Caught a coastal trader from Madang and looked up Joe at Kaviak.’ He looked up, vengeance in his eyes. ‘Harada’s here, isn’t he?’
‘He’s on the island for sure.’ Dave nodded. ‘We think he’s teamed up with a local plantation owner, Bruno Kless, to try and find the gold. We found the barge but no gold so far. Seiji and Jake have gone bush trying to find any sign of the Japs that landed here.’
‘Kless?’ Ted grunted. ‘Heard a lot about him. Nasty bit o’ work. Right, just let me know if there’s anythin’ I can do.’
‘You could stay with us. Fang might be alone here tomorrow diving on the barge. Keep an eye on our camp for us,’ Dave requested. ‘I don’t know if Harada’s aware you’re on the island. I suggest keeping a low profile.’
Joe discussed the volcano, the Fire Cult and Kless as Jan turned fresh fillets of red emperor on the grill. He opened a beer and lit a cigarette. ‘Ted’s arrival back on Karkar caused a stir. Some of the old natives recognised his limp and must have known about his surviving the pit. A lot were afraid. Others followed us around like he was some kind of god.’
Dave cursed. ‘You can bet the news will be all over the island by tomorrow.’
Joe told them all he knew about Kless. He knew nothing more of importance to assist their search or a rescue attempt. Dave decided not to tell Joe the full story of events at Rimbula Plantation. He simply explained that Kless refused entry to commercial interests.
Jan handed Joe a hot plate of chargrilled fillets and deliberately steered the conversation. ‘How did you first get involved with volcanos, Joe?’
‘Didn’t get much of an education, so started out as an amateur geologist. Did a lot of courses and it was a natural progression from there.’
Fang paused from savouring a mouthful of the carbon-crusted white flesh and tried to talk through it. ‘My mother wanted me to be a concert pianist.’ He held up his giant hands and stubby fingers. ‘These are even useless for pickin’ ya nose.’
Joe ignored Fang’s crude diversion and continued. ‘Volcanic action is without doubt the most dynamic example of the earth’s self-renewal. Nature’s not an adversary—it’s simply earth reborn, a land in change.’
‘So you’re just a glorified rock doctor?’ Fang smirked, as he scooped up another fillet.
Again Joe chose to ignore Fang’s comments. ‘It’s fascinatin’ work, like living geology. There’s a measurable expansion of a volcano. With tremendous underlying forces it can often be a few metres in a few months, like an inflating balloon.’ He hesitated for effect. ‘Some say it’s like measuring the pulse of a dragon.’
Jan grasped her opportunity. ‘Are you still going up tomorrow as planned.’
‘I go weekly. Tomorrow’s the next trip.’
Jan turned on her flirtatious charm and flashed her disarming smile. ‘I’ve always wanted to climb an active volcano. Could you take us along?’
‘It’s dangerous,’ Joe voiced his misgivings. ‘If anything happened, there’d be litigation problems. We’d also be trespassing on the sacred ground of the Sangami. The Mountains of Heaven, as they call them, are a place of reverence and awe. They know it’s my job and understand I’m trying to help them. They could be hostile if I allowed strangers along.’
‘We’re not worried about the volcano,’ Dave interrupted. ‘We’re concerned about clues to Seiji’s father and this lost wartime shipment. There’s a couple of hundred bucks in it for you.’
Joe considered the financial reward. ‘I’ll take you as far as the sacred grounds of the Sangami. From there on you’d be on your own. There’s a tricky spot—the Devil’s Slide.’
Jan frowned. ‘The Devil’s Slide?’
‘Part of the western caldera has collapsed, leaving a sheer thousand-foot drop. The locals have carved a ledge trail along the outside face so it can be crossed. Even that’s broken away in places. They’ve repaired it by hammering stakes into the cliff face and laid heavy saplings as an elevated walkway. It’s a deadly drop—no place for a lady.’
Jan flared at the chauvinistic remark. It caused a gut reaction. ‘I’ve climbed the tallest peaks in the South Pacific, been underground in some of the world’s deepest caves and rafted many fast and dangerous river rapids. I’ll be the judge of what a lady can handle, Joe.’
‘Point taken,’ Jo
e smiled sheepishly. ‘Okay, meet me at my airport store shed. I leave Kaviak at six and we’ll travel to Kevasop in the Fairmont. Don’t forget to bring the money.’
The thought of the climb now excited Dave. It would give them a first hand tour of the suspect regions of the fabled Fire Cult, led by a man who was almost a local legend himself. They could borrow Jake’s motorcycle and still be back in time to help check the results of Fang’s final dive on the barge.
‘Are Jake and Seiji returning to camp tonight?’ said Jan.
‘No, they’re intending to comb the bush between here and the foothills,’ Dave explained. ‘Said they’d camp out tonight,’ After Joe left, they bedded down, though remained restless due to the hot humid night. They slept outside the tent, hoping to find relief in the cool sea breeze. Ted lay awake, mesmerised by the two insidious glows in the sky. As well as the activity from looming Karkar, Manam Island volcano still erupted, over a hundred kilometres to the north. A red smoky haze stained the night sky. Twice more before morning, earth tremors shook their camp.
Gentle probing fingers sifted through Dave’s hair and massaged his chest. Jan moved closer, her warm inviting presence overwhelming. He turned and caressed her beneath the mosquito net. The noisy rush of the phosphorescent ebb tide and the lulling din of a myriad conversing insects screened their activity. As they made love, they did not notice the other earth tremors. The cloudy moonless night left them in total darkness, their campfire long since extinguished.
Jan glanced at the sky, excited about the volcano climb in the morning. The crater lit the low stratus cloud with a fiery scarlet glow—red for danger.
40
Dave and Jan waded out for a quick swim before breakfast. The backlit waves were opaque in the dawn light, creating lacework patterns of foam across the curling faces. Purple offshore islands floated on a lilac-tinted sea; the primrose sky laced with indigo streaks of cloud. As they ate, local children visited and frolicked naked at the water’s edge. They shrieked and laughed as their frivolous silhouettes sprayed haloes of golden droplets.
Jan turned with difficulty on the rear of Jake’s Yamaha 350 and waved goodbye to Fang. Dave gunned the throttle and the trail bike whisked them up through the ferns. The string of slashed palms led to the coronus track and then the main road. After the humid night, the ride exhilarated them. The fresh early morning breeze on their faces felt like a breath of spring though dark clouds to the south carried light rain.
Dave opened the throttle wider. The staccato crackle of the exhaust sounded like music to his ears. Jan clung nearer, arms firmly around his waist. They leaned steeply into a tight corner and braked heavily over a rough palm log bridge. Kaviak airstrip came into view.
Joe waited near the cargo shed with his battered but faithful Ford. ‘Morning gang. Have to squeeze the three of us in the front seat. The rear of the wagon’s packed with volcanological equipment and food stocks for the summit observatory.’
‘No problem,’ said Dave as he paid Joe his fee. ‘Just glad to be going along.’
Dave’s sense of engineering standards revolted as he noticed the Ford’s lidless fuse box. All proper fuses were long gone, replaced by an odd assortment of paperclips, rolled foil wrappers and a .22 bullet cartridge case. Joe’s faithful Fairmont was an accident looking for a place to happen.
They headed south through numerous tidy villages in the shadow of the volcano. ‘When and how did the Fire Cult start?’ Dave probed.
Joe swerved, the tarred road often washed away exposing stretches of bare white coronus. ‘Earliest reports are in the mid 1930s. Some tribes abandoned their villages and followed a messianic figure into the mountains. Prior to the war, in 1940, the cult was so strong it immobilised the whole island and a state of emergency was declared.’
Dave lifted his legs clear as the Ford pounded through a puddle. A cascade of water, sand and crushed coral again erupted through gaping holes in the floor. ‘So what happened then?’
Heavy rain began to fall and Joe nonchalantly picked up the detached wiper arm from the dash. He reached outside and carefully wiped the exterior of the glass. ‘Their activities continued on a limited scale during the war. Though the Sangami were dispersed in 1945, there was a strong resurgence of the Fire Cult a few years later.’ He swung the old Ford sharply up a rough track. ‘This is the turn off to Kevasop village. The road gets steep and rough from here.’
The rain stopped, revealing a dirty grey scum that enveloped the surrounding foliage. Coconut palms stood listless, their grey ash-laden fronds collapsed against their trunks like giant shredded parasols.
‘Is that volcanic ash?’ Jan enquired.
‘Volcanic dust. Ash is a bit heavier, like rocks and ejecta.’ Joe’s Ford rattled over a torn section of the road heading up to Kevasop, forward vision dominated by the expansive slopes of Karkar’s volcano. Talc-like powder dusted the entire area. It looked alien, like a dirty early morning frost over tropical foliage.
‘Why doesn’t the rain wash it off?’ Dave asked.
‘Probably will eventually. It really caked on when it rained mud.’
‘Rained mud?’ Jan repeated.
‘Yeah, when the volcano blew its top last month, it threw up a huge pall of ash, dust and vapour. It was so dense it looked like a billowing oil fire. All the static-charged particles in the air caused a hell of an electrical storm around the top cone. All colours of lightning flashing, thunder crashing and the volcano rumbling. Pumice and steam condensed out of the sky like drops of thin melted chocolate. It dried out later to this muddy grey colour.’ Joe motioned to the toneless matted jungle either side of the climbing Ford.
‘Where did these cultists come from?’ queried Jan, taking his commentary back to their main interest.
Joe opened a pack of cigarettes and lit one. ‘They’re not ethnically from Karkar. The two tribal groups here are the Takian in the north and the Waskian in the south. The Sangami cult’s not from either. Two PNG island volcanoes had cataclysmic eruptions, like Krakatoa. In 1888, Ritter Island in the Siassi Group blew up and sank, creating huge tidal waves and causing massive loss of life. Many generations ago Yomba Island, not far to the east and as big as Karkar, erupted violently. It simply disappeared and formed what is now Hankow Reef. Luckily, the gradual increase in activity fore-warned most of the population and allowed them to escape.’
‘To Karkar,’ Jan deduced.
‘Yeah. These survivors resettled along the mainland north coast. Others resettled on Bagabag, Long and Karkar Islands, ironically all active volcanos. The Sangami are descendants of these Yomba islanders. They’ve never been welcome here and it’s compounded the tribal wars that constantly plague the island.’
As they bounced along the rain-damaged track, Dave noticed they were heading well inland. The heat and humidity overpowered them without relief of the coastal breeze. ‘How far now?’
‘Nearly there—the track ends at Kevasop. It’s a tidy village except for a thick mantle of volcanic dust. It straddles the flattened top of a ridge nearly halfway to the top of the volcano.’
Joe idled the Ford into the village and parked near an old abandoned truck buried to its axles in lapilli and ash. Grey dust drained all life and colour from the scene.
Some collapsed huts nearby took Jan’s attention. ‘What happened there, Joe?’
‘The volcanic fallout is light enough,’ he replied. ‘But too heavy when soaked in rainwater.’ He began unloading his testing equipment. ‘This is my storage hut over here. Give us a hand.’
A distinct sulphurous smell now drifted through the village. Jan and Dave wrinkled their noses at the pungency of the odour.
Dave took the opportunity to question the locals about wartime Japanese patrols across the slopes of the volcano. He returned dejected. ‘None of them are old enough to have experienced the Jap occupation or aware of anyone trading in gold dust.’
‘What about the Sangami?’ asked Jan.
‘They didn’t say much. I
t’s obviously tambu. They hate them and when I mentioned the Fire Cult they looked shit-scared.’
The native women toyed with Jan’s fine silky hair. Others followed, trying to touch her fair skin. ‘What’s wrong with them, Dave?’
‘It’s a remote village. Some of them have never seen a white woman before.’
Excitement peaked among the village women as they carried a small litter from a grass hut. A crippled blind girl sat on the litter, eager to experience the strange visitors. Her milky white eyes stared uselessly into space. She beamed a beautiful smile, elated at the thought of being in the presence of the alien visitors described by her friends. Jan showed sympathy for her plight and tried to converse in Pidgin, but they could only communicate with touch and sound.
Jan placed the blind girl’s hand on her cheek and let her carefully caress the smooth contours of her face. The girl’s gentle fingers softly explored every feature, then sifted the silken tresses of Jan’s hair. The elated blind girl smiled broadly, exposing perfect teeth lightly stained pink from betel nut. She squealed in delighted fascination.
Jan suggested a new strategy. ‘Dave, my Pidgin’s not good enough. Talk to her—blind people are often very perceptive.’
Dave wanted to move on and investigate the sacred upper regions of the volcano. But he made time for a quick chat with the beaming blind girl, speaking in rapid but polite Pidgin. Jan noticed a change in his stance and his renewed interest in the blind girl’s answers. Clearly, he was learning something from her. The girl responded amiably and he thanked her, then led Jan away.
‘What was that all about?’ Jan smiled. ‘Have I lost my lover?’
‘Just making conversation. I asked her if she was afraid to be living so close to the active volcano. She said no, as her relatives look after her, but she’s terrified of the Sangami. I asked her why and she replied that they’re evil warriors who deliberately stir up trouble between the normally peaceful tribes. She said they’re responsible for many murders and disappearances. Sometimes when the moon’s full and the wind’s blowing this way, she’s heard and smelt terrible things the other villagers don’t notice.’