Savages

by Shirley Conran

  The Toyota heaved itself onto a dirt road, and they headed for the mine office.

  Kerry said, “Pity about Brett Adams.”

  “What about him?” Harry asked casually.

  “He’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, old chap, I thought you’d know. It happened just before the fighting. By the time I got back from the hospital, after dealing with the formalities about Brett’s death, the telex wasn’t working and neither was the telephone, but I assumed Arthur had phoned you.”

  “Well, he didn’t. Tell me what happened.”

  Kerry quickly described the accident in the mine. As the vehicle bumped along the ruts, both men fell silent. Neither of them knew Brett well, but all miners live with danger and any death strikes close to home.

  “Have you arranged shipment of the body back to Pittsburgh?” Harry asked.

  “Not yet. There hasn’t been time. The accident happened late on Tuesday afternoon. I was going to deal with it first thing on Wednesday, but by then we found ourselves in the middle of a mini-war, so Brett’s still in the hospital morgue.”

  Johno said, “What exactly happened here? Who’s fighting who?”

  Kerry pulled the wheel over sharply, to stay in the corrugations, those deep ruts formed by countless previous wheels on the dirt road. “As far as we can make out, Raki invaded the island from the sea, just after dusk last Tuesday, with a large force of Filipino mercenaries.

  “Undoubtedly the numbers have been greatly exaggerated, but I would guess he landed with about four hundred men. He claims he acted on behalf of the Nationalists, but it’s starting to look like a solo performance. Raki had a Filipino grandmother, and he trained in the Filipino army, so it’s not surprising that he recruited there.” Again he jerked the wheel over. “Of course, Raki would have found it difficult, if not impossible, to get local people to fight after dark on Paui, because that’s the time when spirits are supposed to walk, so they’d all be terrified. For that reason, I don’t suppose he’s met with much resistance. Apparently the first thing Raki did was to storm the radio station, which immediately surrendered. This was followed by the battle at the post office, which took ten minutes—after which Raki severed all communication with the outside world. No telephone, telegraph, telex or radio.”

  Harry nodded. He knew that the telecommunications system of Paui consisted of a satellite-linked radio, picked up by the relay station in Darwin from a geosynchronous satellite in orbit over the equator. In order to cut off the island from the outside world, Raki merely had to take over the recently completed electronic exchange at the post office, tell the two frightened operators to go home, then simply switch off the external radio link.

  They pulled up in front of a house. From the open door a woman in a flowered cotton dress waved to Kerry. Kerry waved back, but seemed reluctant to leave the luxurious cool of the vehicle. He said, “Things calmed down pretty fast after that. As far as we can make out, everyone simply turned and ran, or else hid under the bed.”

  “Many casualties?” Harry asked.

  “Nobody from Nexus has been hurt, so far as I know. Hardly any military casualties either. A few civilians got in the way of bullets. I’m afraid that’s inevitable on these occasions. Of course President Obe is dead, and the rest of the Cabinet couldn’t have had much chance of escape, unless they were able to head for a hiding place with their tribe. The Defense Force went straight over to Raki. He’s always been popular. First the young officers defected, then the rest followed.”

  Harry said, “Are you sure things have quieted down in Queenstown?”

  “Sure. I sent a couple of chaps into town at dawn this morning. They went with Mindo, so I know that the report is reliable.”

  “Who’s Mindo?”

  “He’s the mineworkers’ spokesman. An interesting guy; intelligent, and very well informed. Tough, but not ludicrously demanding. Always gives good reason for what the miners want.” He scratched his short sandy hair, then added, “Mind you, he can be exasperating. He led our first strike last year. It got them a nine percent wage rise, but Mindo had enough sense to see our subsequent production losses and realize how badly that affected the men’s end-of-year bonuses.”

  “So what did Mindo report from town?”

  “All whites are safe. The big excitement seems to have been the storming of the Presidential Compound. Once the invaders were past the outer wall, they poured hundreds of rounds into the main building. Everyone inside stupidly fled upstairs to the roof, and there they were either shot or thrown off, or jumped of their own accord.”

  Harry said, “It would probably have been a different story had it happened in daylight. Was there any looting?”

  “Of course. Looting started as soon as they could see, and lasted till about midday. They mainly went for the Asian shopkeepers around the harbor. They pulled off those protective grilles from the shop fronts and helped themselves to radios, watches and bicycles. They also got the town’s entire supply of tinned food, makeup and bottled gas. The only shop that wasn’t harmed was Mrs. Chang’s sewing machine emporium; it’s surrounded by broken glass and rubble, but it’s untouched.”

  “What happened to the looters?”

  “Apparently Raki shot about ten of them—and anyone that looked like a college student.”

  The dumpy woman in the flowered cotton dress frowned, and started down the path toward the Toyota.

  Hurriedly, Kerry said, “Betty’s wondering why we’re sitting out here. I expect you’d like a shower and a quick meal.”

  But the meal wasn’t quick, because the three houseboys and Cookie were saying their prayers in the little garden behind the house. Apologetically, Kerry’s wife offered her guests a bowl of fruit and some apathetic potato chips.

  She gave a laugh and said, “I don’t dare go into the kitchen; it would upset Cookie, and he’s such a gem. Really clean, which is so unusual for an islander. Cookie makes the houseboy scrub the kitchen every day. Kerry says you could operate on the kitchen table.”

  Harry asked, “Apart from the fighting, Kerry, how’re things at the mine?”

  “It’s been pretty quiet. We’re meeting our targets. The usual labor problems, but for the usual reasons.”

  Harry nodded. The mineworkers were tough, cheerful and full of vitality, but unpunctual and improvident. The mine had trouble keeping its staff, and deserters were frequent because once a man had a bicycle, a watch, a transistor radio and a sewing machine, he was by definition rich and it was beneath his dignity to work. He needed no other consumer goods until his machines broke down. It was not in the interest of the shops to repair goods; few of them could or would. So the man went back to the mines until he had sufficient money to buy new ones.

  Kerry, who could see that Harry didn’t want to chat, asked his wife, “How much longer are the kitchen staff going to be?”

  “I don’t know, darling. They’re praying for their dead ancestors to watch over the living and keep the rioters from their village pigs. They seem to have as many conversations with the dead as with the living.”

  Johno stripped the last banana. “Do they really think the dead act as pig protectors?”

  “Of course they do; no islander has doubts about his faith,” Betty said earnestly from behind her ornate, blue-framed glasses. “Traditional religion is undisputed fact on Paui. It’s as little questioned as the European medieval belief that the earth was flat.”

  “Weird,” Johno said.

  “Other people’s religious beliefs often seem weird,” Kerry said; “what you believe depends on where you were born. Faith can be a matter of geography: in some places, they believe that a man could turn wine into water; over here they believe in invisible pig-protectors.”

  Johno said, “It’s pretty ludicrous that they have the most up-to-date radio station side by side with witchcraft on this island.”

  Kerry laughed. “The radio stations seem like witchcraft to them. So we’re even.”


  * * *

  The mine pilot pressed the starter button of the Bell. The engine whirred, the blades started to turn. When the speed and pitch were right and the noise deafening, the helicopter daintily lifted from the ground and hovered for a moment. The pilot applied full power and the Bell rose straight up fast, then went into a forward climb to a thousand feet and headed south.

  Mount Ida receded behind them. Soon Harry could see the St. Mary River, undulating like a silver snake from the west until it finally spread into a muddy fan on the outskirts of Queenstown.

  The pilot altered course to southwest. On a passenger aircraft you feel unconnected with the ground, but dipping along in a small helicopter you feel a part of the doll’s-house details of the landscape.

  From Queenstown they followed the new Plains Road, which winds southwest between two mountain ranges. On the dirt road was a small moving trickle of black beads.

  Kerry said, “Refugee women and kids, heading away from possible future fighting in Queenstown. They’ll stay in their villages, either in the Central Mountains or on the west coast, where they’ll be safe from bombs, unintentional bullets or intentional rape.”

  The Bell flew over lush green countryside, veined with small silver streams. Below them, the landscape was like a bumpy patchwork quilt lying upon a sleeping giant. Harry could see the small ragged squares of different greens that were field and pastureland clustered around a broken line of villages, behind which the gentle foothills rose to dense, high tropical forest and mountain peaks.

  Sometimes the country fell steeply from the high peaks in jagged cliffs and gorges down to the swampy lowlands. The scattered patches of cultivation were separated by ravines in the highlands, stretches of almost impenetrable rain forest and, at a lower level, huge swamps into which the muddy waters of the mountain rivers debouched.

  Within an hour Harry sighted the blue sea sparkling beyond the jungle greens of Paradise Bay. Minutes later the Bell touched down on the small airstrip behind the hotel.

  The steamy heat was like lifting a casserole lid. The two Nexus executives ran in a crouch away from the helicopter blades, then stood up and looked around the airstrip.

  “Seems quiet enough,” Kerry said. “Not a soul in sight. Let’s go, Harry.”

  The two men left the pilot with the helicopter, in case a fast takeoff was necessary. In the sweaty heat, they walked off the airstrip and turned onto the winding country track that led to the hotel entrance. They sauntered in a carefree, casual manner, but Kerry carried a handgun. As they turned a bend in the road, they saw the low, cream-colored hotel building.

  Both men froze.

  They were close enough to see clear traces of battle; windows were broken and the walls were pitted by an uneven line of bullet holes. The elaborately carved teak entrance doors lay smashed on the forecourt.

  The only sound was birdsong and the faraway rhythmic sound of the surf as it boomed against the reef.

  From the main doorway five khaki-clad, jungle-booted soldiers appeared, with rifles held at the ready.

  “Don’t move,” Kerry said, unnecessarily.

  11

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1984

  In the darkness of the cave, Carey looked at the skeleton and trembled. She said, “She must have fallen down the shaft into the cave and broken her pelvis. Look, you can see it’s broken.”

  Jonathan, kneeling by the skeleton, looked up at Carey. “Maybe she has something to do with this area being taboo, if she fell down here and yelled for help. If the natives heard cries coming out of the ground and thought it was the voices of spirits, they would have been terrified.”

  Carey shivered.

  Jonathan said, “What’s important is, if she fell down, we ought to be able to climb down—and up! That means we’d have a beaut of a place to hide, without underwater torture every time.” He paused. “If the natives don’t know about this hole, then it’s probably difficult to spot topside.” He stood up. “Now let’s get back to the others and tell them.”

  As Jonathan neared the little group of frightened women, he heard the snuffling and sobs and stopped abruptly. Suddenly he could no longer push to the back of his mind the fact that his wife was dead. His chest seemed filled with stones, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move and he couldn’t face those women. Tears welled into his eyes, and he let out a sob. He wanted to sit alone in silence to mourn.

  Behind him, Carey started to cry. Jonathan turned and put his arm around her. Slowly, they followed the circle of light toward the weeping women.

  Sounding hoarse from suppressing his sobs, Jonathan said, “We can remember them tonight, but from tomorrow we must try not to think of what’s happened. We must postpone our sorrow until we’re safe. Otherwise, we’ll never get out of this place.”

  The women nodded.

  Jonathan sat down in the ammoniac guano, put his head in his hands and wept without restraint.

  * * *

  In the dark, tears streamed down Patty’s face. She couldn’t stop worrying about Stephen. She always tried to telephone him every day when she was away. So Stephen would immediately miss his mother’s daily telephone call. The housekeeper, Judy, had been instructed to call Patty’s mother if there was any problem. Mom would probably fly up from Florida, but no one understood Stephen as Patty did, so who would look after him if she didn’t get out of this nightmare alive? He would be lost and terrified without her. He would be feeling exactly as his mother was feeling in this black hole. Patty wiped her swollen nose on the back of her hand and looked at her luminous watch. It was nearly seven o’clock on Thursday morning, November 15. She had cried herself to sleep, and slept for fifteen hours on this hard, rock-covered ground. Her eyes were so swollen she could hardly open them, but she could hear clearly the sound that had awakened her. Something was hauling itself from the water.

  Terrified, Patty sat up. Then she spotted a dancing disc of light ahead of her. She whispered, “Did you swim outside, Jonathan?”

  “Yes. Nobody around.” He waded from the water, clutching his wet shirt with his left hand. “I brought back breakfast. Coconuts.”

  “I’ve never been so hungry in my life,” Patty whispered, anxious not to awaken the other women.

  He had swum outside, with only the machete for protection. After checking that there was no one in sight, he had collected four green coconuts from the back of the beach. Ravenously hungry, he had prized off the green, fibrous husk at the pointed end of each nut, then banged on the spot three times with the handle of the machete until the hard shell came away. It’s hard work, opening a coconut. As a reward, he drank the sweet milk.

  He hadn’t liked the idea of diving down that bloody hole again, but those poor starving Sheilas inside hadn’t had much to eat during the past two days. He had to admit, he hadn’t heard one complaint.

  By now the other women had stirred awake and were gratefully chewing hunks of moist coconut flesh. Jonathan said, “So far, we’ve done quite well. It looks as if we’ve evaded those bastards. We’ve got fresh water—even if it does have a few twigs and leaves in it. We have plenty of coconuts to eat. We’ve got enough equipment to look after ourselves. And we’ve found a really good place to hide.”

  “Sure,” said Suzy. “But how will Nexus find us in here?”

  “Nexus ain’t coming to look for us,” Jonathan said gently. “We were all blown up on the Louise, remember? If we wanna get off this island, we can only rely on our own efforts. That’s why I reckon we have to build a raft.”

  “A raft!” Suzy shrilled.

  “Yeah, I reckon we can make a raft that’s big enough for all of us. We’ll take off one evening after sunset and head for Irian Jaya. I’ve got my instruments, although I can navigate by the stars and the sun.”

  Carey said, “Why can’t we just stay here and hide, until the fighting is finished and it’s safe to go out?”

  “From what I’ve seen of their fighting methods, the invaders might win,” J
onathan said. “And from what I’ve seen of their goodwill, I don’t want to risk showing my face to them.”

  The silence was broken by Patty. “How are we going to get anywhere without an outboard motor?”

  “From October, northwest trade winds blow to the south along this coast. The current’s also in our favor,” he explained. “It sweeps round the southern tip of Paui toward the Torres Strait at about one knot.”

  “What’s a knot?” Suzy asked.

  “About fifteen percent more than a mile an hour. We might arrive in three days, although we’ll allow longer, to cover over seventy miles.”

  “Three days!” Silvana gasped. “On a raft!”

  “That’s a realistic time,” Jonathan said. “And the alternative is to stay here.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fast,” Patty objected. “I can swim faster than a mile an hour.”

  Carey said, “Yes, but not seventy miles nonstop.”

  “Will you two stop being so negative?” Annie said. “Jonathan’s obviously been thinking this out for hours. For heaven’s sake, let’s listen to him!”

  “We’ve got to get the raft made fast, or we’ll be trapped by bad weather,” Jonathan explained. “Today is November 15; the cyclone season starts December 1—regular as clockwork, and it lasts until the end of February. If we don’t get off before the Long Wet, we’ll be stuck here until next March. So we’re in a race against time, as they say.”

  “That’s right,” Carey said. “It said in the travel brochure that the Paui tourist season is April to November.”

  “How long will it take to build a raft?” Suzy asked.

  “Maybe twelve days, if we don’t run into problems. That gives us three days’ leeway. But I’ve always found that where there’s life, there’s problems.”

  “Surely it can’t rain for three whole days?” Suzy said. “And if it does, surely we can put up with a bit of heavy rain, if it means getting off this place.”