“One of the men close to her was betrayed, then another, finally, it was her brother who was killed. The gestapo had them, but they died without talking. One night I came to her to plead that she come away with me, it had been three years that I had fought in the underground, for her, almost six. But she told me she could not go; that someone close to her was working with the Nazis, someone who knew her. She must stay until she knew who it was.
“Yet try as she could, there was no clue. The man was shrewd, and a very devil. He finally came to her himself, after her brother was caught. He told her what he knew of her underground activities and of mine. He told her unless she came to live with him that I would be tortured and killed.
“He had spied upon her. He had even discovered her burning the candle before the dagger for Pierre after he was killed. He told her of it, to prove how much he knew—to prove he knew enough to find me—and she had admitted the reason.
“In the letter in which all this was told, she could not tell me who he was. He had friends in the underground, and she was fearful that learning who she was writing about, they would destroy the letter if they saw his name, and then she would be cut off from me and from all help.
“She would give me his name, she said, when I came next to Paris. He had not forced himself on her, just threatened. We had to plan to do away with him quickly. Marie said, too, that she was afraid that if the invasion came, he would kill her, for she alone could betray him; she alone knew of his activities for the Nazis.
“The invasion a secret? Of course! But when orders began to come for the underground, come thick and fast, we knew it was coming. Then, the landings were made, and for days we were desperately busy.
“We rose in Paris, and they were exciting, desperate days, and bitter days for the collaborators and the men of Vichy. Their servitude to the Nazis had turned to bitterness and gall; they fled, and they begged, and they died.
“When I could, I hurried to the flat where Marie lived. It was near here, just around the corner. I found her dying. She had been raped and shot by this collaborator two days before and she had crawled to her apartment to wait for me. She died telling me of it, but unable before her last breath to give me his name.”
“And there was no way you could figure out who he was?” I asked.
“How?” He spread his hands expressively. “No one suspected him. His desire for her was such that he had threatened her, and in threatening her he had boasted of what he had done. That was a mistake he rectified by killing her.
“Only one thing I know. He is one of our little group here. She said he lived in this neighborhood, that he was waiting here more than once when he accosted her. He thinks himself safe now. My girl has been dead for some time and her body buried. She is never mentioned here.
“Mombello? He is an Italian. Picard is a chemist, and has had traffic with Germany since the twenties. Matsys? An iron foundry owner who retained it all through the war, but who was active in the underground as were Picard and Mignet.”
We were interrupted then by some others coming into the café, yet now the evening had added zest. Here was a deadly bit of business. Over the next two hours, as they trooped in, I began to wonder. Which was he?
The slender, shrewd Mombello with his quick, eager eyes? That lean whip of a man, Mignet? The heavy Matsys with blue and red veins in his nose, and the penchant for telling you he’d seen it all and done it all. Or was it dry, cold Picard who sipped wine through his thin lips and seemed to have ice water for blood?
Which man was marked to die? How long would Tomas sit brooding in his corner, waiting? What was he waiting for? A slip of the tongue? A bit of drunken talk?
None of these men drank excessively. So which one? Mombello whose eyes seemed to gloat over the body of every woman he saw? Mignet with his lust for money and power and his quick knife? Or big affable Matsys? Or Picard with his powders and acids?
How long would he wait? These five had sat here for months, and now…now there were six. I was the sixth. Perhaps it was the sixth to tip the balance. Here they were caught in a pause before death. Yet the man who killed such a girl, and who betrayed his country, should not go free. There was a story in this, and it had an ending, somewhere.
Over the following gray days, several in a row, the conversation ebbed and flowed and washed around our ears. I did not speak privately to Tomas again but there seemed an ongoing, silent communication between us. Then, in a quiet moment of discussion, someone mentioned the bazooka, and it came to me then that another hand had been dealt…mine.
“A strange weapon,” I agreed, and then moved the tide of conversations along the subject of weapons and warfare. I spoke of the first use of poison gas by soldiers of Thebes when they burned sulfur to drive defenders from the walls of Athenian cities, then to the use of islands of defense; a successful tactic by the Soviets in this war, previously used by the Russians defending themselves against Charles XII of Sweden.
Then other weapons and methods, and somehow, but carefully, to strange knives.
Tomas ignored me, the spider in his web, but he could hear every word and he was poised, poised for anything.
Mignet told of a knife he had seen in Algiers with a poisoned barb in the hilt near the blade, and Mombello of a Florentine dagger he had once seen.
Tomas stayed silent, turning his glass in endless circles upon the table before him, turning, turning, turning. We locked eyes for a moment and before he looked away he seemed to sigh and give a nearly imperceptible nod.
“There was a knife I saw once,” I said suddenly, “with engraving on it. A very old knife, and very strange. A figure of Christ on the cross rose above a fallen snake. The religious symbolism is interesting. I’d never seen its like before, the worksmanship was so finely wrought.”
A moment passed, a bare breath of suspended time…
“It was not the only one, I think,” Leon Matsys said. “Odd things, they were used in some custom dating back to the Crusades.”
He looked up, about to say more, then slowly the life went from his face. He was looking at Tomas, and Tomas was smiling.
Jean Mignet’s eyes were suddenly alive. He did not know, but he suspected something. He was keen, that one.
Leon Matsys’s face was deathly pale. He was trapped now, trapped by those remarks that came so casually from his lips. In the moment he had certainly forgotten what they might imply, and could not know that it would matter. He looked to one side and then the other, and then he started to take a drink.
He lifted the glass, then suddenly put it down. He got up, and his face was flabby and haunted by terror. He seemed unable to take his eyes from Tomas.
I glanced at Tomas, and my muscles jumped involuntarily. He had the ancient knife in his hand and was drawing his little circles with its point.
Matsys turned and started for the entrance, stumbling in his haste. The glass in the tall door rattled as it slammed closed, leaving only a narrow view of the dimly lit street.
After a moment Tomas pushed his chair back and got up and his step was very light as he also went out the door.
THE DIAMOND OF JERU
THE PENAN PEOPLE of Borneo say that the forest and the earth will provide for you if only you will let them. I hadn’t exactly found that to be true, but what did I know? I was an American, stopping briefly in their land and ignorant of their ways.
*
—
I WAS DOWN TO my last few coins when John and Helen Lacklan arrived in Marudi. I’d come down from Saigon to make my fortune but luck had not been with me. For over a year I’d been living like a beachcomber who had accidentally found his way inland. There was a longing in me to make my way back home but no money to do it with. I’d told myself it was better to stay where I was and wait for an opportunity. Around Sarawak, in those days, a white man could go a long way just on confidence and the color of his skin.
My luck paid off in this way: a friend in the government office offered
to send me some tourists, Mr. and Mrs. John Lacklan. He had set me up, time and again, with minor engineering and construction jobs and was responsible for my having been able to keep body and soul together over the last few months. The Lacklans were an American couple, in from Singapore. They were recently married and, most importantly, they were looking for a diamond.
Now they find diamonds around Bandak, around Kusan, and near Matapura, to name only a few places. They also find some rare colors in the Sarawak River. Most so-called “fancy” stones are found in Borneo, for diamonds come in a variety of colors, including black. But after looking over the possibilities they had come up the Baram River to Marudi or Claudtown, as some called it, and Vandover was going to send them to me.
It was late in the day and the wind picked up slightly, coming in over the river to where we sat on his porch near the old fort. “I told him about you.” Vandover poured cold beer into my glass. “He wants to go up the Baram. You want enough money to get you home and…” He eyed me mischievously. “I suspect that you wouldn’t mind having one more go at the river yourself. All the better if Mr. Lacklan is paying.”
We toasted my good fortune and I let the beer slide back down my throat. Cold beer had been a rare and precious luxury in my world for too long. If everything worked out I would soon be done with Borneo and on my way back…back to the land of cold beer.
*
—
IT WAS DARK by the time I got home. I navigated my way across the room to the bed. Without lighting a lamp I undressed and lay back under the mosquito netting. Above my head fireflies cruised lazy circles against the ceiling, flickering, on…off…on…
Money to go home. A buck or two to help get my feet back under me at the worst. At the best…?
I too had come to Borneo hunting diamonds. If you were lucky you washed them out of a river just like panning for gold. I had found a fortune of them, in a pool just below a dried-up waterfall. I had spent a month in the bush digging them from the river, but ultimately, the river had taken them back.
Eager to return with my treasure and careless I’d put my canoe into a rapid at the wrong angle and almost lost my life. As it was I lost the boat, the diamonds, and most of my kit. A family of Iban pulled me from the water and took care of me until I was on my feet again. I was seven weeks getting back, nursing broken ribs and a persistent fever.
What money I had left had slowly trickled away; paid out to Raj, my houseboy, and for food, drink, and quinine. I’ve heard it said that, in the tropics, you rented your life from the devil malaria and quinine was the collector. After my disaster on the Baram the disease had become a most demanding landlord.
But now I would have another chance. We would go upstream of the pool where I found my diamonds, closer to the source, the find would be better this time and I’d have Lacklan’s fee even if we didn’t locate a single stone. With the good feeling of money in my pockets I drifted off to sleep.
*
—
MY PLACE WAS a deserted bungalow that I’d adopted and repaired. When Lacklan and his wife appeared, I was seated on the verandah idly reading from Norman Douglas’s South Wind.
They turned in the path, and I got to my feet and walked to the screen door. “Come in,” I called out, “it isn’t often I have visitors.”
As they came up on the porch, I noticed that Helen’s eyes went at once to the book I had been reading. She glanced up quickly, and smiled. “It’s rather wonderful, isn’t it?”
She was tall and lean, with fine thin limbs and dark blue eyes that shone in the shadow of her wide-brimmed straw hat. She had a face like that of a model from one of those fashion ads but with more character, faint friendly lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth, no makeup. Her nose was large but perfectly shaped and her jaw betrayed strength, a strength that also was apparent in her body, beautifully formed but built for a lifetime of swimming and skiing. Her skin, where it disappeared under the fabric of her sundress, looked like it was taking on a healthy shade of copper from the equatorial sun.
She had commented on my book….“It’s an old friend,” I said, smiling.
Lacklan looked from one to the other of us, irritated. “You’re Kardec?” he demanded. “I’m John Lacklan.” He was tall and slightly stooped. A thin blue vein pulsed in one of his temples as he peered at me from behind glasses with round, nearly black lenses. Vandover had told me he was an administrator at one of the big government labs back in the States. Atom bombs or something.
Lacklan pushed ahead, up the stairs. “I understand you’re the authority on diamonds?” The way he said “authority” indicated that he doubted it.
“Well”—I hesitated because I was well aware of all that I didn’t know—“maybe. Will you sit down? We’ll have a drink.”
Raj was already at my elbow. He was a Sea Dyak, not over sixteen, but his mind was as quick and intelligent as anyone I’ve ever encountered.
“Scotch,” Helen said, “with soda…about half.”
Raj nodded and glanced at Lacklan, who waved a careless hand. “The same,” he said.
When Raj returned with our drinks, Helen sat there sipping hers and watching me. From time to time, she glanced at her husband, and although she said nothing, I had an idea that she missed nothing.
“You’ve been up the Baram, above Long Sali?” he asked.
“Yes.” I saw no reason for explaining just how far I had gone. Marudi was a rough sixty miles from the mouth and Long Sali was a village a hundred fifteen miles farther upriver.
“Are there diamonds up there? Gemstones?”
“There are,” I agreed, “but they are scattered and hard to find. Most of the stones are alluvial and are washed out of creeks back up the river. Nobody has ever located their source.”
“But you know where diamonds can be found, and you can take us to them. We’re not wasting our time?”
In this part of the world I had become used to the cultures of Chinese and Malay, Muslim and British, all of these groups had a sense of politeness or patience bred into them. In comparison the directness and force of Lacklan’s questions was like an attack.
“You are not wasting your time,” I assured him. “I’ve found diamonds. I can’t promise, but with luck, I can find more. Whether they are bort or gem quality will be anyone’s guess.”
“You speak the language?” he asked.
“I speak marketplace Malay,” I said, “and a scattering of Iban. Also,” I added dryly, “I know that country.”
“Good! Can you take us there?”
“Us?” I asked cautiously. “Your wife, too?”
“She will go where I go.”
“It’s our project, Mr. Kardec,” Helen Lacklan said. She stretched out a long, firm hand to show me the ring on her finger. An empty setting stared up at me like a blind eye. “John gave me this ring five years ago. We’re going to find the stone together.”
It was a wonderful, romantic notion but far easier said than done.
“You know your business best,” I said carefully, “but that’s no country for a woman. It’s jungle, it’s miserably hot, and there are natives up there who have never seen a white man, let alone a white woman. Some of them can’t be trusted.”
I was thinking of one nefarious old codger in particular.
“We’ll be armed.” His manner was brusque and I could see his mind was made up. I suddenly had a vision that both amused me and made me very nervous: John Lacklan as Henry Stanley blasting his way through the forests of central Africa. His chin was thrust out in a way that told me he was primed for an argument…I knew to never come between a man and his weapons, especially when he’s a client. I turned to her.
“I don’t want to offend you, Mrs. Lacklan, but it is very rough country, bad enough for men alone, and with a woman along…” I could see I was going to have to give her a better argument. “There will be snakes and leeches. I’m not trying to scare you, it’s just a fact. We’ll be on the wate
r and in the water all day, every day, and with the humidity we’ll never get dry, not until we get back. We’ll be eating mostly fish we catch ourselves and rice. There is the risk of infection from any cut or scrape and an infection while you’re upriver can kill you.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I believe I’ll be all right,” she said. “I grew up in Louisiana, so the heat and humidity…well, they are only a little bit worse here.” She laughed and her teeth were white and perfect. “Really, Mr. Kardec, I’m quite strong.”
“I can see that,” I said, and then wished I’d said nothing at all.
Lacklan’s head snapped up and for a moment he glared at me. This man was deeply jealous, though Helen didn’t seem the kind of person who would give him reason. Of course, that very fact made her all the more attractive.
She caught his reaction to me and quickly said, “Perhaps it would be better if I stayed here, John. Mr. Kardec is right. I might make trouble for you.”
“Nonsense!” he replied irritably. “I want you to go.”
His eyes narrowed as they turned back to me and burned as they looked into mine. I couldn’t tell if he was disturbed about my appreciation of his wife or because I’d made her consider not going upriver with him or, and I only thought of this later, because I’d made her consider staying in Marudi where she would be on her own while we were gone.
“We will both go, Mr. Kardec. Now what will it cost me and when can we leave?”
I explained what they would need in the way of clothing and camping gear. Warned them against wearing shorts, no reason to make life easy for the mosquitoes and leeches. And then told them my price.
“I get a thousand, American. The canoes, Raj, and four Iban crewmen will run you six-fifty. Kits, food, first-aid and mining supplies, maybe another three to three-fifty. Depends on whose palm I have to grease.”
“Is that the best you can do?” he objected. “You’re taking more than half for yourself!”
“Look, Mr. Lacklan, I’ve been where you need to go. I’ve found diamonds…lots of diamonds. I lost them all but I know where they were. If it was easy, or cheap, I’d be back there working that streambed right now instead of trying to make a deal with you.”
Off the Mangrove Coast (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 8