by John Muir
CHAPTER 40
THE BALITÈ TREE
Linamon.
Ueda was standing in the empty section on the right side of the house, the inland side nearest the dilapidated shopping and market area. He waited behind the trunk of a banana tree and in the shadows of its leaves. He looked around for movement and listened for unnatural sounds.
While his ears listened, and his eyes tried to discern suspicious shapes his mind kept wandering to the prostrate figure he could see in front of the house. While he suspected that it was Yamada that had been dropped out of the jeepney, suspicion was not enough. If it was not Yamada, then who was it laying at the front door of the run-down looking house? The prone figure was out of the moonlight, and in the shadow of an overhanging balcony, so he could not make out any details. The light from the upstairs window gave no extra illumination, only emphasising the difference between light and shadow. The figure had not moved. Was the figure dead?
Ueda watched a while longer, and concentrated his gaze at the undergrowth opposite the house. That is where he would lay-up if he was preparing an ambush. There was nothing suspicious he could spot, though the possibility of missing something was very high in this weakened light.
The body in the front of the house was showing signs of movement. It appeared that the figure was restricted in its movements. Right now he wished the taxi could put its headlights on and illuminate the figure. But it was he who had asked the driver to park his taxi around the corner in the cross street and wait. The small mag-lite torch he carried was insufficient to illuminate the figure from this distance. He would not have used it anyway; it would give away his position to anyone watching.
Moaning sounds came from the direction of the prone figure. Ueda decided it was not the moan of a man in pain but a man struggling to get free of his bonds.
He took one final glance at the areas from which he most expected any danger might come. Reaching around his back he took out the .22 calibre pistol that had been inside the belt under his barong. It was not the pistol he would have liked to be using. But it was all he had. In the proper hands, used accurately, a .22 would kill just as easily as its bigger brothers would. And he thought of himself as more than well skilled.
With the pistol in his right hand and the still switched off pen sized mag-lite in his left hand, he edged forward. Making as much use of the shadow as he could, he crossed the few metres to the shadows at the side of the house.
Putting his head around the corner, though the figure was still in shadow, he was now sure it was Yamada. Yamada was still struggling unsuccessfully to free himself of his bonds. Whoever had done the tying up had really done it properly.
Ueda knew that a whisper would carry far on such a still night, so he used a quiet voice.
"Yamada san."
The figure immediately stopped struggling.
"Yamada san, it is Ueda."
The figure remained still.
"Do you know if anyone is watching? Stay silent if there is, otherwise grunt once."
The figure grunted once.
Ueda kept under the shadow of the balcony floor above as he moved to Yamada. Checking around again, he moved forward and stooped to examine Yamada's bindings. At a glance he knew that it had been done by the same person that had bound him up at the plantation.
Placing his pistol beside Yamada, Ueda pulled his Swiss Army knife from his own pocket, and was about to cut the bindings around Yamada's wrists when, a dog in the street yelped, then growled before beginning to bark. He looked behind him, inland, toward the direction of the sound. Another dog yelped, then, also growled before it too began to bark.
"Lie still," said Ueda before he ran off to the seaward side of the house and behind a big tree with several various sized rocks around its large trunk.
He looked carefully around the trunk to see a slim man walking in the roadway and heading toward the sea. The man changed the direction of his walk and swung his leg at another sleeping dog which yelped in response to the kick, and ran into the undergrowth near the banana tree where he had been hiding only minutes before.
The man stopped outside the home where Yamada lay, still bound, and looked up at the light emanating from the upstairs window.
Then he took a few steps toward the door and stopped when he saw the figure lying on the ground. The man stood over the figure for a few seconds and burst into a loud and long laugh. As soon as he had stopped laughing he swung his foot into Yamada's back.
Ueda quickly closed his Swiss Army knife and put it back into his pocket. He reached behind him to draw the pistol from under his barong. It dawned on him that he had left it by Yamada's side.
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Salim was nearly home. Another lazy cur was sleeping near the side of the road. He changed direction and gave it a solid kick to the side of the head.
His right foot was now sore from the kicks. Somehow, he had managed to control his anger enough only to slap, and not punch his brother, earlier. Now though, he could take his anger out on the dogs. They should have barked some sort of a warning earlier when the Japanese was escaping, unless they had not barked because the rescuer was known to them. He pondered on that thought for a while.
Who would want to rescue the Japanese? Who knew where he was being held? The only one that seemed to have both the knowledge, or concern about it, was Siti.
Salim paused under the balcony and looked up at the light emanating from the upstairs window. Why would she do such a thing? She had been insistent that the one they were holding was not the Japanese. Why? Then how could she have removed the padlocks. His brother still had the keys, unless she somehow had managed to find some other keys that fitted the locks.
He moved toward the door and saw the figure lying on the ground between him and the door. He stopped over the figure and immediately realised it was the Japanese. But the figure had been tied up and mouth taped.
He felt the relief sweep over him and began to laugh. He saw the Japanese with his eyes open and watching him. At last he had the Japanese where he wanted him. He gave the Japanese two quick kicks in the area of the kidneys and smiled as the Japanese groaned in pain.
Salim was about to kick him again when he saw a pistol near the Japanese. Initially he thought it was a child's water pistol. He picked it up and examined it. It was real but of a small calibre. He guessed it was .22.
He looked around to see who might have left it. Nobody around that he could see.
How did the Japanese get here bound and gagged like this? He could not have climbed out of the window at his brother's home and made his way here. Had Siti done this? Why would she? Yet she had lied about the man they were holding. This man was definitely Yamada. He could see that clearly, even in this bad light. Physically he looked as though he was not hurt in any way, and his condition did not show any loss of weight.
That thought alone prompted another swift kick from Salim into Yamada's back. Salim quietly began talking to himself in Maranao.
"You bastard. You killed my Grandfather, my Father and then my wife. Now you try to turn my own daughter against me, to lie to save your own miserable life".
"With all your money, you could have been fair. You and your ancestors have killed and raped through three generations of my family. No care or concern for anyone but yourselves. Why has Allah not punished you?"
Salim looked at the pistol in his hands, saw the safety catch, and pushed it forward. He looked up the road towards the town and saw there was nobody watching. Then looked down the few remaining metres of the road running toward the stony beach to check there was no fisherman coming home early with his catch. None.
He saw Yamada bent up in a foetal position. Still silent, despite his kicks.
"You know, and I know, you can't live. You would take my life without a thought."
Salim raised the pistol quickly to aim at the back of Yamada's head and pulled the trigger quickly twice.
The twin loud reports started the sleeping dogs barking. His daughter
s upstairs began screaming in fright and a movement to his left near the balitè tree about 30 metres away on the empty section caught his eye.
At first he thought the tree was moving, then, realised it was a person who had come from behind it and was running towards him. The figure was huge, and fast. This must be the one who left the pistol behind and he might still be armed.
Salim immediately began firing the pistol at the advancing figure. He seemed to be missing him as the figure kept coming. A shining object that the menacing figure was carrying suddenly flew upwards and behind the massive bulk.
The gap was now only about 15 metres and Salim kept pulling the trigger wondering when the pistol would finish its supply of bullets.
The figure had stopped. It seemed to stumble slightly at the knees and begin to wobble backwards trying to retain a balance.
The pistol was empty. The dogs were barking and his daughters’ screams were emanating from the upstairs window. Salim watched mesmerised as the large figure was still trying to keep upright as it stumbled backwards before finally falling to the ground, almost where it started, at the base of the balitè tree.
Salim turned his head to the upstairs window and screamed an abuse at his daughter's. They immediately went quiet. The dogs obeyed too.
He heard a car start nearby, probably around the corner, and accelerate quickly away. Salim could not think of anyone in this neighbourhood with a car.
He changed his attention to look toward the fallen figure under the balitè tree. It was half hidden by the undergrowth.
A glow was emanating from behind the rocks at the base of the tree. Salim stared at this glow and wondered if the spirit Engkanto had woken and was about to come to life.
Again he turned his head toward the upstairs window.
"Do not come outside for any reason. You must stay inside until I come and get you."
He was conscious that his breathing had become rapid, and he was sure he could hear his heart beating.
The glow from the base of the balitè tree contained both yellow and light blue colours. The light was not moving. He walked slowly down the road without making too much progress toward the tree. That was intentional.
He looked toward the tree from the back and noticed the glow was much fainter from that angle. The main glow was coming out of one side only. Salim walked back up the street a short way before moving into the low undergrowth. After each two or three steps back toward the tree, he paused. He was approaching from the side that showed the greatest light.
The man he had shot was lying on his back, his head barely a metre from the rocks surrounding the base of the trunk. As Salim reached the feet of the prone figure he gave the feet a kick to see if there was any reaction. There was none. But there was still no obvious explanation for the light which had changed to a white light and appeared more concentrated.
Salim stood for a few minutes and looked. He decided that any apparent slow movement in the light was only his imagination.
He inched forward until his feet were touching one of the larger rocks. This close, he knew the light was definitely not moving, though it was casting enough light upward for him to see that the tree had suffered at least three hits that must have been misses when he had been shooting at the charging figure.
Slowly, and ready to spring back at the first sign of danger, he leaned over the rocks. His breath was coming in short sharp gasps. The closer his head came to the tree's trunk, the more his stomach muscles tightened.
His shoulder muscles dropped and his neck muscles relaxed when he saw the pen size torch playing its beam against one of the larger rocks. He closed his eyes and exhaled breath he had not realised he had accumulated in his lungs.
With his forearm resting against the trunk, he leaned forward and reached down to pick up the torch. It had jammed loosely between the trunk and the rocks, but a little jiggling saw it come free.
He examined it and realised he had found one of these small but expensive mag-lite torches that he had seen advertised in some of the magazines he had read. It was becoming a profitable night. Now he had this as well as his newly acquired pistol. He would search the pockets of the dead man and maybe find some money or other valuables.
The pockets yielded considerable cash and the ring and watch worn by the corpse both looked expensive. Those items he placed in his pocket. He would check Yamada's pockets before he got rid of the bodies. He wished his cousin Omar was with him now. He would help move the bodies. Perhaps even using Omar's banca to take the bodies out to sea and dumping them. Yes Omar would have known what to do. But if he had asked Omar for help he would have had to share his booty.
Then with curiosity and an eagerness to use his new torch, he walked back to the balite tree. He shone the beam at the trunk and noticed the three holes in the trunk that had been caused by the .22 bullets. There was also a graze to the side of the tree by a passing bullet.
He leaned back over the rocks to shine the torch beam around the area between the trunk and the rocks. There were many small rocks and decaying leaf matter. Then he saw something that both gladdened and saddened him. A small blue rubber slipper, partly covered by leaf matter, was caught between two small rocks.
It was the missing slipper that had fallen from his wife's foot when she had hung herself. He had kept the other one as some small gesture of faith, though he had often felt his faith had been tested too much. Yet tonight it already seemed that his luck was changing.
Holding the torch in his left hand, he reached down to pull the slipper out. It was wedged tightly, and it was slippery from leaf mould. He did not want it to break. He wanted the slipper to be reunited with its partner as though he would be completing a circle of life.
He pushed his hand into the leaf mould beneath the slipper to try and free it. It seemed to be working. His hand had also surrounded what felt like a soft stick. Perhaps that had jammed in the slipper so he decided it would be best to pull that out with the slipper. A gentle tug and it all came free.
Pain hit him in the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger. Excruciating pain. But he did not want to let go of the slipper. As soon as his hand was clear of the rocks he dropped the slipper and shook the soft stick from his grasp. Still holding his torch, he grabbed at the painful area of his right hand and looked at the stick which he had thrown to the ground.
The stick began to move. He quickly shone the torch beam at the stick and saw the half-metre thumb-thick snake with a yellow diamond pattern on its black body, move slowly away into the undergrowth.
He threw the torch at the tree and cursed. Then gripping his right hand with his left in an effort to relieve the pain he sat down, his back against one of the larger rocks.
His breathing was already becoming laboured and the sensitivity in his right arm was starting to feel like pins and needles. He thought it might be wise to just sit a while longer to get over the shock; allow the pain to ease a little, and regain some strength before making his way the few metres to his home.
Though he knew it was not wise to rest under a balitè tree, even if they contained only good spirits, for the moment he needed to recover. If he stayed too long, the spirit might not let him go, and claim his soul to be joined with theirs. He would not stay long.
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