And so Doctor Samuel Peters, one of the new breed of doctors who got educated at a university, was sent out in the dismal weather to tend to the bondsman. No one really cared about them, but the company paid, so it was all well and good. The fellow could start to earn his keep.
So it was that Doctor Peters, freshly minted from the Royal College of Surgeons, found himself in a sulky trotting through the afternoon light and the infernal, incessant rain to the Godfrey plantation. Despite the inclement weather, he rather liked being off on his own, away from the scornful gaze of his resident superior. Tropical diseases were the reason he was here and, being young and relatively inexperienced, Peters was looking forward to studying the client. It was a relief to escape the looming opinions of the good Doctor Saunders muttering his wisdom about 'correct procedure' that was invariably out of date.
He arrived in a few hours to a strange, isolated place. There was no life at all about the plantation. He went to knock on the door of the main house, supposing in his naive way that the man may have been taken to a room there, but the place seemed empty. Down the track closer to the plantation he heard a wailing sound, so he took his sulky across the mud to what was a very basic thatch hut.
Outside in the rain, a young child sat there, howling. "What is it, child?" Peters asked, but the boy only wailed and pointed into the hut. The Doctor stepped into a scene of abject horror. A white women, her throat cut, and clearly molested. What sort of monster had done this? Peters turned to the child, and demanded to know, "Who did this? Did you see? Did you see who did this?"
The child just wailed and said "Monkey Bite. She killed because of Monkey Bite. And Mrs Boss woman, she gone. She taken."
There was blood everywhere, a scene of carnage. The woman appeared to have been attacked with a machete, hacked with large gashes that had bled out. She was clearly dead, lying in a pool of red mud. He knew better than disturb the scene of a crime, but what to do?
Peters looked about, trying to find someone, anyone, however, the entire place was deserted. He recognized the dead woman, the Irish family from the neighboring plantation. He went there, trying to find some answers, but there too, the whole place was deserted. So he wheeled back to town, to report the matter to the police.
Rangoon
Both the Rangoon detectives had roused themselves out of the Strand when the news broke about the rape, murder and possible kidnapping. Detective Sergeant Tom Nickleson and Detective Bill Smithers arrived under torchlight to the plantation and saw the carnage for themselves. The damn monsoon, it drove normal people crazy, and crazy people to become utterly insane. Nicholson looked at the horrible conditions, no mosquito netting, no windows or doors. Just a grass hut in the jungle.
Doc Peters had been taken along and questioned by the detectives all the way back to the crime. He had staggered back to the Strand, grief stricken, sick from the sight that had greeted him. Doc Saunders had now roused himself and to come with them, explaining to the police that it sounded very much like rabies. Men act out in unrestrained sexual violence when infected and, in his opinion, this was the most likely cause.
Now they were at the scene, Saunders nodded, "Probably an infected monkey, brave because it was rabid, came in to take his food. Could have been a dog, but same story. He would have tried to beat it off and it bit him. In an advanced stage like this, delirious with no restraint, the fellow won't have long to live." Then he looked down, saw the bright feathers, and shook his head.
Doc Saunders, well versed in Malay protocols. He picked up some of the feathers and noted to the Detectives, "We will need to notify Raj Barabdur. If there is mad dog or similar on his lands, he will need to send out hunting parties to track and kill it. This is normal protocol, Detective Sergeant."
"We can't do that. You know what they will do if they see the bondsman, Saunders. Shoot on sight will be their orders from the Raj. We can't have it, the man must have a proper trial, and British justice must be seen to be done." The senior detective responded.
"Even so Detective, the Raj MUST be notified. His job is to ensure public safety, so please advise him, and maybe just ask him to deal with the dog or whatever is infected. Quite apart from the fact that, without his help, our job of finding Constance Godfrey alive will be slim, it just doesn't matter what happens to the bondsman. The reality is there is no cure for the beggar. If it is rabies, he is better off dead and a stray bullet is only doing him a favor."
Doctor Peters, on hearing this death sentence, came out of shock. "Doctor Saunders, my specialty was the study of Pasteur and his rabies vaccine. We CAN cure him if we can catch and hold him long enough, and if the disease has not corrupted his vital organs."
"Stuff and nonsense, Peters. Rabies in an advanced stage such as this, if this is what it is, ravages the brain. Even if you could somehow remove the symptoms, the man will be a vegetable. Plus, there's no legal defense for his actions, regardless of disease. He is only going to hang, even if you manage to save him. So really, better to let the Raj and his beaters take out the elephants and hunt him down. If he is running in fear he may leave the woman, so we may at least save her.
"But my God," Doc Saunders lights his pipe. "I can't say saving her will be a blessing either. We know what he will have done. And I know her husband, he will throw her out. She's doomed here, but maybe I can get her to some relatives. She has an Uncle in Malaysia. In all just a horrid business, just so damn sad."
"I hear and understand your viewpoint, Doctor, and I do not disagree. However, the law is set on this matter. Yes, we will notify the Raj, but we will set out to track down this madman ourselves. We will need interpreters, as the local villagers know everything that is going on, but we are not handing some rich favorite of the Queen a blood sport with an Englishman as bait. It's poor form, and we don't want these brown skins getting any ideas.” the Detective Sargent explained.
"The plan is as follows: We will appoint white men as deputies, all plantation managers and owners will be sworn in. Each man will be given his own area to search, as this is the area they will know best. They must take hunting dogs with them as I expect we will find some clothes of this bondsman to give them, which will give the dogs the scent. However, I want the fellow CAUGHT, not shot, and that poor woman we will deal with as needs must.” The policeman paused and looked carefully at the two doctors making their way back from the hut, rubber over soles on their boots to keep out the mud.
"We have seen it before, my good Doctors. Smithers here and myself both worked a case in Singapore some years ago. A bondsman went mad from heat, abducted a half-caste woman, and tried to make his way to Malaysia with her. So we have some experience in these matters. The man will first look for weapons and food, so logically we need to first search any farms run by locals who are away for the Monsoons. Taro farms are the most obvious place to start.
"What I need from you good Doctors is information on how best to retain a rabies infected man. I agree this is what seems to be the likely cause. We have had dealings with mad dogs, but of course, we just shoot them. Do infected humans act in a similar fashion to crazed animals?"
Peters waited for Saunders to speak first, but the older Doctor simply nodded for him to talk. "Hydrophobia is the technical terms, Detectives. It comes from a curious trait of rabies victims, an unwarranted fear of water, specifically an inability to drink fluids. This is what kills them, dehydration. I can't imagine how such a disease will affect someone stuck out in the monsoons. And yes, madness, anxiety, paranoia are also noted. But given the rain and this marked aversion to fluids, we may well be dealing with an uncontrollable stark, raving, mad patient.
"Symptoms of the disease are amnesia, lack of social restraint, aggressive and lewd behavior, and, in what is commonly referred to as 'furious rabies', a man can also possess extraordinary strength. Adrenalin seems to run them and these patients are little more than cavemen in mentality. To catch them, you can forget physically holding them, they will lash out and may well infect ot
hers. The recommended procedure is to net them.
"If we CAN catch this fellow, it will take another six weeks to get a vaccine out, but at least Doctor Pasteur has generously offered to supply this free to the colonies. So we may be able to save him if only, as Doctor Saunders correctly points out, for the gallows. But regardless, let us take what opportunity we can from this matter, for it may provide valuable medical knowledge. We may not be able to help this poor soul, or the woman, but what we learn might help us to save others."
"Quite right, Doctor Peters," Saunders responded. "I concur with Doctor Peter's assessment Detectives."
The policeman sent out messenger boys to run the local docks to have fishing nets brought up and, finally, they arrive back at the Strand - now a makeshift center for operations.
Along with the police, a retinue of men armed to the teeth had turned up. This mad rape and murder of white women had brought out every able bodied man and his hunting dogs. The shocking abduction of Godfrey's wife meant a search party needed to get onto finding her right away. She would not live long in this sort of weather, dragged about by a mad rabies-infected bondsman.
The Detectives had viewed the scene, and made sketches of the hut and surrounding country. They were showing this along with maps, in order to organize the men into searching specific areas. Godfrey himself was not present. The abducted woman's husband had flown into such a drunken rage it had proven necessary to sedate him. Understandable, in the circumstances. He was in the hospital and would be brought out when recovered.
"Are there any witnesses, or clues as to where he might have taken her?" one of the men asked.
"We looked for witnesses, however, apart from the boy who first pointed the crime out to Doc Peters, by the time we got there the place was empty. The whole of the Godfrey plantation was deserted. No maids, no natives, nothing but the beating rain and the mud." Detective Smithers noted.
"Passably strange situation and further complicated because of this," said Doctor Saunders holds up some of the feathers he found outside the hut. He waves the bright plumage. "We may have a greater problem, gentlemen - Witch Doctor."
As the men were being put into search parties and given directives by the good detectives, Peters took Saunders aside to ask about the feathers. "Why would this complicate things?" he asked.
"One of their own called in a witch doctor, so now the locals will all say nothing, in case they get blamed. This is why everyone took off, even the natives at the neighboring plantations. They will be scared of repercussions. This is why we need the local Raj on side. He will be able to get information where all we will get are blank and fearful stares."
Monkey Bite
Erik had dragged the howling woman for miles into the jungle, to a place he had found some weeks earlier. A waterfall with an old hut, set up by some early settler. No one else knew about it, he himself stumbled across the site when looking for gold upstream. A safe place, a home. He had so many fantasies about coming here, escaping the company, walking away from the British Empire, and now he had. Now he was the master of his fate.
That screaming Irish woman had caused it. He just put his hand under her skirts, no big thing, and she screamed. He remembered his mother, screaming like that when whoever it was hit her. Maybe it was his father, maybe a boyfriend, he never really knew, nor cared. But at least that was a proper reason for screaming, being thumped by a brute, not for someone grabbing your leg.
He had no idea why he did it. He wanted to punish her like he had been punished. Teach her what suffering really was. Then both women started screaming, it was all too much. He loved Constance, he slapped to wake her up, but the stupid woman fainted. Maybe died? He didn't know, but the Irish wanted him, he could tell.
She was still screaming as he shoved his hard member into her sweet spot, having ripped off her undergarments. My God, talk about chastity belts. She screamed and screamed, he didn't hear what she was saying, nor did he care. But when she would not shut up, he took out his machete and hacked her up, then he throttled her. Finally some peace. This was when the truth dawned on him! Like the Connecticut Yankee in Mark Twain's book: He was out of his time, out of his true place. This was not his world. The old hut was where he belonged. But he couldn't leave Constance behind, the brute would beat her, he knew it. He had to take the poor girl away from that bastard, to their secret jungle home.
He found a wheelbarrow, and quite unceremoniously put her in. The locals just looked in horror and ran for their lives. Stupid natives, and that weird witchdoctor. What did he do? He gave him some sort of nectar, it was sweet, but not like honey. Then the white women came. He didn't remember why, but no white women ever came, so logically they must have wanted him. But then why did they scream? Who cares ... soon he will never see this horrid existence ever again.
Erik did not even stop for supplies, or a gun, or anything. He was Jesus walking into the desert, only it was a jungle. A jungle that was full of poison fangs and a total lack of care for humans.
oooOOOooo
Sena, the Witch Doctor, had looked at the man. He knew the symptoms, Monkey Bite. The poison reaches into your Soul and destroys your mind. He had given him a pollen with a hallucinogen to help him break the fever, and instructed all the workers to stay away from the hut. He had to sweat it out and had to be left completely alone. He ordered everyone away from the plantation. But even then, he knew the white man was most likely doomed.
Monkey bite corrupted the core of your being. But if he found a little peace in the sedatives, and his mind was set free to wander, he would lie there peacefully and pass away without incident. "He must not be interrupted," he stressed to the head man at the plantation, "There is nothing to be done for him, no cure, only a merciful death." With these thoughts he left and went back to his mountain home.
Who knows how this would have played out if the women had stayed away. The rain would have submerged any cries he made, and the mud would have stopped any possible visitors apart from the woman who did the cleaning. But the white women did come. The spell was broken and now men with guns were beating through the forests, while the native hid in fear.
After two days of fruitless searching, the Detectives were back at the Godfrey Plantation. The only answer to all their questions was, "Monkey Bite!" It was an answer that had worn their patience thin. Even beating the odd native produced no result. Detective Smithers said to his senior, "We need the Raj. The people will speak to him. I have no idea why, but these natives are all in abject fear."
"Do it," was all Detective Sergeant Nickleson could say. To date, he had not allowed Godfrey back home. The Irish woman's husband was mad with grief, and still hospitalized, but Godfrey was all ablaze with vendetta, and was stirring up a hornets' nest. If he got back here, all he would be to beat natives and try and flog the truth out of them. "It's a serious mess. Any news from Peters about this vaccine?"
"It is being couriered out from London. Best we can hope for is six weeks, apparently. There may be some in Malaysia, and this will only take 5 days. Peters has been sending telegrams to every hospital and we may have something here sooner."
"Well, nothing for it. The woman is most likely dead anyway, and what Dos Saunders suggests is that the fellow may only last a few weeks at best. Contact the Raj, and beg his assistance, but I repeat - NO hunting parties. Barabdur may own half the damn farms and most of the waterfront, but he is still Indian. If he stirs up local resentment by accidentally shooting one of their own, we will just be substituting one problem for a much bigger one. Are we clear? We do NOT want this to blow out to anything larger than it already is."
"Absolutely clear Detective Sergeant. I will go see him in person unless you need me here."
"No Smithers, he knows I don't like him. You know him socially, but take along Doctor Peters, they seem to get on. You must make the formal request, but Peters can ask for the conditions privately. You are then to go with the Raj and Peters, and try to keep down the disturbance he will make
with those damn elephants. Tell our good Doctor Peters that he is Sherlock Holmes, anything, deputize him if needs be, but we need to get some information on where on earth this bondsman has gone AND get there before the fellow is accidentally trampled to death by an elephant.
oooOOOooo
The Raj had been waiting for the request. He knew Smithers, a likable enough chap. Would he help? But of course, anything for his dear British friends. Would he mind if Smithers came along? Not at all old chap. Despite the fact he was Sikh, dark-skinned and wearing a turban, Barabdur spoke English with a perfect Oxford accent. More importantly, the new Doctor would come along. Now here was a man he could have a conversation with. Peters wanted the madman alive to study him, to see if there was some sort of cure he could administer. An interesting project to break up the boredom of the Monsoon. So it was that all three were atop the Elephant as it made its way into the jungle.
Barabdur understood the game of Empire. He knew the ridiculous pretense was a front and that under the stiff upper lip lay a brittleness - the fear of losing face. So very like the Chinese. Long years at Oxford had taught him to deal with ridicule and humiliation at the hands of upper-class snobs - and the way he dealt with it was to learn to THINK in English. They all lived in dread fear of losing face.
He deflected their assaults with humor. He met with their insults with good grace, never losing his temper. Barabdur was the very funny fellow who made everyone laugh in the musical comedies, playing the Indian fool. He had slowly won them over - it took years, but he made firm friends in what was to become the future establishment, just as his father had instructed him to do.
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