http://krisiskris.blogspot.com/2012/01/prelude.html
1990
Six years ago
She never knew a river could be this noisy, as boisterous as this one she was looking at. Being here was frightening and thrilling at the same time. The noise must have come from underneath the leaky transport as strong undercurrent was ruthlessly polishing the rock-strewn riverbed. At this part of the white water river where it was shallow and clear she could see the underwater stones, rounded and white, some were as big as her head the other were about the size of a car. It must be fun down there. But as much as she had wanted to take a dive she had better not risked her life going into the bewitching water. The 15-year-old girl was in the middle of a treacherous rapid about the size of Lutong airfield. What was she thinking?
Small and snappy waves, making yet another relentless attempt, they smashed against the side of the longboat. They were quickly joined by their other relatives, the big and sloppy waves. As they smashed harder, a good sum of splashing water had eventually jumped overboard, soaking her surprised face. “This boat is doing alright,” nervously she said to a man who had his back to her. That was actually a question, given together with an answer she hoped to hear. The young man ignored her. He kept to his job. He was standing, almost suspended, with one foot stepping on the side of the longboat while his other foot was pushing against the wall as his body weight was leaning against the teken he was holding as he pushed the longboat as far as possible from a submerged boulder the wooden boat had nearly grazed.
“This is the right time to be afraid,” announced the young man unsympathetically without looking at her. “Sit still, don’t make a move, hold your breath for as long as you can until we get to the end of this rapid. Pray now or we’ll sink!”
She hated it when he talked like that. She was only a teenage girl who now made her first trip to this part of Upper Baram while he was a Kayan man who had the habit of exaggerating. But maybe this time he was not kidding. There was no grin or lopsided smile on his oval-shaped face. A blazing sun was reflected in his mirrored aviators. Underneath that rayban he was sweating but it was not from the heat in the Telang Usan sky. Something in the water had unnerved him. She had been told earlier that strong current in a rapid was like a big elephant, it could elbow the longboat in any direction. A collision or even a nippy kiss connected between the longboat and any of the boulders could spell troubles for the boat. A ‘kelikat’ or whirlpool could also suck this boat towards a stony slab. That, too, could lead to a collision.
“Fanny!” She heard her name. Turning around she saw her Aunt Helena at the back section of the longboat was making sign to her, commanding her not to stay too close to the side of the longboat. She had obliged since before she was told to do so.
The young man with ray ban stood vigilant on the forefront of the longboat as if he was the boat captain. He was only one of two navigators who pointed direction for the man who manned the engine in the rear. They also needed to mind the depth of the passage to be taken by the longboat or looked out for threat underwater, for fear the outboard engine could accidentally run into them. A knock into a hard surface could certainly break the two-prong propeller blade into pieces. The engine rendered useless it could only mean the longboat lost its push; nowhere else I could go but drift downriver until it crashed somewhere and overturned. Such was often the case in many incidents involving unfortunate longboats in rapids previously.
The fate of the longboat and the human on board now rested in the hand of these three men. Somewhere in the thick cumulus nimbus above them a pair of eagle watched anxiously, for they had arrived at Gah Benuang the killer rapid.
Three Malay schoolteachers were killed here last year. Their longboat overturned it flung the human into the unforgiving embrace of Benuang. Many a foreigner and indigenous native alike had perished here in the last decades when Gah Benuang was in its elements particularly in rainy season when the water level was usually high. The ‘gah’ or rapid did not get smaller, only wider. The few safe passages through the killer gah, which experienced boat operators had memorised in their heads, were altered from time to time.
This longboat was full with Americans. They were giggling and smiling like an American. They smelt like an American, too. They were definitely Americans, because they needed to be told over and over not to move too much in the longboat. The panorama around was breathtakingly antique alright. But this was not the right time for sightseeing.
The boat operator, a young Penan man, was struggling with the Suzuki outboard engine as the longboat, over 30-foot long, braved the shallow sector of the rapid. At some point where the current was very strong it was almost a stalemate in the competition between machine and nature. Someone must interfere or this could take forever. And that was what the man with ray ban was doing each time, using his teken to push the longboat forward.
He sighed relieved when the man with ray ban pointed to his right, towards the river middle. The water over there looked difficult alright but the Penan remembered that area. It was one of the safe passages. They could try it.
But, NO, they’re not going there. Too risky!
A big change in plan as Reverend David Lawai, the group leader, took over the navigating from his son. His fat finger instead pointed downward. The Penan in the boat rear knew what that meant he killed the engine. Helena Bungan knew what her husband meant she kicked off her sandals. The man with ray ban knew what his father meant he took off his ray ban.
The Americans were clueless. She thought she knew, and was about to make a move when the man who was now without ray ban told her to stay put. The two navigators, the boat operator and Aunt Helena jumped into the water almost at the same time. Manual operation!
Standing waist-deep in the water, the four kept to the left side of the boat with their back to the bank of the river. They dragged the longboat against the river current. Slow progress, but it was moving forward. The long longboat was slightly lighter now: 13 passengers minus four.
The reverend was sure he had made the right decision. The river middle looked calmer but he had weighed that option against many unfavourable factors. The longboat was heavy, with only a 40-horsepower engine to power it through a boisterous rapid in the shape of Gah Benuang. It was in fact under power. The American Antic displayed by his passengers was also another worry. Their safe bet, he had decided, was to revert to tradition – the manual operation. Challenges in the water were rather physical, not spiritual. The reverend could thank God later but right now the situation had asked for his experience as Kayan boatman. Evidently, he was still a white water expert. He was also thankful his son was an expert of some kind. The young man managed their stubborn passengers.
The eight American passengers were seated two abreast in four rows in the longboat. They had the best seats in the boat. Their section was sheltered with a nicely structured zinc roof. Their sitting positions had been prearranged prior to the river journey three hours earlier. Their weight must not throw the boat off balance. This basic sense of survival was particularly crucial when the boat attempted a rapid, particularly important when the rapid was Benuang. Sit still.
A big black man decided to photograph the riverside. He moved. As the river was noisy the young man had to shake the boat rudely to catch his attention. The message was clear. Sit still. The black man, easily weighing over 100 kilogrammes, apologetically obliged.
The young man harshly called out to an American woman after he saw her reaching out to the river and was feeling the water with her two hands like a musician was feeling her piano. He was not at all impressed. He pointed to a submerged stone and then pointed to the side of the longboat. After getting the message the brunette snapped out of her engrossment and stopped what she was doing. Everyone heard the uneasy sound afterward when the longboat grazed the submerged stone. The look on the brunette’s face was all remorse. She could have lost her skinny hands and her wedding ring.
A tall white man moved. He and a petite blonde woman had wanted to exchange seats. They got a water splash from the stern-face young man. Quickly they aborted their intention. The reverend had laughed silently. He would not do that to his special guests, a team of doctors from the United States. But, for the sake of everybody somebody had to do it.
The Americans now sat as quietly as she had been since ten minutes earlier. They probably had thought flexing a muscle was also a wrong thing to do at this particular moment while they were in a rapid. Nobody must do anything else while a stern face Kayan was in charge.
As soon as the most difficult part of Gah Benuang was behind them, the four persons in the river climbed skilfully into the longboat without hauling in much water along with their wet clothes. Helena Bungan had hauled herself back into the back section of the longboat where she quickly resumed her earlier duty – withdrawing water from the flooded hull with a small scoop and dumping the unwanted load back into the river from where they had come awhile earlier. Her husband was by her side now, doing the same thing she was doing.
All hands on board had returned to their respective stations. But for awhile the man with mirrored aviators and the Penan man had used tekens to keep the longboat moving as it inched towards deeper water where it was safe for the Suzuki to take over.
The big black man quickly asked for a go-ahead from the self-appointed boat captain. The man with ray ban nodded. The grateful American got to it quickly, his camera began snapping maniacally. Looking back, Gah Benuang was roughly about 100 metres long by 70 metres wide. It had taken them nearly half an hour to clear it.
Helena sighed relief. She knew, however, Gah Benuang was only one of the rapids along the upper part of Baram River. Many long hours to cover before they were to enter the mouth of a tributary, Silat River, from where it took another hour or two before they were to arrive at Lung Sayang, their final destination.
‘Lung’, pronounced loong, was Baram natives for river mouth. Commonly, a settlement nearest to the lung was named after it.
From the look of Baram River she could expect the Silat River to become narrower and shallower, with more rapids expected, as the longboat journeyed farther in. At some points the longboat could be expected to negotiate sharp curves. Low laying tree branches offered a challenge from overhead. She prayed they could complete the river journey before nightfall. Travelling along the Silat River aided only by a couple of spotlights could take the river experience to a whole new difficulty level. She had been in that situation before. She did not enjoy it.
They had started from Lung Dara yesterday, put up in Lung Naha’a before continuing early in the morning, making brief stops at a couple of longhouses along the way. This two-day river journey was tiring for everyone. And, it had started to get on some people’s nerve, particularly on her son’s, the man with ray ban. He had not been smiling since morning. He was forced by his father to join this Christian mission. He did not like Christian religion. He did not like his father.
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http://krisiskris.blogspot.com/2012/01/preface.html
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