“Would he mind?”
Ben said something to Madh. Madh grinned. His teeth were long and uneven.
“He says it’s fine.”
He ran like a ferret through the bushes. Even though she had hardly slept, she felt strong. She followed him, tried to move as noiselessly as he did. At times he turned around to see if she was keeping up. They went along the river for a while. The heat was beginning to return; the sun glittered in the dark green leaves. The fog was almost gone.
He chose paths where she could walk. He held branches back for her. Once he took her wrist and pulled her up a hill. He was short, but very strong. She wanted to say something to him, but he couldn’t speak English. She was wondering about figuring out some sign language when the man suddenly stopped. Justine halted in the middle of a step. She could smell his odor-tobacco and something vaguely like vanilla.
He slowly lifted his hand and pointed through the bushes. She didn’t see anything. He placed the blow pipe to his lips; she held her breath. She saw his ribcage flatten. At that moment, there was a shrill shriek, which cut off. It seemed as if it came from a child. The whites of the man’s eyes were bloodshot. He made a quick grimace, then relaxed.
There was a body in the water. The body of an animal. When she came closer, she saw that it was a small wild pig. The dart had pierced its throat. Madh said something to her, which she didn’t understand. Then he imitated the sound of a pig. She reached out her hand and stroked the pig’s rough, muddy fur. The animal’s eyes were wipe open and appeared to look at her.
She felt something hard against her arm. The blow pipe. Madh gestured at her to try it out. He looked enthusiastic. She looked around, shrugged her shoulders.
He pointed to a tree hanging over the water. He walked over to the tree and put one of his long brown rubber shoes on a broken branch. He then returned to her and showed her how to hold the blow pipe. Pointed to his shoe and laughed, took hold of his knees and laughed again.
The blow pipe was long, but lighter than she thought. In one end, the end for blowing, there was a dry piece of resin. A simple design was carved into the bark right below it. The air was thick with sound; the heat pounded against her head.
She lifted the blow pipe to her lips. It smelled rancid next to the hole. She concentrated, took a deep breath, blew with her diaphragm the same way she had done at home with her horn. She noticed the dull thump of a dart that hit something. She heard Madh take a sharp breath.
The dart had gone into the tree, a few millimeters from his shoe. It sat so deep that he almost didn’t get it out again.
Their clothes did not dry during the night. There was the stench of them beginning to rot, but they still had to put them on.
They had struck camp and gotten ready to go further. Justine stuck her feet into her socks the stains had gotten stiff and brown.
Ben stood before them, looking worried.
“You think you’re wet now, but I’m afraid you’re soon going to be even wetter.”
Heinrich grimaced.
“We will, huh!”
“I’d hoped that we could avoid it, but it seems that we will have to cross the river again, close to the waterfall, and it’s fairly deep there.”
She had a panic fear of water… how it forced its way into you, filled you up, weighed you down, took away your air; how you fought and hit wildly, forgetting that you’d learned to swim. She really did not want to be here anymore; she didn’t want to go along…
She looked at Nathan.
No, she thought. You will never see me hysterical again.
They didn’t say anything. They hiked in silence. Then they arrived at the spot where they were going to cross the river. The water rushed and whirled in rapids, large tree trunks and branches floated along. A bit farther on, the water rushed down into a thundering waterfall which drowned all other noise and beat apart everything that washed down with it, beat it all to bits.
They had to go to the other side.
She felt strangely exhausted.
Madh had already gone to the other side. He was born here in the jungle, born and raised here. Nothing here was too difficult for him. He had tied a tough, clean rattan line over the river rapids; it went from shore to shore. Now Ben and the Orang-asli men stepped out into the river. They braced their feet and held on to the line. They were going to help them in the rapids, they were their stop blocks.
Nathan went first.
“Wish me luck!” he said, and pulled at the band under his hat. His eyes were large and happy.
“Here comes a Viking, and for a Swedish Viking, nothing is impossible!”
He stepped into the water and began to move forward single-mindedly. First it went fine, but then he slipped under the surface. Justine saw his joints, holding tightly to the line.
She clenched her fists so that the nails went into her palms.
Yes, she could see him again. He sneezed and shook his head;
then he made his way up the other side of the river bank. He stood there and waved his arms, hit his chest like Tarzan. The backpacks were sent over. The men in the water lifted them from to hand and Nathan stood on the other side and picked them up.
“Do you want to go now, Justine?” asked Ben. “Sure.”
She sat on the slippery slope and glided into the water. It was deep. She felt a block of stone under her toes. But the water drew at her legs and ripped them off the stone. Ben grabbed her hand, showed her how to hold the line. His mouth was stern.
“Whatever you do, don’t let go!”
She heard the thunder of the cataracts and the waterfall. “Now what?”
“Quiet! Use your toes to search for a foothold.” She took a step. The water rushed around her, wanting to pull her down. She tried to make herself as heavy as possible.
She saw Martina on the shore; she was on her knees with her damned camera. I hope she falls with it into the water; I hope she drops it and it disappears down into the cataracts. One more step. A man was next to her; she crept under his arms. The water rushing past, one more step. Hold tight to the line. Now she was approaching the middle.
“Great, Justine!” called Nathan.
She felt the beat of her heart.
Right at the spot he’d fallen, she fell, too. It was a peculiar spot, where it was too far to reach the bottom. Her head was underwater, white and green whirls, her hands gripping tightly to the rope. The water attacked her, ripped and pulled her; she felt its power. With a violent effort, she moved her right hand farther along and let the left hand follow. Her right hand found a stone and she climbed on it and held fast.
“Just a little more, Justine. You’re almost there!” She took a deep breath; there was another arm to creep under, one more second of respite. Then out again, and through the last bit. Nathan reached for her. She got up, and the water streamed from her clothes.
“I did it!” she panted.
“You sure did!” he answered, but then turned for the next one.
When evening came, they made camp next to a wide and stony riverbank. The native men began at once to collect twigs and light fires.
Martina was changing film.
“They’re lighting fires so that the animals won’t come,” she said. “The big mammals. The elephants come here to drink; we found their droppings over there, a few piles.”
“Do we have to be in the middle of their private area?” said Steinn. “That’s not very thoughtful toward the elephants. We can be anywhere in the jungle.”
“We can’t go any farther. Darkness is falling,” said Ben.
They helped each other tie up the plastic shelters. Madh stepped out into the river with his fish net. Then
