A Woman of Courage (47 page)

Unexpected tears came to cleanse her spirit and Hilary Brand was filled with gratitude for her life: all that had passed, all that was still to come. The night overwhelmed her in an embrace of unbearable tenderness. Eyes blurred, face wet, she was conscious of something that was close to worship. Overhead was a glittering tent of stars.

2

The next morning was Christmas Eve. They went first to the beach. Off shore were many islands, jungle clad, their limestone cliffs rising vertically out of the waves. There was a slight heat haze; in the shimmering mist the islands looked like galleons under sail. A single-masted white yacht was anchored two hundred metres offshore with a rubber dinghy secured to its stern. As they watched two men climbed into the dinghy and headed for the shore.

Further along the beach fishermen, bare chests and legs, were hauling their net. The net formed a semi-circle in the thigh-deep water. Two hundred metres down the beach another group of men had brought one end of the net ashore; where Hilary and Craig were standing a second group was now doing the same. There was excited shouting as the net was drawn closer to the sand. Hilary could see a growing agitation of the water. A fish leapt, brushing the top of the net, and with a flick of its tail escaped back into the sea while the net closed tighter on the fish still trapped within its diminishing circle. Finally the net reached the sand. Excited shouts from the fishermen as they ran back down the beach where the catch was leaping and splashing in the shallows. Within seconds the men were throwing the fish to a chattering group of women, who began packing them into open boxes. A young woman with a small girl at her side stood with a smiling face, begging a fish from one of the youngest of the fishermen. Eventually he pulled out a nice-sized one and tossed it to her. Her smile broadened delightedly. She shouted something in a harsh voice and snatched it up, hurrying away with her prize with the child scurrying after her.

Hilary and Craig listened to the ribald laughter and mocking words of the other fishermen.

‘Want to try the same trick?' Craig said.

‘Oh sure. That girl looked about eighteen.'

‘So do you.'

‘Don't talk nonsense.' But, absurdly, was delighted.

After the beach they explored the town. The two men from the yacht had drawn their dinghy up the beach and were now walking ahead of them up the main street. It was early yet already the stall owners were rigging awnings in preparation for the day. They stopped at one of them and drank strong black coffee before climbing back up the hill to the resort.

Later they rented bicycles and rode out into the country. They passed paddy fields and palm trees with the heat-hazed sea an occasional blue blink through the vegetation, and Hilary was reminded of the day when Craig had first driven her to Rumah Kelapa. She gave him a brilliant smile as they free-wheeled down a hill into a tiny village clustered amid a plantation of rubber trees.

‘What a wonderful world we live in!'

They dismounted and walked through the village. Everywhere were smiles and hands held palm to palm in greeting. Without words smiles had to suffice and did, and Hilary had a good feeling about the villagers and their presence among them. A building flew the Thai flag and they heard the sound of children's voices.

‘Must be the school,' Craig said.

The villagers offered them coconuts and the red-skinned fruit that in Malaysia were called rambutans. They gave them a handful of baht, not knowing whether they were paying too much or too little, then mounted their bicycles and rode on through the countryside.

Later they cycled back to town. They ate prawns and spring rolls at a stall and returned to the resort.

‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day,' said Hilary.

She was lying in the bath, glass of champagne in her hand, while Craig sat and admired her. Later still, with her full co-operation, he made love to her again and she thought she would never grow weary of his attentions or of the man who made them.

3

Saturday 25 December. She phoned the girls and she and Craig exchanged gifts before going to breakfast: a bolt of silk for her, Zeiss self-focusing binoculars for him.

After breakfast they went for a stroll through the town but it was hot, the humidity climbing, and it wasn't long before they headed back up the hill to the resort, where they spent a peaceful day overlooking the pool from the terrace of their room with only a plate of chicken sandwiches for lunch.

The evening was a dressy affair. They had come prepared and at seven o'clock they went down to the decorated dining room, Hilary in an azure and silver gown from Armani and Craig in a sharkskin jacket he told her he had never worn since buying it five years before.

‘It still fits you,' she said.

The resort had done its guests proud with champagne and candlelight and Christmas crackers and a lavish seafood buffet.

‘Thank God it's seafood,' Craig said. ‘This is hardly the climate for roast turkey and Christmas pudding.'

Hilary wouldn't have minded a traditional dinner but supposed he was right: even though the dining room was air-conditioned you still had to live with your stomach afterwards.

There was dancing with a three-piece band but they did not make a night of it; they had to be up early to meet the boatman who would be taking them to what they had been told was the most spectacular of the hongs, and to fit in with the tides they had to leave the resort no later than seven in the morning.

‘Why so early?' Craig asked. ‘This is supposed to be a holiday, for God's sake.'

‘Because you can only get through the entrance for two hours either side of low water.'

‘So we won't have long there?'

‘Four hours should be plenty.'

They went to bed and slept the sleep of the just and well fed.

When they awoke it was Boxing Day. 26 December 2004.

4

They met the fisherman at the mouth of the narrow creek that emptied into the sea at the northern end of the beach where they had walked the previous day.

‘There she is,' Hilary said.

The fishing boat had a sharply cambered prow and rode high in the water.

‘It looks like a shark,' Craig said. ‘Which I suppose isn't a bad thing. But how are we supposed to get aboard?'

There was only one way. Neatly uniformed children were passing on their way to school as Hilary and Craig waded thigh-deep through the waters of the creek to get to the boat and haul themselves up and over the side.

‘I am an old man,' Craig said, water streaming off him as he sat on the thwarts of the open cockpit. ‘I'm not sure I'm up to this sort of thing any more.'

‘You poor old soul,' Hilary said. ‘And you so active in other ways.'

‘I fear I may be ruined for life.' But he was smiling as he spoke.

‘You'd better not be,' Hilary said. ‘I have plans for you.'

‘I feel better already,' Craig said.

One of the crew hauled in the anchor and the boat turned its bows towards the sea. The sun came warm and strong and the land began to slide back past them.

It was a quarter past eight.

Hilary pointed. ‘I see the fishermen are hauling their net again. That young woman is there again too. Probably she lives on the fish they give her.'

‘I wonder what she has to give them in return,' Craig said.

‘She probably doesn't have anything else to offer,' Hilary said.

There was a European family on the beach, the mother in a large sunhat, a child who was probably their daughter running ahead of them towards the water. Further along the beach other families were spreading towels, some children already in the sea. A ball was thrown; they heard shrieks of laughter; a dog ran cavorting along the sand.

The white yacht was still there and they passed close to its stern. The morning was windless, the air sultry, and Hilary observed a German ensign hanging limply from its staff, a Thai flag no bigger than a handkerchief mounted on the mast's starboard cross tree.

The two men they had seen yesterday were in the yacht's cockpit and now waved at them. Hilary waved back then realised they were trying to attract their attention. She spoke to the fisherman who slowed the motor. Only ten metres separated the two craft.

She shouted across at the two men. ‘Can we help you?'

The taller of the two men called back. ‘We were told this part of the ocean is called the Ring of Fire. We thought it must mean there would be volcanoes but we have seen none. We therefore ask ourselves why does it have this name?'

His English was good, his accent strong. He was very young, very German, very correct.

Craig answered him. ‘There are volcanoes in Indonesia.'

The German laughed. ‘Indonesia? So far? So we should be safe enough here, ja?'

‘I hope so.'

‘Thank you very much.'

‘You're welcome.'

The engine picked up; they motored on.

It was eight twenty-five.

It was just after nine when they dropped anchor off the entrance to the hong. The tide was out and on either side of the entrance, dark and mysterious, they could see the line where the sea reached when the tide was full.

The fishing boat had a kayak, which the crew launched over the side. The captain issued them with life jackets and checked to see they put them on correctly. He nodded approvingly.

‘This very wonderful place. Others have many tourists but here you the only ones.'

‘Shall we see birds?'

The captain threw his arms excitedly into the air. ‘Birds, mangrove trees, maybe snakes: many, many things.'

‘Snakes? Not deadly ones, I hope?' Craig said.

‘Oh yes, very, very deadly,' the man assured him.

‘That's all we need,' Craig said.

They climbed down into the kayak and settled themselves behind the burly young man whose job it was to paddle them through the dark tunnel and into the snake-infested marvels beyond.

Nine-twenty.

A surly slop and surge of water marked the entrance but the boatman negotiated it safely and paddled on into darkness. The rock ceiling, low to begin with, became still lower the further into the tunnel they got. In the confined space the sound of the sea slopping against the rock walls was very loud. The kayak was barely moving now. Before long they had to lower their heads as far as they could but still from time to time felt the rock brushing gently against their hair. It was absolutely dark; Hilary could see nothing, had no sense of any movement or even of the rock pressing close about them. All she could hear was the movement of the water, the dip and splash of the paddle, the thud of her heart. She remembered Dr Chang and thought what a great place this would be to have a heart attack.

Still the tunnel continued, a cleft in the body of the cliff that seemed to go on forever. Except that now there was a change: she found that she could see the faint outline of the paddler in front of her, the faintest shadow against the returning light. The outline became stronger and soon she could make out the walls of the tunnel, black and glistening with water. The passage must have changed direction because all at once the light came flooding, the entrance into the hong open before them. After the dark tunnel the brightness was dazzling. The paddler increased the speed of his strokes until they emerged into daylight. Her eyes growing accustomed to the brightness, Hilary looked wonderingly about her. They had entered a hidden garden surrounded by vertical cliffs of white limestone that rose hundreds of feet into the sky. Trees with smooth trunks clustered on the open ground between the lagoon and the cliffs while mangroves showed their tangled, snake-like roots in the shallows. Cycads grew high on the cliffs and the air was still.

‘We've gone back in time. It's like I always imagined the Garden of Eden,' Craig said. He looked up as the branches were shaken far above them and pointed at a black face peering down at them from the shelter of the leaves. ‘Monkeys!'

‘I seem to remember a snake,' said Hilary. ‘I don't recall any monkeys.'

‘I guess Eve got into enough strife without monkeys,' Craig said.

While Hilary sat, staring and wondering. This is so good, she thought, so perfect. It is a sacred place and I am so glad to be here and see it with Craig, with my true love. It is like a glimpse of heaven and it is far, far better than I could ever have imagined.

She turned to the boatman who was grinning as proudly as though he owned the hong and all that was in it. ‘Can we go ashore?'

He seemed to understand because he nodded and Hilary and Craig stepped out of the kayak and waded ashore.

It was ten o'clock as they stepped on to the dry land.

Hilary, eyes shut to hold the image and the wonder more closely to herself, thought: So this is it. We are here together and it is perfect.

There were birds in the trees, a flock of birds. She looked up in the hope of identifying them and at that moment they took off in a noisy chorus that circled over their heads before flying up and over the cliff tops and vanishing. A monkey chattered furiously.

That's funny, Hilary thought. Something must have alarmed them.

At that moment Craig said in a voice that was not at all like his normal voice: ‘Something is going on.'

She looked where he was pointing. It was past low water yet the water level in the hong was still dropping. They stared at each other.

It was ten-fifteen.

TSUNAMI

1

In the two hours since the fishing boat had passed, the beach had filled up. Holidaymakers were everywhere: family groups with children playing; young couples oiling each other's backs; individuals strolling along the water's edge. The two Germans were working on their yacht. Along the road that bordered the beach bicycle salesmen had parked beneath the trees, hoping to attract customers to buy ice cream, fresh fruit, newspapers, sun lotion. In the town the shops were open, the cafés full of people eating a late breakfast; motor scooters whizzed to and fro; townspeople shouted cheerful greetings to one another; and in the main street flowers were being placed before portraits of the king at shrines set up in his honour. It was a hot morning and getting hotter; in the resorts on the edge of town the swimming pools were full. The sky was blue and there was no wind. It was the ideal day to rest and recover after what for many had been an over-indulgent Christmas Day.