The Mystery of Yamashita's Map (23 page)

‘I can’t go on,’ she said. ‘I have to rest.’ The little girl looked at her and pointed through the trees, then motioned to Lisa to move forward. Lisa shook her head as she breathed harder than she had ever breathed before. She thought her heart was bursting from her chest and she could feel the sweat running down her forehead and into her eyes. She had to make this girl understand; she had to make her understand that she could not go on any further – there was nothing left. The jungle had won and all she wanted to do was sit and rest. The girl, however, had other ideas; she grabbed Lisa’s arm and pulled for all she was worth but Lisa slumped to the ground and would not budge. The girl then spoke in a language that Lisa had never heard before, sounding excited and enthusiastic. Her voice was lighter and higher than Lisa could ever have imagined. It seemed strange to hear it in this jungle, a little girl’s voice, when it seemed that they were so far away from anyone.

Lisa shook her head again. ‘Please,’ she implored. ‘No more.’ She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she laid her head on her knees, forlorn, afraid, tired and wanting to see home. The little girl walked up to her and placed an arm around her shoulder. She flicked a strand of hair out of Lisa’s eyes and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. Then she sat down next to Lisa and rested her head on her knee. The older girl placed an arm round the younger and they sat for a while just listening to the sound of the jungle.

Suddenly Lisa heard a voice; it sounded like a call. It was obviously an older woman’s voice and by the reaction of the little girl she guessed it was her mother. She was surprised as for some reason she had believed the little girl was on her own. The voice sounded high and shrill against the background of the jungle and the little girl shot up and made to go. Remembering, she stopped and turned towards Lisa. She held out her hand and Lisa took it. The two walked through the trees and the sight that greeted Lisa as she did so took her breath away.

Behind the trees, in a large clearing, Lisa was confronted by a village. All around her she saw huts and people milling about and children playing. There were women carrying water and women making bread; there were fires dotted here and there outside some of the huts, and cockerels scratching in the dry earth. Lisa thought she had stepped into another world.

The little girl was spotted by her mother, who ran towards her. Without thinking Lisa held out her hand but the mother was suspicious; she just held onto her daughter and stared with half closed eyes. Lisa realised that this was the place the little girl had been heading to all along; she had known exactly where she was. She had run away from home. Like so many other children in the world, she had been chastised by her mother and to teach her a lesson had run away. The mother held on to her daughter as if she might float away – again, the same as any other mother in her position.

Lisa smiled at this thought. For some reason, in the middle of the jungle she had assumed people’s lives might be unimaginably different but here she was confronted by a scene of such everyday tenderness that she could barely believe it. She inched forward to the woman and the girl who, again, merely stood and stared back at her. Lisa held out her hand and the mother looked into it as the girl had done an hour or so before. Lisa smiled and laughed a little. The mother smiled too and Lisa felt that a barrier had been crossed.

The little girl was the first to break the silence. She said something to her mother; Lisa didn’t understand her language but she understood its meaning as the mother first looked at Lisa, then the girl, then smiled at Lisa, walked forward and took her hand. She led her into the village.

The first thing Lisa noticed was the amount of activity. It was a busy place, obviously getting ready for the main evening meal. Everywhere she looked there was bread being prepared or placed into large dishes ready to be cooked and the smell of roasting meat from open fires permeated the air. Every step she took she tripped over a child or a cockerel or chicken until she gave up trying to avoid them and instead kicked them out of the way with as little fuss as possible.

The mother took her to what Lisa assumed was her own hut. It was smaller than the rest and was no taller than Lisa herself. Bending down almost to the ground Lisa followed the woman in and the little girl followed them both. Once inside, Lisa saw that it was as small as it had seemed outside but had the kind of cosy closeness that she associated with tents. It was obvious that this was a place for sleeping in and very little more. There was a small fire to the left of the door and the smoke blew in from outside, filling the small space with an acrid smell when the wind changed.

The woman sat down and Lisa did the same. Suddenly there was a noise outside and an old woman walked in. She stared at Lisa, then crossed the floor of the hut and sat next to the mother of the little girl. The two talked briefly for a moment and then stared again at Lisa. Lisa smiled, trying hard not to look too scared or too perturbed. There was a shaft of light as the flap to the hut was opened again and two more women walked in. They too stared at Lisa for a while, then crossed and squeezed themselves next to the women who were already seated. As soon as they had sat down another woman walked in and so it continued until the tiny hut was filled with at least fifteen women, all squashed in together and all staring intently at Lisa, who was by now beginning to feel a little nervous despite trying her best not to.

The voices of the women built into a dull hum as they obviously began discussing what they would do with Lisa. There was clearly an argument breaking out between two of the women over what they should do. Every now and then the mother of the little girl would intervene and say something that would cause everyone else to strongly disagree. One of the women started to shout above the others and pushed her back against the wall of the hut that bowed and strained with her weight. Lisa thought that it was all getting a little too overheated for her and she wondered how she might be able to make a bolt for the door.

Suddenly the old woman raised her hand and said something that made the other women stop. They all looked at the old woman who, as far as Lisa was concerned, had said only three syllables but they must have been the most important, most profound three syllables in the world because all of the women agreed. They started nodding their heads and congratulating the old woman, who looked as pleased as punch with her idea.

The little girl extricated herself from the mêlée and crossed over to where Lisa sat. She took Lisa by the hand and squeezed it. Lisa found it disturbing rather than comforting. It was the kind of squeeze one might give a condemned man just before he was hanged; the kind of squeeze that said ‘Be brave, you know this has to be done’.

The old woman shuffled forward and started examining Lisa. She looked in her hair – perhaps for lice, Lisa thought – then in her mouth. She felt Lisa’s arms then cupped her breasts as if she were weighing fruit. Lisa felt a little aggrieved at this but she thought it was perhaps best to go along with whatever it was they were thinking, at least until she knew what that was. The old woman continued to examine her, pushing her fingers into Lisa’s sides, peering into her eyes. Eventually she slapped Lisa’s side and went back to the group, evidently pleased with what she had seen.

The mother of the little girl then got up and stepped forward. She handed Lisa a bowl that was full of water. Lisa drank thirstily. It tasted bitter but it was cold as it ran down her chin and it had been hours since her last drink. She handed the cup back and asked for more but the woman only smiled and returned to the group.

The room began to spin and there was a curious ringing in her ears, and it began to feel as though she were standing on the bow of a ship. Lisa realised that she had been drugged. Suddenly her head felt as if it was going to explode and her eyes began to itch. She squeezed her eyelids together and rubbed them. The cup fell to the ground. Lisa could barely make out the women in the hut now, it was spinning so much. She could just hear them chattering and chanting. Suddenly it all become too much to bear. Lisa stumbled out of the door, pushing her way past some of the women who were blocking it.

Out in the sunlight her head felt a little clearer but it still stung and her eyes were still blurred and useless. She veered this way and that, not knowing where she was going or where she had come from. She tripped over something and fell to the ground, where slowly she lost consciousness and dreamed about strange shapes and weird faces that loomed at her out of the darkness.

The first thing she saw when she awoke was the fire. It was night and it sent sparks of bright orange up into the black sky. Someone was flicking water on her face; someone was trying to wake her up. Lisa moved to rub her eyes but found that her hands had been tied behind her back. She was lying on the ground in a cage made of thick branches lashed together with vines and there was a bowl of water on the floor in front of her; she craned her neck and licked a few drops from it.

She had no idea where she was; the drugs had hit her pretty hard and she was not sure if this was even the same day. Slowly she became aware of breathing next to her. It was slow and sonorous, it wheezed in and out, occasionally there would be a small insignificant cough that sounded as though given time and enough damp weather it would build into something more serious. The breathing became quicker and more excited as Lisa began to wake up and open her eyes. Without making a sound, Lisa moved her head and came face to face with a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

‘Headache?’ a voice said.

Lisa started. It was an English accent, here of all places. She shuffled over to the other side of her cage and stared in wonder at the face that had produced the voice. It was a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair that seemed to take on a holy glow in the light from the flames. He was smoking a pipe that sent billows of fumes up into the air.

‘Yes, you’ll have a headache for a while. Sorry about that but we never know what you might do. We’ve had a number of your type coming through here.’

Lisa gulped some of the water. ‘My type?’ she asked.

‘Yes, foreigners.’

Lisa found it strange that this Englishman would refer to her as a foreigner. ‘Who are you anyway?’ she asked. ‘And did you put me in here?’

The man thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to wait in there for a while, at least until we get a little more idea of who you are. I take it you’re here for the treasure.’

Lisa wriggled a little at this. She was not sure whether to admit she was there for the treasure or not; was she supposed to be there for the treasure? She decided to change the subject. ‘You still haven’t told me who you are.’

The man leaned forward and his nose touched the bars of the cage. ‘Winthrope,’ he said. ‘W.G. And you are?’

‘Lisa. I doubt we will know each other long enough to get better acquainted.’ She wriggled in her bonds but was unable to get herself free.

‘Hmmm,’ Winthrope said. ‘You might have a little trouble there; they are pretty tight, I think.’

He laughed a little and sucked on his pipe. As he did so a shy teenage girl appeared from out of the darkness and set down a bowl in front of him. Winthrope looked at her and stroked her naked thigh. He said something to her and the girl giggled a coy laugh. Winthrope leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek; Lisa thought he looked old enough to be the girl’s grandfather. Then another girl appeared with some fruit and meat in vine leaves and set it down in front of him. He looked at her lasciviously and stroked her hair. Lisa felt disgusted.

‘Are they your daughters?’ she asked and Winthrope laughed, nearly choking on the leg of chicken that he was gnawing on.

‘Oh no, my dear, they are my wives.’

‘Both of them?’

‘No, not both of them . . .’ Winthrope smiled. ‘All of them, well very nearly all of them, I am working on the others.’

‘Don’t the other men mind?’

Again Winthrope laughed, throwing his head back and exposing his dark pink gums. ‘There aren’t any men, my dear.’

Lisa slowly began to remember. It was true: all the people in the village, all those running about, preparing meals, sitting with her in the hut, all had been either women or children. There was not one man among them. There had been women of all ages and certainly boys but no men.

‘Where are they? Where are all the men?’ Lisa asked.

‘Gone. Taken by the aswang. Killed.’

Lisa looked incredulous. ‘You believe that?’

Winthrope looked pensive and closed his eyes. ‘There are more things than you would care to guess at in this jungle, Lisa. I have seen things that would make you scream.’

‘But you don’t believe the aswang killed every man in the village? You can’t believe in such things.’

Winthrope shooed his two wives away and leaned closer towards Lisa.

‘Belief is everything!’ he said. ‘Lisa, these are simple people with simple minds. They have no understanding of cause and effect, of science. You and I . . . well, you and I have been brought up in more sophisticated surroundings. We are people of technology, of reason; we have no need for gods or devils. We do not need spirits to make us see things clearly. We have our minds, our mathematics and our intelligence.’