Part 15 (1/2)

Despite his great size, the male orangutan leapt into a tree and seemed to walk swiftly and easily from branch to branch until he was just below the female. She shrieked and scrambled further upwards into the flimsy branches, scattering leaves and twigs as she went.

Ritchie squatted on an impossibly slim branch and looked annoyed. He waited, and then Amber made her move. Leaping through the air, arms, legs and tail spread wide, clutching at tree branches, Amber was away and out of sight in seconds.

'What's he going to do now?' asked Julie.

'Eat, probably,' said Angie. 'There's fruit over there.'

They all watched Ritchie unhurriedly lumber away, then stop and daintily pick up a small fruit. Turning his back to them he ate it nonchalantly. The tourist guide rounded up his charges and moved them all towards the carpark.

Angie stood up. 'Come on, Julie, I'll show you a little more of the sanctuary.'

'Angie, that was just extraordinary. I can't thank you enough,' said Julie, glancing back at the great orange hulk sitting and eating quietly. 'I'm so glad everyone else left. I feel like I'm on safari and way out in the wilds. I mean, could anything go wrong? Would big Ritchie attack anyone?'

'Well, not so far. Orangutans are not known to be aggressive but as you saw today some tourists can be rather silly. People forget we are in their domain. And Ritchie is well over one hundred kilos, so it's wise to be cautious.'

They wandered back to the information centre and Angie showed Julie the photographs and histories of all the orangutans that had been released into the sanctuary.

'Can you believe this pathetic little thing was Ritchie?' asked Angie, showing Julie a story and photo from a local newspaper about a baby orangutan who'd been kept in a cage by poachers.

Julie looked at the photo. 'Oh, the poor thing! This was twenty years ago. He was rescued by a reporter?'

'Yes, the reporter was James Ritchie. He was onto the story of some illegal wildlife poachers and he caught up with them at Nanga Sumpa Iban longhouse. Nanga means estuary in Iban. James wanted to make a citizen's arrest but he was in the middle of nowhere and there were no police around. So he bought the poor thing for fifty ring-git, and took it back to his place. He was only about six months old. James had him dewormed and the next day the forestry officials came and brought him here. The state secretary though it would be nice to name the little orangutan after big Ritchie, so that's how he got his name.'

'Wow. What a great story.'

'Come with me and we'll see if we can find my favourite old grandmother.'

Angie led Julie away from the buildings to a separate dwelling which Julie realised was the infirmary and health clinic for the orangutans. Angie told her that any new arrivals were kept here in care till they were strong enough to be released.

'There's a quiet area at the back, and that's where the grandmother is.' Angie collected several bananas and went to a small clearing and, looking into the trees, began to call out and whistle.

'Naaaana, naana. Come, come.' Angie paused, listened and repeated her call.

'What's that? Up there, look!' exclaimed Julie as she sighted the s.h.i.+ver of a tree and, there on a limb, was an orangutan holding a very small baby.

Angie went closer, holding out the banana. Julie stayed still, watching, 'This is Booma. She's old, a grandmother many times over. And this is her baby. Her last baby. Chick, chick, come on,' called Angie quietly.

Julie could well imagine that the old female was a grandmother. Her fur wasn't l.u.s.trous but looked straggly and patchy. Her expression was tired, not the bright darting eyes of the other orangutans she'd seen earlier in the forest.

'Poor old girl,' said Julie. 'Her baby is very young. So tiny.'

'I looked after this old girl once when she was sick. She's back in the forest now, but she keeps coming back for her banana treat. So she knows that when I call, I'll have something nice for her.'

Slowly, not with caution but at her own pace, the old orangutan climbed down from the tree, hitching her infant up onto her back where it clung, just peeping over her mother's shoulder. Angie squatted on her haunches and held out the banana.

'Come and crouch beside me. She won't mind.'

Hardly daring to breathe, Julie moved slowly beside Angie. The elderly mother waddled forward, grasped the banana and carefully peeled it before eating it.

Angie handed Julie some peanuts she'd been carrying in her pocket. 'Hold them out in the palm of your hand.'

Julie did so, and to her delight, a wrinkled leathery hand flashed out and picked up several of the nuts. Booma chewed them, spat them into her hand and held the mushy nuts over her shoulder for the baby to eat. It was a leisurely procedure and when the nuts were gone the baby climbed around to the front of its mother and stared expectantly at Julie.

'I'd love to stroke her,' whispered Julie.

'Sometimes she'll let me touch her. But Booma's protective of her babies when they are so little.'

Slowly Angie reached forward, holding open her hand. The old mother took no notice, but the little one, obviously hoping that there might be nuts on offer, grabbed her fingers and as Angie lifted her hand the baby clung on, its small tail wrapping around her arm.

As Angie held the baby under the watchful eye of its mother, Julie tenderly stroked its back and head. The baby looked at her with large round eyes and for an instant Julie felt she was looking at a human baby with its trusting eyes, clinging touch and pursed lips.

But, quickly, Booma leaned forward and retrieved her infant, holding it possessively to her chest. Then, to Julie's joy, the old mother leaned down and tenderly kissed the top of her baby's head, a gesture that seemed so familiar. And with that, Booma ran rapidly in a loping gait across the clearing, one arm dangling, the other holding her baby and was swiftly up a tree and gone from sight.

'I can't believe that just happened,' said Julie, awestruck.

Angie straightened up. 'I never cease to wonder at these creatures. They, and chimps, are our closest biological relatives and they have their own personalities, habits and idiosyncrasies.'

The two women headed back to the parking lot.

'Thank you, Angie. When you actually meet orangutans, you can understand why people are so pa.s.sionate about protecting them. They are the most beautiful animals. You do feel a kindred attachment to them.'

'I'm glad it all worked out. It doesn't always. Let me know when you're back from your trip upriver,' said Angie. 'Come on, I'll drive you into town.'

The river was wide and broad, fast flowing. The dugout canoe, a hollowed log with a few planks nailed along the sides, had a powerful outboard motor attached to its stern, propelling it through the thick water. Because the dugout was so narrow, they sat one behind the other with barely a hand span free on either side of their seats. The group had driven from Kuching at dawn, stopping in a small village where one of Rajah Brooke's forts, now converted into the village post office, still stood above the river. They'd been met by the two boatmen, father and son, who led them down to the river where the dugout waited.

Now one of the boatmen, perched in the bow, kept a watch for floating debris, rocks and shallow channels. Ngali was a young Iban who took his role very seriously. Occasionally he flicked an arm left or right to indicate that the ripples on the surface meant shallows or rocks ahead. Ayum, the old man at the tiller in the stern, took the appropriate evasive action.

Lined up, single file, behind the bowman, sat Barry with his camera ready, then Matthew, then David and behind him their Iban interpreter, and then Julie. The Iban boatmen were from a longhouse that Matthew and David had visited before and its headman had agreed to let them return.

Julie had been surprised when she met Matthew and David's interpreter. Chitra was a tall, elegantly beautiful Malaysian Indian in her twenties. Dressed in jeans and a pale-blue s.h.i.+rt, a designer belt showing off her narrow waist, a Nike cap perched over her thick dark hair, which fell in a braid over one shoulder, she looked like a Bolly-wood star on safari. Her brown eyes were huge, although frequently hidden by dark gla.s.ses, and her silky dark-skinned arms were ringed with several elaborate gold bracelets and bangles. On her feet she wore expensive soft leather hiking boots.

'Chitra works at the Swinburne University campus in Kuching. She studied at Swinburne in Melbourne and then moved back when the university expanded here in Sarawak,' said David as he introduced her to Julie.

'Lovely to meet you, Julie,' said Chitra. 'Are you looking forward to your first visit to a longhouse?'

'Yes, I am. You've been upriver many times before I a.s.sume?'

'Yes. I've been studying traditional culture for some time. I speak several dialects but I am most comfortable with Iban,' said Chitra.

'We met Chitra in Melbourne when she was studying there, so we've kept in touch,' added Matthew. 'Okay, let's load up.'

In the busyness of balancing their backpacks and gear in the narrow boat, Julie hadn't had much of a chance to ask Chitra any more questions. Chitra looked graceful and languid, and totally at home in the rough-hewn dugout. Julie, however, initially clung to its sides, afraid they could all easily tip into the river. But once they were underway, the breeze in her face, the last of the river villages no longer visible and no more river traffic, she felt she was at last experiencing the real and unspoiled jungle scenery she'd previously imagined, and she began to enjoy the trip.

The jungle came straight down to both sides of the river, impossibly thick, not an inch to place a foot or even a toe.

'Are there crocodiles in here?' she shouted above the engine to Matthew.

'And worse,' he called back.

But conversation was too difficult, so Julie sat and watched Barry film the scenery. They were going too fast to see any wildlife, though birds rose from the treetops as they pa.s.sed and, at one point, the old man stopped the engine and as everyone turned back to look at him in alarm, he pointed and Barry raised his camera to his eye.