I had seen that one orang-utan often enough in the jungle, but only distantly, as he swung high up through the canopy. This was my first close encounter. I found myself staring back at them. The wonderment was mutual. For many long minutes it seemed none of us knew quite what to do. All any of us could do was stare. But after a while I could see that the more I stared the more agitated they were becoming. Wide-eyed with consternation, the babies were clinging ever tighter to their mothers, hiding their heads. One of them began to suckle his mother frantically, as if that might help these strange apparitions to go away. Many of them were still holding a fig to their mouths, their jaws frozen in mid-chew, not yet at ease enough to go on eating. Each was looking to the other now for comfort and reassurance.
I could see no real sign of aggression in them. A few of the younger adults were crashing around up in the treetops, but I felt that, as with the orang-utan who had shadowed us for so long through the jungle, this might be just to let us know they were there and watching, and that we had better take care not to encroach any further on their territory. I realised that any sudden movement would have been a mistake. Oona clearly sensed this too. She was moving almost in slow motion as she began at last to lower herself and let me down. I followed her example, and stood there stock still looking up at them, only my eyes moving. Even so, I could see we were causing them great alarm. They were all climbing up away from us into the higher branches of the fig trees now, bunching together, mothers and infants hugging one another close.
By this time, Oona had clearly decided it was best to ignore them altogether, and just let them get used to us. She’d begun to feast on the figs from the nearest tree. The orang-utans looked on, apparently happier now, and a few of them, mostly the younger ones, were beginning to feed again, but still keeping a wary eye on us at the same time. I thought the best thing I could do was what Oona was doing, what they were doing, and eat the figs. A dozen or so of these huge ripe figs were all I could manage, and I could reach these easily enough from the ground.
When I’d finished, I climbed high into the branches of one of the fig trees where I found myself a comfortable place to sit, and a perfect vantage point from which to observe the orang-utans, who were now all much calmer, and intent on their feeding in the trees on the far side of the clearing. The three nursing mothers had settled to their feasting like the others. They ate tidily, peeling each fig and enjoying it before looking for the next one, their babies clinging on to them easily as they clambered from one branch to another, constantly on the search for better pickings.
I could see that these mothers in particular were still a little wary, still not at all sure what to make of us. Sometimes, when they had gorged themselves enough, when they were at rest in between these fig feeding frenzies, they would sit in among the leaves, and just stare at me, trying to work me out, I thought, wondering what on earth I was. There was one moment, I remember, when it felt as if all of these dozens of orang-utans, young and old alike, were gazing at me in awe and wonder. For all I knew I might have been the very first human being these creatures had ever set eyes on. One thing was for sure, I was as curious about them as they were about me. I couldn’t help thinking that we didn’t just look like one another, these orang-utans and me. We were like one another. We were kindred spirits.
The older orang-utans, the mothers with their babies, seemed content to look on from afar. It was the young ones who made the first move. They came swinging their way slowly towards me around the clearing, pausing every now and again to feed and to play as they came. When they moved from tree to tree they had a curious way of doing it. They didn’t swing through the trees as the gibbons did. They weren’t lithe and loose-limbed like them. They didn’t look like natural born swingers. Their technique seemed slower and more considered, more cautious. They would hang there and sway themselves from side to side until they could reach out, grab the branch they were after, and then let that branch swing them into the next tree. Every time they seemed to judge the swing just right, holding on by three hands, or two hands and a foot, and then reaching out with the fourth for the branch of the tree they wanted to climb into.
But it soon became worryingly clear to me that at least three of the younger adults weren’t going to be content until they got a closer look at me. They were coming to check me out. Encouraged by their example, all the other orang-utans began to swing towards me through the branches. I noticed then, that one of the mothers, the darkest and largest of them, had the tiniest of infants clinging to her. She seemed to be leading a whole group of adults, most with babies hanging on to them. Everywhere I looked they were making their way towards me through the fig trees. I found I was being approached by orang-utans from all sides now. It was unnerving, but at no time as they came nearer did I feel really frightened. This wasn’t an attack, I was sure of it – or nearly sure anyway. This was an investigation. But there were lots of them, and all their eyes were on me.
I did look around to see where Oona was, just for reassurance, but she had disappeared from sight. I knew roughly where she was though. I heard her browsing in among the fig trees, snorting and blowing and groaning from somewhere deep in the thicket. Once or twice I could make out exactly where she was, because I could see the branches shaking. I could hear them splitting and cracking as she dragged them down and broke them off. Like me, she had clearly decided there was no threat, that she could feed here in peace, and not be bothered. But it did mean that I was now left entirely alone with the orang-utans.
They might have looked peaceful enough, these orang-utans, but all the same, I was beginning to wish that Oona hadn’t gone off and left me. I watched them moving in ever closer, until they were settled all around me in among the branches. I found myself completely surrounded. There was only one thing for it. I kept very still, sat back in the crook of the tree, crossed my legs, folded my arms, and tried to look as relaxed as I could. Now that they were this close, I noticed that they seemed to be wanting to avoid any real eye contact. They would dart looks at me, then look away. So, as I understood it, glancing was acceptable to them, but not staring. I thought it was best to do the same.
After a while the youngsters began to show off, each doing his best to out-dare and outshine the other, or so it seemed to me, as they swung through the fig tree below me, above me, and behind me. I hardly knew which way to look. They were all around me and so close now, far too close for comfort. One of them decided it would be fun to hang upside down and dangle there by one leg from a branch right above my head, so that as he swung we were almost nose to nose. Another had climbed on to the branch I was sitting on, and was shaking it vigorously, so that I had to hang on tight with both hands to prevent myself from falling off.
In the end, to my great relief, the three mothers came and sat nearby, and that seemed to calm the youngsters. They stopped their antics and sat there quietly eating figs and pretending to ignore me altogether. I did the same. I peeled a fig and tried to take absolutely no notice of them.
It was all a game, a game of patience. With orang-utans this was clearly how everyone got to know everyone. Just do what they do, I kept thinking, and it’ll work out fine. Hopefully.
Oona came back shortly afterwards into the clearing. I watched her as she stood there for a few moments looking around for me. I called down to her, softly, so as not to upset the orang-utans. She didn’t seem in the least surprised to find me sitting up there in the fig tree surrounded by an entire family of orang-utans. I threw her down the fig I’d been peeling. She snuffled it up off the ground, before meandering away through the trees and down towards the stream beyond. I really hadn’t been at all thirsty until I saw where she was off to.
Suddenly I was longing for a drink.
I was about to climb down and follow her when I saw that one of the infant orang-utans had detached herself from her mother and was swinging herself slowly along the branch towards me. It was the smallest of them and, I presumed, the youngest too. She came and
sat down so close to me, that I could have reached out and touched her. But I sensed that maybe this wasn’t the right moment for me to move. I didn’t want to do anything to scare her. I thought I would sit there, just be still and patient, and give my new friend the opportunity to introduce herself in her own time. Her mother – and this was the darkest of the mothers, the one who seemed to me like the leader, to carry most authority – was watching everything more than a little warily, as the young orang-utan reached up, grasped the branch above my head, swung herself up and dangled there beside me, one-handed. I looked into her eyes, and smiled at her. I found myself laughing then. I couldn’t stop myself. I was hoping it wouldn’t frighten her off.
What happened next took me entirely by surprise. The young orang-utan reached out towards me, swung herself down on to my shoulder, then made her way along my arm, and sat down beside me. She kept looking up at me, then away. I didn’t move. She touched my hand, tentatively at first, looking back at her mother, for reassurance, it seemed. Then she grasped one of my fingers firmly and tugged at it. There was a strength and determination in the grip of that tiny creature that I simply could not believe. I knew there was no point in trying to pull my finger away, because I knew I wasn’t going to be strong enough to break free. The youngster lifted my hand to her nose, sniffed it, touching it with her lips as she did so, before letting it fall. She looked up into my face then and touched me on the ear. I was hoping she wouldn’t decide to have a grab at it, and try to yank it off.
Maybe it was partly to prevent that from happening that I spoke to her then. I didn’t mean to. The words just came out. “That’s my ear you’ve got,” I said softly. I wanted to see how much I could make her understand. It seemed the natural thing to do. I thought I’d try something. I reached my hand out very slowly, and touched the infant orang-utan on her ear. “And that’s your ear,” I told her. I went on. “And I’ve got hair like you too, not shaggy and red like yours, but it’s hair all the same. And you’ve got two hands and two feet like me. In fact, you and me, we’re pretty much alike. What d’you think?”
The orang-utan was looking up at me all the time I was speaking. There was an intelligence in her face that astonished me. This was no mere animal. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that this little creature was as human in spirit as I was. It made me think then, that maybe, maybe, I could be every bit as animal as she was human. It was a new thought and a troubling one.
The youngster made her way back to her mother after that, and for some time afterwards I sat there in my fig tree among the orang-utans, listening to Oona wallowing noisily in the river nearby. I imagined her whooshing herself down, drinking her fill, revelling in it, and I longed to climb down and join her. I was hot now, and listening to her in the river was only making me more thirsty than ever. I was longing for a drink, and for a swim too. I was sorely tempted to climb down and join her in the river, but I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the orang-utans. I sensed that these moments I was living through with them were to be treasured, that this close encounter might never happen again. I was so completely at one with these gentle creatures, so at ease. They wanted me to stay, I was sure of it. So I stayed. I decided I would drink later, swim later.
With a clap of thunder so close above us that it actually shook the tree, the rains came down. The downpour was so sudden and violent that within seconds I could hardly see across to the other side of the clearing. Huddled together, hunched and bedraggled the orang-utans were sheltering as best they could under the leaves of the fig tree. But in a gusting storm like this even the huge fig leaves provided little protection. I noticed then that two of the mothers had contrived a makeshift canopy of giant leaves, holding them up over their heads, just as I had learned to do. This way both they and their babies were staying a great deal drier than the rest, and a lot drier than me too. I found I was sitting on a branch that seemed to be exposed to the worst of the storm-blast, and with hardly a leaf for shelter. Like the orang-utans, I just had to sit it out until the storm ended at last, as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the forest dripping, strangely silent and filled with mist.
Only moments later I looked down to see Oona come running through the trees into the clearing. I could see at once that she was unsettled, by the thunder perhaps, I thought, and that surprised me because she’d never shown any fear of thunder before. She was coming on a charge now, her ears flapping, her trunk lifted and trumpeting. She was warning me of something. Not since the tidal wave had I seen her this agitated.
Then I saw why. Coming out of the jungle behind her I saw three men – hunters with rifles. They were taking aim, not at her at all, and not at me, but at the orang-utans in the fig trees all around. A volley of shots rang out. Every bird and bat in the jungle lifted off in a cacophony of shrieking and screeching. Trumpeting her terror Oona stampeded across the clearing and vanished into the undergrowth. I saw the dark-haired orang-utan slump, and slip sideways from her branch. She hung there by one hand for a brief moment, her baby screaming now and still clinging to her, before they came crashing down through the tree to the forest floor. They lay there unmoving.
All the other orang-utans were scattering, clambering, climbing, swinging, as high as they could go, as fast as they could go, into the tops of the fig trees. But they weren’t fast enough, and nowhere was high enough. More shots rang out, and a second mother tumbled out of the tree, hitting the forest floor with a sickening thud. Stunned until now, I had come to my senses and was screaming at the hunters to stop shooting.
For just a few moments they were taken by surprise. They lowered their rifles and pointed up at me, gesticulating wildly and shouting at one another. But all too soon they began shooting again. One of the youngsters was hit in mid-swing as he tried to escape, and came crashing down through the branches above me. I had no time to get out of the way. I took a glancing blow from his body as it fell, but it was enough to make me lose my balance. I tried desperately to grab a hold, tried to save myself, but I couldn’t. I remember hitting the branches as I fell through them, remember thinking it was taking a long time to hit the ground.
Then I remember nothing.
I knew I was still alive because I could hear the sound of an engine, and some music. It was several moments before I could gather my thoughts enough to realise I must be in the back of some sort of pick-up truck that was being driven at speed over rough ground, rattling violently as it went, throwing me from side to side. A radio was playing, the music loud, and close by, the whole truck vibrating with the beat of it. And there was the sound of men laughing raucously from inside the cab. They had to be the hunters I’d seen in the clearing. I could feel fingers clutching me, clawing at me. Everywhere there were warm wet bodies clinging to me and crying. I was still trying to believe this might be the worst of nightmares, and I wanted to wake up from it. I kept trying to sit up, but I was being rocked around so much that I couldn’t stay sitting for long. My head was swimming and heavy with throbbing. I could feel the blood running down my face from a cut somewhere on my forehead. That was when I understood for certain that this was too real, too painful to be the nightmare I was hoping it might be.
My vision might have been blurred, but I could see enough now to begin to make some sense of my surroundings. I was in some kind of a wooden cage, along with three little orang-utans, all of them whimpering in terror, their fists gripping me tight, by my hair, my T-shirt, my neck, my ear, wherever they could get a hold. My feet were tied. There was no feeling left in them. I looked up to see where I was, where we were going. I could hardly see the sky above me for smoke. Everywhere there was a stench of burning. The truck was slithering and sliding in and out of every pothole and rut it was being driven through, jolting me violently against the bars of the cage. From the cab, I could hear the hunters whooping and singing. I gathered the three orang-utans close to me, my arms around them to protect them all I could.
Now it came to me, and I remembered everything. I knew well en
ough why they were clinging to me so tight, and why they were squealing too. Every one of them had just seen their mother killed, and I knew only too well how they must be feeling. I hugged them to me, stroking them, talking to them, trying to console them all I could. But they were inconsolable. So many questions filled my head, all of them unanswerable. Who were these hunters? Why had we been kidnapped? What were these men going to do with us? I closed my eyes, tried to calm myself, tried to think straight.
When I opened them, I found my vision was clearing itself at last, that everything was in focus again. That was when I became aware that there were eyes staring at me from the back of the truck, amber eyes, tiger’s eyes. His paws were tied together, and they were lashed to a pole. He was lying there on a blood-soaked sack, his tongue tolling. This was the same face I remembered, the same tiger that had journeyed with us along the trail and in my dreams. This was our tiger.
But he was no longer burning bright.
“He is like God here”
he evening was darkening. The pickup truck was lurching down a muddy track into what looked to me to be a small shanty town of campfires and ramshackle huts scattered all over the valley and up the hillsides. And all around as far as I could see the whole valley was stripped bare of trees, a great scar of brown earth and rock slashed through the jungle, a muddy stream running along the bottom.
Everywhere in the gloom there were swarms of men and women and children working like ants all over the valley, most of them hacking into the hillside with pickaxes, others manning sluices, some – and most of these were children – labouring uphill under heavy loads, many of them covered in mud up to their waists. I thought at once this had to be some kind of mining operation, but I had no idea at all what they could be mining for. A pall of dark pungent smoke hung over the entire valley. There were shrill voices, angry voices, and the sound of children wailing. It seemed to me that we were being taken down into a kind of hell, a place of evil, a place of sorrows.