From the front, Jennifer said, "Inhabited by headhunters, for most of history."
"Yes, well, that's all in the past," Bradley said. "If it ever existed at all. I mean, all that talk about cannibalism. Everybody knows it is not true. I read a book by some professor.*There never were any cannibals, anywhere in the world. It's all a big myth. Another example of the way the white man demonizes people of color. When Columbus came to the West Indies, he thought they told him there were cannibals there, but it wasn't true. I forget the details. There are no cannibals anywhere. Just a myth. Why are you staring at me that way?"
Evans turned. Bradley was talking to Sanjong, who was indeed staring.
"Well?" Bradley said. "You're giving me a look. Okay, buddy boy. Does that mean you disagree with me?"
"You're truly a fool," Sanjong said, in an astonished voice. "Have you ever been to Sumatra?"
"Can't say that I have."
"New Guinea?"
"No. Always wanted to go, buy some tribal art. Great stuff."
"Borneo?"
"No, but I always wanted to go there, too. That Sultan What's his name, he did a great job remodeling the Dorchester in London--"
"Well," Sanjong said, "if you go to Borneo you will see the Dyak longhouses where they still display the skulls of the people they killed."
"Oh, that's just tourist-attraction stuff."
"In New Guinea, they had a disease calledkuru, transmitted by eating the brains of their enemies."
"That's not true."
"Gajdusek won a Nobel Prize for it. They were eating brains, all right."
"But that was a long time ago."
"Sixties. Seventies."
"You guys just like to tell scare stories," Bradley said, "at the expense of the indigenous people of the world. Come on, face the facts, human beings are not cannibals."*
Sanjong blinked. He looked at Kenner. Kenner shrugged.
"Absolutely beautiful down there," Bradley said, looking out the window. "And it looks like we're going to land."
VII
RESOLUTION
GAREDA
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 14
6:40 A. M.
Kotak Field was sticky with humid heat. They walked to the small open shack that was marked KASTOM in roughly painted letters. To one side of the building was a wooden fence and a gate marked with a red hand-print and a sign that said, NOGOT ROT.
"Ah, nougat rot," Bradley said. "Must be a local tooth problem."
"Actually," Sanjong said, "the red hand meanskapu. 'Forbidden.' The sign says 'No Got Right,' which is Pidgin for 'You don't have permission to pass.'"
"Huh. I see."
Evans found the heat almost unbearable. He was tired after the long plane ride, and anxious about what lay ahead of them. Alongside him, Jennifer walked casually, seemingly fresh and energetic. "You're not tired?" Evans said to her.
"I slept on the plane."
He looked back at Sarah. She, too, seemed to have plenty of energy, striding forward.
"Well, I'm pretty tired."
"You can sleep in the car," Jennifer said. She didn't seem very interested in his condition. He found it a little irritating.
And it was certainly debilitatingly hot and humid. By the time they reached the customs house, Evans's shirt was soaked. His hair was wet. Sweat was dripping off his nose and chin onto the papers he was supposed to fill out. The pen from the ink ran in the puddles of his sweat. He glanced up at the customs officer, a dark, muscular man with curly hair and wearing pressed white trousers and a white shirt. His skin was dry; he looked almost cool. He met Evans's eyes, and smiled."Oh, waitman, dis no taim bilong san. You tumas hotpela."
Evans nodded. "Yes, true," he said. He had no idea what the man had said.
Sanjong translated. "It's not even the hot time of summer. But you're too much hot. Youtumas hot. Ya?"
"He got that right. Where'd you learn Pidgin?"
"New Guinea. I worked there a year."
"Doing what?"
But Sanjong was hurrying on with Kenner, who was waving to a young man who had driven up in a Land Rover. The man jumped out. He was dark, wearing tan shorts and a T-shirt. His shoulders were covered in tattoos. His grin was infectious. "Hey, Jon Kanner!Hamamas klok! " He pounded his chest with his fist and hugged Kenner.
"He has a happy heart," Sanjong said. "They know each other."
The newcomer was introduced all around as Henry, with no other name. "Hanri!" he said, grinning broadly, pumping their hands. Then he turned to Kenner.
"I understand there is trouble with the helicopter," Kenner said.
"What? Notrabel. Me got klostu long. " He laughed. "It's just over there, my friend," he said, in perfectly accented British English.
"Good," Kenner said, "we were worried."
"Yas, but serious Jon. We betterhariyap. Mi yet harim planti yangpelas, krosim, pasim birua, got plenti masket, noken stap gut, ya? "
Evans had the impression Henry was speaking Pidgin so the rest of them would not understand.
Kenner nodded. "I heard that, too," he said. "Lots of rebels here. They're mostly young boys? And angry? And well armed. Figures."
"I worry for the helicopter, my friend."
"Why? Do you know something about the pilot?"
"Yes, I do."