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the Upper Mahakam reaches identified as

Longdamai, this isolated pocket of land became known as Longdamai Sial – a place cursed,

even in tranquility.
    ****

Chapter Two
    November 1989 Jakarta
    The instant the traffic slowed to a grinding halt,

deformed children, the maimed and crippled, lepers and blind beggars all appeared as if by

command. Many were guided, pushed or dragged between rows of stagnated vehicles by their helpers,

most seemingly oblivious to the choking exhaust fumes that consistently blanketed the capital’s

congested arterial roads. Street urchins swarmed through the grid locked traffic, skirting amidst

the carcinogenic-pumping machines, hands outstretched to the privileged within their chauffeured,

air-conditioned cocoons.
    Screaming horns added to the cacophonous moment as a child

knocked hopefully against a Mercedes window offering an assortment of cigarettes, chewing gum,

and Chiclets, intimidated in no way by the driver’s obvious anger as he waved her away with

clenched fist. She raised her eyebrows, mockingly, as if surprised or even afraid, then tapped

with greater determination as the foggy image behind the heavily tinted glass moved. The ragged

child tossed a glance further down through the midday traffic and observed that there was

movement ahead. Recognizing the intermittent brake-light flashes as the traffic commenced to

flow, she knew she would have to be swift.
    â€˜ Tuan! ’ the child called with muffled voice.

Billowing, ugly black clouds of fumes spilling from an adjacent bus’ broken exhaust caused her to

cough, and she tapped impatiently on the passenger door window with even more vigor, painfully

conscious of the motorbikes that maneuvered their way between these near-stagnated rows of city

traffic. Injury went with the territory; her scarred limbs carrying fresh scabs over old wounds,

evidence of frequent encounters. A Suzuki squeezed past, the motorbike’s burning exhaust within

touch of her legs, extended rear-vision mirrors grazing her skinny shoulders scoring the flesh

painfully and she wheeled, her eyes filled with venom as she spat, hitting the unsuspecting rider

square on the back. Then she turned her attention to the car’s obviously wealthy

occupant.
    ****
    Amused, Stewart Campbell observed the child’s antics with

ambivalence, tempted to lower the window and drop a hundred Rupiah into her tiny hands.

The driver, sensing the Tuan’s mood, eased the Mercedes forward to discourage the girl but,

ignoring the danger, she remained clinging to the door handle, undeterred. Swayed by her

persistence, Campbell activated the electric windows creating an opening through which he held a

crisp, newly printed one thousand Rupiah note, the money snatched from his well-manicured fingers

as several discolored packets of gum appeared in an outstretched hand.
    â€˜ Terima kasih ,’ he heard the scrawny peddler thank

him as the window closed, the expatriate simply nodding as the sedan moved forward, his thoughts

returning to the day ahead. Campbell glanced at his white gold, Patek Philippe watch and exhaled

heavily, in obvious annoyance with the traffic congestion. He leaned back against the

leather-upholstered seats and, with closed eyes, gently rubbed his temples. An earlier headache,

legacy from the previous evening’s overindulgences, threatened to revisit and he recalled the

Saint Andrew’s black-tie ball, thankful now he had resisted following the diehards to the

Chieftain’s home, for the traditional follow-on breakfast.
    Campbell ’s mind roamed,

occasionally glancing at familiar landmarks as the Mercedes crawled towards the congested, outer

roundabout. The driver jockeyed for position amongst the other vehicles, skillfully avoiding a

converted, smog-belching private minibus that had cut dangerously across their path, near

spilling its load of