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  Yhee pushed Ranji to a chair and sat down beside her. They looked at Sherry like an exceptionally succulent pig served at a banquet. “Now, play with it,” said Yhee. “I want to see you make yourself come.”

  Sherry was horrified and looked at Ranji in alarm, but got no help from her. “Yes, Sherry, show us how you do it.”

  “I—,” she started, but no more came. She tried to reach between her legs but her hand refused to move.

  “Do it!” said Yhee sharply.

  Ranji frowned at her and nodded. She forced herself to reach lower. She pressed her fingertips flat over her clit and started a circular motion. She rubbed automatically, hardly feeling what she was doing. Ranji and Yhee had leaned forward to watch her closely. Ranji had reached into Yhee’s lap, but Sherry could not see her hand below the table.

  Incredibly, Sherry found she was wet. Her rubbing had done nothing for her, but she was wet. The discovery cheered her a little. At least Yhee would see she was trying to do her best. She rubbed unhappily, and searched in vain for the golden thread that would lead to her orgasm.

  Yhee had become agitated. He moved restlessly in his seat, looking at her pussy and at Ranji beside him. He jumped to his feet and started to pull Ranji’s sari from her shoulder.

  “Wait!” she called and fumbled with the safety pin at her shoulder. “Now, you can unwrap me.” Yhee pulled on the sari and Ranji turned to allow him to destroy the pleats and toss it onto the table. She unhooked her choli before he could reach it and let it fall loose. Yhee dived for her breasts and gripped them roughly. Ranji put her hands behind her and let the choli drop to the floor. Yhee forced her roughly back against the table and bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth.

  Sherry watched in growing horror as Ranji’s head fell back and her black hair brushed the table. Her face looked distorted and she was biting her lip. Yhee lifted his head to look at Sherry. “Keep rubbing!” he ordered, and took Ranji’s other breast into his mouth. She restarted her pretence of self-pleasure and watched as Yhee thrust his hand under Ranji’s crotch and manhandled her sex. Ranji moaned at his onslaught. Yhee had turned into a violent, forceful animal.

  Yhee suddenly stood up and spun Ranji around to face the table. He pushed her towards Sherry. “Suck her!” Yhee was out of control. Moving blindly, Ranji searched between Sherry’s legs and she leaned back on her hands to help. She did not want to disobey Yhee. It would be too dangerous.

  Ranji’s hands went under Sherry’s thighs to grip her and she pulled herself into Sherry, nuzzling her pussy. Sherry looked over her friend’s back at Yhee. He was fumbling with his fly and Sherry caught a flash of white as he released himself.

  Sherry had the detached feeling that she was watching herself star as an actress in a movie, a horror movie. Yhee hurried to pull on Ranji’s hips and sink his prong into her. He drove it home with a bump that pushed Ranji against her, and then settled to a slow thrusting that left him time to watch.

  Sherry followed his eyes down to Ranji’s head working between her legs. She had never seen Ranji like this. She was wholly focused on licking Sherry’s pussy, apparently ignoring Yhee and his slow thrusting. Ranji’s tongue probed and searched around her clit, changing to long licks up and down her whole sex and then back again to frantically burrowing round and under her clit. The attack was too intense for Sherry and she knew that she would not come.

  Yhee had a withdrawn expression on his face and his eyes looked heavy. With each thrust, he pushed Ranji against her pussy. The only sound was Ranji’s panting and licking.

  Yhee opened his eyes and looked at her. “You come now,” he commanded.

  Sherry was desperate. In another circumstance, another atmosphere, she might have enjoyed Ranji’s licking, but now it felt too strong, too mechanical, too impersonal. She could not come, and Yhee’s order made things worse. She would have to pretend. She closed her eyes, started to pant and to rock her hips against Ranji. Thinking her efforts were bringing pleasure, Ranji immediately accelerated her licking and burrowed her face deeper into Sherry’s crotch.

  Eyes closed, Sherry concentrated on her rocking and panting and then, out of nowhere, it started to happen. Ranji’s tongue stopped being an irritant, and instead delicious sensations welled up inside her. She could feel a wave of pleasure taking over. She was going to come. She stopped thinking and gave herself over to the hungry mouth that ravaged her.

  As her orgasm struck, she was vaguely aware of Yhee calling out “That’s it, she’s coming. Harder! Finger her as well!” Ranji’s fingers were there, pushing into her and pumping in and out. Her climax came in waves, overwhelming her, taking her mind. In her delirium she called out for Ranji to stop, to give her peace, and she tried to close her legs.

  Finally she started to return. Ranji had sucked her clit into her mouth and was gripping it between covered teeth. Her fingers were thrust deep into Sherry, still and rigid. Ranji was being thrown against her by Yhee’s thrusting. When Sherry opened her eyes, Yhee was nearing the end of his run. His thrusting grew hard and rapid, his face looked strained and desperate to come. With a loud groan he reached the end, his head thrown back, his muscles taut as a bowstring, and he clung to Ranji’s hips. The three of them were statues in a monument.

  After a long moment, Yhee abruptly broke up the tableau. He pulled out and Sherry could see his shiny sex starting to droop. He covered it with one hand and walked rapidly to a door facing his desk. With agonizing slowness, Ranji let Sherry’s clit and petals slip from her mouth and withdrew her fingers. Sherry shuffled back to give her room and her head slumped to lie on the table. Her eyes were closed.

  Then a smile crept onto her lips. “Mmmmh, that was fantastic. Oh, I can hardly move.” She opened her eyes and looked up at Sherry from between her knees. “You like?”

  “I—I don’t know,” said Sherry. She did not understand what had happened. “I never…”

  “You were wonderful,” said Ranji and raised herself onto her elbows to examine Sherry’s pussy, “and so sweet, and so pretty down here.”

  “No!” yelped Sherry, embarrassed at being stared at so closely. She threw a leg over Ranji’s head and turned away. “Where’s he gone?” she asked to divert Ranji’s attention.

  “I don’t know, but I suppose we’d better get dressed.” She picked up her choli and started to get into it. “Oh, oh, oh. I’m going to drip on the carpet, damn! Bring my bag over, will you? It’s got tissues.”

  Sherry opened the handbag and passed her a tissue. She wiped herself and then crouched on the floor to insert a tampon. “That’s better,” she said with a smile, “I like going out with no panties, but sometimes…”

  Sherry threw her dress on and went to help Ranji comb and rearrange her hair. In turn she stood still as Ranji straightened hers out. They had just finished as Yhee returned. Now he was all business. “Thank you, you go now. I call Bombar and tell him OK,” and he ushered them out and closed the door.

  They were left to walk the length of the outer office by themselves. If Sherry had felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the working girls on the way in, it was nothing to the disapproval she felt now.

  Chapter 11

  He felt tired as he clambered back up through the barge railing that evening. It was not late, but he had had a long day. He said good night to the men and climbed the steps up to his cabin. He kicked his boots off and unlocked the door. Inside, he heard the shower running.

  He pushed the bathroom door open. “Darti?”

  Darti rushed out wet and soapy to throw herself at him. “Timmee! Mmm—you so late.” She let herself be cuddled and kissed. “Come on, mandi and then we make pom-pom.” She pushed into the shower cubicle with him and started to wash him.

  Later that night, squeezed into his single bed, she listened to his encounter with Inspector Hangchi and the missed opportunity. “Captain Rais is not happy, I think,” was her only comment, but she took Hangchi’s letter with her when she left to walk home along the cabl
e tray next morning.

  Tim had a tedious day; tubing tests were usually boring. Hooked up to the wellhead, Tim had to maintain pump pressure on the tubing while a slick line unit ran a leak detector slowly up and down the tubing looking for a pressure drop. Raymond and the crew were busy around the barge, chipping rust and painting. Tim was tied to the pump unit, monitoring the pressure in the tubing and occasionally bleeding a little off as the water in the well warmed up. He had turned the pump unit engines off and he sat on an upturned drum reading a paperback, with one eye on the pressure gauges. The slick line operator did not locate the leak until mid-afternoon. He pulled out of the well, and they could rig down the pumping equipment from the wellhead.

  That evening Tim stocked up on beer and food. Their next operation would be a pressure test on a new pipeline in the northern delta, and they would be out of reach of the canteen.

  The tug came for them in the morning and they started the long journey north. Tim sat above it all on his verandah and watched the riverbanks sweep by. Behind him the powerful engines of the pusher tug throbbed as it pushed Sea Sprite IV rapidly upstream. The square bow of the barge rode the brown water and curled a coffee brown bow-wave away on each side. Tim watched as the waves slapped the banks, disturbing the quiet of the nipa palms. In the few places where the muddy banks broke through the nipa palms, monitor lizards sunned themselves and scuttled away from the encroaching water. Green macaque monkeys chattered at them from the taller trees and once a large family of proboscis monkeys hurried away from the noise, their old boss man posturing in the nearest tree while his charges disappeared further into the swamp. Satisfied that all were safe, he turned disdainfully and followed them.

  The sun had fallen into the palms before they reached their goal. A new pipeline trace had been cut through the jungle and trestles driven into the swamp to support the pipe. CCB-1, a Canadian crane barge, had moored at one end of it, with its bows pulled into the trees. It sat in an island of arc lights glaring into the dusk, and the sound of its generators came across the water to them. On the deck the electric flash of welding added drama to the picture. Sea Sprite IV nosed into position alongside and the tug cast off. Tim was delighted. He had expected to be alone, but now they would have company and cooked food. He climbed through the railing and went in search of the Man.

  They spent that evening on the crane barge, sitting on the deck along with the crew, watching a video. A civilised evening, Indonesians and foreigners sitting together to watch the television set mounted outside the accommodation block.

  Breakfast started at five next morning, and dozy workers fumbled numbly to the local and foreign canteens. Tim took advantage of the viande fumeé that the French Canadians in the barge crew brought with them. He promised himself that, one day, he would take Sherry to Montreal and show her how good a breakfast it made.

  They had a slow day. The riverbank manifold was a day or so behind schedule and would not be ready for testing until tomorrow. They rigged up as far as they could and mixed up a 60 barrel gel plug, and then waited. The old oil-field story. Hurry up and wait. Tim crossed over to the canteen looking for cornbread and coffee. It was mid-afternoon and the canteen was empty. He sat with Renaldo the Mexican cook/camp boss and gossiped.

  Renaldo hated Indonesia. He hated it so much that nothing could stop him coming back hitch after hitch, year after year, until his cooking had become a by-word in the delta. He even moved from company to company as contracts ended so he could keep coming back. Now he happily sat and told Tim how bad a life he led, how everyone and everything conspired to make his life hell. The locals, the Canadians, the insects, snakes, even crocodiles, everything. And, of course, The Man Who Ate Pork hung in the background.

  “I tell you, my friend, next time I think I don’t come back. Why should I? My boys are finished college, good. My girl, she married and ready to make her mother to grandmother. I pay for my house, my car, don’t owe no money to no-one. Why should I come back?” Renaldo shook his fat head in disgust.

  “Because you love us, Renaldo. No one cooks like you do. Where else would I get hot cornbread? And proper coffee?”

  “Huh! You only thinking of your stomach again. But me, I have to do everything. Everything! The people they give me, all ignorant. Know nothing. Now they give me another billy boy. This one look exactly like girl.” He snorted in disgust.

  “Well he looks as if he works hard. Perhaps they thought they were doing you a favour. Not everyone has their own billy boy, you know.”

  “Oh, he works, I suppose,” Renaldo conceded, “but he makes more money to give blowjobs and the rest. So in the evening he doesn’t like to do the laundry until the crew is sleeping. He takes their money instead and in the morning he is tired and lazy. Now he is sleeping again so he is ready for this evening. He must have blown every cock on board. Even most of the foreign ones.”

  “And yours?”

  “Ah-ha, no! You think I am maricon? You think I let man play with me?”

  “Well, some of them make pretty convincing women.”

  “Not for Renaldo. I think when they came for The Man Who Ate Pork, I think they take him too. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe they don’t care. I think it is no problem for their religion. Hah! They think OK to eat cock, but not to eat pork. Stupid!”

  “You saw it then?”

  “Sure I see. Everyone see. First they run all over the barge, waving guns and shouting. They get everyone on the pipe deck, everyone. Then they are calling for him and they went through the accommodation with two locals, looking for him. They bring him back with his hands tied behind. He was smiling, you know them, they always have shit-eating grin when they’re embarrassed. Then their captain throw him down on the deck and he stand on his head. With his boot! Then the man trying to move and the others kicked him so he stopped. Then the captain gives big speech, shouting this and that, like he gone crazy. Waving his arms and all shouting, and then by surprise, he pulls out his machete and swings it and cuts his neck. I tell you, Tim, looks very ugly. So much blood coming out and the man like jerking ‘til he died. Then they all come and cut him. Like they kill him again one thousand times. Absolutely crazy. Cut, cut, cut, still I see the machetes going up and down, up and down.

  “Then they leave. They get back in their boat and leave. The man, he is one bloody mess on the deck. So we put tarp on top of him, and radio for police. We are shut down for three days. No work except for me and the billy boy. Cooking and laundry, and feeding the police too.

  “Afterwards, the police say he is a bad Muslim and he eating pork, that is why he is killed. Crazy. This whole country is crazy.”

  “You think that’s why they killed him?”

  “Sure, why not? They crazy enough, believe me, but he didn’t get no pork from me. No bacon here.”

  “My guys say there was more to it than that. They say the man was working for the Army and the men who killed him were Islamic terrorists. Someone must have passed his name to them.”

  “Maybe, maybe, but I tell you, those men crazy like dogs. Blood, life, that is nothing for them. I could see in their eyes. Crazy.”

  Tim was thoughtful as he climbed back onto Sea Sprite IV. The Man Who Ate Pork had become posthumously famous across the delta but until now the murder and its purpose had not touched him. Today it all seemed very much more serious.

  Next day they laid treating pipe across the crane barge to the point where the pipeline snaked on its trestles out into the swamp. It was a great luxury to have the numerous barge crew to carry the heavy pipe joints and chiksans, leaving Raymond and the guys to hammer them together while Tim did the pre-start checks. Then they had the safety meeting to keep the barge crew away from the pressurised lines, and Tim pumped the gel plug, pushing it down the line with 5000 barrels of delta water. The sun had already fallen by the time the pipeline was full and they could start the pressure test.

  Next day two pusher tugs came for the crane barge and they left Sea Sprite IV alone unt
il another tug could come for them. Renaldo left a big pot of daging rendang for them all, and a cardboard box of ground Brazilian coffee and cornbread for Tim. They waved as the crane barge disappeared down the river and left them isolated in the swamp. Tim felt they had left the ghost of the Man Who Ate Pork with him.

  When they finally made it back to Camp Dua, Tim found a backlog of acidising waiting. They worked hard, day after day, moving from location to location, preparing batches of treated hydrochloric acid and pumping them into under-performing oil wells. The flurry of work meant that he could not visit Darti until she sent a summons via Raymond. He had Raymond drop him off at Darti’s jetty at dusk. He would spend the night with her and be picked up again for breakfast next day.

  He had a delightful evening. Darti welcomed him and closed her door behind him. She did not allow him to do anything. By the light of her old-fashioned hurricane lamp, she served him a meal that she must have been preparing all day. Fish, eggs, vegetables, all in exciting sauces and served with a large bowl of rice.

  Then, with dishes cleared away, she laid out her bedding on the floor and made love to him. Again, she would let him do nothing. He watched the lamplight shining in her black hair as she devoted herself to his cock, kissing and teasing him until he could resist no longer. She turned to kiss him with the taste of his climax still in her mouth and lay for a while in his arms while she massaged him back to stiffness.

  He watched in the soft lamplight as she knelt over him and raised his soft sex to her pussy. Lifting his head, he looked over his body to the delicate woman kneeling over him. Dream-like, she rubbed him through her wetness, pressing him into her furrow and using him to paint her clitoris with bold strokes. She made an artist’s picture of golden skin and black shadows. He hardened and made her manipulation more difficult.

  When she judged he was ready, she sank down onto him, tight and slippery. Her eyes closed and for the moment she rode in a world of her own. Her hands pressed down on his chest as she sat firmly on him, rolling her hips to stir her depths with his staff. She was panting with the effort.