BORNEO PULP
the destruction of the forest
John Francis Kinsella
Copyright John Francis Kinsella 2014
johnkinsella@alibaba-books.com
For Tilla, Selma, Eléonore, Noé, Xaver, Elyias, Aédle and Camille
Man has been endowed with reason, with the power to create, so that he can add to what he’s been given. But up to now he hasn’t been a creator, only a destroyer. Forests keep disappearing, rivers dry up, wild life’s become extinct, the climates ruined and the land grows poorer and uglier every day.
Anton Chekhov
Uncle Vanya, 1897
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - A Door Opens
Chapter 2 - Bandjarmasin
Chapter 3 - Back in Paradise
Chapter 4 - On Tropical Forests
Chapter 5 - Resources Confirmed
Chapter 6 - The Forestry Centre
Chapter 7 - Antoine Brodzski
Chapter 8 - The Consortium
Chapter 9 - A Lesson in Paper
Chapter 11 - A Cultural Interlude
Chapter 12 - Rice Porter Makes Good
Chapter 13 - Unlikely Partners
Chapter 14 - Business Friends
Chapter 15 - A Joint Venture
Chapter 16 - An Overbearing Friend
Chapter 17 - The Office
Chapter 18 - The Jet Set
Chapter 19 - Neighbours
Chapter 20 - Whisky on Ice
Chapter 21 - Creative Financing
Chapter 22 - Banker in Hongkong
Chapter 23 - High Jinks
Chapter 24 - The Executive Summary
Chapter 25 - Reforestation & Wishful Thinking
Chapter 26 - Paris
Chapter 27 - Friendly Warning
Chapter 28 - Illegal Logging
Chapter 29 - Thrills and Spills
Chapter 30 - A Lesson in the Jungle
Chapter 31 - The Barelands
Chapter 32 - Television and Outboards
Chapter 33 - Deforestation
Chapter 34 - A Gambler
Chapter 35 - Banks and Real Estate
Chapter 36 - Insurance and Gangsters
Chapter 37 - Volcanoes and Regeneration
Chapter 38 - Visitors
Chapter 39 - Bad News
Chapter 40 - Singapore
Chapter 41 - Dayaks
Chapter 42 - Down to Earth
Chapter 43 - The Oasis
Chapter 44 - A Bali Beach
Chapter 45 - Back in Paris
Chapter 46 - The Old Country
Chapter 47 - A Sorry State of Affairs
Author’s Note
The sweat poured off him as he pulled the heavy body through the undergrowth. It was much heavier than he could have ever imagined, rivulets ran down his arms and onto his hands making it difficult to get a firm grasp on the thick wrists that slipped slowly through his fingers as he pulled.
Stopping to take his breath, he plunged his hands deep into the warm sand, which stuck to his moist skin giving him a better grip. He looked up, to the left and right along the beach, it was deserted; simply the movement of the palms that waved lazily against the tropical sky. He laboured on, there was no time to lose.
He had pulled the body into the dense undergrowth, over a small rise well away from the beach, few people ever strayed that far from the sand, especially at that time of the year. He paused and looked at the body, it lay like a giant turtle or some other aquatic creature slumped down on the ground, helpless…and dead.
With an effort he pulled off the soiled trunks and then the wristwatch, he looked carefully at the body...no rings or chains. The sunglasses were back on the beach. He stood back letting the undergrowth spring back into place, pushing the vegetation with his foot to make sure the body was well covered.
He then made his way back to the beach, pulling the shrubs and plants into place where his path was visible, smoothing over the tracks in the sand. With luck nobody would come that far along the beach for days and there was even less chance of them going far into the thick vegetation.
He recalled what Colonel Supramanto had told him: in the tropics putrefaction sets in almost immediately after death; left in the open the body would be black and bloated, almost unrecognisable within twenty-four hours. If it was not discovered, the heat, insects, and land crabs with their powerful claws would quickly do their work.
Wading into the sea up to his chest, he washed off the sand and sweat. He still had time to change his mind he thought as he looked out over the warm sea.
A hand touched his shoulder, he started violently.
‘Mr Axelmann, Mr Axelmann!’
He was trembling as he turned his head…trying hard to get his orientation. There was a pretty girl, she was wearing a flower coloured sarong and a purple orchid in her black hair. Who was she...he struggled to gather his thoughts; a prickling sensation of fear took hold of him.
‘Who…what?’
‘Mr Axelmann, I sorry, you must fasten your seat belt we’re going through a turbulent zone,’ the girl said smiling softly. He could make out the dim lights of a plane’s cabin.
Yes! That was it; the panic quickly subsided as he took hold of himself. He had dozed off, but even in his sleep he could not get the terrible images out of his mind. He looked at his watch; it was seven o’clock in the morning Indonesian time, almost fourteen hours since he had left the body on the beach.
‘Bring me a Scotch and soda,’ he said hoarsely to the hostess pulling himself up in his seat and grasping around for his seat belt. Then he realised only another couple of hours or so remained before the flight was scheduled to arrive in Zurich.
‘Sorry make that a coffee,’ he said forcing a smile and trying to appear as normal as possible. He would need a clear head on arrival; it was not the moment for whisky. As soon as the ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ sign went off, he would wash and shave; look respectable, that was it.
He peered through the window into the dark, there were no clouds, he realised that it must be the jet stream bumping the huge plane about. As he numbly gazed into the night sky he thought back to his first meeting with Brodzski in Paris.
A DOOR OPENS