Indonesian Gold by Kerry B. Collison

hand-held candles as they

advanced through the rocky corridor, twisting and turning for more than twenty meters, before

entering yet another large, naturally formed cavern. Her father had turned and blocked her view

as she entered the inner sanctum, reminding Angela that she was the first of her gender ever to

set foot in this most sacred place. ‘Until the time arrives for you to initiate your own son

or daughter, you may not reveal this location to any other.’ He had then stepped away and,

holding burning candles high above his head, proudly revealed the gallery lined with skulls.

Angela eyes absorbed the scene, struck by the enormity of what lay before her.
    â€˜Are they…?’ Angela’s

mouth became suddenly dry as her eyes darted along the rows of skulls, carefully arranged in some

sort of order. ‘Are they… very old?’ she managed to ask.
    â€˜Most,’ her father

replied, approaching one fine fellow, whose skull enjoyed a place of pride, resting atop a pole. ‘This one was a white man,’ Angela detected a touch of mirth in her father’s voice, ‘but, you wouldn’t know it now!’
    â€˜Who…?’ She struggled

to ask, the Dayak chief coming to her aid.
    â€˜Your great-great grandfather started this collection, and

our family has maintained the practice, ever since.’
    â€˜Headhunting?’ Angela’s

voice was close to breaking.
    â€˜Yes, almost as far back as time reaches,’ he answered solemnly. ‘Many of these were moved to this location when the

Dutch missionaries commenced sweeping through our communities, seizing such

trophies.’
    â€˜Papa, please tell me. Have…have you…?’ the words spilled from her mouth. She dreaded his response.
    â€˜When it’s been necessary, ’Gela,’ he said, unemotionally, using the diminutive form of her name.
    â€˜Recently?’ she

pressed, apprehensively.
    â€˜When the situation demanded.’
    â€˜But, why?’ she asked,

unable to take her eyes off the staggering number of skulls, some of which were stacked in one

corner, the pile more than a meter high.
    â€˜Retribution, retaliation, revenge, honor, prestige…all of

those things.’
    â€˜But we’re almost in the Twenty-first Century!’
    â€˜That won’t change the way men feel towards each other.

People will continue to kill each other.The manner in which they extract satisfaction is of no

consequence.’
    â€˜Papa, do you intend to continue with this

practice?’ she desperately wished to know, her shaky voice

signally Jonathan that it was time to leave.
    â€˜If I do, Angela, it will be ordained by the

spirits.’ The mild reproof
    was sufficient caution, Angela immediately recognizing

that she had gone too far.
    Confounded by his revelations, Angela knew then that she

would never be able to look at her father again without wondering how many of the hollowed

skeletal trophies had arrived there by his hand. Then, as they made their way back through the

forest Angela gradually convinced herself that it was not her role to lament the perversity of

her father and their ancestors’ acts – that, although her father’s display of the darker side of

her heritage had been unsettling, he had shown that there would be no secrets between them and,

for that, she should be grateful. The further they moved away from the mountain, the more relaxed

Angela became with the discovery that her own father had hunted heads, troubled only by the

question, would he do it again?
    ****
    Jonathan Dau was in no way concerned with his daughter’s

self-imposed silence as they retraced their steps through the dense forest. Angela was still

young and had much to learn. He recalled his own reaction to the secret repository when he had

been indoctrinated by his father and shown the inner cave. As this memory