AN ABSTRACT OF THE THESIS OF Gregory A. Harris for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing presented on August 27, 2002. Title: The Long House. Redacted for Privacy Abstract approved: Keith T. Scribner The Long Houseexplores belonging and commitment. Jennifer Hawley, an American graduate student in linguistic anthropology, arrives in the early 1 990s in Long Awan, a Dayak village in the remote highlands of Borneo. Her research concerns oral history among Punan families, traditionally nomadic, which have recently decided to settle in permanent homes. She also has personal reasons for coming to Southeast Asia: raised in a household dominated by her mother's anger at a Filipino father who abandoned the family before she was born, Jennifer grew up half-Filipina but without any Filipino cultural influence, in a highly conservative religious community where stories were silenced. In Long Awan, Jennifer creates a comfortable space for herself, renting a home and even adopting an orphaned sun bear cub as a kind of surrogate child. Complications arise, however, once the bear becomes yet another threat to a community already endangered by exploitative logging, by political vulnerability, and by its own isolation. Jennifer is drawn into the questions of the fate of Long Awan, and discovers these are questions about her own fate as well. Ultimately she has to choose between her romantic fantasy of ideal community life and the hard reality of a pragmatic, troubled people. In this she is helped by her research in the extensive Punan system of death names, which express strong affection by invoking the even stronger ache of impermanence and inadequacy. In the end, the titleThe Long Houserefers to the nomad condition that the Punan call homea wandering that makes of the journey itself a habitation. ©Copyright by Gregory A. Harris August27, 2002 All Rights Reserved THE LONG HOUSE by Gregory A. Harris A THESIS submitted to Oregon State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts Presented August 27, 2002 Commencement June 2003 Master of Fine Arts thesis of Gregory A. Harris presented on August 27,2002. APPROVED: Redacted for Privacy Major Professor, representing Creative Writing Redacted for Privacy Chair of the Department of English Redacted for Privacy Dean of the Graduate I understand that my thesis will become part of the permanent collection of Oregon State University libraries. My signature below authorizes release of my thesis to any reader upon request. Redacted for Privacy 'A. Haijkis, ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I am grateful to Keith Scribner for his support, encouragement, and candor about the process of writing novels: without him, I might have settled for a far less ambitious project, or simply crumbled. Tracy Daugherty not only provided invaluable feedback on draft chapters, but by his perseverance and courage made this entire degree possible. Marjorie Sandor helped me see possibilities in the text that I might never otherwise have noticed. The Oberlin Shansi Memorial Association and the Blakemore Foundation supported the early research on this novel. Many thanks to Tim Jessup of the World Wide Fund for Nature and his willingness to take a risk on an inexperienced 'cultural consultant.' Two brothers of uncommon vision and wisdom, Tirusel ST Padan and Samuel ST Padan, profoundly influenced the initial inspiration for this novel. I hope that I have done justice to their hopes by writing this work of fiction. My own brother, David, hectored me until I let him read this, and then he proved an editor of considerable talent.I could not have sat so long, or typed so much, without the support of Alexander Technique teachers Jane Heirich and Peter O'Reilly. Last, and most of all, I owe a profound debt of gratitude to my wife and most important editor, Michelle, for her material and emotional support, her sensitive and honest reading of my work, and for the many nights and weekends she dedicated, along with me, to this project. TABLE OF CONTENTS Part One: House in the Clouds 1 ChapterOne.................................................................... 1 ChapterTwo................................................................... 36 ChapterThree..................................................................62 ChapterFour................................................................... 74 ChapterFive................................................................... 93 ChapterSix..................................................................... 109 ChapterSeven................................................................. 140 Part Two: Places to Stay .............................................................. 174 ChapterEight.................................................................. 175 ChapterNine.................................................................. 192 ChapterTen.................................................................... 218 ChapterEleven................................................................ 247 ChapterTwelve............................................................... 274 Part Three: Shelter.................................................................... 304 Chapter Thirteen............................................................. 304 Chapter Fourteen............................................................. 334 Chapter Fifteen............................................................... 355 DEDICATION Dedicated to Elliot, who changed my relationship to the village and to life THE LONG HOUSE PART ONE: HOUSE IN THE CLOUDS CHAPTER ONE Jennifer basked in the morning sun on a shelf of rock in the middle of the Upper Payung River, sleeves rolled to her shoulders, eyes closed. Her face was a mask of warmth; blood vessels pulsed red in her eyelids. All around her, rock teeth worried the current to foam and whirlpools. The sun stripped water vapor from the river, made it dance in thin white tendrils downstream, burned it off. Where Jennifer sat nothing touched her except glorious equatorial sunlight, pulsing strong and clear. In another half hour it would be too strong to withstand, but for now, at 8:30, she was in one of the few places in the rainforest free from leeches, from biting flies, from carrying thirty- five pounds of backpack across ground that turned to mud beneath her heel. She lay back, stretching her arms above her to release her shoulder muscles, then folding her hands to pillow her head, letting her shirt ride up past her navel. She 2 wanted to be naked, to defy for once the inevitability of an early, industrious rise. It had already been a productive trip: she had collected several hours of Om Barnabas's prayers and stories. "Masaan American researcher wants to be blacker than her subjects," a voice said in her ear. Startled, she sat upright. She must have drifted off. A finger pressed her forearm. "Yes, now you're blacker than I am. Look." She stared at the finger against her skin, an old man's finger, a working finger, vollen at the joints and with a nail as thick and pallid as oyster shell. When it pulled away, it left an impression, a trace of white, that only slowly filled back in with color. Om Barnabas squatted next to her and laughed good-naturedly. "The young people will follow you, you know. If Americans like dark, they'll like darker. Even we out here who know nothing, who see nothing of the world, we know what are the styles, what comes to us from overseas." Jennifer smiled and straightened her shirt. "Tanning is definitely in. But white people, when they tan, it's to get the same color you'd call white. I'm not trying for any color. I'm just happy to be warm." "Bu Lejeng's cooking fish." "Did you use the poison?" "No, I know you want to watch that." Actually Jennifer didnotwant to observe the poison being usedits results predictable enough, a lot of fish bellies pointing sunwardbut the ritual surrounding its preparation and application. Though it had been a year of coming to terms with meat, and butchery, Jennifer at heart was still the vegetarian she'd been through college and graduate school. She had nearly passed out yesterday when Om Barnabas had taken a knife and cut a living turtle free of its shell. "Ayo, ma/can,"he said. She tried not to grumble as she stood and followed him on a scramble across the rocks toward shore. An invitation to eat could not be turned down, but it meant she'd have to reenter the shadow world, where the cold still lingered and the trees dripped in darkness along the edge of the river. They sat on a felled log beside Bu Lejeng, who squatted, working fresh kindling into a small white-smoke fire. Above the flames, two fat river fish flew like kites, impaled through their slit bellies on pointed sticks jammed into the ground. "Only two?" Jennifer said. She gave Bu Lejeng a wink. "I thought you were the master fisherman." "They're fat," Om Barnabas protested. Bu Lejeng snorted. "He's getting old. Tired just from fishing." "If you want twenty, ['11 get them. This part of the river is rich." "So it's only the fisherman who's poor," Bu Lejeng said, winking back at Jennifer. "Ah ha." Om Barnabas said. He'd caught the wink. "In more ways than one." Jennifer laughed. The fish bubbled with their own oils, and when they were done she and Bu Lejeng and Om Barnabas tore smoky strips of white flesh from the skin and ate with their fingers, and some rice that Bu Lejeng had conjured from a small black pot half-buried in embers at the edge of the fire. In the silence while