Nury Vittachi: The Feng Shui Detective

Joyce retreated to the black leather sofa behind them, but the geomancer remained standing and peered into the main premises to the left of the publisher’s office. With difficulty, his sleepy assistant pushed herself off the marshmallow-soft seat and joined him. The space had been divided into a main work room and a series of smaller offices on either side. There were desks piled with paper, each with an individual computer, apparently where the writers and editors worked; another part featured desks in clusters, carrying large monitor screens and surrounded by computer equipment, which presumably housed the design and production staff.

The staff, mainly young people in casual clothes, seemed caught up with what they were doing on their screens, and didn’t look up when the newcomers stepped into the room. The air-conditioning was set very high, and strip-lighting gave the room a blue-white glow. The stop-start, clickity-clack of computer keyboards formed a low undercurrent of sound.

Wong glanced at his watch and looked towards the window on the far side, getting a directional bearing by the position of the sun. He then scanned the premises. Alberto Tin’s office was in the northwest, the classic position for the head of a company.

The writers appeared to be in the south of the room, an area always associated with reputation, social skill and public profile. Due west was a room containing a bespectacled woman and lots of box files: the company accountant, more than likely, if they had followed the correct teachings of the compass method.

Surprisingly, even the parts of the feng shui guidelines which were often skipped, such as the right places for transportation and investment, appeared to have been carefully adhered to. East was the advertising director’s room-and she, presumably, would have the responsibility of expansion and developing new business, with the help of ch’i from that direction. Next to the reception was an open area containing a pair of young men who were not in suits, and were holding motorcycle helmets: presumably the dispatch riders, properly placed in the southeast, which fosters efficient movement.

Even Joyce noticed that the room had been laid out with respect for the correct principles. ‘I’m not an expert,’ she said, but they seem to have followed like, a lot of your principles. Look where that tree and that water thing is. Water supports wood, right? It looks as if it has been feng shuied pretty well already.’

‘This is the old office of Brighter Corp,’ Wong said. ‘It has been, ah, feng shuied. By me.’

‘Oh. So they made changes which ruined the energy flow in your original plan or something?’

Wong looked around carefully before vouch-safing an answer to that question. He poked his head down a corridor and looked into another area. ‘Everything is almost exactly as I had designed it for the other company.’

‘Does that mean you got it like… wrong?’ Joyce gave him a teasing grin.

‘No! I was not wrong,’ said the geomancer, crossly. ‘Just because the physical space is right, does not mean I am wrong, you, you Form Schooler.’

‘Okay, okay, keep your hair on. You don’t have much to waste, after all.’ Joyce appeared to be expecting a laugh. When it did not appear, she sank her head into her shoulders, suddenly cowed.

Wong, who had stormed away to look down a corridor, returned and then said more quietly: ‘I was not wrong. Maybe the space is arranged in the right way for the flow of energy. But you do not stop there. Not unless you are the youngest amateur in the Form School. There is so much more. What if the birth chart of the company, or the boss, does not fit with the commencement chart of the office? Or what if the company’s move was at the wrong time, and in the wrong direction? What if the company moved on a day of five towards the number five, thus unleashing destructive power? This could cause a bad effect, indeed. Or there could be some change outside. A new building, a new park, a new lake, understand or not?’

He strolled over to the window near the production area, and a young man momentarily glanced at them before returning his attention to the screen. The Singapore cityscape was constantly changing, of course, and Wong noticed several new buildings coming up. But there was no obvious bringer of bad fortune in the view.

A voice called from behind them. ‘Sorry, sorry for abandoning you. Come, come, come into my office and take a seat.’ Alberto Tin summoned them towards his glass tank with flapping palms. ‘It is good to see you, thank you for coming. Would you like some tea, coffee, Coke?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Wong.

Joyce winced, having an insatiable appetite for caffeine.

‘Well, would you just like to get started? Is there anything I can do for you? Any questions?’

‘Yes. Many.’ Wong sat down, took out his pens and notebooks, and asked Tin a lengthy series of questions, eliciting his birth date, birth time, place of birth and other details. He asked for the date the company was founded, the date that business started in this new office, and the date the newspaper was launched. He requested floor plans and all other documents relating to the design of the office, including a map of the computer network. It took nearly twenty minutes to pull together all the information the geomancer asked for, and assemble it in the conference room, which was to be the work room for the pair from C F Wong & Associates.

While Wong started to examine these, Joyce turned to Tin and flashed him a smile. ‘Hey, I really like your mag. It’s way cool. I read it all the time. My flatmate is a subscriber from way back, like for a year or more.’

‘That’s very kind of you. Always good to meet our boss. I always tell the staff that the people who buy our publications are our employers and paymasters, so thank you.’ The roundness of Tin’s face was unfortunately emphasised by his page-boy haircut, circular glasses and wide smile, which turned his cheeks into two smaller circles.

‘I particularly like the Yoot section. I gotta ask you. Why is it called that? I mean, who’s Yoot? Is that like your nickname or something?’

‘We named it after one particular politician’s pronunciation of the word “youth”, you see.’

‘Oh, right, I see. Yeah, I suppose with a Singapore accent. Cool. In England we say yoof. I like your reviewer B K. He likes all the same music I do. I like Dudley Singh’s film reviews, too.’

‘Well, thank you for the compliment. I will tell him. In fact, you have told him. You see, I am B K.’

‘You are? Well, that’s great. Those Mooneaters rock.’

‘They do.’

‘Trip it, trip it, trip-trip hop.’

‘Do me baby, please don’t stop.’

‘Shake your booty in my face.’

‘Push it mama to the top. Yo!’

‘That’s such a cool song,’ said Joyce, with a laugh. ‘The lyrics are like, awesome, totally.’

‘Totally,’ agreed Tin.

Wong gave them a sidelong glance. Tin understands her language. So, it must be a sort of code which can be broken by adults. What is the cultural significance of shaking a boot in front of one’s face? He wondered whether there was a phrase book available on teenage argot.

‘Hey, in the mag your name is B K, but your name’s Alberto, right?’ Joyce was excited.

‘My name is Alberto, and B K and Phoebe Poon. There are only five staff on the editorial side of this newspaper. We all do several columns and have several names. This is standard for successful publications in Singapore. Small staff in editorial, big staff in the ad sales department.’

‘Is Dudley Singh real?’

‘Dudley Singh is real and so is Susannah Lo. You Westerners say many hands, light work. We Singaporeans say few hands, many profits.’ He gave a theatrical frown. ‘But sadly not so in this case. Never mind. Your Mr Wong I hope will help in this regard. Oh, do please excuse me. I shall be right back.’ The helmet-haired woman was waving at him through an internal window. He scurried off to take a phone call.