Nury Vittachi - The Feng Shui Detective

Then he woke up. He found he was a man. ‘I am a man and I was only a butterfly in my dream,’ he said. But a voice inside him said no. You are a butterfly. You are dreaming that you are a man.

The following night the man Chuang Tzu went to bed. He felt himself returning to life as the butterfly Chuang Tzu. But was he beginning to dream? Or was he beginning to wake up?

And so it is with you, Blade of Grass. You think you are tangible. That which is intangible is a small part of your life. But from time to time you realise the truth. You are intangible. That which is tangible is only a small part of your life.

From ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’

by C F Wong, part 110.

Winnie Lim held up the phone. ‘For you,’ she said to C F Wong. She blew on her nails, evidently worried that the action of picking up the handset may have disturbed the perfect surface of the two-tone emulsion on them.

Joyce McQuinnie laughed. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. He’s allowed to get a call himself in his own office once in a while.’

The geomancer took a few seconds to extricate himself from his thoughts, then lowered his pen, blew at the ink in his journal to dry it, and snapped the book shut. He exhaled slowly, as if he were expelling a long ghost from deep within his scrawny trunk. Then he reached for the handset.

‘Wai? Hello?’

‘Good morning, C F. So it is apparent that you have a secretary now. That’s a new departure, is it not? How can you afford it? They cost more than 3000 dollars these days, correct?’ said Dilip Sinha.

‘That is Winnie Lim. She has been working here many years.’

‘Oh, Ms Lim is still there, is she? I didn’t realise. How is it that you usually answer your own calls, then?’

‘She has many calls. More than me. She has many friends. Likes to talk-talk all day all night. My assistant the same. So her phone always engaged. When it is engaged the phone it transfers to me. So I am answering the calls usually.’

‘So in fact you are wrong to say that Winnie Lim is your secretary,’ said the astrologer. ‘The truth is that you are her secretary.’

Wong thought for a moment. ‘Yes. Maybe so. I take many messages for her.’

Sinha sighed. ‘I really, really must give you a few lessons in basic man-management skills one of these days. But let us turn our thoughts to brighter things. Like work. Like high-paying work, no less. My dear C F, how would you like an unusual and well-remunerated assignment? You’ve done gardens, parks and golf greens, haven’t you?’

‘Have.’

‘Well, here’s something you haven’t done before, I’ll bet: a jungle.’

Wong was slightly taken aback.

‘Hmm? Sifu? Did you hear that? You still there?’

‘Yes, yes, I hear you. A jungle, you say.’

‘Yes, you’ve never done a jungle before, have you, C F?’

‘You are right, but a jungle is a wild place, not a place for people. I do yang feng shui, which is only for places where people live.’

He noticed Joyce looking over, happy to eavesdrop on what might turn out to be an enjoyable jaunt. She gave him the benefit of her thoughts in a stage whisper. ‘A jungle? Go for it.’ She showed him her thumbs.

In his ear, he heard Sinha’s strange, staccato laugh.

‘Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. Wait till you hear the details. This will be fun, I think. It is a sort of park-I think they call it a theme park, you know, what they used to call a safari park a few years ago. It’s partly natural rainforest, partly man-made. Imported some lions at great expense. It’s quite new. It’s been going for about three months in Sarawak, near where my aunt lives. Someone told her about it and she called me. However, what it definitely needs, in my opinion, is a bit of help from you.’

‘Business is bad?’

‘Business has stopped. A lion ate the owners.’

‘Ah. I understand. This is not a good thing.’

‘It is, as you say, not a good thing. Especially for the owners. Will you do it?’

‘I don’t know whether I can…’

‘You can,’ said Joyce. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she added, as if such an offer were a plus-factor.

‘Let me think about it,’ said Wong.

‘Let me put it this way,’ said the old astrologer. ‘It’s a rush job, so it’s all expenses plus your usual overseas rate plus fifty per cent.’

Two days later, after an exchange of faxes providing a basic contract and a deposit paid by bank transfer, Wong, Mc Quinnie and Sinha found themselves in a hired Proton Saga heading towards Tambi’s Trek, a tourist attraction set up on the outskirts of Miri. This ‘oil town’ was the staging post on the way to the more remote parts of East Malaysia, the astrologer explained. If you wanted to go to the interior, you took a boat up the Baram River. If you wanted to go to Lawas or Limbas, you would need good weather, a friendly pilot and a Twin Otter.

Joyce had initially been excited by the fact that the hired car had a high-quality built-in audio system, but her companions’ horrified complaints about her choice of music left her in self-imposed exile on the back seat with her portable player.

‘Then of course there is the ultimate adventure entertainment-a trip into Mulu,’ Sinha said. ‘But only for the Indiana Joneses among us. Uh-uh-uh-uh.’

‘What’s so great about Mulu? Any good CD shops there? The ones I’ve been to in Singapore suck.’

‘Suck what?’ asked Sinha.

‘Don’t ask,’ said Wong.

‘There are, I think I can rightly say, no CD shops whatsoever in Mulu.’

Joyce was speechless.

Ignoring her horrified eyes, Sinha continued: ‘Mulu is the location of a famous cave. It is difficult to get to. You need a long journey by river boat, and then by narrow longboat when the river becomes too small. Or you can fly, but only if the bats are not leaving the cave. The bats have right of way, you see.’

‘Oh. What’s so great about a cave?’

‘This is not just a cave. This is more like an underground world. The largest room in the cave is the Sarawak Chamber. It is very, very large. You can fit forty jumbo jets within it. The longest passage, Clearwater Cave, is 36 miles long. For the sake of comparison, the whole of Orchard Road is a mere 1.5 miles long, although this may come as a surprise to those who walk the length of it, as I regularly do, knowing the importance of-’

‘Forty jumbo jets?’ The young woman was astonished. ‘Have they tried it?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose so,’ said the astrologer.

‘Cool. Are we going there?’

‘No. Tambi’s Trek is a little diversion arranged for travellers on the way to these natural wonders, or those with young children who perhaps don’t wish to go all the way into the virgin jungle. It is also perfect for lazy travellers, who want to say that they have been to a real jungle and seen real jungle animals, but want to be back the same night for a hamburger and a glass of Coca-Cola at their hotel. You know the sort. As such, I think it is an excellent idea and will be a great financial success. As long as they can stop the lions eating the staff.’

This time, Wong did all the driving. His seemingly erratic driving style, learned as a teenage truck driver in Guangdong, was frightening in Singapore, but seemed to fit well with the noticeably more chaotic roads of East Malaysia. He drove largely in the middle of the road, sometimes overtaking on one side, and sometimes the other. The deep potholes which caused all of them to occasionally bounce off their seats did not seem to bother him at all. He nosed through herds of sheep without fear of injury to vehicle or livestock. He read the map stretched out on the steering wheel as he drove, preferring to navigate himself than risk being led astray by miscommunication.