The Influence
VIII. The Man Who Ate a Village
Chapter 50
The old man sits on a thick log bleached from years in the sun, chewing thoughtfully on a greasy piece of meat, occasionally having a drink from a coconut shell. His hair may be grey and sparse but is still wild in places, his earlobes are distended by flat, polished pieces of shells, and there are several dozen long, gray and curly hairs adorning his chin. He is scrawny and naked except for an oversized tube holding his penis, attached by twine wrapped around his waist. The dry, wrinkled skin hangs in long folds from his arms and legs as if he has borrowed someone else’s skin for the night. More likely, his body has withered recently and quickly, the skin not able to catch up and shrink to compensate for the lack of muscles.
Yet the old man is content. He picks up the coconut shell and drinks from it, smacking his lips in appreciation. He looks up at the cloudless, star-studded sky before lowering his eyes towards the waves that roll gently over the beach, the calm sea, the dark water that seems solid enough to walk on as it reflects perfectly the moon and the starlight.
He sighs and offers the remains of the meat to the dog that lies by his feet. It is clear to me, a secret onlooker and thus privy to things I really should not know about, that this man is dying. Yet he does not have any regrets about his life, nor fears of what may come. He has sired enough children and welcomed enough grandchildren over the years; killed more than a fair share of his enemies and tasted most of them; and he is happy. Wives come and go, children are either a nuisance or a heartache, I can hear him thinking, but dogs – ah, dogs will always be at your side.
Without warning, the dog drops the piece of meat and growls at the sea. The old man ignores it, closes his eyes and leans back, memories of good days flashing by, when he was young and strong, the leader of his tribe and a nightmare to his enemies. Dogs, huh, what do they know about serenity, driven to frenzy by nothing more than a few crabs scuttling across the sand.
The dog doesn’t calm down. It begins to bark, looking anxiously at the water. Then it attempts running towards the water edge, barking and posturing, over and over, just to retreat each time, yelping with its tail firmly between its legs, to seek shelter by the log and the man.
The old man opens his eyes and looks out over the black sea. There is nothing to see there, just a slight bubbling on the surface, far out beyond the fringing reef. Unusual it may be, but who can ever presume to know the will and whim of the sea gods. They do what they’ve always done, without any interference from men. Or dogs. The old man relaxes. He scolds the dog, hits it half-heartedly with a stick until it squeals in submission, retreats into his thoughts, welcoming back the memories of a life lived well.
Moments later the old man’s eyes open once more, something intangible unsettling him. The dog no longer attacks the shoreline, instead it trembles as it crouches between the log and his legs, keening in abject fear. The bubbling on the water is still there, slowly moving towards the shore, past the reef edge as it gets into the shallows. The size of the seething area decreases rapidly as the water in its centre swirls and rises.
The old man watches in astonishment as a figure rises from the water and walks slowly through the shallows towards him. Glistening black from head to feet, for a moment I have a crazy notion that it wears a full body latex suit. But no, it is a man, naked, an oversized penis slapping his thighs as he strides across the sand, his skin the colour of the night sea. His eyes shine as if all of the brightness of the moon and the stars is focused there. There must be a light somewhere on land pointing the right way, at just the right angle, I surmise. Then I remember the image on the ship off Borneo.
I attempt to warn the old man. ‘That’s the creature I’ve seen before, getting off on the wails of tortured souls,’ I scream at the top of my lungs, but no sound breaks the silence on the beach. ‘It’s not human,’ I struggle to warn the old man. But he is already lost, and I know it. This is nothing but a dream and I have no means of interfering with events that have already taken place. As if agreeing with me, the creature turns its head towards me and smiles.
It walks up to the old man, holding out its left hand to the whimpering dog. The dog is scared enough to let go of its bladder, making a puddle in the sand where it’s crouching, yet it creeps out and approaches the hand, howling pitifully. The howls are cut off as the creature picks up the dog by its head and twists it sideways, breaking its neck.
Dropping the dead dog as an aside, it speaks to the old man. At first I only hear hisses and clicks. But this is a dream, where anything can happen, and regrettably I’m part of it. Thus I hear the words spoken.
‘The power is yours… And life… Forever… Kneel to the supreme being, accept its reign, in all its glorious terror and fear and subjugation…’
It doesn’t sound appealing to me, yet the old man seems dead sold on the idea as he drops down on his bony knees, his head bowed. If this had been reality I would’ve beaten the shit out of this thing for killing the dog. But there’s nothing I, merely a dream visitor, can do other than reluctantly watch what is unfolding before me.
‘You will be great again. A mighty warrior, feared by all,’ the creature hisses. ‘Take this, and keep it hidden. You will know what to do with it. And your pitiful race will never again forget me.’
Its mouth opens wide, unnaturally so, and vomits out a disk that lands on the sand with a sizzling sound. The old man reaches out with a trembling hand and picks it up as the creature retreats to the sea, melting into the water.
‘We need to get going, darling,’ Kris whispered in my ear. ‘You know how far it is to the gate from here.’
‘I’ve seen him again, the man with the burning eyes. And the bloody huge mouth.’
‘You’ve had another dream?’
‘Indeed I have, just give me a minute,’ I replied groggily, working my limbs back to life to be able to stand up. And allow my erection to go away – I was getting used to waking up with these after each dream.
On our arrival in Doha we’d headed straight for the lounge, both of us in acute need of a shower. Maybe Kris more so than me, considering her late night adventure, but I wasn’t going to mention it. Certainly not now, despite my feelings – revenge best savoured as a cold dish and all that. After the showers, we’d gone upstairs to the main restaurant for an early morning meal, then we walked through the lounge areas to find two chairs comfy enough to slide down in and grab a quick nap. For me, that was. There was no way I could drum up enough energy and concentration to continue with the diary. Kris, the Duracell rabbit, had immediately pulled out her high-tech tools and started making calls while checking the emails. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the plane, with her initially getting off with me (Ah, but did she really, my inner voice had whispered sarcastically, or was that just for show? ), then with the Indian girl. She certainly seemed to think that any misunderstanding between us had by now been resolved. Well, let her think that for now.
I got up on creaking legs and hoisted my backpack onto the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, then, we don’t want to miss the flight and get stuck in this hellhole.’
‘What did you dream this time?’ Kris asked as we alternated between walking briskly along never-ending halls and slaloming on travelators packed with people who, once on a moving strip of metal and rubber, appeared to lose their ability to walk. And looked suspiciously at us for trying to pass them. ‘Excuse me, coming through,’ I said to those that voluntarily moved aside, and ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you’re an invalid. Shouldn’t you be riding in a buggy instead?’ to those who seemed to think that being on a travelator automatically precluded the use of their – and everyone else’s – legs.
‘The creature suggested immediate salvation and eternal life, but it was anything but trustworthy. The same one I’ve seen before. This time in Papua New Guinea, by the looks of it,’ I replied as we neared our gate, where everyone was already queuing patiently despite no hints of immediate boarding. ‘But it could’ve been anywhere in Melanesia, really, considering the old man’s features. Definitely Melanesian, though. And naked. He was the only one to meet and greet the creature. And his dog, killed by that motherfucker monster. Other than me, but I was just a passive onlooker, wasn’t I? And he fell for the sales pitch.’
‘Can you rewind, please, I’m trying to make sense of what you’re saying.’
A brain-dead voice announced that our flight was now ready for boarding. We walked past the queue to the front.
‘Ok, how about this,’ I gathered my thoughts as we were guided onboard with a handful of the usual business class bores, and keeping my voice down I gave her a step-by-step account of the dream.
‘We must find out where it happened.’
‘Seriously? It happened somewhere in fucking Melanesia, didn’t it? How much more narrowed down can you get? For us to go on another pointless yet lethal excursion? PNG, or Solomon Islands, or even Fiji… or, hold on, what’s the name again… yes, Vanuatu,’ I exclaimed, scaring the girl showing us our seats, then got her thoroughly embarrassed and rosy-cheeked as I concluded, ‘the land of the big and small penises!’
‘If you would like to arrive in KL together with me, without getting arrested for indecent behaviour,’ Kris grabbed my shirt firmly and spoke to me in crisp syllables, ‘please refrain from making loud, sexually related comments on this flight, will you?’
I shut up, promising to be silent until we were firmly in the air and approaching cruising altitude.
Yet the old man is content. He picks up the coconut shell and drinks from it, smacking his lips in appreciation. He looks up at the cloudless, star-studded sky before lowering his eyes towards the waves that roll gently over the beach, the calm sea, the dark water that seems solid enough to walk on as it reflects perfectly the moon and the starlight.
He sighs and offers the remains of the meat to the dog that lies by his feet. It is clear to me, a secret onlooker and thus privy to things I really should not know about, that this man is dying. Yet he does not have any regrets about his life, nor fears of what may come. He has sired enough children and welcomed enough grandchildren over the years; killed more than a fair share of his enemies and tasted most of them; and he is happy. Wives come and go, children are either a nuisance or a heartache, I can hear him thinking, but dogs – ah, dogs will always be at your side.
Without warning, the dog drops the piece of meat and growls at the sea. The old man ignores it, closes his eyes and leans back, memories of good days flashing by, when he was young and strong, the leader of his tribe and a nightmare to his enemies. Dogs, huh, what do they know about serenity, driven to frenzy by nothing more than a few crabs scuttling across the sand.
The dog doesn’t calm down. It begins to bark, looking anxiously at the water. Then it attempts running towards the water edge, barking and posturing, over and over, just to retreat each time, yelping with its tail firmly between its legs, to seek shelter by the log and the man.
The old man opens his eyes and looks out over the black sea. There is nothing to see there, just a slight bubbling on the surface, far out beyond the fringing reef. Unusual it may be, but who can ever presume to know the will and whim of the sea gods. They do what they’ve always done, without any interference from men. Or dogs. The old man relaxes. He scolds the dog, hits it half-heartedly with a stick until it squeals in submission, retreats into his thoughts, welcoming back the memories of a life lived well.
Moments later the old man’s eyes open once more, something intangible unsettling him. The dog no longer attacks the shoreline, instead it trembles as it crouches between the log and his legs, keening in abject fear. The bubbling on the water is still there, slowly moving towards the shore, past the reef edge as it gets into the shallows. The size of the seething area decreases rapidly as the water in its centre swirls and rises.
The old man watches in astonishment as a figure rises from the water and walks slowly through the shallows towards him. Glistening black from head to feet, for a moment I have a crazy notion that it wears a full body latex suit. But no, it is a man, naked, an oversized penis slapping his thighs as he strides across the sand, his skin the colour of the night sea. His eyes shine as if all of the brightness of the moon and the stars is focused there. There must be a light somewhere on land pointing the right way, at just the right angle, I surmise. Then I remember the image on the ship off Borneo.
I attempt to warn the old man. ‘That’s the creature I’ve seen before, getting off on the wails of tortured souls,’ I scream at the top of my lungs, but no sound breaks the silence on the beach. ‘It’s not human,’ I struggle to warn the old man. But he is already lost, and I know it. This is nothing but a dream and I have no means of interfering with events that have already taken place. As if agreeing with me, the creature turns its head towards me and smiles.
It walks up to the old man, holding out its left hand to the whimpering dog. The dog is scared enough to let go of its bladder, making a puddle in the sand where it’s crouching, yet it creeps out and approaches the hand, howling pitifully. The howls are cut off as the creature picks up the dog by its head and twists it sideways, breaking its neck.
Dropping the dead dog as an aside, it speaks to the old man. At first I only hear hisses and clicks. But this is a dream, where anything can happen, and regrettably I’m part of it. Thus I hear the words spoken.
‘The power is yours… And life… Forever… Kneel to the supreme being, accept its reign, in all its glorious terror and fear and subjugation…’
It doesn’t sound appealing to me, yet the old man seems dead sold on the idea as he drops down on his bony knees, his head bowed. If this had been reality I would’ve beaten the shit out of this thing for killing the dog. But there’s nothing I, merely a dream visitor, can do other than reluctantly watch what is unfolding before me.
‘You will be great again. A mighty warrior, feared by all,’ the creature hisses. ‘Take this, and keep it hidden. You will know what to do with it. And your pitiful race will never again forget me.’
Its mouth opens wide, unnaturally so, and vomits out a disk that lands on the sand with a sizzling sound. The old man reaches out with a trembling hand and picks it up as the creature retreats to the sea, melting into the water.
‘We need to get going, darling,’ Kris whispered in my ear. ‘You know how far it is to the gate from here.’
‘I’ve seen him again, the man with the burning eyes. And the bloody huge mouth.’
‘You’ve had another dream?’
‘Indeed I have, just give me a minute,’ I replied groggily, working my limbs back to life to be able to stand up. And allow my erection to go away – I was getting used to waking up with these after each dream.
On our arrival in Doha we’d headed straight for the lounge, both of us in acute need of a shower. Maybe Kris more so than me, considering her late night adventure, but I wasn’t going to mention it. Certainly not now, despite my feelings – revenge best savoured as a cold dish and all that. After the showers, we’d gone upstairs to the main restaurant for an early morning meal, then we walked through the lounge areas to find two chairs comfy enough to slide down in and grab a quick nap. For me, that was. There was no way I could drum up enough energy and concentration to continue with the diary. Kris, the Duracell rabbit, had immediately pulled out her high-tech tools and started making calls while checking the emails. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the plane, with her initially getting off with me (Ah, but did she really, my inner voice had whispered sarcastically, or was that just for show? ), then with the Indian girl. She certainly seemed to think that any misunderstanding between us had by now been resolved. Well, let her think that for now.
I got up on creaking legs and hoisted my backpack onto the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, then, we don’t want to miss the flight and get stuck in this hellhole.’
‘What did you dream this time?’ Kris asked as we alternated between walking briskly along never-ending halls and slaloming on travelators packed with people who, once on a moving strip of metal and rubber, appeared to lose their ability to walk. And looked suspiciously at us for trying to pass them. ‘Excuse me, coming through,’ I said to those that voluntarily moved aside, and ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you’re an invalid. Shouldn’t you be riding in a buggy instead?’ to those who seemed to think that being on a travelator automatically precluded the use of their – and everyone else’s – legs.
‘The creature suggested immediate salvation and eternal life, but it was anything but trustworthy. The same one I’ve seen before. This time in Papua New Guinea, by the looks of it,’ I replied as we neared our gate, where everyone was already queuing patiently despite no hints of immediate boarding. ‘But it could’ve been anywhere in Melanesia, really, considering the old man’s features. Definitely Melanesian, though. And naked. He was the only one to meet and greet the creature. And his dog, killed by that motherfucker monster. Other than me, but I was just a passive onlooker, wasn’t I? And he fell for the sales pitch.’
‘Can you rewind, please, I’m trying to make sense of what you’re saying.’
A brain-dead voice announced that our flight was now ready for boarding. We walked past the queue to the front.
‘Ok, how about this,’ I gathered my thoughts as we were guided onboard with a handful of the usual business class bores, and keeping my voice down I gave her a step-by-step account of the dream.
‘We must find out where it happened.’
‘Seriously? It happened somewhere in fucking Melanesia, didn’t it? How much more narrowed down can you get? For us to go on another pointless yet lethal excursion? PNG, or Solomon Islands, or even Fiji… or, hold on, what’s the name again… yes, Vanuatu,’ I exclaimed, scaring the girl showing us our seats, then got her thoroughly embarrassed and rosy-cheeked as I concluded, ‘the land of the big and small penises!’
‘If you would like to arrive in KL together with me, without getting arrested for indecent behaviour,’ Kris grabbed my shirt firmly and spoke to me in crisp syllables, ‘please refrain from making loud, sexually related comments on this flight, will you?’
I shut up, promising to be silent until we were firmly in the air and approaching cruising altitude.
●
In fact, I stayed silent for most of the flight, reading and re-reading the count’s diary. In particular the footnotes which I’d initially ignored as they were even more miniscule than the rest of the handwriting. To complicate it further, the count had the irritating habit of referring to his other expeditions, both earlier and later. I tried to make sense of what the diary described, or rather began to consider the impossible, not least regarding my latest dream. The count may have been a bigot but he was an intelligent bigot, and having been told of the massacre he’d drawn his own conclusion which I was inclined to agree with. At least partially.
The plantation owner in Rabaul that had told him the story was adamant that this was just an all too usual way of settling disputes between villages, or between savages and traders. In this case, as he’d suggested, the villagers had it coming. Its chief had developed a reputation for cruelty far surpassing the usual barbarity, beyond the accepted norm of killing and eating the odd neighbour. As for the demise of a whole village, surely it was the result of a deal gone bad with one of the muhammedan traders from the west. The persistent rumours that the chief had possessed a sacred item, strongpela sanguma – big magic, were just based on primitive superstition. Anyway, it was never found so it didn’t exist. Case closed.
The count, however, was certain that there was more to it. As proof, he mentioned a similar story that he’d been told on the island of Malekula during his visit to the New Hebrides a few years later. With references to the full description of it in another diary, of course. Damn, if I’d only known it then, I would’ve nicked the whole set while I was at it. I was sure that, as crazy as it sounded, he’d come across the origin of my latest dream there.
The plantation owner in Rabaul that had told him the story was adamant that this was just an all too usual way of settling disputes between villages, or between savages and traders. In this case, as he’d suggested, the villagers had it coming. Its chief had developed a reputation for cruelty far surpassing the usual barbarity, beyond the accepted norm of killing and eating the odd neighbour. As for the demise of a whole village, surely it was the result of a deal gone bad with one of the muhammedan traders from the west. The persistent rumours that the chief had possessed a sacred item, strongpela sanguma – big magic, were just based on primitive superstition. Anyway, it was never found so it didn’t exist. Case closed.
The count, however, was certain that there was more to it. As proof, he mentioned a similar story that he’d been told on the island of Malekula during his visit to the New Hebrides a few years later. With references to the full description of it in another diary, of course. Damn, if I’d only known it then, I would’ve nicked the whole set while I was at it. I was sure that, as crazy as it sounded, he’d come across the origin of my latest dream there.
Chapter 51
The pool was finished and fully functional when I returned home. I didn’t have any issues with the slightly inflated invoice as the company had followed my original design reasonably well. In other words, as well as they were able to, and willing, to understand my absolute requirements. You can never, ever, get exactly what you want in this country. Eighty percent of your expectations is the best you can hope for. Once you move here, the sooner you understand it, the better for all parties involved. Although, very occasionally, you may get a shock of your life and get exactly what you’ve been asking for – no more and no less. But that’s another story.
The waterfall coming down the rocks looked genuine enough, particularly with the dense jungle as a backdrop, several impressive banana plants lining the edge of the vegetation. Even the rock that had fallen into the pool by mistake worked better than I expected.
Disregarding my unsettling experience in the muddy water, which I was by now ready to dismiss as just another drunken episode, this was as close as possible to a natural jungle pool. Only much more refined – the water crystal clear, the tiles a seductive and inviting hue of blue, and the flat, irregular slabs of slate that surrounded the pool area looked natural enough whilst providing a safe, non-slippery surface for my future guests. Spaced around the pool were numerous hardwood loungers covered with thick cushions finished in a plush, water resistant fabric dyed a deep blue. Natural fabric, of course. They’d cost me an arm and a leg but I was sure they were worth it. I’ve visited enough luxury hotel pools to be disappointed with their cheap, uncomfortable metal and plastic loungers, only a frayed, tired towel between me and the hard surface.
I had an issue, however, with BB and his bunch. They liked the pool as much as I did, at least a dozen of them cavorting in the water and splashing each other like kids. Naked, as far as I could see, although that wasn’t even close to being on my list of objections.
BB was reclining regally on one of the loungers, drinking beer from one of my crystal margarita glasses and striving for the look of a jaded raja. Except rajas don’t usually wear grease and dirt encrusted jeans. Nor heavy bike boots that leave oil stains on an expensive cushion. I dropped my suitcase on the driveway and walked towards the pool, fuming.
‘Hey, man, how’s it hangin’?’ BB called out, a grin splitting his unshaven face. And toasted me, would you believe, ‘Have a drink and join us in our merry revelry, master Alex.’
‘I may be appreciative of the efforts that you and your degenerates have put in safeguarding my property while I was away on business. However–’
‘Business, ha!’ BB roared with laughter. ‘You went to Sweden to drink and fuck and be merry, like everyone else.’
‘Actually, I had to kill a man there. Or he would’ve killed me and Kris.’
I know, I may have somewhat exaggerated my role in the demise of a Swedish neo-Nazi but it sounded better than just admitting to having helped Kris dump someone barely alive into the freezing Baltic sea, in the path of a ferry the size of a city block. Regardless, that caught BB’s attention. He sat up, eyes like saucers, spilling some of the beer in the process.
‘You kill…? Miss Kristina orait? Where she now?’ Even his dreadlocks seemed agitated, swishing about his head in a flurry of consternation.
‘Of course she’s alright,’ I was indignant, ‘I wouldn’t be here cussing you otherwise. She’s in her place, busy picking up any deals she missed while she was away.’ And probably doing her best to pick up yet another piece of incidental totty, I thought, but refrained from voicing it. ‘Thank you for asking me, by the way, I also orait.’
‘Ah, dat’s ver’ good. So you hab good time in Sweden?’
‘As I was saying,’ I ignored BB’s attempt to sidetrack the conversation, ‘I’m happy and thankful that you’ve taken care of the house while I was away. But I don’t remember us ever agreeing that Cyclone Aftermath MC could move in to this property – still in the process of getting renovated to luxury hotel standards, and once finished and operational definitely off-limits to uncouth people like you. Come to think of it, uncouth people like me as well.’
‘Ah, man, we jus’ hab good time here. An’ make sure your place good enap for your toff guests. Pool fine, what you say guys?’ BB shouted out towards the pool and got enthusiastic responses from the drunken louts.
It’s damn hard staying mad at BB for long, even when there’s more than enough reason to be pissed off with him. He’s such a lovable dickhead that you always forgive him, sooner rather than later. But I also needed something from him and his boys. Something that required careful phrasing.
‘I’m happy that you are happy, my dear fellow. And I appreciate you taking care of the place. Now kindly remove your dirty boots and arse from this expensive seat and follow me inside.’
In the kitchen, I poured us two good shots of single malt – having noted with satisfaction that my private bar had been left untouched – and sat down across from BB.
‘I’ve been thinking–’
‘Ha, you always thinking. You ver’ smart person.’
‘Shut up and listen, you eternal child. I had an idea on the flight back, but will need your help.’
‘Of course, you my brother in arms. And miss Kristina’s beau.’
I wasn’t sure about the latter anymore but refrained from commenting.
‘I still have four rooms to finish. And create a genuine English pub as planned. You’ve seen my sketches.’
‘Good pub, funny name,’ BB agreed.
‘However, as Kris craves adventures and has made me go on more than one wild goose chase–’
‘Aild koos?’
‘Never mind, just listen,’ I continued. ‘I’m behind schedule in getting the place done. I should be making money by now, greeting the first guests and seeing them enjoying the pool. Instead, I’ve got you and your bunch here. Doing fuck-all and drinking my booze. At this rate, my bank account will be drained before I open the hotel. And if no money then no hotel, no Alex in KL. No more riding and partying with you guys. No more Kris.’
‘Okay, I understand.’ Just as I’d hoped, BB got my meaning. ‘How we help?’
‘I’ve got a plan.’
Over the next hour, and the rest of the bottle, we talked about it and refined it. Me sharing my thoughts with BB on how to salvage the project and promote it at the same time, him coming up with additional, workable suggestions. I was astonished by his astute comments and lateral thinking, and couldn’t help wondering what he would’ve accomplished if he’d been given the opportunity to get a business degree. If he’d ever wanted to, that is.
The clincher was when he asked me, once we’d thrashed out the basics, ‘When you going employ people? Or you plan do everything yourself?’
Damn, a former project manager and I’d not even thought about the headcount yet.
‘Er… I’ve missed that one. Too busy thinking about the infrastructure.’ I was appalled at not having thought of the staff – an inexcusable omission. Maybe I was getting senile? Early onset of Alzheimer’s?
‘No worry. We get good cook and staff for you. But for your plan, maybe best catering? And we do parking and security.’
‘Thank you, BB, you’re a star. If only I’d had you on some of my old projects.’
The waterfall coming down the rocks looked genuine enough, particularly with the dense jungle as a backdrop, several impressive banana plants lining the edge of the vegetation. Even the rock that had fallen into the pool by mistake worked better than I expected.
Disregarding my unsettling experience in the muddy water, which I was by now ready to dismiss as just another drunken episode, this was as close as possible to a natural jungle pool. Only much more refined – the water crystal clear, the tiles a seductive and inviting hue of blue, and the flat, irregular slabs of slate that surrounded the pool area looked natural enough whilst providing a safe, non-slippery surface for my future guests. Spaced around the pool were numerous hardwood loungers covered with thick cushions finished in a plush, water resistant fabric dyed a deep blue. Natural fabric, of course. They’d cost me an arm and a leg but I was sure they were worth it. I’ve visited enough luxury hotel pools to be disappointed with their cheap, uncomfortable metal and plastic loungers, only a frayed, tired towel between me and the hard surface.
I had an issue, however, with BB and his bunch. They liked the pool as much as I did, at least a dozen of them cavorting in the water and splashing each other like kids. Naked, as far as I could see, although that wasn’t even close to being on my list of objections.
BB was reclining regally on one of the loungers, drinking beer from one of my crystal margarita glasses and striving for the look of a jaded raja. Except rajas don’t usually wear grease and dirt encrusted jeans. Nor heavy bike boots that leave oil stains on an expensive cushion. I dropped my suitcase on the driveway and walked towards the pool, fuming.
‘Hey, man, how’s it hangin’?’ BB called out, a grin splitting his unshaven face. And toasted me, would you believe, ‘Have a drink and join us in our merry revelry, master Alex.’
‘I may be appreciative of the efforts that you and your degenerates have put in safeguarding my property while I was away on business. However–’
‘Business, ha!’ BB roared with laughter. ‘You went to Sweden to drink and fuck and be merry, like everyone else.’
‘Actually, I had to kill a man there. Or he would’ve killed me and Kris.’
I know, I may have somewhat exaggerated my role in the demise of a Swedish neo-Nazi but it sounded better than just admitting to having helped Kris dump someone barely alive into the freezing Baltic sea, in the path of a ferry the size of a city block. Regardless, that caught BB’s attention. He sat up, eyes like saucers, spilling some of the beer in the process.
‘You kill…? Miss Kristina orait? Where she now?’ Even his dreadlocks seemed agitated, swishing about his head in a flurry of consternation.
‘Of course she’s alright,’ I was indignant, ‘I wouldn’t be here cussing you otherwise. She’s in her place, busy picking up any deals she missed while she was away.’ And probably doing her best to pick up yet another piece of incidental totty, I thought, but refrained from voicing it. ‘Thank you for asking me, by the way, I also orait.’
‘Ah, dat’s ver’ good. So you hab good time in Sweden?’
‘As I was saying,’ I ignored BB’s attempt to sidetrack the conversation, ‘I’m happy and thankful that you’ve taken care of the house while I was away. But I don’t remember us ever agreeing that Cyclone Aftermath MC could move in to this property – still in the process of getting renovated to luxury hotel standards, and once finished and operational definitely off-limits to uncouth people like you. Come to think of it, uncouth people like me as well.’
‘Ah, man, we jus’ hab good time here. An’ make sure your place good enap for your toff guests. Pool fine, what you say guys?’ BB shouted out towards the pool and got enthusiastic responses from the drunken louts.
It’s damn hard staying mad at BB for long, even when there’s more than enough reason to be pissed off with him. He’s such a lovable dickhead that you always forgive him, sooner rather than later. But I also needed something from him and his boys. Something that required careful phrasing.
‘I’m happy that you are happy, my dear fellow. And I appreciate you taking care of the place. Now kindly remove your dirty boots and arse from this expensive seat and follow me inside.’
In the kitchen, I poured us two good shots of single malt – having noted with satisfaction that my private bar had been left untouched – and sat down across from BB.
‘I’ve been thinking–’
‘Ha, you always thinking. You ver’ smart person.’
‘Shut up and listen, you eternal child. I had an idea on the flight back, but will need your help.’
‘Of course, you my brother in arms. And miss Kristina’s beau.’
I wasn’t sure about the latter anymore but refrained from commenting.
‘I still have four rooms to finish. And create a genuine English pub as planned. You’ve seen my sketches.’
‘Good pub, funny name,’ BB agreed.
‘However, as Kris craves adventures and has made me go on more than one wild goose chase–’
‘Aild koos?’
‘Never mind, just listen,’ I continued. ‘I’m behind schedule in getting the place done. I should be making money by now, greeting the first guests and seeing them enjoying the pool. Instead, I’ve got you and your bunch here. Doing fuck-all and drinking my booze. At this rate, my bank account will be drained before I open the hotel. And if no money then no hotel, no Alex in KL. No more riding and partying with you guys. No more Kris.’
‘Okay, I understand.’ Just as I’d hoped, BB got my meaning. ‘How we help?’
‘I’ve got a plan.’
Over the next hour, and the rest of the bottle, we talked about it and refined it. Me sharing my thoughts with BB on how to salvage the project and promote it at the same time, him coming up with additional, workable suggestions. I was astonished by his astute comments and lateral thinking, and couldn’t help wondering what he would’ve accomplished if he’d been given the opportunity to get a business degree. If he’d ever wanted to, that is.
The clincher was when he asked me, once we’d thrashed out the basics, ‘When you going employ people? Or you plan do everything yourself?’
Damn, a former project manager and I’d not even thought about the headcount yet.
‘Er… I’ve missed that one. Too busy thinking about the infrastructure.’ I was appalled at not having thought of the staff – an inexcusable omission. Maybe I was getting senile? Early onset of Alzheimer’s?
‘No worry. We get good cook and staff for you. But for your plan, maybe best catering? And we do parking and security.’
‘Thank you, BB, you’re a star. If only I’d had you on some of my old projects.’
Chapter 52
Kris dropped in as I was showing two of BB’s guys how to demolish a non-supporting wall in what was to become a genuine fake English pub. She walked in on us in her usual commanding way, all pumped up.
‘Darling, I believe I know where you latest dream took place. You were correct about the penises!’
That certainly got the attention of my assistants. One of them – the one wielding the sledgehammer – nearly hit his buddy’s head.
‘Guys, take five,’ I said, before realising their command of the English language was somewhat lacking. ‘Have a beer break. I’ll see you in five minutes.’
‘No, take fifteen minutes,’ Kris suggested, then turned towards me and declared triumphantly, ‘Malekula, one of the Vanuatu islands. The ancestral home of the Nambas. Big and small.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of the island and the tribes there. Which is why I mentioned them while on the plane. And had to endure your wrath at the time. So what about them?’
‘You were right. I did some research and from what you told me about the old man, he was one of the big Nambas.’
‘That’s good,’ I replied cautiously, ‘it confirms my thoughts about the dream.’
‘It’s more than good, darling. It’s excellent! Now we just need to locate the right village on the island and find someone to tell us what happened. You may even be able to recognise the beach from your dream.’
I saw where this was leading but pretended otherwise. ‘So you’ll have someone taking photos of the whole Malekula coastline on the off chance that I’ll recognise it?’
‘No, silly. We’ll go there, of course.’
Of course I wasn’t going to go to Vanuatu, Kris just didn’t know it yet. But instead of an immediate point-blank refusal I tried reasoning first.
‘I’ve done a bit of research myself. It’s all there, online, and you can find it yourself if you don’t trust me. There are currently close to two thousand individuals on the island still claiming to be big penises. In some twenty villages. How long do you think it would take to visit them all to find out if they know anything about my dream? Assuming they’re willing to talk to us, that is.’
‘Yes, I’ve read that too, but with local guides and transport, I’m sure we can do it in less than two weeks,’ Kris was undaunted. ‘But that’s only if we have to visit every single village before we find the right one. If we assume stochastic probability I’d say within six days at most. And if necessary, we’ll have an interpreter with us.’
Dammit, she was throwing math statistics at me. I went on to the next phase of my defence strategy, the closing argument.
‘Then maybe you’ve also read that nowadays they all live in the interior of the island. Which means that there’s no seaside village to look for. What’s more, no one knows when they all decided to move inland. It may have been hundreds of years ago, in which case there certainly won’t be any memories of a weird event.’
‘That’s a very good point. I didn’t think of that.’
‘See, I’ve prevented us from going on a pointless trip.’ I felt proud of my rhetorical skills.
‘Oh, darling, you’re a genius,’ Kris declared. ‘Once we find out when they moved inland we’ll know when your dream took place at the latest, and narrow down our search. And what if the exodus was brought about by that visitation? Something bad happening, nasty enough to make them all flee from the shores, with the memory remaining in their collective subconscious.’
This was hardly what I’d been aiming for. On the other hand, her speculation about the reason for the move was intriguing. Even potentially plausible. My resolution not to travel was still firmly in place, though.
‘How about you find out more about that? Then we figure out what to do. As you can see, I’ve got enough to keep me busy for the next month. Seven days a week and probably most evenings as well,’ I added just to hammer the point home.
‘I know, darling. That’s why you need a bit of distraction every now and then,’ Kris looked around, arms raised in exasperation, ‘from this mayhem. I’m taking you out this weekend for some R&R. Don’t even try to object.’
A peck on the cheek and she breezed out with a wave and a ‘Ciao, handsome,’ followed by, ‘Make sure your boss doesn’t wear himself out, that’s my job,’ to the guys coming back in.
‘Darling, I believe I know where you latest dream took place. You were correct about the penises!’
That certainly got the attention of my assistants. One of them – the one wielding the sledgehammer – nearly hit his buddy’s head.
‘Guys, take five,’ I said, before realising their command of the English language was somewhat lacking. ‘Have a beer break. I’ll see you in five minutes.’
‘No, take fifteen minutes,’ Kris suggested, then turned towards me and declared triumphantly, ‘Malekula, one of the Vanuatu islands. The ancestral home of the Nambas. Big and small.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of the island and the tribes there. Which is why I mentioned them while on the plane. And had to endure your wrath at the time. So what about them?’
‘You were right. I did some research and from what you told me about the old man, he was one of the big Nambas.’
‘That’s good,’ I replied cautiously, ‘it confirms my thoughts about the dream.’
‘It’s more than good, darling. It’s excellent! Now we just need to locate the right village on the island and find someone to tell us what happened. You may even be able to recognise the beach from your dream.’
I saw where this was leading but pretended otherwise. ‘So you’ll have someone taking photos of the whole Malekula coastline on the off chance that I’ll recognise it?’
‘No, silly. We’ll go there, of course.’
Of course I wasn’t going to go to Vanuatu, Kris just didn’t know it yet. But instead of an immediate point-blank refusal I tried reasoning first.
‘I’ve done a bit of research myself. It’s all there, online, and you can find it yourself if you don’t trust me. There are currently close to two thousand individuals on the island still claiming to be big penises. In some twenty villages. How long do you think it would take to visit them all to find out if they know anything about my dream? Assuming they’re willing to talk to us, that is.’
‘Yes, I’ve read that too, but with local guides and transport, I’m sure we can do it in less than two weeks,’ Kris was undaunted. ‘But that’s only if we have to visit every single village before we find the right one. If we assume stochastic probability I’d say within six days at most. And if necessary, we’ll have an interpreter with us.’
Dammit, she was throwing math statistics at me. I went on to the next phase of my defence strategy, the closing argument.
‘Then maybe you’ve also read that nowadays they all live in the interior of the island. Which means that there’s no seaside village to look for. What’s more, no one knows when they all decided to move inland. It may have been hundreds of years ago, in which case there certainly won’t be any memories of a weird event.’
‘That’s a very good point. I didn’t think of that.’
‘See, I’ve prevented us from going on a pointless trip.’ I felt proud of my rhetorical skills.
‘Oh, darling, you’re a genius,’ Kris declared. ‘Once we find out when they moved inland we’ll know when your dream took place at the latest, and narrow down our search. And what if the exodus was brought about by that visitation? Something bad happening, nasty enough to make them all flee from the shores, with the memory remaining in their collective subconscious.’
This was hardly what I’d been aiming for. On the other hand, her speculation about the reason for the move was intriguing. Even potentially plausible. My resolution not to travel was still firmly in place, though.
‘How about you find out more about that? Then we figure out what to do. As you can see, I’ve got enough to keep me busy for the next month. Seven days a week and probably most evenings as well,’ I added just to hammer the point home.
‘I know, darling. That’s why you need a bit of distraction every now and then,’ Kris looked around, arms raised in exasperation, ‘from this mayhem. I’m taking you out this weekend for some R&R. Don’t even try to object.’
A peck on the cheek and she breezed out with a wave and a ‘Ciao, handsome,’ followed by, ‘Make sure your boss doesn’t wear himself out, that’s my job,’ to the guys coming back in.
●
I relished the silence and solitude in the kitchen. BB and the guys had departed, finished for the day, except for Lima Inci (I’m not going to translate it, nor qualify the reason for his nickname) who was by now sleeping in one of the unfinished rooms having smoked himself into a stupor. So much for having a minder for the night.
Not that I needed minders any more, I was sure of it. Apart from the, er… incident in Sweden, there had been no further attempts on my life from either the local wildlife or lowlife for some time. Yet Kris still insisted on protection for both of us. She had two of BB’s boys permanently attached to her, hanging around the condo and following her on their bikes wherever she went in KL. Far from being stealthy – a couple of mean, greasy dudes on loud Harleys are anything but discreet. Which was really the point, I guess. You mess with Kris only if you’re on a suicide mission.
Impressive but unnecessary, I felt. Safeguarding us was no longer an issue. Whoever it was that had fucked with us on the road from Singapore and in Sulu, and not least the dickhead that had tried to shoot me, I was sure that they’d gotten the message by now. We didn’t have whatever it was they were after. Hell, we were not even interested in it any more, were we? Surely no one had followed us to Sweden? Even if they’d had, there’s no way they would’ve gotten close to the count’s mansion. A bunch of Asian criminals having a chat with Scandinavian neo-Nazis, with Swedish police doing their best impersonation of the Keystone cops – yeah, right. What a laugh.
The kitchen felt cavernous after I’d stripped it of all fixed cabinets in preparation of painting the walls and installing the professional kitchen appliances. Next to the table, several boxes stacked on the floor served at temporary storage for my crockery and booze.
‘What do you say, Minnie? We do we feel safe here nowadays, don’t we?’
She looked up briefly from one of the slices of pizza the boys had left on the table. I bit down on another one in contemplation.
‘You and I have known each other for quite some time now, haven’t we? Maybe we should formalise our relationship.’
Minnie stared at me in distress, her whiskers vibrating.
‘Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m not suggesting we consummate the relationship. I’m not single, at least not yet. And frankly, I don’t think it’ll ever work between us – not on that level. I was rather thinking of you becoming the official hotel pet. You know, wearing a cute little red jacket and a bellhop cap, welcoming the guests.’
I may not have been totally sober when I said it but I felt relaxed and on top of the world. Behind schedule, surely, but with a good, realistic plan and finally seeing the end of the tunnel.
‘Anyway, all that bullshit with the artefact – the whatever sun it’s supposed to be – it’s behind us. Hopefully my bloody nightmares too,’ I said as Minnie started on the last piece of the pizza. ‘On another note, I think you may need a personal trainer. I’m not saying you’re fat, just that you may want to watch your waistline. You don’t have to eat everything the boys leave.’
Minnie abruptly stopped eating, wobbled over to where I was sitting, raised her head and screeched. Then she shat in front of me, jumped off the table and raced out the back door.
Never, ever tell a female that she needs to lose weight, I thought. Then reminded myself, not for the first time, that I’ll have to stop acting as if Minnie understood what I was saying. And not least stop expecting her thought processes to be anywhere near the human equivalent. It didn’t cross my mind that she’d tried to warn me.
Not that I needed minders any more, I was sure of it. Apart from the, er… incident in Sweden, there had been no further attempts on my life from either the local wildlife or lowlife for some time. Yet Kris still insisted on protection for both of us. She had two of BB’s boys permanently attached to her, hanging around the condo and following her on their bikes wherever she went in KL. Far from being stealthy – a couple of mean, greasy dudes on loud Harleys are anything but discreet. Which was really the point, I guess. You mess with Kris only if you’re on a suicide mission.
Impressive but unnecessary, I felt. Safeguarding us was no longer an issue. Whoever it was that had fucked with us on the road from Singapore and in Sulu, and not least the dickhead that had tried to shoot me, I was sure that they’d gotten the message by now. We didn’t have whatever it was they were after. Hell, we were not even interested in it any more, were we? Surely no one had followed us to Sweden? Even if they’d had, there’s no way they would’ve gotten close to the count’s mansion. A bunch of Asian criminals having a chat with Scandinavian neo-Nazis, with Swedish police doing their best impersonation of the Keystone cops – yeah, right. What a laugh.
The kitchen felt cavernous after I’d stripped it of all fixed cabinets in preparation of painting the walls and installing the professional kitchen appliances. Next to the table, several boxes stacked on the floor served at temporary storage for my crockery and booze.
‘What do you say, Minnie? We do we feel safe here nowadays, don’t we?’
She looked up briefly from one of the slices of pizza the boys had left on the table. I bit down on another one in contemplation.
‘You and I have known each other for quite some time now, haven’t we? Maybe we should formalise our relationship.’
Minnie stared at me in distress, her whiskers vibrating.
‘Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m not suggesting we consummate the relationship. I’m not single, at least not yet. And frankly, I don’t think it’ll ever work between us – not on that level. I was rather thinking of you becoming the official hotel pet. You know, wearing a cute little red jacket and a bellhop cap, welcoming the guests.’
I may not have been totally sober when I said it but I felt relaxed and on top of the world. Behind schedule, surely, but with a good, realistic plan and finally seeing the end of the tunnel.
‘Anyway, all that bullshit with the artefact – the whatever sun it’s supposed to be – it’s behind us. Hopefully my bloody nightmares too,’ I said as Minnie started on the last piece of the pizza. ‘On another note, I think you may need a personal trainer. I’m not saying you’re fat, just that you may want to watch your waistline. You don’t have to eat everything the boys leave.’
Minnie abruptly stopped eating, wobbled over to where I was sitting, raised her head and screeched. Then she shat in front of me, jumped off the table and raced out the back door.
Never, ever tell a female that she needs to lose weight, I thought. Then reminded myself, not for the first time, that I’ll have to stop acting as if Minnie understood what I was saying. And not least stop expecting her thought processes to be anywhere near the human equivalent. It didn’t cross my mind that she’d tried to warn me.
Chapter 53
I was in the kitchen, playing with the settings on the pizza oven, when I felt a presence behind me.
‘I’ll have a calzone, please. Always found them irresistible,’ Kris grabbed my arse and whispered, nuzzling my neck, ‘the sensual, puffy shape, the shiny, slick surface, and the hot, tasty insides. It invariably makes me think of–’
‘Sorry, no pizzas yet. Just making sure the oven works,’ I replied as I turned, distancing myself ever so slightly from her.
‘That’s fine, darling. We’ll have it some other time,’ Kris said as she took my hands and looked up at me, concerned. ‘How are you? Not working too hard, I hope? You seemed tired last time we met.’
A couple of days before she’d called to remind me of the night out that she’d insisted on, then picked me up an hour later. We’d started the evening at a fancy downtown French restaurant: great food, superb wines and Calvados. As always ridiculously overpriced and with the insouciance patented by French waiters and exhibited wherever in the world they happen to be working – sorry, I meant idling in a supercilious manner. In other words, a place loved by the hip KL crowd, locals and expats alike, everyone adoring being insulted in French. Or maybe not, but that’s just because they don’t understand the lingo and go all gooey when spoken to intimately by a French lout – it sounds so romantic, dear, etc. Never mind that they’ve just been told how their mother loves sucking dick after breakfast. And using the insulting, intimate ‘ta mère’ with it. They’ve never done it to me or Kris, but only because they know that we know.
‘I’m coping,’ I replied, trying not to sound defensive. ‘But I do have a lot on my mind, struggling to finalise the hotel. And getting physically involved with the remaining work.’
‘You’re overworked, darling, I can see it. Why don’t you just hire good craftsmen to finish the job? That way, I’d get to see and enjoy more of you. Both body and soul,’ Kris suggested, looking at me questioningly.
After the restaurant she’d dragged me to the newest party area in KL, TREC, created by the local government. Located on the outskirts of downtown, on the busiest part of the city ring road, it’s a nightmare getting to and from. The police love it, of course, as there’s only one entrance and one exit, allowing them to set up regular roadblocks and test the departing crowd for drugs. They don’t even bother checking Malays for alcohol nowadays – there’s not enough money in it any more. Drugs, though, are a different matter. Threatening tourists and expats with a long prison stay unless they pay a hefty fine, directly and discreetly to the policeman in question, is a lucrative business. The local kids usually skip that part, most of them having influential fathers prepared to donate a mutually acceptable sum to one of the many dubious police charities. And stay forever on the list of pliable voters for the next rigged election.
But I’m straying from my narrative, aren’t I? We got to TREC and started at Zouk as Kris had booked a table for us there, complete with a bottle of Grey Goose, a bucket of ice and enough tonic to last us the rest of the night. Half a bottle later, Kris finally agreed that we should check out some of the other places. Anywhere, I suggested, as long as the majority of the crowd are well past their puberty. Several bars and drinks later, Kris pulled me in to a place where I could finally identify with the music. Unfortunately, by that time I was tired, not to mention unsteady enough to preclude any dancing.
Kris was on her best behaviour throughout the night. She didn’t flirt with the girls, in fact didn’t even check them out shamelessly in her usual manner. If anything, she made it clear that the night was all about me, her favourite sex toy (yes, she did say that at some point), so she was very disappointed when I declined staying the night at her place on the pretext that I had to get to work early morning. I loved the bloody woman, and just looking at her made me hard, but I was also hurting with that particularly pigheaded, unreasonable male kind of self-pity. Once I get in that mood all I can do is wait until it passes. Or someone clobbers me to reactivate my brain.
‘Darling,’ Kris nudged me gently, ‘you’re drifting away. Are you thinking about your project? Or is there something else on your mind? Something to do with us? You’ve not been your usual self ever since we returned from Sweden. Please tell me – I want my lover back.’
I was on the verge of giving in then, aching to take her into my arms and tell her how much I loved and missed her. Until that last sentence which made my male ego take over.
‘Would you like to clarify which one of your lovers you want back,’ I enquired, starting in a deceptively calm voice. ‘The one that meekly stands by while you fuck every hot woman in sight, just because you need to? Or maybe that girl on the plane? Not that I blame you, I would’ve happily fucked her myself if she’d been available. But she wasn’t available, was she, because she was busy being fucked by you. And poking your arse while you were at it. I don’t recall you ever appreciating it from me.’
‘I had no idea that you–’
‘Or maybe you’re missing the sub that gave you such good head? Making you come like I’ve never managed to?’
‘Please, please–’
‘Please what? Have I got it wrong? If I may summarise our relationship, as I see it: I’m a reasonably attractive male of a certain age, with at least another ten years until my best-before date. No, please don’t interrupt me,’ I held up a hand. ‘With acceptable social skills, and depending on this hotel to keep me in cash, reasonably financially comfortable. In other words, someone you can parade around the KL circuit as your loving boyfriend, and who’s useful as the perfect charade. While you go through, literally, all the bimbos in town.’
‘Darling, you’ve got it all wrong. I love you! And I want you to be a permanent part of my life, I really do.’
‘Really, Kris? You’ve got the strangest ways of showing it. We’ve had this conversation before, remember? Or rather, the beginning of it, back in Sweden. Men are okay, women wow you. Being a man, it doesn’t fill me with confidence.’
‘I am what I am, I can’t deny it. But I’ve never before met anyone like you. You’re not just any man–’
‘Well, thank you for clarifying this, now it makes me feel so much more secure. Once I start shaving my legs and tits, pluck my eyebrows, put on a bit of makeup, I’ll be the darling of the local butch crowd. And possibly your favourite.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling, you know very well I didn’t mean that. You’re unique. You’re what I–’
‘Should I feel honoured or put down by that statement?’
‘Shut up, will you. Yes, you are male. But you’re also the most sensitive and sensual male that I’ve ever come across, despite your silly macho attitude. Of all the men that I’ve had sex with, you’re the only one that I’ve ever truly enjoyed it with. And, to be specific, the only one who’s made me come,’ Kris pouted, her turn now to stop me from interrupting. ‘The one thing you don’t have is the body of a woman. Which I’m very happy about, as that wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with and want to spend the rest of my life with, but I also need women to make me complete. I don’t know if it makes any sense to you, but that’s who and what I am.’
I was stunned. ‘Are you aware that this is the first time you’ve said that you love me, in a serious way? And the first time ever you’ve even hinted that it’s for life?’
‘Oh, darling, I’ve said it a million times, it’s just that you’ve never taken me seriously. I do love you, absolutely, now and forever. Please stop being a dickhead.’
‘In that case,’ I tried to cover my astonishment by being flippant, ‘how about we visit your father soonest, so I can formally ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage?’
‘Or how about,’ Kris suggested, ‘you begin by taking his daughter up to the bedroom for a long overdue fuck?’
‘I’ll have a calzone, please. Always found them irresistible,’ Kris grabbed my arse and whispered, nuzzling my neck, ‘the sensual, puffy shape, the shiny, slick surface, and the hot, tasty insides. It invariably makes me think of–’
‘Sorry, no pizzas yet. Just making sure the oven works,’ I replied as I turned, distancing myself ever so slightly from her.
‘That’s fine, darling. We’ll have it some other time,’ Kris said as she took my hands and looked up at me, concerned. ‘How are you? Not working too hard, I hope? You seemed tired last time we met.’
A couple of days before she’d called to remind me of the night out that she’d insisted on, then picked me up an hour later. We’d started the evening at a fancy downtown French restaurant: great food, superb wines and Calvados. As always ridiculously overpriced and with the insouciance patented by French waiters and exhibited wherever in the world they happen to be working – sorry, I meant idling in a supercilious manner. In other words, a place loved by the hip KL crowd, locals and expats alike, everyone adoring being insulted in French. Or maybe not, but that’s just because they don’t understand the lingo and go all gooey when spoken to intimately by a French lout – it sounds so romantic, dear, etc. Never mind that they’ve just been told how their mother loves sucking dick after breakfast. And using the insulting, intimate ‘ta mère’ with it. They’ve never done it to me or Kris, but only because they know that we know.
‘I’m coping,’ I replied, trying not to sound defensive. ‘But I do have a lot on my mind, struggling to finalise the hotel. And getting physically involved with the remaining work.’
‘You’re overworked, darling, I can see it. Why don’t you just hire good craftsmen to finish the job? That way, I’d get to see and enjoy more of you. Both body and soul,’ Kris suggested, looking at me questioningly.
After the restaurant she’d dragged me to the newest party area in KL, TREC, created by the local government. Located on the outskirts of downtown, on the busiest part of the city ring road, it’s a nightmare getting to and from. The police love it, of course, as there’s only one entrance and one exit, allowing them to set up regular roadblocks and test the departing crowd for drugs. They don’t even bother checking Malays for alcohol nowadays – there’s not enough money in it any more. Drugs, though, are a different matter. Threatening tourists and expats with a long prison stay unless they pay a hefty fine, directly and discreetly to the policeman in question, is a lucrative business. The local kids usually skip that part, most of them having influential fathers prepared to donate a mutually acceptable sum to one of the many dubious police charities. And stay forever on the list of pliable voters for the next rigged election.
But I’m straying from my narrative, aren’t I? We got to TREC and started at Zouk as Kris had booked a table for us there, complete with a bottle of Grey Goose, a bucket of ice and enough tonic to last us the rest of the night. Half a bottle later, Kris finally agreed that we should check out some of the other places. Anywhere, I suggested, as long as the majority of the crowd are well past their puberty. Several bars and drinks later, Kris pulled me in to a place where I could finally identify with the music. Unfortunately, by that time I was tired, not to mention unsteady enough to preclude any dancing.
Kris was on her best behaviour throughout the night. She didn’t flirt with the girls, in fact didn’t even check them out shamelessly in her usual manner. If anything, she made it clear that the night was all about me, her favourite sex toy (yes, she did say that at some point), so she was very disappointed when I declined staying the night at her place on the pretext that I had to get to work early morning. I loved the bloody woman, and just looking at her made me hard, but I was also hurting with that particularly pigheaded, unreasonable male kind of self-pity. Once I get in that mood all I can do is wait until it passes. Or someone clobbers me to reactivate my brain.
‘Darling,’ Kris nudged me gently, ‘you’re drifting away. Are you thinking about your project? Or is there something else on your mind? Something to do with us? You’ve not been your usual self ever since we returned from Sweden. Please tell me – I want my lover back.’
I was on the verge of giving in then, aching to take her into my arms and tell her how much I loved and missed her. Until that last sentence which made my male ego take over.
‘Would you like to clarify which one of your lovers you want back,’ I enquired, starting in a deceptively calm voice. ‘The one that meekly stands by while you fuck every hot woman in sight, just because you need to? Or maybe that girl on the plane? Not that I blame you, I would’ve happily fucked her myself if she’d been available. But she wasn’t available, was she, because she was busy being fucked by you. And poking your arse while you were at it. I don’t recall you ever appreciating it from me.’
‘I had no idea that you–’
‘Or maybe you’re missing the sub that gave you such good head? Making you come like I’ve never managed to?’
‘Please, please–’
‘Please what? Have I got it wrong? If I may summarise our relationship, as I see it: I’m a reasonably attractive male of a certain age, with at least another ten years until my best-before date. No, please don’t interrupt me,’ I held up a hand. ‘With acceptable social skills, and depending on this hotel to keep me in cash, reasonably financially comfortable. In other words, someone you can parade around the KL circuit as your loving boyfriend, and who’s useful as the perfect charade. While you go through, literally, all the bimbos in town.’
‘Darling, you’ve got it all wrong. I love you! And I want you to be a permanent part of my life, I really do.’
‘Really, Kris? You’ve got the strangest ways of showing it. We’ve had this conversation before, remember? Or rather, the beginning of it, back in Sweden. Men are okay, women wow you. Being a man, it doesn’t fill me with confidence.’
‘I am what I am, I can’t deny it. But I’ve never before met anyone like you. You’re not just any man–’
‘Well, thank you for clarifying this, now it makes me feel so much more secure. Once I start shaving my legs and tits, pluck my eyebrows, put on a bit of makeup, I’ll be the darling of the local butch crowd. And possibly your favourite.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling, you know very well I didn’t mean that. You’re unique. You’re what I–’
‘Should I feel honoured or put down by that statement?’
‘Shut up, will you. Yes, you are male. But you’re also the most sensitive and sensual male that I’ve ever come across, despite your silly macho attitude. Of all the men that I’ve had sex with, you’re the only one that I’ve ever truly enjoyed it with. And, to be specific, the only one who’s made me come,’ Kris pouted, her turn now to stop me from interrupting. ‘The one thing you don’t have is the body of a woman. Which I’m very happy about, as that wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with and want to spend the rest of my life with, but I also need women to make me complete. I don’t know if it makes any sense to you, but that’s who and what I am.’
I was stunned. ‘Are you aware that this is the first time you’ve said that you love me, in a serious way? And the first time ever you’ve even hinted that it’s for life?’
‘Oh, darling, I’ve said it a million times, it’s just that you’ve never taken me seriously. I do love you, absolutely, now and forever. Please stop being a dickhead.’
‘In that case,’ I tried to cover my astonishment by being flippant, ‘how about we visit your father soonest, so I can formally ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage?’
‘Or how about,’ Kris suggested, ‘you begin by taking his daughter up to the bedroom for a long overdue fuck?’
Chapter 54
‘Darling, about Vanuatu…’
‘Mm,’ I responded distractedly as Kris persisted in toying with my flaccid cock.
‘Vanuatu, your dream. Remember it?’
‘Fuck Vanuatu, you’ve got the cutest and tightest arsehole ever. And what’s that toy you used? You nearly ripped my dick off as you came.’
‘Oh, it’s one of those German gizmos. Get one and you’ll never need a man again. Sorry, darling, just joking,’ Kris hurried to say, ‘but it’s the greatest invention ever. Works with air waves, bless the Germans. There’s more to German engineering than just cars, you know. And nowadays many of their engineers are women.’ Then she got serious again. ‘But talking about things that matter, Vanuatu–’
‘I’m not going there,’ I declared, my brain still trying to catch up with that particular subject, ‘they eat each other on those islands.’
‘You don’t have to, darling, that’s what I’ve been trying to say. I still think it would be a fabulous place to visit. My one trip there was very brief, dashing into Port Vila over the day to knock some sense into the only two employees of the company registry. Man, what a virgin banana country that is. I didn’t even have to bribe them – in the end they happily signed the paperwork and put the chop on just to get rid of me.’
‘So you don’t want me to go there?’
‘I’d love for us both to go there, but only for pleasure and far away from the capital. But we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. See, I’ve been researching anything remotely linked to your dream, and I think I’ve found it.’
‘And?’
‘And there it was! Sometime in the 1860s is my best guess, as it was difficult enough to even pinpoint the damn decade. The French and British records are totally discordant, with both powers vying for control over the islands during that time and adjusting the narrative to further their political agendas. Anyway, an unknown plague had struck one of the seaside villages on Malekula island. This was the first time any epidemic was recorded in New Hebrides, as the country was called then. The cause is still hotly debated by historical epidemiologists, and almost all of them dismiss the original account as being twisted to uphold the then predominant view of the natives as utter savages. But whatever they theorise about, we know what really happened there. Gross, and amazing, and totally agreeing with what we know about the artefact.’
At first, the babies and infants mysteriously died. Then the older children. It was only months later, when the adults began dying according to Kris’ sources, that the authorities started taking notice, worrying that the depletion of plantation workers may negatively affect the exports.
Christian as they were, they sent a missionary to pray for the souls of the departed and report back his findings. He didn’t, as he was never heard from again. A second missionary, another brave soul with more religious zeal than brains, volunteered. This one did come back. In agony, with the skin on his back and shoulders flayed. Before dying, he insisted that he’d seen the devil himself and that the unholy place must be burned to the ground.
The soldiers that were immediately dispatched to the village did exactly that, after they’d interrogated – tortured, more likely – and killed the remaining villagers. According to the deposition given by one lance-sergeant Wilson upon his return, “…the handful of savages still alive, all of them men, were in a stupor apparently induced by kava intoxication, wandering about aimlessly and smiling at everything. Everyone but the chieftain who viciously attacked my men with a spear and had to be subdued. As he unfortunately died while in custody, I personally questioned those of the savages that seemed to be sober enough to respond…” And further down in the deposition, “The godforsaken heathens admitted, after much probing, that they had, on the behest of their chieftain, killed and eaten their own children and wives, several of those unfortunates still alive as their flesh was being consumed.”
The aftermath was no less intriguing. The chieftain’s body, brought back from the punitive expedition as proof of justice having been served, provoked much wide eyed speculation amongst the settlers and near panic in the locals, with mutterings of dark magic and unholy alliances. Those who had seen the cadaver swore that it had gone from being the body of a muscular man in his prime, in possession of an unnaturally large penis, to a shrivelled husk of an old man in less than a day. As for lance-sergeant Wilson, he never recovered from the expedition. Dismissed from the army barely six months after the event for frequent drunk and disorderly behaviour, he blew his brains out with a standard issue Colt Navy revolver in “disturbing circumstances.”
‘Now we’re talking,’ I nodded. ‘Finally some useful info about this thing, the artefact. Forget power and wealth, if it can increase my muscle mass and make me younger, and give me a horse dick as a bonus, maybe I should pay more attention to it.’
‘Don’t even joke about it, darling,’ Kris whispered, ‘this is how the devil works, appearing to give you what you desire, only to use you and kill you in the end.’
‘Pah, there’s no devil. We humans are perfectly capable and willing enough to inflict pain on each other without external interference. We don’t need a devil for that.’
‘But that’s exactly how the devil works. Getting people to do it for him.’
‘Him? So the devil’s a male, is he? How convenient, blaming a male for all the shit that’s ever happened to mankind. But then so is god, in most religions, isn’t he? And he’s not quite managed to bring happiness and prosperity and harmony to mankind either, has he? That’s opportune, isn’t it, for a feminist like yourself, to blame men for all the shortcomings of human development and lack of enlightenment.’
‘Darling, you’re being childish now. God and its opposite – the devil, or whatever one chooses to call it – are just two different forces of nature, fighting for supremacy. Defined as male only because of the misogynist societies that the religions originated in. It doesn’t make them less real.’
‘But what is a force of nature, eh?’ I persisted. ‘It’s either intelligent or mindless, surely? ‘I’ll accept the second without any hesitation. As for it being intelligent, I’ve some serious concerns about a god that’s supposedly all-loving and all-caring, yet allows atrocities to happen in her backyard.’
‘I’d love to have a discussion with you about theism – or spirituality – versus atheism, but not right now. Can we continue, please?’
‘Sure. Whatever. If you allow me to get reacquainted with your lovely arse for a repeat performance.’
‘You really are a degenerate, aren’t you?’
‘Guilty as charged, milady,’ I smirked. ‘I’d be happy to worship your bum any time.’
‘Hmm, I like that word – worship,’ Kris considered it briefly. ‘So, having thought about this, it struck me that the artefact, and whatever is controlling it, has been making a westward journey over the last centuries. Vanuatu, PNG, the Philippines, Borneo, and latest – as far as we know – Malaysia.’
‘Thus, by now it’s most likely somewhere in the Indian Ocean. I suggest we visit the Chagos Archipelago to investigate. I’ve always wanted to go there, you know. Let’s drop by that American hush-hush military base on Diego Garcia and tell them the Brits are totally cool with us popping over for a few days – you looking for an otherworldly object while I go snorkeling for rare shells.’
‘You are being difficult, as always.’
‘I am being realistic, is all. And possibly fed up with this fairytale that’s only brought us grief.’
Kris ignored me. ‘As I found out initially, this artefact was known to East Polynesians. You remember the guy that got on the ship with Cook?’
‘Yes, I recall you mentioning it a lifetime ago.’
‘So, unless this thing originated in South America, which seems unlikely considering the distance, that’s where we should go to find out about it. I’m not saying we do it now,’ Kris hurried to say, ‘but at some point in the future, when you’ve got the hotel up-and-running, maybe we could go to Tahiti, check out the local museum and see if anyone knows about this artefact. Just for fun. Combined with a hedonistic week at one of the Bora-Bora resorts. No strings attached, I promise.’
‘I do love you, Kris, but you’ve got permanent strings all about you, each one ending in a barbed, poisonous hook. I’d love to believe you but I can’t help thinking of, say, those people who were told they were being taken to a better place, transported to Auschwitz in cattle cars and then–’
‘You’re comparing me to the Nazis?’ Kris enquired wide-eyed.
‘Not at all, I’m just saying that you’re very good at propaganda, with your–’
‘Fuck you! My family got decimated by the Nazis even before the bloody Russians got to Hungary! And you’re comparing me to those subhumans? How dare you?’
For some unfathomable reason I suddenly remembered a t-shirt I bought many years ago in London’s Carnaby Street for my then girlfriend, with a slogan that said “zero to bitch in under 5 seconds.” I thought it was hilarious and never understood why she hated it.
‘I didn’t mean to–’
‘Fuck you, I’m out of here!’ Kris jumped up from the bed and started picking up her clothes from the floor, pulling on her skirt and blouse without bothering with the underwear.
‘Can we just–’
‘No, we can’t! Not until you apologise. And only when I’m sure you actually mean it.’
‘But I do, baby.’ I was stunned at her reaction. ‘I’d no idea that you had Jewish ancestry. I’m sure they suffered during the Nazis just as much as my folks. So do calm down and let’s talk about it.’
‘You talk about it with your fucking rat,’ Kris muttered as she stormed out of the bedroom.
She was more than unreasonable and I had a nagging feeling that us making up and having this mind-blowing sex session hadn’t at all addressed the underlying issues we seemed to have with each other. Maybe we’d just reached the end of our relationship without realising it, both of us coming up with reasons to break it off. Being nasty to each other and hoping for the other party to call it quits so you don’t have to – the coward’s way out – I’ve been through that several times in my life, experiencing it from both sides of the fence.
But this time I yearned for the bloody woman, fucking loved her. And she’d said earlier that she expected us to stay together for life which hinted at some degree of affection. So what was happening here? Had we only been in love with the concept of being in love, forever and ever etc? Or were we simply afraid of a lifetime commitment, having never before experienced it? Was the artefact the only thing keeping us together? Or was it the supposedly supernatural force that was driving us apart?
So many questions, none of which mattered right now. With Kris gone I had no one to discuss this with. Except Minnie – she’d wobbled in through the door cautiously, looking ready to be engaged in a serious conversation.
‘Come to bed, Minnie, and I’ll tell you all about how and why we males find you females insufferable, okay? And no hard feelings?’
‘So,’ I said once I’d made myself comfortable, plumping up the pillows around me, ‘are you comfy enough, Minnie? And ready to hear my side of the story?’
‘Mm,’ I responded distractedly as Kris persisted in toying with my flaccid cock.
‘Vanuatu, your dream. Remember it?’
‘Fuck Vanuatu, you’ve got the cutest and tightest arsehole ever. And what’s that toy you used? You nearly ripped my dick off as you came.’
‘Oh, it’s one of those German gizmos. Get one and you’ll never need a man again. Sorry, darling, just joking,’ Kris hurried to say, ‘but it’s the greatest invention ever. Works with air waves, bless the Germans. There’s more to German engineering than just cars, you know. And nowadays many of their engineers are women.’ Then she got serious again. ‘But talking about things that matter, Vanuatu–’
‘I’m not going there,’ I declared, my brain still trying to catch up with that particular subject, ‘they eat each other on those islands.’
‘You don’t have to, darling, that’s what I’ve been trying to say. I still think it would be a fabulous place to visit. My one trip there was very brief, dashing into Port Vila over the day to knock some sense into the only two employees of the company registry. Man, what a virgin banana country that is. I didn’t even have to bribe them – in the end they happily signed the paperwork and put the chop on just to get rid of me.’
‘So you don’t want me to go there?’
‘I’d love for us both to go there, but only for pleasure and far away from the capital. But we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. See, I’ve been researching anything remotely linked to your dream, and I think I’ve found it.’
‘And?’
‘And there it was! Sometime in the 1860s is my best guess, as it was difficult enough to even pinpoint the damn decade. The French and British records are totally discordant, with both powers vying for control over the islands during that time and adjusting the narrative to further their political agendas. Anyway, an unknown plague had struck one of the seaside villages on Malekula island. This was the first time any epidemic was recorded in New Hebrides, as the country was called then. The cause is still hotly debated by historical epidemiologists, and almost all of them dismiss the original account as being twisted to uphold the then predominant view of the natives as utter savages. But whatever they theorise about, we know what really happened there. Gross, and amazing, and totally agreeing with what we know about the artefact.’
At first, the babies and infants mysteriously died. Then the older children. It was only months later, when the adults began dying according to Kris’ sources, that the authorities started taking notice, worrying that the depletion of plantation workers may negatively affect the exports.
Christian as they were, they sent a missionary to pray for the souls of the departed and report back his findings. He didn’t, as he was never heard from again. A second missionary, another brave soul with more religious zeal than brains, volunteered. This one did come back. In agony, with the skin on his back and shoulders flayed. Before dying, he insisted that he’d seen the devil himself and that the unholy place must be burned to the ground.
The soldiers that were immediately dispatched to the village did exactly that, after they’d interrogated – tortured, more likely – and killed the remaining villagers. According to the deposition given by one lance-sergeant Wilson upon his return, “…the handful of savages still alive, all of them men, were in a stupor apparently induced by kava intoxication, wandering about aimlessly and smiling at everything. Everyone but the chieftain who viciously attacked my men with a spear and had to be subdued. As he unfortunately died while in custody, I personally questioned those of the savages that seemed to be sober enough to respond…” And further down in the deposition, “The godforsaken heathens admitted, after much probing, that they had, on the behest of their chieftain, killed and eaten their own children and wives, several of those unfortunates still alive as their flesh was being consumed.”
The aftermath was no less intriguing. The chieftain’s body, brought back from the punitive expedition as proof of justice having been served, provoked much wide eyed speculation amongst the settlers and near panic in the locals, with mutterings of dark magic and unholy alliances. Those who had seen the cadaver swore that it had gone from being the body of a muscular man in his prime, in possession of an unnaturally large penis, to a shrivelled husk of an old man in less than a day. As for lance-sergeant Wilson, he never recovered from the expedition. Dismissed from the army barely six months after the event for frequent drunk and disorderly behaviour, he blew his brains out with a standard issue Colt Navy revolver in “disturbing circumstances.”
‘Now we’re talking,’ I nodded. ‘Finally some useful info about this thing, the artefact. Forget power and wealth, if it can increase my muscle mass and make me younger, and give me a horse dick as a bonus, maybe I should pay more attention to it.’
‘Don’t even joke about it, darling,’ Kris whispered, ‘this is how the devil works, appearing to give you what you desire, only to use you and kill you in the end.’
‘Pah, there’s no devil. We humans are perfectly capable and willing enough to inflict pain on each other without external interference. We don’t need a devil for that.’
‘But that’s exactly how the devil works. Getting people to do it for him.’
‘Him? So the devil’s a male, is he? How convenient, blaming a male for all the shit that’s ever happened to mankind. But then so is god, in most religions, isn’t he? And he’s not quite managed to bring happiness and prosperity and harmony to mankind either, has he? That’s opportune, isn’t it, for a feminist like yourself, to blame men for all the shortcomings of human development and lack of enlightenment.’
‘Darling, you’re being childish now. God and its opposite – the devil, or whatever one chooses to call it – are just two different forces of nature, fighting for supremacy. Defined as male only because of the misogynist societies that the religions originated in. It doesn’t make them less real.’
‘But what is a force of nature, eh?’ I persisted. ‘It’s either intelligent or mindless, surely? ‘I’ll accept the second without any hesitation. As for it being intelligent, I’ve some serious concerns about a god that’s supposedly all-loving and all-caring, yet allows atrocities to happen in her backyard.’
‘I’d love to have a discussion with you about theism – or spirituality – versus atheism, but not right now. Can we continue, please?’
‘Sure. Whatever. If you allow me to get reacquainted with your lovely arse for a repeat performance.’
‘You really are a degenerate, aren’t you?’
‘Guilty as charged, milady,’ I smirked. ‘I’d be happy to worship your bum any time.’
‘Hmm, I like that word – worship,’ Kris considered it briefly. ‘So, having thought about this, it struck me that the artefact, and whatever is controlling it, has been making a westward journey over the last centuries. Vanuatu, PNG, the Philippines, Borneo, and latest – as far as we know – Malaysia.’
‘Thus, by now it’s most likely somewhere in the Indian Ocean. I suggest we visit the Chagos Archipelago to investigate. I’ve always wanted to go there, you know. Let’s drop by that American hush-hush military base on Diego Garcia and tell them the Brits are totally cool with us popping over for a few days – you looking for an otherworldly object while I go snorkeling for rare shells.’
‘You are being difficult, as always.’
‘I am being realistic, is all. And possibly fed up with this fairytale that’s only brought us grief.’
Kris ignored me. ‘As I found out initially, this artefact was known to East Polynesians. You remember the guy that got on the ship with Cook?’
‘Yes, I recall you mentioning it a lifetime ago.’
‘So, unless this thing originated in South America, which seems unlikely considering the distance, that’s where we should go to find out about it. I’m not saying we do it now,’ Kris hurried to say, ‘but at some point in the future, when you’ve got the hotel up-and-running, maybe we could go to Tahiti, check out the local museum and see if anyone knows about this artefact. Just for fun. Combined with a hedonistic week at one of the Bora-Bora resorts. No strings attached, I promise.’
‘I do love you, Kris, but you’ve got permanent strings all about you, each one ending in a barbed, poisonous hook. I’d love to believe you but I can’t help thinking of, say, those people who were told they were being taken to a better place, transported to Auschwitz in cattle cars and then–’
‘You’re comparing me to the Nazis?’ Kris enquired wide-eyed.
‘Not at all, I’m just saying that you’re very good at propaganda, with your–’
‘Fuck you! My family got decimated by the Nazis even before the bloody Russians got to Hungary! And you’re comparing me to those subhumans? How dare you?’
For some unfathomable reason I suddenly remembered a t-shirt I bought many years ago in London’s Carnaby Street for my then girlfriend, with a slogan that said “zero to bitch in under 5 seconds.” I thought it was hilarious and never understood why she hated it.
‘I didn’t mean to–’
‘Fuck you, I’m out of here!’ Kris jumped up from the bed and started picking up her clothes from the floor, pulling on her skirt and blouse without bothering with the underwear.
‘Can we just–’
‘No, we can’t! Not until you apologise. And only when I’m sure you actually mean it.’
‘But I do, baby.’ I was stunned at her reaction. ‘I’d no idea that you had Jewish ancestry. I’m sure they suffered during the Nazis just as much as my folks. So do calm down and let’s talk about it.’
‘You talk about it with your fucking rat,’ Kris muttered as she stormed out of the bedroom.
She was more than unreasonable and I had a nagging feeling that us making up and having this mind-blowing sex session hadn’t at all addressed the underlying issues we seemed to have with each other. Maybe we’d just reached the end of our relationship without realising it, both of us coming up with reasons to break it off. Being nasty to each other and hoping for the other party to call it quits so you don’t have to – the coward’s way out – I’ve been through that several times in my life, experiencing it from both sides of the fence.
But this time I yearned for the bloody woman, fucking loved her. And she’d said earlier that she expected us to stay together for life which hinted at some degree of affection. So what was happening here? Had we only been in love with the concept of being in love, forever and ever etc? Or were we simply afraid of a lifetime commitment, having never before experienced it? Was the artefact the only thing keeping us together? Or was it the supposedly supernatural force that was driving us apart?
So many questions, none of which mattered right now. With Kris gone I had no one to discuss this with. Except Minnie – she’d wobbled in through the door cautiously, looking ready to be engaged in a serious conversation.
‘Come to bed, Minnie, and I’ll tell you all about how and why we males find you females insufferable, okay? And no hard feelings?’
‘So,’ I said once I’d made myself comfortable, plumping up the pillows around me, ‘are you comfy enough, Minnie? And ready to hear my side of the story?’
Chapter 55
With just over two weeks to go before the big night, I was confident about the logistics. BB’s boys had been working tirelessly to get the place done, with BB and me micromanaging them. The grounds were far from finished or manicured to perfection, but the pool area was impeccable, with additional tables and chairs on the expanded patio, and ample parking space in front of the house. Inside, the reception room looked inviting, with plush leather sofas and discrete lighting, and the pub was ready, the shelves and fridges waiting to be stocked. I’d not had time to apply for the necessary commercial licenses – and dreaded the time when I would have to do it, familiar with brainless Malaysian bureaucracy – but as this was going to be a private function I saw no reasons to worry about it. With the kitchen still incomplete, I’d arranged for full catering service, specifying each item on the menu. Not cheap by any means, but I was sure it would be worth it, as a marketing exercise prior to the grand opening and also to get feedback from the guests on what worked and what didn’t.
There was only one problem. I didn’t have any guests yet.
After relocating to KL I’d done my best to avoid my previous life, professionally speaking, vowing never again to force myself to spend boring hours networking with sub-intelligent, dull people just to get a juicy contact. Thus I’d neglected to build up a decent list of connections in the city and had been, for this occasion, counting on Kris to invite the cream of the KL circuit. Whether I liked it or not, I had to bite the bullet and go see her, with the proverbial cap in hand, accepting the blame for anything and everything that had gone wrong in our relationship. Not that I thought I was to blame for any of it. Well… certainly not for every single thing, but you cannot reason with women, can you?
There was only one problem. I didn’t have any guests yet.
After relocating to KL I’d done my best to avoid my previous life, professionally speaking, vowing never again to force myself to spend boring hours networking with sub-intelligent, dull people just to get a juicy contact. Thus I’d neglected to build up a decent list of connections in the city and had been, for this occasion, counting on Kris to invite the cream of the KL circuit. Whether I liked it or not, I had to bite the bullet and go see her, with the proverbial cap in hand, accepting the blame for anything and everything that had gone wrong in our relationship. Not that I thought I was to blame for any of it. Well… certainly not for every single thing, but you cannot reason with women, can you?
●
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Did you expect someone else?’
It wasn’t a good start. I was doing my best to look contrite while Kris appeared less than overjoyed after discovering that I was the one buzzing her bell.
‘Not at all, do come in,’ she replied in a polite, guarded manner. ‘I’ve got a guest but you’re welcome to join us.’
I walked down the long corridor towards the living room, having left my shoes outside as the local custom demands. It was empty and I looked questioningly at Kris.
‘Ayu is in the lanai. I believe you’ve met her before.’
How could I’ve forgotten her? Malay, beautiful, with a body inviting intimate exploration. She was lounging in the lanai with a towel wrapped around her.
‘We’ve just had an invigorating swim in the pool,’ Kris explained.
‘I’m sure you’ve had a vigorous and satisfying workout,’ I replied, looking Kris in the eyes.
‘Hello, stranger. We’ve met before, haven’t we?’ Ayu called out from deep within the sofa, opening her arms in invitation. ‘Come join us, the more the merrier.’
‘Maybe not now, darling,’ Kris responded firmly, with me jealously noting the word she used, having until now assumed it was reserved for me. ‘Why don’t you go and get dressed? Your driver will be here soon.’
‘You’re not exactly pining away, are you,’ I said as Ayu disappeared in the bedroom, doing my best to avoid inserting any barbs into the comment, my voice flat and emptied of emotion.
‘I’m doing what I’ve always done – having a good time with my friends,’ Kris responded defiantly, then added, ‘regardless of how I really feel. Showing your true emotions is frowned upon here, haven’t you learned that yet?’
Her answer, and her eyes more than anything else, made me ignore my skilfully and intellectually crafted speech that I’d practised on the way to the condo.
‘Kris, I love you beyond what’s healthy,’ I said as I sat down next to her, on the edge of the sofa. ‘I’d die for you, and I’d kill for you. Or just be with you, having a boring night in. Even if you’re fucking every woman in sight. I may have to learn to adapt to it. That is, if you feel the same.’ And to preserve my male pride I added, ‘If not, we can try to remain friends, but I’m not sure I could take it.’
‘I don’t want you as a friend.’
Fuck, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.
‘That wouldn’t be enough for me. I want you completely, as my lover and friend. Because I love you as well, you silly man.’
She leaned forward and kissed me gently. I relaxed, allowing myself for a moment the luxurious feeling of tingling starting in my toes and spreading throughout my body, enveloping me in pleasant warmth. Then I pulled away, ever so slightly.
‘If you love me, as you say, why do you also have to love every hot woman that comes your way?’
‘Oh, darling, but I don’t love them. You’ve said it yourself – I just fuck them.’
‘Love them, fuck them – to me the distinction is negligible. Have you ever thought how I feel about it? How jealous I get?’
‘Darling, have I ever shown jealousy with you spending hours and days with your wreck of a Harley? And ignoring me completely while you’re at it?’
‘But that’s hardly the same, is it? It’s a bike, a machine, not a living thing that I get emotional about. I don’t slobber over it, I don’t get a hard-on while adjusting the carb. Besides, it’s not a wreck, I drove here on it.’
‘Really? You don’t get emotional, you say? How about the time you told me that when it runs perfectly on a winding jungle road it’s better than sex?’
‘Come on, I wasn’t serious when I said that. I was just trying to explain the feeling I get when–’
‘So why should what I’m doing be different? I don’t get emotional with my female lovers–’
‘And that’s a fact, is it? Seriously?’
‘Okay, I do get emotional, but on a different level. I’m not in love with them. It’s just a shortcut to instant, maximum gratification.’
‘Maximum?’
‘Sorry, wrong choice of words. Forget maximum and focus on instant. Would you, if I asked you, get rid of your Harley and promise never again to ride one? Because I’d be insanely jealous otherwise?’
‘Of course not, it’s an inanimate object, not something you can be jealous of.’
‘And if I told you that this is how you should perceive my… encounters?’
I thought about it for a second.
‘In that case, I’d like to point out that I’ve invited you on more than one occasion to ride with me and share my pleasure. Which you’ve refused to do, while–’
‘Because it’s dangerous, darling. People die daily in road accidents here in KL, particularly on motorbikes–’
‘…while you’ve never, ever, suggested that I join you in one of your – what did you call them? – maximum gratification encounters, have you?’
‘But that’s different, because if I did, I’d think all the time that you prefer fucking her to me–’
‘Kris, I’m leaving now,’ Ayu declared with a sad little smile as she stepped into the lanai, fully dressed. ‘I’m happy to hear that you two have made up. And, just for the record, I wouldn’t mind being fucked by either of you, once you agree on who can fuck whom. And when and how. If you ever do.’
‘Oh, darling Ayu,’ Kris exclaimed, jumping off the sofa and hugging her, ‘you will always be my favourite girl in KL, you know that.’
Ayu kissed Kris passionately, then whispered just loud enough for me to hear, ‘Without you, I would probably never have experienced true sexual satisfaction. Any time you want me to come over, kekasih saya, I’ll be here, happy to be your inanimate object of pleasure.’
‘Ciao, Ayu,’ I called out as they left the room. ‘See you soon, I hope.’
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ Kris said as she returned. ‘From now on, you do not even look at another woman in your usual leering fashion when we’re out together.’
‘When have I ever done that?’
‘All the time. So, if you never to do that again, I promise never again to come on to women while you’re around.’
‘How about men? Do you get to flirt with them? And, just out of curiosity, do I get to flirt with them?’
‘Ah, spare me that, you couldn’t even take the post-op katoys in Thailand, insisting all the time on commenting on their Adam’s apples and male behaviour. And now you say you want to fuck them?’
‘Not at all. Forget Thailand. It was a rhetorical statement, commenting on the inequality of what you’ve just proposed. You like women, I like women, it’s as simple as that. Why should I be any less jealous than you?’
‘Because… Oh, fuck it, can we just go to bed now and continue tomorrow, please?’
‘Did you expect someone else?’
It wasn’t a good start. I was doing my best to look contrite while Kris appeared less than overjoyed after discovering that I was the one buzzing her bell.
‘Not at all, do come in,’ she replied in a polite, guarded manner. ‘I’ve got a guest but you’re welcome to join us.’
I walked down the long corridor towards the living room, having left my shoes outside as the local custom demands. It was empty and I looked questioningly at Kris.
‘Ayu is in the lanai. I believe you’ve met her before.’
How could I’ve forgotten her? Malay, beautiful, with a body inviting intimate exploration. She was lounging in the lanai with a towel wrapped around her.
‘We’ve just had an invigorating swim in the pool,’ Kris explained.
‘I’m sure you’ve had a vigorous and satisfying workout,’ I replied, looking Kris in the eyes.
‘Hello, stranger. We’ve met before, haven’t we?’ Ayu called out from deep within the sofa, opening her arms in invitation. ‘Come join us, the more the merrier.’
‘Maybe not now, darling,’ Kris responded firmly, with me jealously noting the word she used, having until now assumed it was reserved for me. ‘Why don’t you go and get dressed? Your driver will be here soon.’
‘You’re not exactly pining away, are you,’ I said as Ayu disappeared in the bedroom, doing my best to avoid inserting any barbs into the comment, my voice flat and emptied of emotion.
‘I’m doing what I’ve always done – having a good time with my friends,’ Kris responded defiantly, then added, ‘regardless of how I really feel. Showing your true emotions is frowned upon here, haven’t you learned that yet?’
Her answer, and her eyes more than anything else, made me ignore my skilfully and intellectually crafted speech that I’d practised on the way to the condo.
‘Kris, I love you beyond what’s healthy,’ I said as I sat down next to her, on the edge of the sofa. ‘I’d die for you, and I’d kill for you. Or just be with you, having a boring night in. Even if you’re fucking every woman in sight. I may have to learn to adapt to it. That is, if you feel the same.’ And to preserve my male pride I added, ‘If not, we can try to remain friends, but I’m not sure I could take it.’
‘I don’t want you as a friend.’
Fuck, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.
‘That wouldn’t be enough for me. I want you completely, as my lover and friend. Because I love you as well, you silly man.’
She leaned forward and kissed me gently. I relaxed, allowing myself for a moment the luxurious feeling of tingling starting in my toes and spreading throughout my body, enveloping me in pleasant warmth. Then I pulled away, ever so slightly.
‘If you love me, as you say, why do you also have to love every hot woman that comes your way?’
‘Oh, darling, but I don’t love them. You’ve said it yourself – I just fuck them.’
‘Love them, fuck them – to me the distinction is negligible. Have you ever thought how I feel about it? How jealous I get?’
‘Darling, have I ever shown jealousy with you spending hours and days with your wreck of a Harley? And ignoring me completely while you’re at it?’
‘But that’s hardly the same, is it? It’s a bike, a machine, not a living thing that I get emotional about. I don’t slobber over it, I don’t get a hard-on while adjusting the carb. Besides, it’s not a wreck, I drove here on it.’
‘Really? You don’t get emotional, you say? How about the time you told me that when it runs perfectly on a winding jungle road it’s better than sex?’
‘Come on, I wasn’t serious when I said that. I was just trying to explain the feeling I get when–’
‘So why should what I’m doing be different? I don’t get emotional with my female lovers–’
‘And that’s a fact, is it? Seriously?’
‘Okay, I do get emotional, but on a different level. I’m not in love with them. It’s just a shortcut to instant, maximum gratification.’
‘Maximum?’
‘Sorry, wrong choice of words. Forget maximum and focus on instant. Would you, if I asked you, get rid of your Harley and promise never again to ride one? Because I’d be insanely jealous otherwise?’
‘Of course not, it’s an inanimate object, not something you can be jealous of.’
‘And if I told you that this is how you should perceive my… encounters?’
I thought about it for a second.
‘In that case, I’d like to point out that I’ve invited you on more than one occasion to ride with me and share my pleasure. Which you’ve refused to do, while–’
‘Because it’s dangerous, darling. People die daily in road accidents here in KL, particularly on motorbikes–’
‘…while you’ve never, ever, suggested that I join you in one of your – what did you call them? – maximum gratification encounters, have you?’
‘But that’s different, because if I did, I’d think all the time that you prefer fucking her to me–’
‘Kris, I’m leaving now,’ Ayu declared with a sad little smile as she stepped into the lanai, fully dressed. ‘I’m happy to hear that you two have made up. And, just for the record, I wouldn’t mind being fucked by either of you, once you agree on who can fuck whom. And when and how. If you ever do.’
‘Oh, darling Ayu,’ Kris exclaimed, jumping off the sofa and hugging her, ‘you will always be my favourite girl in KL, you know that.’
Ayu kissed Kris passionately, then whispered just loud enough for me to hear, ‘Without you, I would probably never have experienced true sexual satisfaction. Any time you want me to come over, kekasih saya, I’ll be here, happy to be your inanimate object of pleasure.’
‘Ciao, Ayu,’ I called out as they left the room. ‘See you soon, I hope.’
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ Kris said as she returned. ‘From now on, you do not even look at another woman in your usual leering fashion when we’re out together.’
‘When have I ever done that?’
‘All the time. So, if you never to do that again, I promise never again to come on to women while you’re around.’
‘How about men? Do you get to flirt with them? And, just out of curiosity, do I get to flirt with them?’
‘Ah, spare me that, you couldn’t even take the post-op katoys in Thailand, insisting all the time on commenting on their Adam’s apples and male behaviour. And now you say you want to fuck them?’
‘Not at all. Forget Thailand. It was a rhetorical statement, commenting on the inequality of what you’ve just proposed. You like women, I like women, it’s as simple as that. Why should I be any less jealous than you?’
‘Because… Oh, fuck it, can we just go to bed now and continue tomorrow, please?’
Chapter 56
The morning sun touched lightly on my eyes as I was sleeping, in a condo in the jungle, in a Southeast Asian town. For some weird reason it made me think of Dr Hook.
I got out of bed to the irresistible aroma of fried eggs and bacon and onions emanating from beyond the open door. Walking towards the kitchen I could hear Kris humming happily as she stirred the eggs. Funny enough, another Dr Hook song, although this particular one was never one of my favourites, all about gooey love and doing it over and over, too tacky for my taste.
‘Good morning, lover,’ Kris exclaimed as I entered. ‘Ready for breakfast?’
‘Hey baby, any time. I’m starving.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Kris replied grinning, ‘considering our workout last night.’
‘Ah, is that why my butt and thighs and shoulders are in pain? And why I’ve got a cramp in my tongue. I’ve been wondering about that.’
‘You were impressive, baby. Worthy of a Nobel Prize for female satisfaction.’
‘I’m happy that you approve, ma’am. I’m quite satisfied myself, although semi-broken right now.’
‘Let’s tuck in, then, and replenish the lost calories, shall we? We don’t want those sexy muscles of yours to wither.’
Sitting in the lanai, savouring the scrambled eggs, I said, ‘If I had to choose a single reason to love you, it would have to be your fabulous bread.’
‘You’re just an egocentric male chauvinist pig and should be punished for it. Here, have some more,’ Kris responded, playfully throwing a piece of bread at me, ‘enjoy it while I retire to the bedroom for a private session, to achieve ecstasy which somehow eluded me during the night.’
‘Oh yes, so sorry about that. You only came, what, five-six times? With the last three qualifying as multiples. But no squirting.’
‘You shit, you actually timed me, and counted?’
‘Absolutely not, I was merely being observant. Busy enough counting my own, seeing you as just another inanimate object and getting instant, maximum gratification from it, over and over.’
‘You are an insufferable dickhead sometimes. And full of yourself.’
‘I’d venture to say that I probably am, darling. But then you already know it, and yet you come back for more. I guess we’re both masochists.’
‘You truly are a male pig,’ Kris punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘And pushing it.’
‘I may be, but I’m still your own, personal pig. Oink.’
‘Piggy.’
‘Butch dyke.’
‘Hey, that’s not fair!’
‘No? As far as I’ve noted it, you’ve always been in total control during your amorous escapades. That’s my definition of butch.’
‘Darling, if I’d been a butch dyke I wouldn’t have touched you with a barge pole, and I would’ve had a moustache. But enough of that. When you showed up yesterday I was certain that you had another reason for coming over than just making up. Am I right?’
‘Now you’ve really hurt my feelings,’ I protested. ‘What would be more important than us making up – permanently this time, I hope?’
‘Oh, so you don’t need any help with your planned pre-opening night? Were you not going to invite me?’ Kris pouted.
‘Of course I was. And you are hereby officially invited. How did you find out about it? I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘Thank you, I feel honoured. BB told me, of course. He tells me everything. So, who else have you invited?’ Kris asked slyly.
‘I’m still refining the guest list…’
‘Bullshit. So far I’m your only guest, and we both know it.’
‘Well, yes… but that’s only because–’
‘Because you really don’t know many people in KL, do you? At least not those that matter.’
‘I know Ho, and I was going to–’
‘You seriously think uncle Ho would’ve accepted your invitation? Without me talking to him? That’s not how things work here,’ Kris shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’ve already sorted out your guest list. Let’s go to the pool and I’ll tell you what I’ve done.’
I got out of bed to the irresistible aroma of fried eggs and bacon and onions emanating from beyond the open door. Walking towards the kitchen I could hear Kris humming happily as she stirred the eggs. Funny enough, another Dr Hook song, although this particular one was never one of my favourites, all about gooey love and doing it over and over, too tacky for my taste.
‘Good morning, lover,’ Kris exclaimed as I entered. ‘Ready for breakfast?’
‘Hey baby, any time. I’m starving.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Kris replied grinning, ‘considering our workout last night.’
‘Ah, is that why my butt and thighs and shoulders are in pain? And why I’ve got a cramp in my tongue. I’ve been wondering about that.’
‘You were impressive, baby. Worthy of a Nobel Prize for female satisfaction.’
‘I’m happy that you approve, ma’am. I’m quite satisfied myself, although semi-broken right now.’
‘Let’s tuck in, then, and replenish the lost calories, shall we? We don’t want those sexy muscles of yours to wither.’
Sitting in the lanai, savouring the scrambled eggs, I said, ‘If I had to choose a single reason to love you, it would have to be your fabulous bread.’
‘You’re just an egocentric male chauvinist pig and should be punished for it. Here, have some more,’ Kris responded, playfully throwing a piece of bread at me, ‘enjoy it while I retire to the bedroom for a private session, to achieve ecstasy which somehow eluded me during the night.’
‘Oh yes, so sorry about that. You only came, what, five-six times? With the last three qualifying as multiples. But no squirting.’
‘You shit, you actually timed me, and counted?’
‘Absolutely not, I was merely being observant. Busy enough counting my own, seeing you as just another inanimate object and getting instant, maximum gratification from it, over and over.’
‘You are an insufferable dickhead sometimes. And full of yourself.’
‘I’d venture to say that I probably am, darling. But then you already know it, and yet you come back for more. I guess we’re both masochists.’
‘You truly are a male pig,’ Kris punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘And pushing it.’
‘I may be, but I’m still your own, personal pig. Oink.’
‘Piggy.’
‘Butch dyke.’
‘Hey, that’s not fair!’
‘No? As far as I’ve noted it, you’ve always been in total control during your amorous escapades. That’s my definition of butch.’
‘Darling, if I’d been a butch dyke I wouldn’t have touched you with a barge pole, and I would’ve had a moustache. But enough of that. When you showed up yesterday I was certain that you had another reason for coming over than just making up. Am I right?’
‘Now you’ve really hurt my feelings,’ I protested. ‘What would be more important than us making up – permanently this time, I hope?’
‘Oh, so you don’t need any help with your planned pre-opening night? Were you not going to invite me?’ Kris pouted.
‘Of course I was. And you are hereby officially invited. How did you find out about it? I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘Thank you, I feel honoured. BB told me, of course. He tells me everything. So, who else have you invited?’ Kris asked slyly.
‘I’m still refining the guest list…’
‘Bullshit. So far I’m your only guest, and we both know it.’
‘Well, yes… but that’s only because–’
‘Because you really don’t know many people in KL, do you? At least not those that matter.’
‘I know Ho, and I was going to–’
‘You seriously think uncle Ho would’ve accepted your invitation? Without me talking to him? That’s not how things work here,’ Kris shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’ve already sorted out your guest list. Let’s go to the pool and I’ll tell you what I’ve done.’
●
Don’t you dislike it when people, regardless of how well-intentioned they seem to be, anticipate your plans and decide to help? Almost as bad as those who always finish your sentences. But I had to admit, it was a huge relief to be assured that my planned night would not be an expensive failure. And making up with Kris was the icing on the cake, despite a dark voice in my head whispering that she’s not to be trusted. Go on fucking her, it insisted, but never, ever trust her.
‘I’ve also arranged a bit of media PR, if you’re okay with that,’ Kris said. ‘New Straits Times and the Star for maximum coverage, and the Malaysia Tatler to titillate trendy townies. Gosh,’ she giggled, ‘I’ve just alliterated without even meaning to.’
‘I like the Tatler, it’s snobbish enough,’ I nodded in agreement, ‘but do I really want the two main government propaganda outlets present? Won’t they find it too Western and decadent, with free-flowing booze and haram barbecue?’
‘Darling,’ Kris dismissed the notion, ‘who’s going to query the pillars of Malaysian society about the contents of their glasses and plates? Anyway, I bet you that the journos will all be Chinese and more than happy to be fed and watered. And duly impressed with the guest list and their favourite modes of transport. Not to mention your fabulously luxurious retreat.’
‘You’re right, as always,’ I conceded, ignoring the nasty voice reminding me that she always managed to make me think she’s right. Instead I gave her a peck on the cheek and promptly fell asleep.
‘I’ve also arranged a bit of media PR, if you’re okay with that,’ Kris said. ‘New Straits Times and the Star for maximum coverage, and the Malaysia Tatler to titillate trendy townies. Gosh,’ she giggled, ‘I’ve just alliterated without even meaning to.’
‘I like the Tatler, it’s snobbish enough,’ I nodded in agreement, ‘but do I really want the two main government propaganda outlets present? Won’t they find it too Western and decadent, with free-flowing booze and haram barbecue?’
‘Darling,’ Kris dismissed the notion, ‘who’s going to query the pillars of Malaysian society about the contents of their glasses and plates? Anyway, I bet you that the journos will all be Chinese and more than happy to be fed and watered. And duly impressed with the guest list and their favourite modes of transport. Not to mention your fabulously luxurious retreat.’
‘You’re right, as always,’ I conceded, ignoring the nasty voice reminding me that she always managed to make me think she’s right. Instead I gave her a peck on the cheek and promptly fell asleep.
●
‘Alex, darling, are you okay? Are you having another one of your dreams?’ Kris shook me awake, a mix of concern and delight in her eyes.
‘What? Yes, I’m fine,’ I replied thoroughly confused, ‘just had a very strange dream,’ then added hurriedly, ‘but not one of those, that’s for sure.’
In fact, I couldn’t remember anything of it, other than being frightened and revolted, simultaneously feeling overwhelming joy and satisfaction and, bizarrely, sexual pleasure the like of which I’d never experienced before.
‘Whatever it was, and moaning the way you did, I wouldn’t mind you having regular dreams like that. But preferably not in public. While I love it, some people may object,’ Kris pointed at my obvious, and as I realised, quite painful erection, my cock straining to burst free from the shorts, ‘to you showing me your affection this way.’
‘Oh shit,’ I said, looking down, ‘sorry about that. I hope you won’t be shunned by your posh neighbours for it.’
‘Forget the neighbours, let’s go back to my place. I don’t want to let this beautiful, hard cock go to waste.’
The sun was already setting and the mosquitoes had started buzzing around us. Why not, I thought, there’s no more pleasurable way of finishing a lovely day than making love to a gorgeous woman who wants you badly.
But does she really, the irritating voice was back and nagging, or is it just to make sure she remains in charge? Are you ready to relinquish control of your life to someone that you’ve known for what, less than a year? Seriously?
‘Sorry, babe, I’d love to but I have a furniture delivery to take care of early tomorrow,’ I lied, ‘so I’d better be going now. But keep up the good thoughts, I’d love to revisit this moment in the near future.’
There was possibly a fleeting shadow of sorrow and regret in Kris’ eyes, something that I’d not seen before, but it was quickly replaced by a tiny smile, ‘That’s okay, lover, whenever you feel like it.’
‘What? Yes, I’m fine,’ I replied thoroughly confused, ‘just had a very strange dream,’ then added hurriedly, ‘but not one of those, that’s for sure.’
In fact, I couldn’t remember anything of it, other than being frightened and revolted, simultaneously feeling overwhelming joy and satisfaction and, bizarrely, sexual pleasure the like of which I’d never experienced before.
‘Whatever it was, and moaning the way you did, I wouldn’t mind you having regular dreams like that. But preferably not in public. While I love it, some people may object,’ Kris pointed at my obvious, and as I realised, quite painful erection, my cock straining to burst free from the shorts, ‘to you showing me your affection this way.’
‘Oh shit,’ I said, looking down, ‘sorry about that. I hope you won’t be shunned by your posh neighbours for it.’
‘Forget the neighbours, let’s go back to my place. I don’t want to let this beautiful, hard cock go to waste.’
The sun was already setting and the mosquitoes had started buzzing around us. Why not, I thought, there’s no more pleasurable way of finishing a lovely day than making love to a gorgeous woman who wants you badly.
But does she really, the irritating voice was back and nagging, or is it just to make sure she remains in charge? Are you ready to relinquish control of your life to someone that you’ve known for what, less than a year? Seriously?
‘Sorry, babe, I’d love to but I have a furniture delivery to take care of early tomorrow,’ I lied, ‘so I’d better be going now. But keep up the good thoughts, I’d love to revisit this moment in the near future.’
There was possibly a fleeting shadow of sorrow and regret in Kris’ eyes, something that I’d not seen before, but it was quickly replaced by a tiny smile, ‘That’s okay, lover, whenever you feel like it.’
Chapter 57
As much as I relish the open, endless roads in this country, where the ride is a destination in itself, the serpentine jungle roads in Bukit Tunku are just as enjoyable. Too short, granted – it’s never taken me more than fifteen minutes to ride from one end to the other – but still very satisfying. Also, it’s in my own backyard, which allows me to enjoy a ride whenever I feel the urge.
Nearly home, I slowed down to barely a crawl, the Harley spluttering and coughing as I forced it to idle through the last few bends, trying to catch the evening sounds of the jungle in between the thumping of the engine. The roosting eagle couple cooing to each other lovingly, the monkeys grunting and settling down for the night, the cockerels making sure that the hens and chicks under their protection were safely up in the trees, away from predators. Nature at its finest.
The one thing I did not expect was a solid wall of haze across the road, not at this time of the year. Alarmed, I let go of the throttle, bringing the bike to a halt. The headlight lit up millions of tiny particles ahead of me, swirling around in complex fractal patterns, each one waiting to enter my lungs if given a chance. And while I’m partial to certain kinds of smoke, this one definitely wasn’t it. Sitting on the bike and considering my options – whether to drive through as fast as I could and hold my breath, or retrace my route and get to the house from the other direction – I cautiously sniffed the air.
I believe I’ve mentioned the Indonesian haze before. It’s an annual and very much unwanted visitor here, acrid and nasty and downright dangerous. It originates mainly from Sumatran oil palm plantations and the appalling land clearance practices of huge international corporations, all of which have so far successfully resisted any lawsuits. Hardly surprising, once you understand that a majority of politicos in Southeast Asia either have a stake in one or more of the companies, or are otherwise in their pockets. Or have the likes of Cherie Blair as their lawyer. When the haze hits KL, schools close, expats go to their home countries on paid leave, and everyone else keeps the windows closed, with the local hospitals left to deal with the surge of respiratory related problems. People die from it.
Yet, as close as I was to it, I couldn’t smell any smoke. Instead, there was a distinctive and appealing scent coming towards me, a pleasant mix of post-rain air and the seaside. Whatever this was, it certainly wasn’t haze. I got off the bike, curious, and approached it, astonished at the nearly straight line of demarcation on the road where it began. I’ve had the opportunity to experience the occasional tropical rain which, when there’s no wind, can display an almost straight line across the road between dry and wet tarmac, but this was something altogether different. I looked up, expecting it to obscure the night sky, and was surprised to see that it ended at barely twice my height.
Walking up to it, close enough to touch it but still wary, I tried to think of anything in nature that would create this. Fog, although it can occur in certain conditions, is extremely rare here. Likewise, I’d seen the odd wisps of mist in the jungle before, but only down in the hollows, floating above the streams. And if this was mist, it was not a normal one. I looked to the sides, puzzled. On my left, it appeared to ooze down the overgrown driveway from the empty plot neighbouring mine. On my right, it faded as it dropped off the road and disappeared down into the jungle. Inside the mist, I could now see hypnotic currents and eddies, flashing rhythmically on and off, as if the whole thing was electrically charged. And it was dense, the tarmac in front of me invisible a metre inside.
I thought of ball lightning and other unexplained natural phenomena, and briefly entertained the idea that I was the first human ever to witness – and so far survive – a lightning tunnel; “Having received the Nobel Prize in physics for this revolutionary discovery, I’d like to thank my…” etc. So I did what any inquisitive person would do – I stepped forward and pushed my hand inside. It felt cool and wet on my skin, and most refreshing. Thus I ignored my internal klaxon screeching in alarm and entered the mist.
How can I even begin to describe the multitude of emotions that overwhelmed me? The first thing I confirmed was that this was not smoke. Instead, I could taste the saltiness of seawater, enveloping and welcoming me. For a moment I felt like a foetus would, cocooned in the safety of a womb and oblivious to the outside world. Then, without any warning, I was overwhelmed by conflicting thoughts: on one hand, a feeling of absolute supremacy and power; on the other, an all-encompassing, altruistic and uncompromising love. And just to confuse me further, a notion of being nothing more than a neutral observer, paired with an indifference towards all living things.
I remember standing in one spot, turning around, trying to grab the mist while telling myself that maybe I should cut down on the locally grown weed. And stop hearing voices whispering to me, because that’s surely a highway to insanity. Then I felt, rather than heard, a low, ominous rumble. If you’ve ever experienced an earthquake you’ll know what I mean. I turned towards the source and saw a wall of water rushing towards me.
Nearly home, I slowed down to barely a crawl, the Harley spluttering and coughing as I forced it to idle through the last few bends, trying to catch the evening sounds of the jungle in between the thumping of the engine. The roosting eagle couple cooing to each other lovingly, the monkeys grunting and settling down for the night, the cockerels making sure that the hens and chicks under their protection were safely up in the trees, away from predators. Nature at its finest.
The one thing I did not expect was a solid wall of haze across the road, not at this time of the year. Alarmed, I let go of the throttle, bringing the bike to a halt. The headlight lit up millions of tiny particles ahead of me, swirling around in complex fractal patterns, each one waiting to enter my lungs if given a chance. And while I’m partial to certain kinds of smoke, this one definitely wasn’t it. Sitting on the bike and considering my options – whether to drive through as fast as I could and hold my breath, or retrace my route and get to the house from the other direction – I cautiously sniffed the air.
I believe I’ve mentioned the Indonesian haze before. It’s an annual and very much unwanted visitor here, acrid and nasty and downright dangerous. It originates mainly from Sumatran oil palm plantations and the appalling land clearance practices of huge international corporations, all of which have so far successfully resisted any lawsuits. Hardly surprising, once you understand that a majority of politicos in Southeast Asia either have a stake in one or more of the companies, or are otherwise in their pockets. Or have the likes of Cherie Blair as their lawyer. When the haze hits KL, schools close, expats go to their home countries on paid leave, and everyone else keeps the windows closed, with the local hospitals left to deal with the surge of respiratory related problems. People die from it.
Yet, as close as I was to it, I couldn’t smell any smoke. Instead, there was a distinctive and appealing scent coming towards me, a pleasant mix of post-rain air and the seaside. Whatever this was, it certainly wasn’t haze. I got off the bike, curious, and approached it, astonished at the nearly straight line of demarcation on the road where it began. I’ve had the opportunity to experience the occasional tropical rain which, when there’s no wind, can display an almost straight line across the road between dry and wet tarmac, but this was something altogether different. I looked up, expecting it to obscure the night sky, and was surprised to see that it ended at barely twice my height.
Walking up to it, close enough to touch it but still wary, I tried to think of anything in nature that would create this. Fog, although it can occur in certain conditions, is extremely rare here. Likewise, I’d seen the odd wisps of mist in the jungle before, but only down in the hollows, floating above the streams. And if this was mist, it was not a normal one. I looked to the sides, puzzled. On my left, it appeared to ooze down the overgrown driveway from the empty plot neighbouring mine. On my right, it faded as it dropped off the road and disappeared down into the jungle. Inside the mist, I could now see hypnotic currents and eddies, flashing rhythmically on and off, as if the whole thing was electrically charged. And it was dense, the tarmac in front of me invisible a metre inside.
I thought of ball lightning and other unexplained natural phenomena, and briefly entertained the idea that I was the first human ever to witness – and so far survive – a lightning tunnel; “Having received the Nobel Prize in physics for this revolutionary discovery, I’d like to thank my…” etc. So I did what any inquisitive person would do – I stepped forward and pushed my hand inside. It felt cool and wet on my skin, and most refreshing. Thus I ignored my internal klaxon screeching in alarm and entered the mist.
How can I even begin to describe the multitude of emotions that overwhelmed me? The first thing I confirmed was that this was not smoke. Instead, I could taste the saltiness of seawater, enveloping and welcoming me. For a moment I felt like a foetus would, cocooned in the safety of a womb and oblivious to the outside world. Then, without any warning, I was overwhelmed by conflicting thoughts: on one hand, a feeling of absolute supremacy and power; on the other, an all-encompassing, altruistic and uncompromising love. And just to confuse me further, a notion of being nothing more than a neutral observer, paired with an indifference towards all living things.
I remember standing in one spot, turning around, trying to grab the mist while telling myself that maybe I should cut down on the locally grown weed. And stop hearing voices whispering to me, because that’s surely a highway to insanity. Then I felt, rather than heard, a low, ominous rumble. If you’ve ever experienced an earthquake you’ll know what I mean. I turned towards the source and saw a wall of water rushing towards me.
●
I woke up disoriented, blinking furiously and looking around, holding back the very pertinent question of what the fuck I was doing here. I got startled by a car approaching from the bend, braking and swerving hard to avoid hitting me as the driver angrily tooted the horn. I realised that I’d been standing in the middle of the narrow lane.
The initial sense of dislocation slowly turned to disbelief as I remembered the mist and entering it. Yet everything seemed as normal as it could be, here and now. The sun was barely visible behind the trees, the monkeys hadn’t even started considering leaving their branches, and only the earliest of the morning birds were giving off the odd warble. The road looked its usual self, the two potholes that I’d learned to avoid were still there. The mist was no longer present but my memories of being in it were returning in bits and pieces, flashing across my mind in a most unpleasant way.
I wasn’t drunk last night, I reminded myself, nor had a smoked a single spliff, so what the hell had happened here? The mist talked to me, for fuck’s sake, whispering things about mankind that I didn’t want to hear. (Well, to some degree, as I’ve never held my own species in high regard.) And then it tried to drown me, I remembered that. I walked to the edge of the road, considering whether overusing hallucinogenic substances or experiencing the odd flashback trip could result in permanent psychosis. Then I reassured myself that anyone self-diagnosing as a psychotic can’t be one. Crazy people don’t know they are crazy, do they?
My prefrontal cortex, for once in harmony with my reptilian brain, suggested that this was indeed a very good time to get back home, grab a bottle of single malt and mellow out by the new pool. I walked back to the bike and checked it over before I primed the carb and jumped down hard on the kick pedal. The engine roared into life and as I pulled away I did my best to ignore the onslaught of uninvited, nasty thoughts trickling through, most of them about Kris not being what she seemed, and never to be trusted.
The initial sense of dislocation slowly turned to disbelief as I remembered the mist and entering it. Yet everything seemed as normal as it could be, here and now. The sun was barely visible behind the trees, the monkeys hadn’t even started considering leaving their branches, and only the earliest of the morning birds were giving off the odd warble. The road looked its usual self, the two potholes that I’d learned to avoid were still there. The mist was no longer present but my memories of being in it were returning in bits and pieces, flashing across my mind in a most unpleasant way.
I wasn’t drunk last night, I reminded myself, nor had a smoked a single spliff, so what the hell had happened here? The mist talked to me, for fuck’s sake, whispering things about mankind that I didn’t want to hear. (Well, to some degree, as I’ve never held my own species in high regard.) And then it tried to drown me, I remembered that. I walked to the edge of the road, considering whether overusing hallucinogenic substances or experiencing the odd flashback trip could result in permanent psychosis. Then I reassured myself that anyone self-diagnosing as a psychotic can’t be one. Crazy people don’t know they are crazy, do they?
My prefrontal cortex, for once in harmony with my reptilian brain, suggested that this was indeed a very good time to get back home, grab a bottle of single malt and mellow out by the new pool. I walked back to the bike and checked it over before I primed the carb and jumped down hard on the kick pedal. The engine roared into life and as I pulled away I did my best to ignore the onslaught of uninvited, nasty thoughts trickling through, most of them about Kris not being what she seemed, and never to be trusted.