Mr Wong Goes West Read online

  PRAISE FOR NURY VITTACHI

  AND THE FENG SHUI DETECTIVE BOOKS

  ‘A very funny book. Dangerously so at times.’

  That’s Beijing

  ‘Wacky and hilarious whodunit—you just have to dig

  in and hold on for the wild ride.’

  Asian Review of Books

  ‘An international bestseller whose unlikely sleuths

  appear to be heading for cult status.’

  Herald Sun, Melbourne

  ‘Totally engrossing and very, very funny.’

  Radio 3AK, Melbourne

  ‘If Hollywood wakes up…’

  The Australian

  ‘Endearingly wacky.’

  The Times, London

  ‘Should bear a large red label warning against its being read

  while consuming beverages, lest unwary readers wind up

  spitting tea through their nose as I did.’

  That’s Beijing

  ‘Irresistible mix of classic whodunit and

  Asian philosophy…outlandish humour,

  self-deprecating oriental charm, and a biting subtext.’

  The Age, Melbourne

  ‘The man who made Lee Kuan Yew laugh.’

  The New Paper, Singapore

  ‘To many, he is Asia’s funniest, most pungent

  columnist and author. To others, he is a subversive

  threat who must be watched like a hawk.’

  Herald Sun, Melbourne

  Author’s note

  The feng shui lore and vaastu shastra principles in this book are all genuine. The text is interspersed with extracts from ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’, written by CF Wong and edited by Joyce McQuinnie. The Queen of England really exists but she doesn’t have a sister named Marjorie. This book is dedicated to everyone who works to improve East–West relationships through good-humoured laughter.

  First published in 2008

  Copyright © Nury Vittachi 2008

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10% of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

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  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Vittachi, Nury, 1958–.

  Mr Wong goes west: a feng shui detective novel.

  ISBN 9781741753851 (pbk.).

  I. Title.

  823.92

  Edited by Joanne Holliman

  Text designed by Design by Committee

  Typeset by Blue Rinse Setting

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  In the days of the Yellow Emperor, there was a Minister of Laws who believed that there was nothing perfect in this world, until the day he had a daughter. She was beautiful and intelligent and affectionate. There was not one hair on her head that he would change.

  ‘For my perfect daughter, I need a perfect man,’ he told the people. So he passed a new law: only a man who could draw a perfect circle could marry his daughter.

  Many men tried. And every man failed.

  Then came the day when there was only one man left who had not yet tried. He was in the dungeon, being punished for failing to show respect to the many laws of the country.

  The man in the prison said: ‘If you let me out, I will draw six perfect circles.’

  His daughter was lonely for a husband so the Minister let him out.

  ‘Take me to the edge of the Lake of Bottomless Calm in West Tianting,’ he said.

  The prisoner, the Minister of Laws and his daughter gathered at that place. The man dived from the edge of the cliff into the Lake of Bottomless Calm and disappeared.

  At the point he entered the water, they saw six perfect circles radiating outwards.

  Blade of Grass, we think of laws as things made by man. But who made the laws of nature?

  From ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’

  by CF Wong.

  Dappled, shifting, twice-reflected sunlight; the tenderest of trade winds lifting one’s forelocks; blue sky and bluer water: the harbour was the most idyllic corner of God’s universe.

  Until a ship’s foghorn farted so loudly it caused an entire flock of seabirds to defecate over an open-topped tourist boat. The curious acoustics of dockside water carried lively American curse words the length and breadth of the harbour. The feng shui master watched over the scene, unperturbed. The momentary disturbance would pass, as all temporal things passed. But the life-enhancing combination of elements that made up this energising environment would remain. Perfection on a massive enough scale was not easily tainted.

  ‘Ark,’ shrieked a seabird.

  ‘Shoot,’ shrieked a tourist.

  As he had aged, CF Wong had become increasingly aware that the most complex mental constructions were rooted in the simplest of truths. The entire art and science of environment optimisation lay in a single word: balance.

  It was a simple concept to understand, but not an easy one to realise. He’d learned that the most powerful place was the point at which the most extreme opposites lay in exact, tense counterpoint. A man on a tightrope, if he was holding a long enough, heavy enough pole, was rooted firmly in place, at peace, safe, unshakeable, immoveable.

  Wong took a long intake of breath, closing his eyes and lowering his shoulders, seeking out his own balance. He held the air in his lungs for a slow count of six and then gently released it. Then he opened his eyes and blinked happily at the little kingdom he had created, giving the space immediately around him one last look-over to make sure it was as perfect as the view.

  The meeting that was about to take place was extraordinarily important for him. So he had arranged for it to happen at an ideal site: a luxuriously appointed floating terrace, the balcony of a first-class apartment-cabin on the sixth floor of the Princess Starlight Charisma, a cruise ship docked in Singapore harbour on a gloriously warm and bright winter’s day.

  Hanging terraces were the best possible places for achieving balance. A balcony was outdoors and indoors at the same time. Balconies gave you the feeling that you had come out of your protective shell and were part of the wider world, aware of the wind and the weather, in touch with the elements: you were connected to the pulsing, throbbing ecosystem; and yet, at the same time, they were enclosed and felt safe: you were in your own space, and intruders could not reach you; you controlled your environment, and no one could approach without your permission. It was the best place to be: on an open segment of God’s earth, but a separated, lockable segment.

  Having chosen a terrace as a place on which to meet, Wong had gone further and balanced the qualities of land and water by specifying that it should be on a ship. Boats were also marvellously balanced objects. A ship was a solid, strong, stable thing, like a building. Yet ships, however big they were, seemed to sit lightly on top of the water and could easily slide, move, spin and dance. They had a freedom of spirit that a land structure could not match.

  On this particula
r occasion, the sense of balance stretched to the weather itself. This being Singapore, the air was hot. Yet the ship was positioned at such an angle that it picked up a cooling breeze from the open sea. The balcony had no air-conditioner, but did not need one, with a westerly wind providing more than enough air to keep one’s brow completely dry. The sea winds were full of salt, which widened the nostrils, expanded the lungs, and woke the spirit. This particular suite, not by chance, faced south when the ship was docked in its usual berth: the correct direction for a deal that would greatly advantage him on this day, a man born in the year of the tiger. A south–north energy line ran neatly through the terrace.

  Happily, there was also balance in the light. The space was a bright suntrap, with glaring sunshine pouring in from the west. In this steaming city, just a few minutes in direct daylight was usually enough to raise a sweat; yet the canopy that covered the balcony meant the central part of it was in comfortable shadow at this time of the day. Wong had tried the different seats and ensured that all of them were in the shade, and would remain so, even if the meeting dragged on for an hour or two—which it shouldn’t. All he really had to do was to get the client to sign off on the deal, and collect the money: a cashier’s cheque, he hoped, that could be turned into fondle-able, hoard-able, gloat-able-over cash straightaway.

  Fortunately, the cruise ship’s interior designer had good taste in furniture: the balcony was provided with a table and chairs in high quality natural wood, and the colour scheme was tastefully muted in pale greens and earth tones. Wong had almost no additional actions to take other than making sure that the area was not cluttered. He’d removed a couple of ornaments and several of the plants. Also, the life-saving ring, which he had furtively thrown overboard. Why leave a little subliminal reminder of danger and mortality in such a peaceful spot?

  Then of course there was the sheer spectacle of the scene. Singapore was a striking city and no spot was more beautiful than its harbour. With its angular backdrop of clean-lined, multi-hued skyscrapers glinting in the sun over an expanse of calm, grey-blue water, there was clear visual enchantment. He was hopeful that a non-local would find the view was so enrapturing that she would feel moved to do something momentous—like completing the deal by handing over a large cheque.

  Everything felt right. Borrowing the shipboard cabin from a rich client had been a masterstroke. And once he was sure of having a location at which major environmental factors were in balance, prosaic, smaller-scale matters, such as the furniture and space design, had been relatively easy to deal with. As he happily surveyed the balanced little kingdom he had created, he sighed with satisfaction—and then felt a slight creak under his feet.

  It barely registered in his consciousness, until it was followed by a second, longer structural groan ten seconds later. What was that? Then, a slight unsteadiness crept up his body. He felt his weight shift involuntarily.

  It could only mean one thing. The ship was moving.

  How could this be? It was supposed to have docked for the entire day—for the next two days, in fact. Were the others even on board yet?

  This must not happen: no, no, no.

  Panicking, he raced out of the cabin and hared down a narrow corridor to the other side of the ship, to an open area where the liner abutted the dockside. Grabbing the railings, he leaned dangerously far over the edge, trying to find the mooring points. Men in kiddie-blue sailor suits could be seen unhooking thick cables of rope. And halfway down the length of the ship, the gangplank—a rather ornate covered walkway—was being wheeled away. He could hear the engines churning the water. The ship had already started to edge away from the land. Were his buyer and his contractor on board? They should have arrived several minutes ago. Or were they running late? Why was the damned-to-seventh-hell boat leaving? Would they have to wait until the boat docked again? What would happen to his all-important deal? This must not be!

  Wong raced along the deck, half-ran, half-stumbled down a metal staircase and scrambled along narrow passages towards the sailors undoing the ropes. Luckily, he had a good sense of direction and had managed to navigate the corridors efficiently, reaching the men unhooking the mooring ropes before they had completed their jobs.

  ‘No, wait, stop,’ he shouted in English, and then repeated his words in Chinese.

  The sailors, intent on their tasks, did not even glance at him.

  ‘Stop,’ Wong repeated, and then violently grabbed a cable, yanking it out of a sailor’s hand.

  The man was shocked. ‘Hey! What? What do you want?’

  ‘Must not go. Very important.’

  Gathering all his strength, the feng shui master heaved a portion of the cable over the side, where it managed to hook back on to the black iron mooring pillar, more by luck than skill.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ said the sailor. His comrades turned to stare.

  Wong shook his head. ‘Must stay. Very important.’ Having hooked the mooring pillar, he pulled at the six-inch thick cable in a bid to halt or reverse the ship’s outward drift.

  The sailor, a wrinkled, sun-roasted man of about fifty, moved in to retrieve the cable. Wong kicked out at him, trying to keep him back.

  The sailor stepped back and grinned. ‘Go on then. Go right ahead,’ he said. ‘Crazy idiot.’

  More sailors turned to watch the spectacle, and several laughed out loud as Wong stuck his shoes against the railing to give himself purchase. He pulled with all his strength.

  The cruiser continued to move away from the dockside.

  ‘Aiyeeaah,’ Wong squealled, as he felt the rope pull away from him. He repositioned himself so that one of his feet was on the top railing and he was leaning back at an almost horizontal angle.

  The vessel continued to move away.

  The sailors started to call out to comrades to come and watch. Passers-by joined the audience. Within seconds, a small crowd had gathered to watch the remarkable sight of a tiny, skeletal man weighing fifty-three kilograms doing battle with a ship that weighed forty-seven thousand, two hundred and sixty-five tons.

  As Wong battled to keep the ship close to shore, his audience’s faces betrayed shifting emotions: irritation gave way to amazement, and finally to admiration.

  ‘He’ll get dragged off the ship,’ one of the sailors said.

  ‘Hope so,’ came the reply.

  As Wong strained against the rope, a musical chord blasted itself through a public address system, and it was repeated twice more. It was followed by a silky voice, which echoed off the hard surfaces throughout the ship. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Princess Charisma Cruises welcomes you on board the Princess Starlight Charisma. The ship is slightly adjusting its position. It will re-dock again very shortly. You will not be able to disembark for the next twenty minutes. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.’

  The engines roared more loudly, the water churned faster, and the ship picked up speed in its drift away from the dockside.

  The rope started to move quickly and Wong was suddenly pitched over the railing—until he was grabbed by his trousers by two sailors and a passenger. Trying not to laugh, they placed the furious man on the deck where he angrily slapped their hands off.

  ‘This is inconvenient,’ he thundered. He looked at his hands, which were bright red and sore from rope burns.

  ‘It’s no problem, old man,’ a young sailor said. ‘We’re not going anywhere. The ship is just going to another berth around the corner. Some bigwig on board is having a party for visiting delegates from some African country and wants a better view from his suite. So we’re just moving for him. It’ll dock again in a few minutes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Over there.’ He pointed to a part of the harbour that curved away from the open sea.

  ‘Devils from the seventh layer of hell,’ Wong cursed. The line of the harbour turned outward at that point. That would leave his balcony with a northwest energy line. This was disastrous. This was tragic. This was catastrophic.

  ‘If yo
u are worried about people missing the boat, you needn’t be,’ a staff member said, waving a clipboard. ‘Almost everyone on the list is on board.’

  Wong turned to face him. ‘I have two guest coming. One is a rich gwai poh businesswoman.’

  ‘Tall? Yellow hair? Designer clothes? She came on board just before we left,’ the man said.

  Aiyeeah. She was here already! Maybe waiting at his room door. Wondering where he was. Wong raced off without a word—back down the same corridors, up the same steps, through the same narrow passages, running to get back to the room before his client arrived and found it empty.

  Seconds later, he arrived breathless at First Class Cabin 472 to see a tall European businesswoman with red-gold hair standing outside.

  ‘Mr Wong! How nice to see you again,’ she purred.

  ‘Yes, yes, very nice,’ he said and used the card key to let the two of them into the room. Although she gave him a large, toothpaste-advertisement smile, her eyes darted around the cabin, suggesting she was as nervous about the meeting as he was. ‘Unusual place to meet, on a ship. What a lovely idea.’

  She was abnormally tall, and in an apparent gesture to show that she was quite content about having to view life from such a high elevation, was wearing high heels.

  ‘Good feng shui,’ the geomancer replied. ‘Nice to see you, Ms Crumley. Very happy you can come on board before the ship start moving.’

  ‘Yes. I wasn’t expecting it to suddenly start drifting off like that.’

  ‘Me also,’ he growled.

  ‘The staff told me that the ship was just adjusting its position and would dock again in a few minutes. Is Mr Daswani here? I hope he made it on board before they, er, rolled up the drawbridge, or whatever you call that bridge-stairs thing.’

  ‘Coming, coming, very soon, already on board, I think, I hope, I think, yes, for sure, no doubt, maybe,’ Wong said, wringing his hands together. ‘Come, sit on the balcony please, very nice, very comfortable.’