I snigger at the comment, recalling the time I had to pull the Englishman away, fuming, screaming, and threatening to punch a local poacher. The local poacher was trying to sell a rare and endangered ‘crested fireback pheasant’. That pheasant is listed on the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora list or in short the ‘CITES’ list.
Eventually we reach a ‘stall’ where a short stature young man is leaning against his rundown blue car, smoking away his worries. It is like a car boot sale here. Instead of old books and clothes, everyone on this end, is selling animals. In front of him, there is a small crowd of curious onlookers, who are surrounding a large blue plastic tub. We push their way through the crowd of two dozen onlookers and find a giant green turtle inside. The turtle is different from most of the turtles that you see in the newspapers, television and that wonderful thing, we call the Internet. It does not have a beak, but instead it has two prominent cylindrical snout-like nostrils. Just looking at it makes me wonder. Intrigued and baffled by its features, I could not stop looking at it. It has these large sorrowful eyes, yearning to live free. Its green shell has no real markings, no lines on it - one gigantic shield, smooth and dark green, but in one corner, there is a small crack in the shell. A raw cabbage, now half eaten, had been thrown into the tub by a sympathizing onlooker
I take out my mobile phone and snap a picture. None of us know what kind of turtle it is. It must be an even rare species of river or estuarine turtle.
The smoking man yells out: “Hey, no photos!”
My mind instantly races to thoughts for worst case scenarios. For example, what if the smoking man who is barely two thirds of my height, decides to grab and break my phone. No, I don’t think that would happen, he’s just too short to overcome me. I ignore him and immediately upload and share the photo to my network of ‘activists’. Chance favours the prepared mind.
John is clearly mesmerized by the turtle as he squats down, placing his right hand on its smooth shell. I suspect he believes he is having a telepathic conversation with the creature, whilst completely ignoring his two teammates.
Nurul glances at me, and I know we are going to do the ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine.
Nurul snaps at the smoking man, “You shouldn’t be selling this turtle. It is rare and all turtles are protected by law. I will report you to the Wildlife Division, and then to the police.”
I nods gently in support and yet I know these are empty threats. The Wildlife Division is uninterested in taking any real action against poachers, voluntarily confined to their office and comfortable wages, which are unaffected by their lack of progress in wildlife protection. As for the police, they have no jurisdiction in the matter, unless they were instructed either by the Royal Customs & Excise Department or the Wildlife Division. This country has poor to little enforcement capabilities, and most are indifferent to the matter.
The smoking man didn’t expect to be confronted by the doctor, he must have been expecting me to be the one who would confront him.
“I am not selling it, I am just showing it off to the people. I am keeping it as a pet. “
“You can’t do that either – it is illegal and it is wrong.” I speak out softly, almost as soft and as gentle as the breeze at the beach.
The smoking man starts to frown, inhales more from his cigarette to a point it starts to burn the plastic filter. He exhales his smoke towards the doctor and then flicks the burning cigarette butt towards the beach. It falls on to the sand, and erupt a shower of tobacco micro embers around the yellow sand.
He raises his voice, stares hard at Nurul, from top to bottom, pausing in between, disturbed by the awful brightness of the shocking pink colour of her handbag.
“Educated people are always richer than the poor. We, the poor, have got mouths to feed too. We can’t live like how you do, and we definitely cannot afford expensive designer bags like that.”
He points with the unclean stubby finger of his left hand, trembling in fear and anger, and then clenches his fist, withdraws a step and hits his car with a thump.
There is crying from inside the car, the smoking man’s anger dissipates quickly as he turns round in worry. A small woman gets out of the car, holding a baby, desperate to console it. This woman is barely a woman, she is actually still a teenager, perhaps married quickly to prevent a birth out of wedlock, to protect the future of her then-unborn-child.
The smoking man takes the baby, wrapped in an old brown-red ‘batik’ - patterns of a past that refuses to be forgotten. He coos his child to calmness. Surprisingly this baby responds well to her angry father. His 17-year-old wife looks tired - she must have been sitting in the car all morning, engine switched off to conserve fuel. Her face has only started to embrace her new reality - a young adult life that has got to be sacrificed for her daughter. She looks at Doctor Nurul, and wonders what if she had the same opportunities, what if she had not made the mistakes in her life? Could she have had a life just like this doctor – with this beautiful pink handbag?
The smoking man starts to negotiate. “I will give you the turtle, if you give me some money. Don’t consider it a sale. I am smart enough to know you people don’t like buying. The Rich are only stingy, if only the poor could be as stingy, then perhaps we would ourselves become rich someday."
The smoking man contemplates his words, "Just consider it like we are helping each other out, or even a donation. We don’t have a job, and all I can do is just fish, this turtle just happened to be in my net. I actually rescued it from drowning.”
John wakes up from his trance, clearly aware of the conversation, projects out two fingers in each hand to visually and sarcastically ‘quote’: “rescued”.
Everyone ignores John.
Nurul asks how much he needs. The smoking man shows gestures with three of his fingers.
“I can do $300.” Nurul says.
The smoking man moves his head from side to side. He wants three thousand dollars!
I am completely against paying people who are trying to sell endangered animals but I knows these people need money….to survive.
Nurul starts to negotiate. Eventually, three fingers become one finger. And then one finger became ‘half a finger’.
The teenage wife can’t seem to take her eyes away from the pink bag. She whispers into her husband’s right ear. Judging the way, they stand next to each other, I realized that at least physically they were meant for each other - two rather short people passing through the journey of a hard life.
The smoking man asks if Nurul would be kind enough to part with her pink bag, as he was never able to give his wife a wedding gift, let alone a proper wedding ring.
Nurul does not hesitate, she empties the few belongings she has in the pink handbag, and gives the handbag to the teenager. The teenager cannot help herself from giggling and smiling, as if she has won something to mark her entry into adulthood - other than childbirth, of course. In return, the generous doctor asks for the smoking man to promise to never catch illegal animals. She would also help him find a job.
Bystanders are shocked and then bemused, busily thumbing into their mobile phones, updating their social media chat groups and statuses, whilst a few are holding up their smartphones videoing this beautiful pink handbag being handed over to a teenage mother for a ‘mere’ turtle.
‘Smoking man’ doesn’t care about the social media now. He doesn’t have to worry about today, his wife is distracted. He does not have to worry about tomorrow until the next tomorrow.
With five hundred dollars in his pocket, ‘smoking man’ starts to show off his ‘concierge service’, singlehandedly picks up the giant turtle with both arms. The giant turtle is bigger than this man’s entire torso. Doing his best not to show the strain the weight of this turtle has on his small body, he gently places the turtle inside the boot of my car. After agreeing on where to go, we both drive off to the river bank, where the turtle had originally been caught. John, the short
man and I lift the giant turtle together and slowly wade into the brown green river. Knowing water means safety, the turtle scoots out from our grasp, and darts underwater - its trail visible only on the surface of the river, and then slowly disappears. I didn’t get to say goodbye to the turtle.
The smoking man drives away, thankful for the outcome, which has brought benefit to his family. The three of us stand there by the riverbank, feeling as though we have the word ‘saviour’ emblazoned on our chests, whilst at the same time wondering if we would ever see a turtle like that again.
1st December
John: Watcher
Location: Bumi
“Oh my goodness!”, I look up to the clear blue sky, and point to a white-bellied sea eagle soaring high above us - majestic wings spread out, taking advantage of the invisible thermals around, whilst looking for prey.
“Look, your eagle is here! This is a good sign. We must be doing well.” Adib shouts out in excitement.
“Its nest must be nearby,” Nurul concludes, smiling away her troubles, forgetting that she is $500 lighter and a Parisian designer bag less from her small collection of bags.
Adib turns to Nurul, and asks if the bag was expensive, and what kind of bag was it.
“Saint Laurent Sac De Jour,” Nurul answers him with a French accent.
Adib is confused, he does not understand the meaning of designer clothes, let alone designer women bags.
“YSL…Yves Saint Laurent, my dear Adib."
“Ah…” Adib pretends to understand the significance of the designer house.
I whistle and then chuckles. “Not bad Doc, we are going to change the world with money and a YSL bag each time!”
“Well John, if I have to part with a bit of meaningless, to make a meaningful change, then so be it. Everyone wants a piece of happiness; I just want real happiness.”
“Which is why I’ve finally decided to go with your guys to your trip to Ingei tomorrow. I know it’s a last minute thing, but I just didn’t want to give my answer straightaway, in case something came up at the last minute”
“That is awesome news,” Adib starts fidgeting his phone, which I assume is to inform the head of the expedition with regards to the new addition to the Ingei expedition team.
The three of us return to the car, and conclude the day’s mission as accomplished.
***
Today is a really good day, tomorrow is a different story, as the three and the other activists are unaware of a future clash between those who poach and those who stand to protect the environment, the self-proclaimed environmental activists look strange in a land where most people have no real opinion, indifferent to anything and everything, trapped in little bubbles of self-containment and self-contentment.
***
Distracted by the beauty of the river and the eagle, they do not see or detect what is watching them from across the river bank. The entity, the Presence... waiting for them, ‘it’ could have killed all of three of them TWICE in a blink of a human eye.
However, the Presence must abide by rules within its society. Orders are orders…it is only when a ‘kill’ signal is received, that the target can be eliminated.
The Presence has been doing this since the birth of man. He knows one thing for sure: Adib must die.
1st December
Selym: Discretion
Location: Hilaga City, Ifrit home world
“IMPOSSIBLE!!” Lord Jahat could not believe what I had just told him. He grabs his leather chair, and in spite of his elder appearance, is able to fling the heavy chair across to the wall of his office room.
He stares at me, nostrils flaring. “And you let him get away?”
I know Lord Jahat has always had a bad temper and he always blames everyone first, and then regretting later. I tilt my head slightly to the right, look him straight into eyes. “Yes, that’s what happened.” I am not afraid of his outbursts. I have known him for far too long.
Lord Jahat turns round and looks out of the glass wall of his office. From the 50th floor, everything in the city looks small, just lights, and people and buildings.
“It explains everything, why our information leaks, why our moves are always read by those who oppose us” Lord Jahat much calmer now, but I could feel the air in the room get quite cold.
“Everything we worked for could be destroyed in an instant,” I could hear the trembling in his voice.
“Selym, make sure those three guards and Azilah do not tell anyone what they saw. This information needs to stay between us. If people find out about the truth about this Karin and his ability, they will be mass-panic. The Supreme Council of Nobles knowing how they think, will tuck their tail between their legs and run. They will flee this city - those bloody admin pen-pushing cowards”
“Please don’t say anymore, my Lord. It is wrong to denigrate the Supreme Council. It is after all, a punishable offense” I remind my mentor.
Lord Jahat chuckles as he seems amused by my concerns for him, still refusing to look at me, instead he glances out at the city.
“I have commissioned Master Serigala to run the new Bumi missions. I am sure you are only too familiar with his work.”
I shudder at the thought. They call him “The Ripper” for a reason.
“But why? Why my Lord? I have been waiting for this, a means to avenge my father”
“I know Selym, but I want you here. You are the one I trust the most. Something is just not right, what happened today with that Karin is not something we have accounted for. I fear something else is happening. Something out of our control. In the meantime, find out from our researchers how travel between these worlds can occur without MATA. Remember, keep it discrete.”
Lord Jahat pauses, “I have heard of a time when our ancestors could travel without Mata but those days are long gone, the days when our civilization ruled Bumi without Man.”
“This is all news to me, my Lord.”
“I cannot blame you for not knowing, Selym. Information, its flow and its timing is important - which is why this incident must be kept secret. Who else knows?”
“The guards and my apprentice, Azilah.” I pause, “Azilah, she can be trusted.”
“Good, Selym. I will have to assign those guards with Master Serigala. Keep Azilah close to you - she is of noble blood and it is important to sure that group is with us.”
I nod uncomfortably staying quiet as I know those guards will not last long with Serigala the Ripper.
The missions need to start now. Man must pay what is overdue.
1st December
Adib: Visit
Location: Adib’s House, Bumi
What a long and exciting it has been! I drive back home and ponder about how much of a difference I made. I can’t believe Nurul gave her bag away for a turtle. That was very good and altruistic of her. I am really grateful for her being in our group. We need more people like that in this world. Out there to help and be a bit less selfish in our world.
I get out of the car after parking at my white painted stilted house, I am so grateful that before my parents died they managed to get a house from the Government housing scheme.
Where would I live without it?
My cats all rush towards me, they don’t live in the house but prowl around my backyard and making a cosy home for a few cat-generations now. It smells of pungent cat piss on the ground floor but after a few moments my nostrils immediately get used to it and smells of nothing. Just the purring of my dozen cats. Picking up strays has been something I can’t help myself from doing. One of my largest adult orange cats, Garfield, presents a dead bird to me, a common pipit (a local version of a robin). I sigh and yet smile, cats are very destructive to the environment but I can’t stop myself from admiring his gesture.
“Go on Garfield, mark and piss on my car. I know there’s nothing I can do about that.”
I climb up the stairs and the cats follow me and just as I am about to slide open my glass front door. I see the cats hiss
ing at a corner by the door.
“Oh go away ghost,” I murmured. Apparitions come and go. At least I am not alone, though when at times I think about it, I am truly lonely in this world.
Before I enter the house, I look out and watch the sun has set, the grey orange sky brightened by the fluorescent and sodium lights of the housing estate.
As soon as I close the door, I see flicker of a white blur cross the room.
“Excuse me! I am too tired for this crap. Don’t bother me. I said I am bloody tired.” I say out loud, knowing that to others it may sound like madness talking to myself, all alone in this house.
I place my keys on the dining table, where my parents and I used to dine. Pleasant memories and yet bitter, as some memories of their deaths start flooding in.
I should have been there with them. I fight the tears, and I know I need a ‘beer’. I don’t drink real beer; I just get a can cold non-alcoholic beer ‘Bavaria’ from my fridge. I love teasing John about drinking beer. He would always sip it and then spit it out in disgust, complaining how disgusting it taste. John would always say, “That taste like piss!”. And I would usually say “Well, your people drink this stuff.” And he would come up with reasons about why alcohol helps in society... I’ve heard this so many times that I sometimes I mimic him - his words and his mannerism.