IMPURE FICTION

(This is for CIKTU as a response to her comments in my last post)

The call was answered on the 3rd ring. It was not a government department.

“Thank you for calling Wiccan. For English, press 1, for Bahasa Malaysia press 2, for Cantonese press 3, for Lain-Lain, press 4.”

He pressed 1 on the keypad.

“Thank you. For money matters, press 1” the melodious computer voice continued. The voice reminded him of a younger Yasmin Yussof. “For love matters, press 2, For Career Advancement, press 3...”

He thought hard and deep. He needed money so it should be 1 but he wanted to advance his career so that he can have lots of money which he loves. Choices, choices!

“To speak to a Customer Relations officer press 7. To repeat the menu, press 8” He decided to speak to a live person. He pressed 7.

“All our Customer Relations Officer are engaged at the moment..Please wait.”

A bootleg version of a Mawi’s song came on and he waited.

After the Mawi’s song was indelibly imprinted in his mind, he managed to speak to a live person, explained what he wanted and got an appointment on the last day of the week.

He was punctual on the day of his appointment. He was shown to a vacant waiting room and appreciated the discretion shown by the establishment. It was a modern and comfortable waiting room, tastefully furnished and decorated. He placed the paper bag containing the requested omelette, lime cordial and fried rice on the carpeted floor. He then began to settle himself on the plush sofa. Before he could get comfortable enough to fall asleep, a door opened noiselessly and what he perceived to be a lady in white motioned him to come. He rose quickly, retrieved his paper bag and went for the door. He thought he went through the lady. In this kind of places, he was prepared for these occurrences.

He was expecting to see someone sitting cross-legged on the floor facing a burning urn of incense. Instead he saw a business-suited man in a high-backed swivel chair at an executive table. The man rose and proffered his hand.

“Welcome to Wiccan. Call me Tok Moh! Have seat, please”.

A little bit taken aback, he shook the man’s hand and sat down, clutching the paper bag. Although it is not unusual to meet an English-speaking person in Malaysia (not yet anyway) to meet an English-speaking bomoh is indeed a surprise. He held the paper bag closer.

“I trust that you have everything in there? Aaaah, splendid! The world of bomoh is modernizing. We replaced the raw chicken eggs with omelette, lime with lime cordial and yellow rice with fried rice. You can even find us on Google now.”

He nodded.

“I trust that our Customer Relations Officer briefed you on the Terms and Conditions?”

He nodded again.

“Aaah good! No lies and no instant result right?”

He nodded again.

"You can start lying again after you get your wishes but right now, you must never lie to us. Agreeable?"

He nodded again, with gusto.

“Splendid!” The bomoh turned to his 17’ LCD computer screen. “So you want our help to get nominated as a candidate in the next By-Election.”

Even though he was not sure if it was a question, he nodded. He began to have the suspicion that the bomoh had turned him into Pok Ke Angguk, The Terengganu nodding lizard. Anyway, he could do with the practice since he will do a lot of nodding once he becomes a full-time politician.

"A lot of politicians came to us for help. They didn't get to be where they are on their sincerity, good looks or intelligence. Surely you know that."

He nodded again, a bit sheepish this time.

The bomoh leaned back into his chair and looked thoughtful. “It is a bit tough. There are 23 other people wanting the same thing.”

Damn, he thought. This guy is good.

“The spirits told you that?” he asked, finally getting his voice back.

“Nope. I read the papers. We don’t just read the moon and the stars or the occasional tea-leaves but we read the Sun and The Star too! We even read the blogs. In fact, a few of our members are bloggers especially those who specializes in Clairvoyance & Predictions.”

He nodded again.

“Now, getting back to your case, I will recommend RSS. Physical contact is useless against a man without hair. We cannot pluck a hair from him since he doesn’t have any.”

He went blank.

“RSS is what we call a remote séance session. We will use a medium and persuade your boss to pick you.” He pressed a button on the intercom on his table and a man in track-suit came in, stood in the middle of the room and waited expectantly.

The bomoh sprayed something out of a can and the whole room smelled of kemenyan (incense).

“We do not burn kemenyan anymore. Global warming!” He explained while pressing another button on his table. Chants on a bed of hypnotic music flowed through the room. The track-suited medium closed his eyes and started to twitch.

“Give him the omelette now!” commanded the bomoh.

The medium, with his eyes closed, grabbed the omelette out of the polystyrene box and ate it, voraciously.

“This is one hungry ghost” remarked the bomoh,”better get the fried rice ready.”

Soon every grain of fried rice was gobbled up by the medium. He twitched and shook.

Violently.

“Give him the lime cordial! Quickly now!”

The lime cordial’s bottle was practically snatched by the medium who immediately drank the content, neat.

The medium belched and broke into a wide smile. Satiated.

“Now hit the medium. Quick!”

Upon seeing the man hesitate, the bomoh became a bit agitated “Come on man, don’t you know it is good to strike a happy medium?”

Labels: bomoh, fiction, medium