MERSING CHRONICLES

Chapter 18 Ah No

"You met him?" Hiang asked over the phone.

"Yes I did," Jenny replied. "It's not Nur."

"Why do you say that?"

"He doesn't seem like ex-special forces to me. For one, he's short, maybe 5 foot 3."

"No resemblance at all to the picture of Nur in his 30s?"

"Maybe his chin looks similar, and the eyes, but that's about it."

"Nur would be 70. So that might account for his height. Remember he was a POW for years if he lived. Malnutrition, and prison conditions over time would cause him to shrink plus aging."

"What about the sumpit? How did he know how to make one?" Hiang prodded.

"He explained it was an assassin's weapon in ancient China. Not exactly unique to Borneo."

"He didn't understand English?"

"I did throw one or two questions in English at him, pretending to forget he didn't know English and he looked at me as if I was from an asylum."

"His tattoo. Did you see his left arm?"

"Yes, I looked for the tattoo. Where it was supposed to be, there was a scar like a bad burn. No tattoo."

"That might be deliberate. Maybe his captors erased his identity in prison by removing the scar with acid." 

This can't be the end, Hiang thought. And she had high hopes.

"So he had a Political Commissar from the Communist Party sitting in the interview?" she asked. "Whatever for? Is it normal?"

"That was unusual," Jenny noted. "The AFP person noted that too."

"If it was an assassin's weapon, how did he acquire the skills to make it. He's a farmer."

"It was  a skill passed down through his ancestors."

That part might be true, Hiang thought. Could she spare a week to make a trip and see him with her own eyes? That would settle it.

"Describe his surroundings, his house, his farm."

"Very bare living room, no TV, only a radio. Homemade furniture, nothing extravagant. Utilitarian farm house, walls of red bricks, no cement hiding the bricks. Even his windows seemed DIY from 4 by 6 wood and a sheet of glass. A brick fireplace in the house. Kitchen had clay oven that used firewood. Like Henry David Thoreau. He had a few cows, chicken and ducks. Maybe two acres of land. He grew padi, and vegetables."

"And oh yes," Jenny said, "I forgot to mention, he has two kids."

There was a pause.

"Evelyn?"

Two kids? How did that happen?

"What about his wife?" Hiang collected herself.

"She died five years ago from cancer."

"Do some independent snooping. Take the guide out for dinner and try to glean some information from him. Maybe ply more wine. Perhaps some other sources could fill in the gap without the Communist Party around. Spend another week there. Something's not quite right."

After ending the phone call, Hiang sat on her couch, sipping her peppermint tea. 

Something's not quite right. This person is more than a farmer if the communist party is involved.