[Pixs of models for illustration only]
Wati [top pix] sits on the leather sofa wearing a pained expression on her face. She’s attired in a red miniskirt and a skimpy cotton top. Her shapely legs are stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “Hussein’s not here again,” she says. “That’s the third time this month.”
“I called his house last week,” Chow Kah says. “His wife picked up the call, she sounded distraught. We spoke briefly. Seems that Hussein frequently doesn’t go home this season. His wife found a Bugil Nightclub bill in his pocket. She asked her brother to check out the nightspot. True enough, the brother saw Hussein cavorting with a Thai girl in a drinking booth. Mrs Hussein suspects her husband has become a victim of Nam Man Prai. The change in his behaviour was very sudden.”
“Holy smoke! That’s Thai black magic,” I say. “Very powerful and dangerous.”
“Bugil’s our competitor. We must fight back,” Wati says, clenching a fist and punching the air.
“Dangerous to who?” Jessica [left pix] asks. A whiff of apricot, jasmine and vanilla from her perfume fills the room.
“To the user.”
“How?” Jessica spits a water-melon seed into her open palm.
“Bad karma. Because the extraction process disturbs the spirit. Also very scary in terms of methodolody. The corpse of a dead baby or a pregnant woman is used. Heat is applied to the corpse, and the oil that flows out is collected. Then it is mixed with herbs. Mantras are recited to endow it with supernatural power.”
“You know where to get Nam Man Prai?” Chow Kah asks.
“Sure. Why?”
“Buy me a bottle, please. I'll pay you later. I want to give it to Wati so she can get Hussein back.”
“Oh, thank you, Chow Kah,” Wati purrs, and pecks him on the cheek, leaving a red imprint of her sensuous lips.
“Wati, you sure you want the Nam Man Prai?”
“Of course. I’m not Buddhist so I don’t believe in karma.”
The next morning, I phone Mr Kriangsak Pramoj, a Thai bomoh [sorcerer] in Hatyai and order a bottle of Nam Man Prai. It costs RM400, and the vial arrives by courier. Chow Kah comes to my office to collect it. “Instructions on how to use are inside,” I tell him.
"I'll pass this to Wati." Chow Kah grins and shows me the thumb-up.
A week rolls by.
Jessica, clad in polka dot pants, is sitting next to Chow Kah; they’re feeding each other sliced fresh fruits.
Wati’s waiting for Hussein. “Tonight, he's coming, but a bit late,” she says, smiling.
“Did you use the Nam Man Prai on him?” I ask.
“Yes. I went to see him in his office and --"
Mummy Lulu [left pix] knocks on the door and enters. Jesus Christ! She’s wearing fishnet stockings, high heels and a miniskirt! She wedges between Jessica and Chow Kah. "Hello, dear,” she says to Chow Kah. “Come to my office afterwards, okay?” She takes a piece of papaya, bites off a morsel and feeds the balance to him.
Eyes widened in horror, Chow Kah chews the papaya awkwardly and swallows hard. Mummy Lulu gets up, blows a kiss to him at the door and leaves the room.
“What strange behavior,” I say to Jessica. “Anything happened to our Mamasan?”
“Everything has been routine for her,” Jessica says. “But Chow Kah gave me a bottle of Dior Poison. I’ve so many bottles of perfumes already so I gave it to Mummy Lulu.”
“My goodness! You shouldn’t have!” Chow Kah punches his left palm with his right fist. “It contains Nam Man Prai!” He slaps his forehead with his palm. “I’m dead meat! What to do now?”
“How dare you! Trying to use kong tau [black magic] on me!”
“You better consult Kriangsak personally,” I say to Chow Kah, and fish out my cell phone from my shirt pocket. “Here, take down this number.” To Jessica: "Please forgive him. He likes you too much."
/end
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