The Lost Forest

by John Francis Kinsella

  Chapter 3

  A TRIP TO THE DAYAKS

  The couple left Paris on a cold, rainy, Thursday afternoon at the end of October, taking a taxi from Ennis’s apartment nearby the Bastille to Charles de Gaulle Airport. At the Air France business class check-in desk there were relatively few people and they were informed by the smiling hostess, pleased to be giving some good news for once, that the flight was not full and they would have plenty of space during the long hours ahead.

  The final destination of AF126 flight was Jakarta after a stop over in Singapore where they were to disembark, the news was not good from the Indonesian capital and Ennis was pleased that he would be giving it a miss that time around. The Asian crisis and its repercussions had discouraged a lot of visitors, especially business people.

  No more money no more overseas trips, he thought, Aris must be having a relatively hard time…more relative than hard. He had not heard from him for weeks. They were going through a bad time and it would certainly become worse, he thought they’d been getting a bit carried away with the economic boom they’d experienced over the last decade, thought they’d made it - with our money, our technology and our markets, now it’s our turn to smile sympathetically when they talk about growth. He shook his head surprised at his schadenfreud.

  They settled into their seats and accepted with pleasure the Champagne offered to them. The girl at the check-in had exaggerated when she had told them that the flight was not full – it was almost empty, they almost had the business class cabin to themselves.

  He congratulated himself on bringing Kate with him; she would be very enjoyable company. Their relationship had become serious, perhaps a little bit too serious though it had not gone as far as her moving into his apartment, rather she drifted between her place and his, as it suited them both. Whatever the situation at that precise moment he basked in the pleasure that radiated from her. She was a lively, slim, blonde, with a very girlish figure, the kind that he was often attracted to. They sipped their Champagne and the steward topped up their glasses as they waited.

  The motors started and Kate took at last look at Charles de Gaulle Airport through the window of the Airbus. Ennis knew the airport only too well, it was an evergrowing, faceless and transient crossroad, where people barely paused to wonder why it existed, its army of workers, technicians and officials, all dedicated to servicing movement. He turned his attention to one of the newspapers that a stewardess had distributed, the International Herald Tribune; he scanned the pages before an article caught his eye:

  New Demonstrations

  Jakarta, Tues 13 February: A suspected car bomb exploded near the parliament building in Jakarta yesterday. A second blast occurred outside the Hilton Hotel, adding to the tensions, as University student demonstrations have become daily events since mid-October demanding President Suharto’s resignation. The students claimed that Suharto’s government is corrupt and blame his family’s 32-year regime for the nation’s financial crisis.

  Over the last months Indonesia’s rupiah currency has plunged more than seventy percent against the dollar as the Asian financial crisis deepens and unrest spreads across the country.

  They were booked into the Sheraton Towers on Scotts Road in the city centre. After the long and uneventful flight they were eager to take advantage of what was left of the day, the drive in from the airport along the startling tropical green avenues and the bright sunshine had whetted their appetites. They quickly showered and prepared themselves for the evening, there was a seven hours time difference with Paris, and the sun was fading quickly as it did near the equator, a sure sign that it would soon be time to eat and drink. They opted for the MRT, it was cool and rapid, getting off at Boat Quay and making their way to the riverside restaurants. Not surprisingly it was throbbing with the noise of the usual Friday evening excitement and strangely seemed almost exactly as Ennis had left it on his last visit, an endless party for some.

  Even after many years each visit to South East Asia was a new adventure for Ennis and the possibility of sharing it only enhanced his pleasure. Looking at Kate Lundy he was pleased that he had agreed to bring her along, she was attractive and almost fifteen years younger than him. He had first met her a couple of years previously at the inauguration of an exhibition at the Musée Guimet in Paris, one of the world’s leading museums of Asian art, where she was specialised in the research and history of Asian ceramics. Kate had been responsible for compiling one of the most complete catalogues on the subject with endless references and photographic records, a good number of which she had taken herself. They had got off on the wrong foot when they had disagreed and found themselves arguing about the origin of a Martaban, a very large type of jar having a long history in Malaysia and Indonesia, where they were traditionally considered as precious heirlooms by the tribal peoples. Things had however improved little by little as they got to know each other better, discovering they shared more than just a professional interest in Asian art and antiquities.

  The bars were full of the golden boys, minus Nick Leeson, Ennis could not help thinking, who was passing the evening at the invitation of the Singaporean government in Changi Jail, a few kilometres to the east of the city centre. In appearance the crowd had not changed though the golden boys had abandoned speculative trading and unrealistic investment projects, to managing IMF bailouts or debt recovery service for the international lending banks and institutions.

  The noisy crowd was dense and overflowed out onto the pavement though glancing through the gaps Ennis saw the bars were not that full inside. The evening crowd consisted mostly of Brits and Australians, who holding their pints of local Tiger or foreign beer, mimicked their respective tribal roles as though they were on the pavements outside of fashionable pubs in the City of London, the Kings Road in Chelsea or off Flinders in Melbourne. Many of the men still wore their jackets and ties, with the power girls in their dark pin stripped costumes. Mixed with them were fashionably dressed European girlfriends and a scattering of attractive Chinese girls hanging onto the arms of their status symbols.

  They strolled towards the bridge at the end of the Quay pausing to check out the menus, looking at the diners and more exactly what they had on their plates, deciding whether they would eat, Chinese, Indonesian, Indian, Japanese or Thai.

  Ennis stopped taking a double look at a table on the riverside terrace of a Chinese restaurant. It was Erkki Erkkila. They looked at each other a couple of brief instants before their faces lit up with startled recognition, then holding out hands and smiling with the surprise and pleasure of their unexpected reunion they greeted each other enthusiastically.

  Erkki was an international lawyer representing several major Scandinavian multi-nationals with large investments in South East Asia. He was an old friend of Ennis and was also an enthusiastic collector of Khmer art. The empire of the Khmers had been one of the greatest civilisations of Asia covering all of Indo-China and was a contemporary of Borobudur built by the Sailendra princes in East Java during the ninth century.

  A quick glance at the couple at Erkki’s table told Ennis they were also Finns, and in addition sans interest. After an exchange of friendly banalities Ennis left his room number at the hotel and Erkki promised to call him to fix a moment to meet when he was free from his business obligations.

  They then returned their attention to food and Kate opted for an Indonesian restaurant where they ordered Satay and Nasi Goreng, it was a good choice. Then after talking of the coincidence and the smallness of the world they quickly forgot Erkki and relaxed in the humid warmth of the tropical evening, more than a pleasant change after the cold Parisian autumn weather, enjoying the spicy food and frothy chilled draught beer.

  The next morning they took a late breakfast on Orchard Road like a couple of typical tourists before heading to a small reliable travel agent in Peoples Centre that Ennis had used over the years, checking out plane tickets and timetables for Kuching in Sarawak. On their return to the hotel there was a vo
ice mail message from Erkki inviting them for dinner. ‘As long as we don’t spend the evening endlessly talking about business,’ said Kate only half joking, meaning Erkki’s business and the Asian crisis.

  Ennis returned the call and they agreed to a restaurant that Erkki suggested in China Town; amusing thought Ennis, if Singapore was not Chinese then what was it? The difference however, was that China Town was one of the last remaining districts of the city where the traditional style architecture of the Chinese ‘shop house’ still survived, the district had been saved and renovated as both a tourist zone and a souvenir of how the city had once been, before the metamorphose that had transformed it into another faceless city full of sky scrapers, crowded highways and commercial centres, resembling its cousins Hongkong, Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur and to a much lesser degree Jakarta.

  That afternoon they toured the more serious antique dealers where Ennis chatted with their shrewd owners, trying to worm out the latest collectors trends and potential new sources of antiques. Business was bad, there were few local buyers, many had lost their shirts on the Asian stock markets. The dealers were tight lipped, their sources were often illegal, smuggling antiques out of China, pottery and porcelain looted from undeclared shipwrecks in Indonesian and Philippino waters, or from ancient burial sites.

  They took a taxi to the restaurant that was situated in a quiet street in the old Chinese district of the city a couple of streets away from the dense throng of the evening street market. Erkki was waiting for them, by his side stood an attractive Chinese girl in her early thirties. He warmly shook hands with Ennis and gallantly kissed Kate’s hand.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Chen Li.’

  The girl was tall, she was not Singaporean.

  ‘Chen Li is from Beijing, where she’s an expert in Ming porcelain.’

  They were shown to their table.

  ‘This is a Sichuanese restaurant,’ explained Erkki, ‘the food is excellent.’

  The restaurant catered to the upper class amateur of good Chinese food in a discrete Western ambiance, it was tastefully furnished with the simple stylish lines of Qing period rosewood furniture. The tables were set with authentic Kitchen Ming stoneware bowls and plates in perfect condition more than four hundred years after they had left the kilns in the coastal cities of South China, the chop sticks were in ivory. Both of the girls politely appraised the grey blue bowls and plates as the two men exchanged news.

  ‘So John what is it that really brings you back to Singapore? I’m sure that it’s more than a simple vacation?” he said with a wry smile.

  ‘Well it’s my usual tour, half business and half pleasure, always on the look out for bargains, this time I’ve decided to check out the Ibans and Dayaks, there’s a few outlying longhouses I spotted on my last visit that could be interesting.’

  Erkki laughed, ‘On the footsteps of Levi-Strauss I see.’

  ‘Well not exactly,’ Ennis replied looking down at his antique plate. ‘What I’m interested in really are the heirlooms of the Ibans.’

  ‘Ah, I see, beads for treasure!’ Erkki laughed.

  ‘Well if I can find a few good Martabans why not!’

  ‘So then you’re off to Sarawak and Kalimantan, for how long?’

  ‘Two or three weeks, no real fixed date, it depends on what we find. Kate wants to get up to Taipei.’

  ‘We’re trying to set up an exhibition of treasure from the National Museum, it’s a little complicated, they’re afraid of Beijing trying to seize them,’ said Kate a little too quickly, embarrassed by the presence Chen Li.

  Chen Li laughed politely, ‘Don’t worry about me. In any case the government in Beijing sees Taiwan as part of China, so for them the treasures are safe keeping.’

  ‘Chen Li doesn’t get involved in politics,’ laughed Erkki.

  He was right about the food, it really was excellent accompanied by a fine Australian white wine. After many years in Singapore, Erkki knew his restaurants. He was a man of taste and cultivated to a degree untypical of most Finns, even those who had attained a worldly status.

  John Ennis was a reputed and successful dealer in fine antiques and owned a fine arts gallery at the upper end of Faubourg Saint Honoré in Paris, specialised in Asiatic and ethnic art, with branches in Zurich and London, and links to galleries in the USA, notably in Los Angeles, the home of many wealthy collectors. He travelled frequently to Asia in his search of the fine art objects he displayed in his galleries for discerning collectors. On occasions he acquired special pieces on behalf of clients who wished to remain anonymous, from the great auction houses such as Drouot or Christies, in Paris or London, but the discovery of rare and original pieces was his greatest reward, it was also question of business. A fine objet d’art discovered in some small remote town or village in Asia could fetch many many times the investment made in finding it when compared to the prices proposed by auction houses and international wholesale antique dealers.

  Ennis was well known in the world of rare Asian antique art for his flair in tracking down highly valued collectors items in an ever shrinking world, and also for his discerning taste in valued ethnic art. His spacious apartment in the Marais on place des Vosges was a well protected treasure house, decorated with some of the finest objects collected over many years from every corner of the Asia.

  Pleased with himself, Erkki explained that though technically business was lousy, he personally was doing extremely well, his clients were waiting for the turn around in the local economies that the banks and international financiers were predicting for the end of the following year. Ennis, however, was not so sure the things would improve quickly, as news broke daily of fresh rioting in Jakarta and political scandals that were destabilising the government in Kuala Lumpur.

  ‘In any case you could say that we’re in a holding position at the moment,’ Erkki continued. ‘My clients have several major contracts which have virtually stalled and there’s a lot of outstanding monies, in addition there’s also contracts that they have signed but have not come into force because of the economic situation. I suppose it’s a case of wait and see!’

  ‘And your own position?’

  ‘As steady as a rock, the bastards can’t do without me,’ he laughed. His fees continued to roll in and would continue to do so. His clients could not just bail out; the financial consequences would be too great. Besides Erkki spoke the languages and had all the connections, he persuaded them it was not the first or last regional crisis that made waves in their international business.

  He reminded them that their last crisis had been with the end of the Soviet Union, which had been a decisive factor for certain of his clients investing heavily in the Asian market. Since the Asian economies had gone into heavy waters Russia had started looking up, that was until the dominos fell. There were not that many other possibilities, South America was one but it was a difficult market with a reputation for financial crisis, in addition they spoke Spanish, which did not suit the Scandinavians. So with Erkki’s convincing arguments they had decided to hang-in in Asia, in the meantime reducing their expenses to sustainable levels, ready for the ‘Rebound’ the Malaysian leader Dr Mahatir was promising the markets.

  In addition to his interest in Khmer art, Erkki was also a keen collector of Chinese ceramics and South East Asian ethnic art. The interests that the two men shared had formed the base for the solid friendship they had built up over the years.

  ‘So apart from economics have you discovered anything new recently?’ Ennis asked changing the subject.

  ‘Not much, with this mess of a crisis I’ve been pretty busy, you know they’re flying in and out, trying to make head or tail of what’s going on with their contracts, giving me a real headache.’

  ‘Too bad.’

  The two girls had struck it off and were engaged in a deep conversation, uninterested by the men’s business, exchanging opinions on Ming porcelain.

  ‘I’ve got a little bit of information that might interest you,�
� Erkki said lowering his voice.

  ‘Oh,’

  “Yes, if you can find something interesting for me?” Erkki said with a sly wink.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Ennis laughed. It was a little game they had played before. Erkki picked up titbits of information from clients that he had passed on to Ennis in return for a something to add to his collection if the hunt turned out to be good.

  ‘I had dinner with a couple of guys from a Finnish engineering firm who had been carrying out survey work for a mining company near the Indonesian-Malay border in Borneo. They had visited a few very isolated longhouses where they said they talked of seeing a number of human skulls and what they described as large jars…’

  ‘Martabans!’

  ‘Right, and apparently the villagers have very little contact with the outside.’

  ‘Can you be more precise about the location?’

  ‘I have a copy of their survey maps in the office. Drop by tomorrow and I’ll run you off a copy, if you don’t flash it about.’

  ‘Don’t worry Erkki, count on my discretion, it’s just between the two of us.’