What's Up That Tree?

I was in our condo's management office two days ago, waiting to talk to N, the administrative assistant, over some matters, when in walked a middle-aged Chinese guy.

Clad in worn work clothes, he proceeded to announce to no one in particular: "Saya potong oledi ( I have already cut it off). Shouldn't be ploblem now."

Apart from N and I, others in the office at the time were a fellow resident, the management's accounts assistant, and Z, the condo's soft-spoken technician-cum-electrican.

"Oh, good lah. Hopefully no more complaint after this," N responded with a smile. "Do you know that Datin J saw it last week and she nearly fainted? That was why I asked you to lop it off fast."

Think what you will, but if you were a bystander listening to that kind of cryptic exchange, you too would be left wondering what actually was going on.

My interest by now sufficiently piqued by the 'potong' insinuation, I shamelessly eavesdropped while pretending to flip through a property magazine.

By the way, I know sprightly Datin J; this pleasant elderly lady headed the surau committee last year and was among the first to welcome us and to make us feel at home when we moved into our unit last July.

Since she was one woman not to be trifled with, and certainly not a lily-livered one who would faint at the slightest provocation, I wondered what was it that surprised her so.

I was still mulling over the mystery when the Chinese fellow bid goodbye and left. As soon as the dust settled, I cornered N, my real mission to the office dismissed for a time being.

Me: "What was that 'potong' thing all about, N?"

N: "Oh, it's that big tree by the side of the walked-up block at the other end; you know, the block that faces the pool."

Me: "What about it?"

N: "Do you know there was 'something' living high up there among the branches? We have been getting complaints and reports from the condo's residents. Quite a number of them had seen 'it' and had been scared out of their wits by 'it.'

"They had asked us to lop off the branches and leave the tree bare, so that it doesn't offer any shade whatsoever to whomever."

Me: "What was the thing?"

N: "A flash of white darting about up there some nights. I don't really like to say this, let alone tell others about it, but those who caught sight of it said 'it' was definitely a pontianak (banshee)."

Me: "Aiiiiiii.... !

N: "At first we dismissed it too. It could be some people's overactive imagination. But when Datin J nearly passed out of fright upon seeing 'it', we just felt there could be some truth in it.

I concurred with N. After all, that God-fearing Datin J, with her kelas mengaji (Quran recital classes), ceramah agama (religious talks), and voluntary work at the orphanage and the hafiz school nearby, isn't your garden-variety timorous old lady. So I am inclined to believe her.

Now, all this is very interesting. I have always thought those scary-looking, long matted-haired spooks with shiny red eyes belong to kapok trees in dimly lit kampungs.

The presence of one in the heart of Taman Tun Dr Ismail, Kuala Lumpur, comfortably nestling in a verdant shade by the side of a condo development, and yards away from a swimming pool, really takes the cake.

It does seem even banshees have gone upmarket these days. After centuries of deriving pleasure in scaring the sarongs off kampung folks, they have moved into the realm of the urbanites.

Honestly, I don't know what to think. With so many people chancing upon it, they can't possibly be wrong, can they?

I told Pak Abu when he got back from work that evening. Later, on the drive back home from dinner, my ever-cynical spouse suddenly said: "Let's make a detour to see if 'it' is still there..."

"Not on your life!" came the swift answer!


[PS: I wrote this piece in the comfort of my bedroom, on my bed. 'Takut' to stay in the study alone because Pak Abu and Awwa have gone to bed. That 'thing' flies, doesn't it? You never know, it may just decide to park itself on my window sill!! Oh my, mintak simpang malaikat 44!]