Phnom Penh Express (26 page)

There had also been a particularly large turnout of Dutch people among the crowd, no doubt attracted by the prospect of free handouts. One, a wealthy entrepreneur from Amsterdam, had been so impressed by the quality of Nina’s product that he proposed on the spot that she start a luxury chain of happy chocolate shops in his country. Space World will soon be opening its twelfth branch, he had recently heard.

***

Phirun parks his motorcycle inside the grounds of a large white building. He glances at his watch — just in time for the seminar. Where’s the Italian guy? he wonders. When he walks towards the entrance, a smiling man approaches him.

“Ciao
Phirun! Good to see you again,” he says, firmly gripping his hand.

“Giorgio, there you are. Good to see you, too. How’s your stay been in Cambodia?”

“Wonderful!” he laughs. “Apart from the
prahok
, that is,” he adds sheepishly.

“What do you mean? I’m eating it at lunch, these days. I’m fully Cambodian now, remember?”

The man makes a face and slaps Phirun on the back. They enter a large room and take place at two of the last remaining back-row seats.

“Listen, I have some good news,” Giorgio says. “Our government has approved the funding for the Cultural Minority Enterprise Development project. It views your organisation’s work with the Cham minorities as exemplary, and wants to help promote it throughout the region.”

This is music to Phirun’s ears. Ever since recovering he had been dedicating all of his time to the promotion of ethnic and religious minorities in his country. He has set up his own nongovernmental organisation and established a special fund with it. It’s called ‘The Zaza-Coco Fund for Cultural, Ethnic & Religious Minority Development’, after Tzahala and Colonel Peeters. After they had departed the material world all those years ago, they had most generously — albeit utterly unwittingly — left him a small fortune in diamonds. The six parcels that he had distributed to the government officials had been worth only one-fifth of what The House had received from Tel Aviv. The rest had never been claimed back, naturally, and Nina and him had agreed to use it to kick-start his NGO.

Over the years Phirun’s NGO has slowly grown and achieved several notable successes. He had proposed regional expansion and now the Italian government approved financing for new projects abroad.

“That’s fantastic news Giorgio!”

“Yes, and that’s partly why I’m here; to talk to the seminar’s keynote speaker. It appears that she’s a real innovator. People say she’s had an incredible approach to engaging with the Cham. Apparently she’s from Cham descent herself, but grew up abroad — in Australia, if my memory serves me right.”

The screech of a badly adjusted microphone fills the room. The noise subsides while a technician fiddles with the volume, just in time for a Cambodian man to start his welcome speech. After customarily thanking the organisers, sponsors and participants, the man announces the keynote speaker. A short burst of polite applause follows.

“Mama mia! Look at her, what a lady!” Giorgio exclaims. “Wouldn’t you kill for a woman like that?”

“Who?”

“There, her,” he points at the stage.

“Oh, her. No, that’s my wife, she already killed for
me.”

“Your wife!? Oops, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. I’ll introduce her to you when she’s finished.”

***

An hour later, Phirun, Farina and their Italian visitor are standing among the crowd, chatting and sipping their drinks. Phirun excitedly explains his plans to start up a project in Burma. After its disintegration, Burma’s military regime had left a dangerous legacy caused by its decades-long suppression of its own people. The notoriously unstable nation could easily explode with more ethnic tribal violence, he argues. While he extemporises on his vision for a better future, Farina’s phone rings. She excuses herself and walks out of the room into the quietness of the building’s back yard.

“Mr Lee, very honoured to hear from you.”

“Mrs Ahmad, the honour is mine. How are you?”

“I’m fine, only I’m suffering from having a little too much time on my hands. I was hoping you might be of help in that respect.”

Farina hears her interlocutor clear his throat.

“I might. My employer has one concern, though.”

“Yes?”

“Your husband.”

A short silence follows.

“Please assure your employer, Mr Lee, that I married my husband because he’s a naïve do-gooder whose NGO serves as the perfect cover for our little enterprise. I guarantee absolute discretion.”

This time the silence is longer. Farina waits patiently.

“Very well, then. The shipment will be leaving Antwerp tomorrow morning. Our suppliers in Africa are very excited about the Chinese market, especially since the price of diamonds is rising worldwide. They want to talk to you about larger volumes. What do I tell them?”

“Tell them, Mr Lee, that I’m ready for business.”

Johan Smits started writing while working in a consultancy agency in London and eventually made a profession of it in Cambodia. He was lured to the Democratic Republic of Congo by his fiancée where he is currently writing his second book and looking for a decent barber.
Phnom Penh Express
is his first published effort.