Even though it’s just 1.5 kilometres wide and 8 kilometres long, Ubin is Singapore’s second largest island, and as Ong told me, it remains the only true kampong left in existence; the only one not replaced by shopping malls and Singaporridge shops.
I cycled down a small incline and around a winding road until I faced rather a large hill in front of me. But I had the energy and the willpower and set about pumping away at the pedals until I was about halfway up and about to pass out. It was maybe thirty-five degrees, and I was sweaty and my boxer shorts already appeared to be trying to attempt an expedition of their own, exploring areas of my body usually reserved for someone with a qualification. I stopped to straighten myself out, hopped back on the bike, and continued on for a good few kilometres.
Two hundred people live on Ubin, relying on the land to support them or the odd tourist renting a bike. I didn’t see one of them. I passed abandoned farms, and dogs playing around derelict shacks, but not one single solitary person. Maybe this was why Ong liked it so much. In a place where you are never more than a few feet from someone else, an island like this must mean so much.
That said, it became creepy after a while. Particularly when I started to cycle up roads surrounded by high hedges and lush, overhanging trees, where my only possible route was forward or backward, and the ambient noise suddenly and surprisingly became absolutely deafening.
It’s no more than a buzz at first … then it sounds like someone’s left a few whistling kettles on the boil … then it becomes as loud as, or louder than, a car alarm. And you just can’t tell where it’s coming from.
I began to feel paranoid. Here I was, totally on my own, far away from anyone, in the middle of nowhere for virtually no reason whatsoever, surrounded by screaming, unseen kettles. What on Earth would the authorities think if they found my body out here? How in God’s name would they piece together my final movements? What kind of motives would they come up with?
Suddenly I felt slightly panicky. I cycled on as quickly as I could, but started to realise that, in the bushes to the right of me, something was noisily running along with me. I couldn’t see it, but it was causing enough of a disturbance in the long grasses for me to know it was big, and it was fast. Oh, Christ, what was it? I couldn’t stop now…. I pedalled on faster and faster, and now I could definitely hear it thundering alongside me. What was it? Was it after me? I felt more like a character in a Stephen King book than I ever have before, and despite the fact that I was going deeper into what was now essentially a jungle, I couldn’t turn around and go back for fear of coming face-to-face with it—if it had a face—and whatever it was was still there, still pounding the ground, mere feet away …
I rounded a bend at speed, but so did my potential captor. I was panicking properly now. Was I being hunted? What if whatever it was decided to eat me? What did they have over here again? Did the leaflet mention crocodiles? Or rhinos? Snakes can’t run, can they?
I cycled on and furiously on, not once looking behind me, and thankfully, the noise from the long grass started to fade until it wasn’t there at all. I was knackered, but determined to continue, and when I was far enough away, I stopped and got my leaflet out. I scoured those hundred or so words for any mention of killer kettles or things that might run alongside an innocent British cyclist, but there was nothing. Which, if I’m honest, just added to the sense of foreboding. Was Yes trying to get me killed? It was supposed to help me live! The other noises around me still hadn’t settled down, and I was now on a road surrounded by huge trees that blocked out the sunlight and gave everything a musty evening feel.
And then I heard a scuffling sound behind me and the sound of leaves being thrashed about, and I whacked my shins against the pedals as I tried to get the bike going again, desperate fear taking over. But my balance was off and my feet suddenly too big, and the noise got louder and louder, and then a lizard the size of a tank rushed past me and thundered, low and muscular, through a gap in the bushes where it stopped moving completely. My heart raced. I was being stalked by a lizard. A bloody lizard! This wasn’t right. This wasn’t paradise!
And, in fact, if this was paradise, how come so few people seemed keen to live here? I had yet to pass even one person. Where was everyone? Was everyone a lizard? Maybe David Icke had been right!
I pressed on, sticking to the road and without once looking back for fear of seeing anything else that freaked me out. The lizard decided the prey wasn’t worth it and left me soon after. I was knackered and red and in the mood for sitting down, which is when I spotted something. A signpost. It told me that a place called Nualong Beach wasn’t far away, and that sounded perfect for me. A beach. Safety.
Before too long I found it. It was becoming slightly overcast now, but it was still warm, and I parked my bike and sat down on the beach. I was exhausted.
The water was calm, and the sun warm. Despite my lizard-based shenanigans, I was suddenly inordinately pleased to be here. I felt farther away from London than I’d ever been—and farther away from anyone else. It was just me. Thousands of miles away from another life. I thought about what had brought me here. The chain of Yeses that had led to me to be sitting on a beach on Pulau Ubin. Of course, it began with the man on the bus, but my Singapore weekend was all thanks to saying yes to a dull, bring-a-fact party. To Gareth. Then Ricky. And Marc. Who knew how many other chains I’d started, who knew what else I’d set in motion? Where else could this lead me? What did a yes I’d said last week or last month have in store for me next week or next month?
It was late November. Soon it would be December. That left just one more month of Yes before a whole new way of life started. A more responsible life, with nine to fives, and spreadsheets, and overhead projectors. No more jetting off to Singapore on a credit card and a whim. No more ruthless spontaneity. Just calm. Like the calm around me now. But there were still treats in store. Lizzie, for one.
I sat there in the sun and smiled. It was drawing to a close. Just another few weeks. I was looking forward to them.
An hour later, at the end of the pier, a large group of people—who seemed to have come from nowhere—were sitting down in near-silence, waiting patiently for the next bumboat to arrive and take them off to the mainland. I floated serenely toward them and recognised one or two of them from the journey over. There were maybe fourteen of them in all. But the strange thing was, they were all sitting on the one bench. There were four benches, forming one big square, and yet these people had all chosen to sit on just one side. This one group of disparate people had chosen to sit alongside rather than away from one another and stare in the same direction—at me, the approaching tourist. But I didn’t feel intimidated or embarrassed. Because they didn’t. They thought it was completely normal to all sit wordlessly on one bench. This would never have happened in London. We would all have sat on separate benches, always chosen the one with less people on it, always kept ourselves to ourselves. I was heartened by this simple sight. I raised my hand as I approached and smiled. I had to decide where to sit. Well, I couldn’t very well be the only person to sit on a bench of his own, could I? That would mark me out as a typically aloof, unfriendly Westerner. So I conquered my awkwardness and did what I would never normally do. I strode up to them and sat myself down right in the middle of them. I was suddenly feeling very philosophical. Yes had done that to me. Opened me up a bit more. I was just another stranger, after all. A white stranger, maybe, with unusual trainers, but really, I was just another person to have sat myself down on that bench, to share a view and wait for a boat. No one said anything at all. A few people glanced at me, and I glanced back and smiled. There was a feeling of deep mutual respect on that bench. Silent, wordless respect. Me, from a land far away, and they—simple Malaysian folk, calm and serene—regarding me with quiet wonder. I breathed deeply and thought about this unexpected sense of community. How we could come from places so far apart and still share this sense of unspoken, unthreatening togetherness. Maybe this was what paradise
was all about, I thought. Maybe it wasn’t Pulau Ubin itself … but the attitude of those on it. Maybe paradise wasn’t around us. Maybe it was inside us.
And then they all started talking about me, and it became clear that they were one big family group, and that was why they were sitting together, and now they were wondering who on Earth / was and why the hell I was sitting right in the middle of them and not on a bench of my own like any normal person. And I went a bit red.
I pretended I needed to stretch my legs and stood up and yawned, strutted about, pretended to find something fascinating about one of the other benches, and then sat down on it and studied my feet. A year or so later, the bumboat arrived, and I made sure I was the first one on it. I didn’t want that lot getting there first, and then taking bets on where I would sit.
Back at the hotel, I sipped on a cocktail and sent Marc a text.
I AM IN SINGAPORE. I WAS CHASED BY A LIZARD.
I received one back, ten minutes later.
ATOMICO, DANNY!
I laughed. I really hoped I’d see Marc again.
It was getting late, and I would be returning to London the next day, and so I studied my map and thought about how I should spend the remainder of my time in Singapore.
I needn’t have bothered.
Because I was to spend the rest of my time in Singapore worrying.
Fretting, stressing, and worrying.
I had made my way into the hotel’s business centre and checked my e-mails. I’d planned to send one to Lizzie, telling her where I was and what I was doing and how much I was looking forward to seeing her again.
I hadn’t reckoned that someone might have e-mailed me.
To : Danny
From: whoisthechallenger
Subject: Next …
Hello, Danny,
Enjoying yourself? Still saying yes?
So why don’t you …
Go to Stonehenge 2 !?
My heart sank. I was thousands of miles away, and yet the Challenger was still like a shadow. Who was this? Everything was worthless while they were still controlling me. I was supposed to be in control! Master of my own destiny! If it was Jason, he was being remarkably persistent for a man who should have got bored and moved on weeks ago. But was it Jason?
But Stonehenge 2? What was Stonehenge 2? Was Stonehenge 2 an actual place? Or did they mean I should go to Stonehenge again?
Quickly I went to Google.com and typed in “Stonehenge 2.”
A second later, I had my result.
Stonehenge 2 existed.
They intended to send me to Stonehenge 2!
But what was it?
The original Stonehenge, an ancient Druid monument located in England, is shrouded in mystery. But Stonehenge 2: The Sequel is more of an oddity than a mystery. This 92-foot diameter creation is made of hollow plaster and is accompanied by two …
My eyes darted around the site. Stonehenge 2 is a monument to a monument … but where?
And then I saw it.
Texas.
Stonehenge 2 was in Texas!
Suddenly my world seemed to collapse.
Just when I’d accepted that in order to survive the world of Yes, it was necessary to just sit back and enjoy the ride, someone else had reached in and grabbed the steering wheel …
Chapter 23 In Which Daniel Faces a Terrible Crisis
I returned home to London knowing one thing: There was no way I could go to Texas. Enough was enough. The Challenger had pushed me far enough when he’d sent me to England’s Stonehenge. He had another think coming, if he thought I was about to let him send me to a Texan one, too.
This was it. It was time to take a stand. But by not going to Texas or ignoring his cryptic words, I’d be failing. Breaking the rules. Saying no to something I’d sworn I’d say yes to. And I couldn’t do that.
I knew that by the time Lizzie got to London, this was something I would have to have dealt with. A battle I’d have to have won. She’d be here in little more than a week … I’d said yes to her and couldn’t break that yes now, meaning if I obeyed the Challenger’s whims, I would have to organise and make the return journey incredibly soon and incredibly quickly.
But how would I explain it to Lizzie? How would I tell her what I’d been up to? That I was, in effect, living a double life? Maybe she’d take it well (because yes, I would have to tell her). Sure, I was still the mild-mannered, bespectacled Clark Kent-style radio producer of old … but now I was something else, too. A man with more going on in his life. A man with more confidence, more openness. A man who’d recaptured his spontaneity. Maybe she’d take a shine to that. She’d seemed to in Edinburgh, when she was to blame for it.
Or … would she hate it? Would she, like Hanne, find it immature, and unnecessary, and stupid? And would she feel it devalued our relationship when I told her that I had bought her a ticket from Melbourne to Edinburgh not out of some grand romantic gesture … but just because she asked? Because some bearded bloke on a bus said it’d be good for me?
Either way I was going to have to tell her.
But no matter how she reacted, everything could still go wrong. Even if I went to Texas and got back well before Lizzie arrived, it would solve absolutely nothing. The Challenger would still be in the picture, meaning the threat of considerable trouble and awkwardness would always be a moment away….
Desperately I e-mailed Thorn once again. He wrote back the same day.
Danny,
Really, really sorry—not been able to get in touch with Jason. To be honest, we’re not all that close as friends, but I have left a message with his sister asking her to get him to e-mail me asap. I do have these details, though …
And below that, Jason’s place of work and mobile number.
Excellent! Now I really had him! All this man’s power lay in the fact that I couldn’t prove it was him. While he was an anonymous threat, he was able to make me do things against my will. But once I’d unmasked him, he’d be another Ian; another person who knew—and who I knew knew. By exposing him, I would rob him of all authority. By exposing him, I would be able to ignore him.
I launched an immediate and forceful three-pronged attack….
First, a strongly worded e-mail.
Jason,
I have your mobile number, and I know where you work. And I’m not doing it. I’m not going to Texas. I know who you are, which means I know that you know, which means you can no longer do this to me. I want to speak to you to make sure you understand, though. You are no longer eligible to make me do things because I know you know that I know you know.
I’m going to phone you now.
Danny
I picked up my phone and dialled his mobile.
Frustratingly it went straight to answerphone.
“This is the Vodaphone VoiceMail Service for 07*** *** ***, please leave a message after the—”
“Jason, it’s Danny,” I practically shouted. “The jig’s up. I have your number now. Read your e-mail and never get in touch with me again. We’ve all had a lot of fun with it, and I’m sure you’ve had a great laugh with your mates down at the pub, but the party’s over. Good night and go to hell …”
I hung up and looked at my watch. It was four o’clock—well within office hours. I dialled the work number that Thom had given me. I was pumped up, ready for a showdown, ready to tell this bloke to piss right off.
“Welcome to the immigration and nationality bureau,” said a recorded voice. “Please note that all calls are recorded …”
There was a click while the call transferred to an operator, and then …
“Good morning, Home Office, how can I help?”
“I need to speak to a man called Jason, please.”
“What’s the surname?”
“I don’t have a surname. I’ve only met him once. He works in immigration, making decisions about people …”
“I’m afraid I can’t place your call without knowing a surname.”
“I
need to speak to him. Urgently.”
“All appeals must be in writing …”
“I don’t want to make an appeal…. I want to speak to Jason…”.
“Did you receive an RFRL?”
“I don’t know what an RFRL is … I just need to speak to a bloke called Jason. It’s a personal call; it won’t take but a minute … please, just put me through to someone in the department who makes decisions about things like that …”
“Hold on the line …”
My heart started to race. I was getting closer. My three-pronged attack was about to climax. I was closing in on the man who had been mocking me from afar.
“SEO.”
It was a girl’s voice.
“Hi … is Jason there, please?”
“Jason who?” she said.
“I’m not sure. He works there. Making decisions about people. Saying no a lot. I have to speak to him….”
“Hang on …”
The phone is muffled as she asks someone about something.
“He doesn’t work here anymore,” she said. “There was a Jason here, but he’s gone. I’m new here. Sorry.”
Curses!
“Well … where’s he gone? Do you have a number? I tried his phone, but it’s switched off. I need to speak to him. I need to speak to him right now…”.
“Hang on …”
Another muffled conversation.
“No, I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to give out personal details.”
“But honestly—I’m not a stalker or a lunatic. This man, he’s been …”
“I’m sorry.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes.
“Well … if you see him … can you get him to call Danny?”
“Sure. I’ll tell the others, too.”
“Thanks.”
I put the phone down, slightly dejected. I’d thought that was going to be it.
What would happen if I didn’t get him? Never got him? What would happen if I could never track him down and grab him and shout “I know who you are!” at him? Then the Challenger would live on. And I’d have to go to Texas after all.
Yes Man Page 37