Cast from Paradise

Abstract

Cast from Paradise Wong Yoon Wah (bio) Translated by Jeremy Tiang (bio) Last June, I passed a night on the edge of the primeval jungle of Malaysia’s East Coast. All night long, I grappled with nameless terrors and nightmares. The next morning, I hurried back to the city. At this time, I realised that those who tumble into the city and stay there for too long are unable to return to the mysterious embrace of the great natural world. I was born on a rubber plantation on Malaysia’s West Coast, and for almost twenty years lived on the border of the tropical jungle. Behind both my primary and secondary schools lay the dark heart of the jungle. Even the Gurkhas, the fiercest of the British colonial forces, dared not enter the jungle in pursuit of the Malayan Communists they were battling. Yet after such a long separation, not only had the jungle become strange to me, but even the sound of twigs snapping underfoot filled me with a nameless horror. We left Singapore around two in the afternoon on a day of such strong sunlight we could barely keep our eyes open. In order to drive safely, I put on my sunglasses. In the car were Dan Ying, myself, Professor and Mrs. Gu, and their two children. We were excited at this rare opportunity to reconnect with nature, especially when it was neither a weekend nor the holiday season. While other people remained trapped in their busy lives, our car slipped out of the city like a fish through a net, swimming unencumbered into the vast green sea of rubber plantations. In less than forty-five minutes, we had left Singaporean soil, passed through Johor Bahru—the largest city in Southern Malaysia—and were heading directly north on the North-South trunk road. Rubber trees crowded together densely on both sides of the road, making me feel as though we were sailing down a narrow river, the lush greenery like waves beating our little boat, the mountain ranges on either side like high, distant shores. As we surged down the rapids, I plucked off my dark glasses. The sun that had blazed so brightly when we set off was nowhere to be seen. Arriving at Kota Tinggi, a tiny hill town, we asked many passersby for directions before finding the narrow road that led to the waterfall. We only dared to breathe freely when we saw a sign assuring us that our destination was no more than ten kilometres ahead. [End Page 119] Yet how far those ten kilometres were—like a grey snake winding through the uneven hills of the rubber plantation, its head hidden in the darkness of the jungle. During storms, this road became a channel for floodwater, and as a result was littered with debris and clumps of soil. We often paused at forks in the road, unable to tell whether to turn left or right. There were still many hours until sunset, but dusk was already descending like the leaf of a withered rubber tree, drifting slowly onto the road ahead. Our cheerful voices became silent. We held our breaths, trying to hear the sound of a waterfall, but apart from the engine and an occasional dog bark in the distance, the hillside was deathly still. Just as we came upon a green ridge that seemed to block the path ahead, we heard a mighty roar and saw to our left a white sheet of water that appeared to cascade from the sky. Not even a shadow disturbed the scene—just a few squirrels scavenging amidst the rubbish left behind by tourists. Malay-style huts on stilts were scattered over the slope, far apart enough that each looked lonely, abandoned. Each was painted a different colour in order to tell them apart. We became aware of the emptiness of evening gathering on three sides of the jungle, so we hurried down to swim. An American hiker, perched on a great rock like a mountain god, watched silently as we played in the water. Before long, he had vanished into the dusk. I gazed up the waterfall into the jungle and saw night approaching...