Mike Dixon

With Tim absent, David was occupied with arrangements
for the coming dive trip. Humphrey took the opportunity to
go off and sit at a table beneath a flame tree. A spotlight
illuminated the wooden boards and he was able to read
Tong Yee‟s journal with few distractions apart from some
huge moths attracted by the light.
David‟s account of how he had acquired the journal was
disturbing. There was a Chinese auntie who wasn‟t really an
aunt, an aged prostitute living out her last years in Hong
Kong, a cockatoo that screamed obscenities, a suitcase, secret
societies, hidden gold – and a treasure map. It was to-
tally unbelievable.
The obvious explanation was that David had been duped.
He might be very mature for his years but he was very vulnerable
in the dangerous world beyond Canberra‟s leafy
suburbs.
Tong Yee and the Tongs! Humphrey chuckled. Surely
they could have found a better name.
He thumbed through the papers. They were undoubtedly
genuine. He had seen attempts to forge old Chinese documents
and knew how difficult it was. As he continued to
read he became more and more intrigued. The journal told
a mixed story. In places there were accounts of money sent
to families in China and of bones returned to grieving relatives.
The writer was evidently an office bearer in one of the
mutual support societies common at that time. They were
as different as chalk from cheese. Some were worthy of the
highest accolades. Others were criminal organizations. He
was deeply engrossed when David appeared beside him.
„Is it good reading?‟
„Most definitely.‟
„Any problems?‟
46