Shadow Play (5 page)

“I'm sure he did love you,” Maryam said quietly. “You know, men are so … unthinking sometimes. It doesn't mean that much to them.”

Rubiah nodded sagely, and she and Maryam began murmuring their thanks and their preliminary leave-taking phrases, when Aisha unexpected began to cry.

“Just a week ago he was still here, and I didn't know anything about this wife,” she nearly spit the word, “from Kuala Krai! Everything was fine! Now I know he betrayed me and he's dead and I'm a widow with two children living at my parents' house. I can't believe it. My whole
life is ruined because of her. She married him and then she killed him, and I'm the one suffering for it.”

She buried her head in her hands and jerked her shoulders away from their comforting hands. “No, just leave. I'm sorry to be rude,” she said, wiping her eyes as Maryam and Rubiah tried to talk to her, to tell her it would be all right. “I just can't talk anymore. I'm sorry, very sorry. Another time.”

She tried to smile as they left and squatted in her doorway, knuckling her eyes. “Please forgive me,” she called after them.

Chapter IV

“
Alamak
! I feel so sorry for her,” Maryam said softly, leaning towards Rubiah's ear.

“Oh, I know,” Rubiah agreed passionately. “That poor girl. What she's going through, I don't even want to imagine.
Kasehan.”

“I don't know how I'd deal with it myself. She's being so brave,” Maryam marveled. “You've got to admire it. Respect it. Unless of course …” She paused, and stopped walking. “Unless, of course, she killed him herself. Which I wouldn't blame her for, I can tell you that.” She resumed walking towards the main road, stepping around a variety of fruit trees planted at cautious distances from the houses: banana, papaya, and mango. “I'd feel sorry for her if she did it. I would.”

“Would you keep it from the police?” Rubiah pressed her. “Just tell him you couldn't find anything?”

“Are you suggesting it?” Maryam asked her, avoiding her eyes.

“I don't know.” Rubiah was honest. “I don't know what I'd think after all is said and done. “
Chuka diminum pagi hari
, vinegar drunk early in the morning: being made a second wife is a bitter drink to swallow. Who knows what it could drive you to do?”

They walked in silence for some moments, each contemplating the private hell of a husband suddenly appearing with a second wife. “We should see both sets of parents, as long as we're here,” Maryam
pulled herself together. “It can't be too difficult to find them.”

The stopped at a
kedai runcit
on the side of the main road, where a small group of men sat on the tiny bench at the counter. Maryam and Rubiah smiled at the owner, washing the used coffee cups. “Excuse me, we aren't from here, and we're looking for
Che
Ghani's parents. Do you know where they live?”

The owner looked up from his cups and saucers and gave them a long look. “The late Ghani?” They nodded. “Why?”

“Well,” began Maryam, “we're helping the police, you might say, looking into this unfortunate occurrence.”

“Helping the police?”

“Yes,
Abang
,” Rubiah moved in. “You know how it is. It's so difficult for people to talk to the police, and at a time like this, of course, you don't want to make things even more difficult for them, isn't that true? It's so much easier to talk to us, you see, two Kelantanese people, not official, just trying to help.”

He put his hands on the counter. “So tell me,
Kak
, why the police let you do this?” His grammar and his accent were noticeably coarser than their own.

Rubiah was insulted. She'd offered such a smooth and polite speech, and she was interrogated as though she weren't a well-dressed and well-spoken
Mak Cik
. She unconsciously rearranged her headscarf to make sure her earrings and necklaces showed to advantage, and in the bright sunlight they were blinding, to show this man who he was dealing with.

“Sometimes,
Abang
, even the smartest people need help, and if they're really smart, they try to find the right person to the job.” She shook her wrist slightly so her bangles tinkled softly. “We are the right
people and, of course, we are perfectly ready to help.”

The man looked back and forth at the two of them, registering their dress, their jewellery and their natural imperiousness. He was slow to acknowledge his defeat. “I've never heard of that,” he grumbled. “I'm just trying to make sure no one bothers the family: it's a painful time for them. People coming from outside; I don't want to tell you where they live and then you'll disturb them.”

“Disturb them?” Maryam asked, speaking more softly as she became more irritated. “Do we really look as though we came out here “to enjoy ourselves disturbing them? God forbid!

“And so,
Abang
, I ask your help, where can I find them?”

“Alright,” he ended ungraciously. “The house toward to end of the alley, on the left,” he pointed with his chin. “Over there.”

Thanking him sweetly, they walked down the narrow opening between two houses, shaking their heads in contempt. The nerve of him, treating them like teenaged girls out to make mischief.

Ghani's parents' house was easily identified by a very pretty older woman sitting on the porch with two small children. The children were playing in the shade as their grandmother sat silently watching them.

“Hello,” Maryam called from the bottom of the steps. The grandmother looked at her dully, not even rousing herself to a smile. She had a finely sculpted face, with high cheekbones and large, almond-shaped eyes, and her hair was pepper and salt: what people called
rambut dua macam
, or two kinds of hair, black and grey. Ghani must have gotten his looks from his mother, Maryam decided, remembering the wedding picture she'd just seen. Ghani's mother nodded at Maryam, not answering. Maryam pursued her introduction.

“
Kak
! I am
Kak
Maryam, and this is
Kak
Rubiah.” They both
smiled. “It was at my house that this so unfortunate … thing … well, tragedy happened, during the performance. We are helping the police,
Kak
, and asking some questions. I'm so sorry to bother you.”

They waited for her reply. It was hot and unshaded where they stood, and they were beginning to perspire. She continued to look at them, and after what seemed to be several minutes, but was probably much less, she said “Yes? At your house?”

“Yes
Kak
,” Maryam answered vigorously, anxious to be out of the sun, “at my house. And we're looking into it. Can we talk to you?” It was as close as Maryam could come to asking for an invitation without being terribly rude.

“Come up,” the woman answered dully, remembering her manners. “Please, get out of the sun.” She stood up to greet them and disappeared into the house to make some coffee, gesturing for her guests to make themselves comfortable on the porch. It was so cool and dark out of the blazing sun: it took a few moments for their eyes to adjust. Ghani's two children sat solemnly watching them, their eyes large, their hair pushed back from their foreheads and some cooling white powder rubbed on their cheeks and foreheads. Rubiah tried to coax them closer, but they wriggled farther away and she let them be.

Ghani's mother came out with a plate of cakes, no doubt brought by the neighbours, and coffee. She served them from the tray and urged them to eat and drink. She ran her hand over her face and watched them.

“Aren't you drinking,
Kak
?” Maryam asked.

She smiled silently and shook her head. Maryam introduced herself and Rubiah, offering the most pertinent details, like what they sold in the market and which
kampong
they hailed from.

Their hostess nodded slightly, and Maryam feared she would never speak. “It's nice that you're doing this,” she said quietly. “I am
Kak
Hasnah, and that was my son. These are his children,” she made a sweeping gesture towards them. “I still can't believe it. Poor boy. Too many problems with women,” she unrolled some homemade cigarettes from her
sarong
, just as Maryam so often did, and she recognized Hasnah as a kindred spirit. Hasnah spread her cigarettes on the porch and each woman took one and lit up.

“Always with women. I worried that it would catch up with him in the end. I told him so. His father told him too, but you know how young men are. All men, really. They don't think woman trouble is trouble until it's too late, and that's just what happened to my son.”

“Is he your only son?” Maryam asked, grateful that Hasnah was now talking.

“Yes, the only one. I have three girls, also, but Ghani was the oldest and the only boy. I'm glad the rest are girls. Less trouble and more sensible.”

“Kids,” Rubiah interjected. “They can break your heart.” All three mothers sat silent for a moment, considering the truth of this.

“Did you know about his new, um, that is …?” Maryam was strangely reluctant to come to the point.

“That he got married again?” Hasnah asked. “Of course, I knew once she showed up here. How could he be so stupid? This girl, this Faouda, showed up right at his house, to his wife. Can you believe it? He came running over here with her after Aisha threw them out, or her out anyway. Late at night, woke us up. ‘Are you kidding?' I asked him. ‘You married someone in Kuala Krai? A second wife? What in God's name do you need a second wife for?'

“Naturally, Ghani had nothing to say.” Suddenly, Hasnah seeing the two children listening with interest, turned to the inside of her house and called “Ijan! Come over here and take the kids inside. They could use a nap, right?” she smiled at them. Ijan came to the door and smiled shyly, gathering the children with her to take inside. “My youngest,” explained Hasnah. “Still in school.”

“Such a pretty girl,” enthused Rubiah. “She looks just like her mother –
salin tak tumpah
, not even a drop spilled.”

“Thanks,” said Hasnah shortly. She tapped the ash over the railing. “Anyway, Ghani couldn't really explain. ‘I didn't know she'd come here,' he tells me. ‘You really married her,' I said, ‘and you didn't think she'd show up here?'

Oh, I was furious, I tell you, and so was my husband. ‘What have you done?' his father asked him. And Ghani had nothing to say. He needed a place for this girl to stay; it was so late at night.

‘Not here,' my husband told him. ‘She can sleep by the side of the road for all I care. Why don't you divorce her right now?' he asked him. The girl starts sniffling. It was like TV here, shouting and all in the middle of the night. I could have killed Ghani myself right then. Two little kids, you've seen my grandchildren, and you marry someone else?”

Maryam and Rubiah clicked their tongues and commiserated. Men.

“
Ya
, well then, he left with this girl. I think he might have gone over to his auntie's house, my husband's sister. She lives over there,” she gestured vaguely away from the main road, “with her family and my husband's mother.

“Maybe Ghani tried to talk his grandmother into keeping her for
one night. But let me tell you, this girl was angry when she left here. She thought Ghani would be thrilled to see her, and I guess she thought his family would celebrate when she got up here, but instead, I told her she ought to go right back to where she came from.

“What could my son have been thinking? To do that to your own wife. You know what we say about a second wife:
cuka diminum pagi hari.
It's a bitter drink to swallow.” She stared at the trees outside the house

“Our proverbs tell us a lot about life, if we listen to them,” Maryam agreed. “That's why we say
biar anak mati, jangan adat mati:
let your children die, but not tradition.” Maryam pulled herself up short. She was horrified at her lack of tact: to talk about dead children, even as a proverb. She blushed scarlet, and put her hands together under her chin. “Oh
Kak
Hasnah, I didn't think. I didn't mean …”

“I know,” Hasnah answered tiredly. “It's just a proverb.”

“No, I'm so sorry. What must you think of me?”

She shook her head. “You mustn't worry. I know what you meant, and you're right. We can learn a lot from the old ways.”

Maryam cleared her throat to begin again, admonishing herself to watch her tongue. “It's so difficult,
Kak
Hasnah,” Maryam sympathized, but continued. “She thought for a moment. “Ghani left the day after that to play, didn't he? At my house?”

Hasnah nodded. “He did. That girl wasn't around. I think she may have gone home to Kuala Krai right away. That's what Ghani told me, that he divorced her with one
talak
, and she went home. Aisha came over with him, so it looked to me as though it was all right.

‘You're sure she's gone?' I asked him when I could get him alone for a minute, ‘You're sure this is over?' He said it was. He said he was
going to register his
talak
in Kota Bharu, but I don't know if he did or not. I don't know if he ever had the time to do it.” She sighed, and sat silently.

“Did Aisha ever go to visit him when he played?”

She nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes I'd keep the kids when she did. You know, they were close. It was a good marriage. Maybe she went to check up on him too, I don't know. She didn't stay all night or anything; there wasn't any place for her to be. She'd come home late and sleep here with the kids, then take them home in the morning.”

“How about last week?” Maryam asked.

“You think she went to your place to kill Ghani? She didn't.”

“Was she there?” Maryam pressed.