Shadow Play (6 page)

“Are you going to ask the rest of the troupe whether she turned up there? Is that what this is about?”

“No, no,” soothed Maryam, trying to slide away from an argument. “Just asking.”

“I'm tired,” Hasnah announced. “I've got to look after my grandkids now.” She stood up and tried to fix a polite smile on her face, but failed. Maryam and Rubiah thanked her profusely, and backed away down the alley.

“She was there,” Maryam told Rubiah as they walked away.

Rubiah nodded. “Of course. The other musicians will confirm it, I guess. Do you want to see the auntie? Maybe she knows where what's-her-name, Faouda, went.”

Ghani's auntie and her elderly mother were busily working in the kitchen when Maryam and Rubiah appeared. Their house was a traditional one, built on stilts in the front, with a ground level kitchen in the back. There was no running water in the area, and two pottery jars
of water sat on the floor next to a charcoal brazier and a large plastic bucket of rice. The younger woman was slicing onions, and the older one shelling
petai
, ‘jungle beans' in large pods.

They looked up to see their well-dressed visitors and quickly stood, flustered to be visited in their working clothes: faded
sarong
, the younger woman in a T-shirt and the older in a well-worn cotton blouse.

“We're sorry to walk in on you like this,” began Maryam, wishing, for the first time in her life that she was wearing less jewellery. The younger woman stood up, vigorously brushing her hands against her
sarong
, and whipped the dishtowel off her shoulder. She smiled shyly.

Maryam introduced herself and Rubiah, and the woman's face fell. “I am
Kak
Nurhayati, and this is my mother,” she said stiffly. Her mother watched them all without rising, her face now expressionless. “I'm Ghani's aunt.” Nurhayati added. She watched Maryam without moving.

Maryam cleared her throat and once more explained herself. “
Kak
Hasnah said that Ghani may have brought, um, that girl, to stay here,” Rubiah broke a long silence. “We thought that might be important, you know.”

Ghani's grandmother made the decision to speak. “That horrible girl. I told him,” She said, ostensibly addressing her daughter, “I said, ‘what have you done, you stupid boy! Are you leaving your family for her?'”

She turned for a moment and tore apart a pod, sending
petai
spattering over the ground. “‘Just keep her here for the night,
Nenek,'
he said, ‘I'll send her home to Kuala Krai tomorrow.' ‘You will, will you?' I told him. ‘You think she'll go? She came all the way up here to find you and make your family miserable.'

He told me he was sending her back the next day, so I said I'd keep her for that night. But I told him, ‘Don't fool around with me, Ghani. Right after breakfast she's out of here, I mean it. If you don't come back here for her, I'll push her out onto the road.' Didn't I, Yati?” She turned to her daughter. “I didn't want any part of it, but I didn't want him wandering around all night with her trailing behind him complaining for the entire
kampong
to hear.”

“She wasn't happy,” explained Nurhayati.

Her mother snorted. “Not happy? I'll say. She was furious:
seperti ular berbelit-belit
, like a snake rising over its coils.”

Maryam and Rubiah had squatted down in front of the older woman and, at this point, Nurhayati did too. Maryam produced a pack of Mamat's Rothman's cigarettes, and offered one to each woman. Nurhayati haltingly accepted one, and her mother reached behind her to pull out the ingredients for a betel quid.

“I prefer this,” she explained, smoothening out the leaf and cutting off slices of the
sireh
nut. “I never got used to cigarettes; too modern for me.” She smiled; revealing the blackened teeth and red gums of the betel chewer, and methodically added some tobacco and lime to the
tapak sireh
she rolled up and stuck into her cheek next to her back molars. This completed, she continued.

“She started to complain to me, after Ghani left, but I told her straight out, ‘Don't talk to me about Ghani. He's my grandson. What do you think you're doing here? You just go to sleep and get ready to leave in the morning, you.'” She chewed placidly and then spit over her shoulder. “And loud? I was so embarrassed. Everyone could hear our business, especially in the middle of the night like that.
Aduh
, what a disaster!”

Nurhayati suddenly remembered her manners. “Tea, coffee?” she asked rising, but Maryam and Rubiah begged her to sit down instead. “Don't trouble yourself, please! We've just had tea at your brother's house. Really, we don't want to bother you!”

She allowed herself to be convinced, and squatted on her heels, holding the cigarette between her thumb and forefinger and taking a deep drag. She took over the narrative from her mother, who was for the moment immersed in her betel. “I gave her a cup of coffee in the morning. Ghani came over early to get her, and when I saw him, I gave him a smack on the side of the head. Idiot! Too good-looking for his own good.” His grandmother cackled sadly at that.

“Always been a problem. Anyway, he took her with him, and that was it. I hear he was over at his parents' house later in the day, so I guess he got rid of her and went home to make up with his wife. We never saw him after that.” Both she and her mother became silent, hearing the finality in those words.

“Never again,” echoed his grandmother, rubbing her eyes with a dishtowel.

“Find out who did it,” his aunt urged them. “He didn't deserve it.”

Maryam nodded. “He didn't,” she said. “Did she go right back to Kuala Krai?”

Nurhayati shrugged. “I don't know. I didn't see her again, and I never asked anyone. How would we know? Once she left Tawang, she could have gone anywhere.” She thought for a moment. “I think she killed him.”

Her mother gave her a searching look. “Probably. Who else would want him dead?”

Maryam did not want to interrupt, but could imagine that Aisha
might want to kill him herself for bringing home another wife. Still, Aisha was a girl from here, surrounded by her family, and this other wife was from far away and no one knew her. It would be infinitely more convenient if she were the killer, since no one Maryam ever met would be very sorry about it. Indeed, it would be an object lesson in second marriages and being far too forward for Malay courtesy, and would no doubt be passed down from mother to daughter for years to come.

“You don't know anything about where she might live in Kuala Krai, do you? Did she say anything about it?” Maryam probed.

Nenek
shook her head. “She didn't say much after I finished talking to her, let me tell you.” Maryam could well believe it. “She said something about living a little outside of town, didn't she, Yati? Let me think. I know she said something.” She spat again and frowned slightly as she thought.

“Kampong Kedai Lalat, wasn't that it?” Yati asked. “She said it as though we should know something about it. I guess it's a big deal in Kuala Krai.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you going down there to look for her?”

“I guess we'll have to,” Rubiah answered morosely. She did not care for travel, and Kuala Krai was a lot farther than she cared to go. The jungle, she thought: bound to be hot, steamy and oppressive. No doubt wild animals and venomous snakes lurked in the underbrush, waiting to take a bite out of unsuspecting women from Kota Bharu. Not a pleasant prospect, but she knew Maryam would never let them skip that part of the investigation.

Maryam rose, feeling it in her knees as she stood up. “Thank you so much for talking to us,” she said with feeling. “You've been very
kind.” Rubiah gave her thanks as well, and the two women smiled and nodded at them, and turned back to their cooking.

“Do you think they'll find out who killed Ghani?' Nurhayati asked her mother. Her mother shrugged, looking hard at the
petai
, afraid to lift her eyes up lest she start crying and find herself unable to stop.

Chapter V

Do we have to see Aisha's parents today?” Rubiah asked. “Can't we come back tomorrow? I don't think I can stand listening to this story again right now. It's so sad.”

Maryam weighed their options. It was getting later, and she was reminded that she needed to get dinner started. She was hot, and emotionally exhausted from these conversations: she needed to think them through. Yet, they were already here and if they left now, they'd just have to return tomorrow morning. “Let's finish up here. One night without home cooking won't kill anyone. We can pick up dinner from the stalls on the way home.”

Rubiah needed convincing. “I can't stand listening to these stories anymore. I need to hear something cheerful.”

She completely understood how Rubiah felt. “We've got to be more determined, more professional.” She fixed Rubiah with a stern eye. “After all…” She paused. “I won't let that Police Chief think I lost interest as soon as it got a little difficult. I said I would do it, and I will,” she said stubbornly.

“OK, OK,” grumbled Rubiah. “Let's go,” she added with a regretful sigh. “We'll see how Aisha's family is taking it.”

Aisha's family was not far away: both Ghani and Aisha's families were spread throughout Kampong Tawang. Her parents lived at the end of the village, bordering on the still dry rice paddies; the view from their porch over the flat fields was pleasant, especially as the sun set. Two men, recently bathed after a hot day's work, lounged in the shade, each with a cup of coffee in front of him. Maryam called before she
reached the stairs, announcing her arrival.

The older man, Aisha's father, rose and invited them up. He turned and called into the house for his wife, who met them at the door, smiling politely. “
Selamat Datang,”
she welcomed them. “You must be the
Mak Cik
from Kampong Penambang, helping the police.” She laughed at their expressions. “Don't be surprised. You know how it is in a
kampong:
the news travels fast. Please sit down, make yourselves comfortable. I'm
Kak
Azizah; this is my husband,
Abang
Ramli, and my son, Ali.”

Everyone smiled and sat down, and almost immediately, a teenaged girl appeared with a tray of cold drinks and cookies. “It's so hot in the afternoons now,” Azizah said, urging them to eat. “I can't wait for the rainy season to start. It's dusty, too, isn't it?”

They agreed it was. Rubiah now felt completely reinvigorated: some sugar, something cold, and she was now ready for action once more.

Azizah continued. “Aisha will be moving back here tonight. They're going to get her soon.” She waved towards her husband and son. “And then she and my grandchildren will live here with us. It's so difficult for her,” she said sadly. Ramli, Aisha's father, grunted, signalling that this was women's talk and he would stay out of it.

“Is Aisha your only daughter?” Rubiah asked.

Her mother laughed. “Oh no, I have three younger daughters and three sons. Seven, altogether. One son is married, everyone else lives here. Ali's the oldest – after Aisha, of course. So now we'll have three more. Well, it might be a bit crowded, but we don't mind. I mean, it's our grandchildren, and it will be nice to have Aisha back.” She looked sad, having said this, but tried to be as pleasant as possible.

“How difficult,” Maryam commented.

“Yes, but who would have thought something like this would happen? Poor Ghani.” Her husband looked disgusted, and Ali grimaced. Azizah ignored them. “And Aisha a widow so young. Ah well, at least she is so young, her whole life ahead of her.” The women all smiled at the platitude.

“Did you hear anything? I mean, about Ghani?” asked Rubiah, unwilling to mention a second wife.

“You mean the new wife?” Ramli growled, looking over at his wife. “Of course, we heard. Everyone heard.”

“When did you know?” asked Maryam.

“When?” Ramli repeated. “When? I guess the day after he brought her back. That next morning, Aisha came over here with the kids and told us what happened. I wanted to go out and find him right away, but Aisha said he was sending her back to wherever she came from.”

“Kuala Krai,” his son interjected helpfully.

“Yeah, Kuala Krai. I didn't actually see her. Didn't want to.”

“Well, what for?” Azizah explained. “By the time we heard about it, Aisha said she'd already gone back. And then Ghani came to get her.”

“I took him aside.” Ramli leaned forward toward Maryam. “I told him, ‘I'm watching you now.' I said, ‘You'd better straighten up if you know what's good for you. How can you treat my daughter that way?' He didn't have much to say for himself. Apologizing all over the place. Said he didn't know what came over him. Didn't know why he'd done such a thing.”

Ali gave a short, mirthless bark of laughter. “I know why.”

A forbidding look from both his parents quieted him. “He did
apologise,” Azizah added. “Though I was so disappointed in him. What good is an apology when he just married someone without thinking like that? I mean, what does that say about him?” She shook her head regretfully.

“It says he's a fool,” Ramli interjected. “It says he doesn't think at all. It says he hangs out with all kinds of women and doesn't realize what's going to come of it.”

“Yes, yes,” his wife hurried to stop him. This was clearly a well-trodden road for them in the past few days. He would not be hushed.

“   “You know. Kak,” Ramli took a deep drag on his cigarette and fixed her with an intense stare, “I've known Ghani since he was born. We both have; our families are from this
kampong
and we grew up with his parents.” His wife nodded.