Shadow Theatre (18 page)

"Don't be afraid," he said.

And then I was not afraid. His voice between us like wind
carrying sunlight, like a door flying open. Him the one doing
magic on me, so I tried to turn my face away.

'There's no need to be afraid."

Something was breathing in his hands, breathing like a bud,
its shadow too small to see, but you could feel it. And the lalang
was still shaking, over there by the yellow shrine, but the others all gone through now.

Why was he speaking to me? I wondered. And Che'
Halimah, why had she not warned me?

"Do you remember? You were fifteen years old. You wore a
blue dress."

His words cracking me open, reaching inside me like a
hand. Then it was too much. The last thing I saw was him leaning towards me, his body burning, his face flickering against the
sky. Black leaves blowing everywhere.

ABDUL WAS THE one who came looking for me, his voice the
first thing I heard when I was waking up. Calling to me, "Kechil,
where are you? Kechil!" Sending my name over the ground,
sending it to me like his own breath. My name, this nickname
they used to call me, because before Abdul was born, I had been
the youngest: Kechil. Abdul's voice was already changing, and I
could hear he sounded just like Mahmud when he called to me.
And the thought beat like a stick against my heart, making one
spreading blue-black bruise.

Maybe his voice was the thing that had woken me, calling
again and again, "Kechil!" until I was able to open my eyes.

There was something stuck to the branch directly overhead, one torn, dead piece, like something shrivelled up. Around it,
the leaves were ticking, and a hit of light shone out just behind,
between that branch and the sky. Then one last breeze passed
through, going through my bones. And it was over.

And I saw Abdul, standing in the lalang, with his friend
Matthew, that Eurasian boy with the Chinese mother, the one
with his father always yelling at him. That one. He also was
there that night.

"Kechil!" Abdul's voice was afraid, when he came running.

"Kenapa sini?" I asked him, when he bent down to help me.
His arms still thin like a boy's arms, but becoming strong, I could
feel. One hand underneath my left wrist, his other hand on my
right elbow, he helped me to balance myself as I stood up.

"Why are you here?" he said, repeating my question to me.

His friend Matthew walked over, a hush following him in
the darkness. Always, I could hear that boy's footsteps tender on
the ground.

"And what are these for?" Abdul asked, when he noticed my
basket with the star flowers. "You came here just to collect these
things?"

"What time is it?" I asked him. How come Che' Halimah
had not come looking for me? She was the only one who knew
exactly where I was.

"Almost midnight," Abdul said, and he asked again, "So, eh,
what are the flowers for?"

"For cooking-lah," I said. "How long did you look for me?"

"Maybe half-an-hour or so." Abdul turned to check with his
friend, who was kneeling beside the basket now. "Right?"

Matthew nodded. He kept on looking at the flowers, some
kind of yearning inside him spilling out when he smiled at me, as if
there was a secret he was keeping, which he thought I knew about.

"Eh, what happened?" Abdul asked. "Did you faint or something?"

"You see anyone else or not?" I asked him, just to be sure.

"You mean here? At this hour?" Abdul shook his head at me,
as if he was the elder brother. "Who else gila like you? Everyone
else, when they go out for a walk, this isn't where they go for a
walk, you know."

I told you before, that's why it's safe here, ya? The only
people who dare to come in here at night," I started, but he
interrupted me.

"I know, I know. Because their hearts are pure, they know
they have nothing to fear." He gave a huge sigh, just like Bapa
when he did that. "You haven't heard about that guy? We heard
about him today. Right, Matthew?"

Matthew nodded, still kneeling beside the basket.

"What guy?" I asked, my heart getting nervous.

"Some guy's been hanging around our school, and they've
seen him at St. Agnes and Our Lady of Lourdes also. Some people think he's just a beggar, except he never asks for money. He
likes to talk to children. Brother Dennis thinks he might be a
child molester."

It was him, the angel who had stayed behind, who had done
magic on me. Was it because he thought I was Bettina? She was
the one, my sister, who had been wearing a blue dress when she
was raped. My heart became more nervous.

"The teachers haven't seen him." Matthew was speaking
now, his voice quieter than Abdul's, soft like the soil after rain.

Then Abdul took over again. "No, that's right. None of the
teachers have seen him. They say at the girls' schools, the
teachers haven't seen him, either."

"He only appears to children," whispered Matthew, dipping
his hand into the basket.

"You better watch out for him," Abdul said, while I was
thinking how to make them go home without me. More than
ever now, I must bring Che' Halimah her flowers, I thought, so
that after that, my part would be finished. Whatever was going
on, I didn't want to join in.

Matthew was running his fingers through the flowers, and
that was when I saw. There were more than two of the star flowers. More even than four. The basket was full.

"WHY YOU DIDN'T come to look for me?" I asked Che'
Halimah, when I got there. As soon as she opened the door, I
couldn't stop myself, my mouth opening like your dress hem
coming loose. "Why you just left me alone? You didn't worry
what was happening to me?"

"I didn't leave you alone." Her voice calm as the night itself,
quiet as the night was now. Quiet as if her words were not
words. As if her words leaves and grass, her words the fragrant
air, the rain coming that we could smell.

Behind her, shadows darted around the room, but at first, I
saw nobody there. A red candle was burning on Che' Halimah's
kitchen table. Next to the candle, there were some pieces of
yellow cloth, and a wooden bowl like the bowl I had seen with
the oil in it, but this one was empty.

"You didn't worry?" I asked her, although my heart whispered to itself, Kechil, how you dare speak to Che' Halimah like
that? And yet, my tongue couldn't stop. "And you didn't tell me
everything. You didn't warn me."

Che' Halimah looked past my head as if Abdul and
Matthew were outside, but I knew they were not there. I had
left them sleeping at home, Matthew staying over in Abdul's
room like sometimes he would. I had made sure they were both
asleep, before I had come over again. My brother was still a boy
in the end, never mind his grown-up ways.

Then she looked at me, her face in the darkness as if itself a
shadow, only her eyes clear and shining. "You are okay now?"
she asked me. Her voice tender because she knew. "Your father
is okay now?"

"Yes," I said. "The fever is gone."

Che' Halimah, she knew I could see the shadows. "Mahu
masok, t'ak?" she asked.

Quiet her voice, tender her voice, but I didn't want to go in. I
was becoming afraid again. Whatever Che' Halimah was doing, I
didn't want to know. So I gave her the basket, with no explanation
about how it had become so full of the star flowers. I told her only,
"I must go home," hoping she would think because it was so late,
already after midnight, as if she couldn't feel my fear.

"Okay," she said. "Go before the rain comes. Otherwise,
you'll get wet."

And that was all.

But as I was turning away, I smelled bunga kubur drifting from
across the room. And then I saw he was there, bending in the corner between the oven and the corridor that took you to Che'
Halimah's bedroom. Definitely it was him. One moment human,
another moment whoosh! Only black leaves swirling in the candlelight. He was looking at something on the ground, something
at his feet, and his right hand was holding up a kris. I saw the silver blade flash in the candlelight.

And in the corridor, there was someone else. Someone
whispered Jibrail, Jibrail, when he swung back his arm, the kris
rising in the darkness. Then he let go and it dropped straight
down, and I saw on the ground a round, hard fruit, almost like
a coconut. I saw the kris fall into it, and the shell split open, and
light burst out, suddenly like that, bathing the air. I knew if
I looked up, I would see the face of whoever was in the corridor, but I didn't look in that direction.

Che' Halimah, she was watching me as I turned my face
away, watching me as I went down her front steps. She knew I
had seen what I did not wish to see. I could feel her hand as if
it was on my back, stroking me.

Then I heard the door close. Then I wondered, how had I
known that was a kris he was holding? How come I had been
able to see what was on the ground, at his feet?

I could hear the voice, speaking as if not from inside the
house, as if coming from the air itself. Someone was asking,
"Like this?" The one in the corridor. I knew it must be her.

Che' Halimah was saying, "No, slowly. Arrange carefully.
Take your time."

"Like this?" the one in the corridor asked again. I could hear
she was young, maybe only a few years older than Abdul.

"Slower."

Jibrail-Gabriel, you would say-he was silent. Him the
witness and the messenger. This knowledge came to me like
something spoken, but not within my understanding. Only
Mahmud used to understand things like that, everyone saying
Mahmud had magic in him. He would touch the soil, and
watch how the roots of trees were growing, in which directions. Whenever you couldn't find him at home, you knew he
was in the graveyard. Sitting underneath a tree, studying the
leaves when they floated down. Why he did not have enough
magic to save himself when the thieves came? Not enough to
save Kadir, Noi, Bettina. Only me and Abdul. Only us two
were left, and Bapa, because Mahmud had told me to go with
Bapa when Bapa went out to the shop that night, and to take
Abdul along.

Abdul was the one to hope in now. Day after day I would
tell myself, concentrate on Abdul.

That night I still didn't know, what had happened to me.

"Will they come back?" the one in the corridor was asking.

"One of them will come back."

This one. It's this one, ya?"

"Betul. Good. And the other one?"

"The other one ... "

"Not the boy."

"The other one ... I can't see her."

"Slowly."

"Where's the other one?"

"Slowly. Don't move your hand so fast. See, your arrangement is not right. Concentrate."

Quiet, Che' Halimah's voice. Patient like the angels.

"Who's that?"

"Look closely. Look again."

"This one will die."

"And the baby?"

"A baby will live."

"Correct. Betul. Good."

THE RAIN WAS fierce when it came, the sky loose as if the universe was fighting, as if everywhere trees were bursting open, as
if petals were exploding, the wind slashing the bunga kubur to
shreds. Birds were screaming in the leaves, and while the water
poured down, the air smelled like blood, as if somewhere nearby, blood was dripping through the night.

After that, it was over. That Saturday morning at sunrise,
there was not a sign left.

Abdul, he was so protected, the rain didn't wake him. Bapa
also, when we went to see him in the hospital, he wondered
how come he had slept through a thunderstorm like that. All
the nurses were chattering about it, he said. Only I had been
awake. I the only witness in our kampong.

Now you.

ALIKA COULDN'T REMEMBER most of what she had
been dreaming about as she roused herself out of the
cane armchair to answer the phone, which had been ringing for
some time in the living room. (Malika had heard it while asleep,
an ambiguous melody forming in the distance.) There had been
a river in her dream, a glistening expanse of iridescent water,
vibrant with slippery shapes beneath the surface. Malika could
still hear a voice calling to her from the riverbank as she groped
her way around the door jamb and towards Madam's rosewood
stand. (She hadn't noticed yet that the bulb in the patio lamp
had blown its fuse, nor was Malika aware of the book in her lap slipping to the floor when she had stood up, so concentrated
were her efforts on recovering the details of her dream before
she was fully awake and lost them.) She couldn't be sure as the
voice faded if it had been a man's or a woman's, or a child's. What
she had heard, first, was a flurry of leaves, and then that voice
fanning out over the water like praises to Allah broadcast from
one of the old mosques in the evening. (Sali would ask if it could
have belonged to the man in the songkok but Malika would say
no, something about this dream had felt different to her. It didn't
have the ambiance of her old recurring nightmares.)